#is this the angstiest thing I've ever made?

[stubblesandwich]

Selected lines from Caitlyn Siehl's magnificent poem:

When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Start by pulling him out of the fire and putting him back together with the pieces you find on the floor. There is so much to forgive, but you do not know how to forget. When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled.

[unclewaynemunson]

Something’s off. Steve notices it as soon as he gets home. It’s nothing major, really, but something’s definitely off. There’s this weird silence in the hallway, instead of the usual metal that Eddie is basically blasting 24/7 whenever Steve isn’t home. There’s the absence of Olly showing his little face around the corner of the door to the kitchen upon hearing Steve coming in. There’s also the absence of some crazy scent explosion emerging from the kitchen like on a usual Tuesday evening.

Steve calls out Eddie’s name, questioning, not sure if he should be worried.

“Here!”

He releases a relieved breath and gets into the living room. Eddie is his usual messy self, wild curls hanging over one end of the couch and feet wrapped in colorful socks over the other, with Olly curled up and purring on his chest.

“Hey there,” Steve says. It isn’t until he comes closer to lean down for a kiss on Eddie’s forehead, that he notices something is most definitely very, very wrong. Eddie’s eyes are swollen and red-rimmed, salty traces covering his cheeks and used tissues scattered all over the floor next to the couch. His hands are clenching into Olly’s fur, his chest is heaving unsteadily.

Eddie looks up at Steve, blinks once, twice, to get the water out of his eyes, a fresh tear rolling down his cheek.

“What happened, love?” Steve covers Eddie’s hands with his own, creating their familiar pile of Olly-Eddie-Steve, his thumb stroking over the back of Eddie’s hand.

Eddie takes a deep, shuddering breath, squeezes his eyes shut for a second. “Wayne’s sick.”

XXX

The thing is, Wayne has always been the strong one. Always. He was the arms that caught Eddie, the hands that wiped away his tears, the lips that kissed his bruises better despite his prickly beard. And now he’s - frail. There’s simply no other word for it. And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ready to be the strong one yet. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. Of course he knows that Wayne isn’t some immortal being, that he’s lived a life of harsh physical labor and cold Indiana winters, of canned beans and breakfast cigarettes since he was only a boy... But this is different. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. And Wayne knows that, too.

“I always thought it was gonna be my lungs that’d do me in,” he tells Eddie.

Eddie never thought of his uncle as an old man. But now, sitting next to his hospital bed, both his hands clasped around Wayne’s, he sees it. He sees the lines on his forehead, the near-white shade of grey of what little hair he has left on his head, the tired look in his eyes, the age spots scattered all over his arms...

Eddie releases one of his hands to wipe over his eyes. He feels another pair of hands squeezing his shoulders from behind him, reminding him that he isn’t alone, that there’s still someone else who can be the strong one when Eddie can’t.

He takes a breath.

“Nothing’s doin’ you in, man,” he manages to choke out, strengthening his grip on Wayne’s hands. Those strong, calloused hands, that have lived through so much. The hands that caught him countless times. The hands that held him tight whenever he needed it. The hands that wiped away his tears. The hands that fixed his van. The hands that ruffled his curls. The hands that held a fishing rod like a pro. The hands that tirelessly drilled holes in walls and assembled furniture when Eddie moved out of the trailer and into the apartment he and Steve got in Indianapolis. The hands that are currently resting limply on top of white hospital sheets. Frail hands.

“Ed...”

“No, I’m serious,” Eddie says. He’s always been good at running. No way in hell he’s gonna stop that habit now. "You're gonna get better. And when you do, we'll take you back home, okay? Not to Hawkins - to your real home. You, me, Steve and the van, right? You’ll see the mountains again. We’re gonna drive all the way across them, get you back to the other side, ya hear me? It’ll be this great adventure, just the three of us. We’ll stay there for as long as we want to. And then we’ll go back to Indy, and you’ll move in with us, and we’ll take care of you. And you’ll be there when we get a real house, you’ll be there when we get our first little nugget, and every next one of them, and you’ll get to play with them and see them grow up and see us goin’ grey and gettin’ old and wrinkled and fat, and you’ll be there when Lord of the Rings gets made into a movie and when world hunger gets solved and when gay marriage becomes legal and when we get our first black president and when The Police reunites... That’s how it’s gonna go, you understand?”

There’s this look in Wayne’s eyes, this look that completely terrifies Eddie, and he can’t do a thing except for collapsing onto his uncle’s chest, breathing in his scent and crying against his shirt as Wayne’s hand tangles itself in Eddie’s curls. And it doesn’t matter - it doesn’t matter that Wayne is weak and sick and lying in a hospital bed. Because he’s still the strong one. He’s still the hands that catch Eddie when Eddie breaks down. Even now.

XXX

They should’ve known that Eddie would be right. Of course they should’ve known. No God can turn down someone as stubborn as Eddie Munson - not even a God Eddie doesn’t believe in.

Wayne missed the mountain air, the perfectly prepared corn fritters, the drool in the voices around him, the natural hospitality. It’s good to be back, to get to share his roots with his boys. But it’s not like coming home. Home is where his own parents moved him some fifty years ago, with dreams of a better future that didn’t quite hold for them. Home is a rickety trailer park that doesn’t have warm water most of the time. Home is the woods around Hawkins, the rolling hills, the chilly autumn wind. But most of all, home is the smile of the boy who took him here. It’s long dark curls and big brown eyes that are currently tearing up because Wayne is standing next to him and getting stronger by the day and very much alive. It’s the memories they share, of Wayne opening his arms to catch Eddie when he was so much smaller than now; of going fishing at Lover’s Lake in the weekends; of cigarette stubs and beer bottles and metal boxes that Wayne chose to not know the contents of; of laughter and crying and fear and comfort and a whole shared lifetime, a boy growing up and still needing to be caught again and again and again.

And Wayne still does it. He still catches his boy. His two boys, now. And he’s planning on keeping to do that for a long, long time.

[lavenderspence]

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other. 

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started. 

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds. 

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost. 

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain. 

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go. 

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair. 

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.  

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true. 

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list. 

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone. 

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment. 

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”  

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?” 

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him. 

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest. 

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home. 

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico. 

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to. 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other. 

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped. 

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking. 

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes. 

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been. 

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside. 

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore. 

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud. 

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did. 

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you. 

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him. 

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her. 

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough. 

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier. 

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking. 

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt. 

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.” 

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more. 

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again. 

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say. 

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight. 

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight. 

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him. 

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive. 

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends. 

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in. 

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take? 

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared. 

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you. 

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote. 

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num. 

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same. 

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card. 

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again. 

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused. 

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different. 

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit. 

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy. 

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years. 

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt. 

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown. 

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place. 

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly. 

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one. 

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth. 

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness. 

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine. 

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both. 

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt. 

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled. 

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him. 

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed. 

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that. 

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time. 

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out. 

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.  

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure. 

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn. 

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly. 

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over. 

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did. 

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see. 

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over. 

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out. 

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them. 

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms. 

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation. 

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now. 

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned. 

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth. 

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet. 

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face. 

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry. 

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined. 

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to. 

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him. 

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment. 

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of. 

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes. 

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own. 

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much. 

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline. 

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head. 

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him. 

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you. 

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other. 

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand. 

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent. 

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in. 

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again. 

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice. 

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it. 

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto. 

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head. 

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. 

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to. 

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became. 

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace. 

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it. 

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real. 

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple. 

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?” 

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss. 

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you. 

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time. 

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy. 

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process. 

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices. 

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived. 

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go. 

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching. 

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together. 

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered. 

“I love you.” 

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In Every Trio, There's Always A Duo

John Price X Reader

You were following behind Soap and Ghost, keeping a close eye on your surroundings while watching their six. Soap was on Ghost’s left, you were on his right, so how could they have gotten to you so easily?

A/N:this is probably the angstiest fic I've written in a while lol, the idea popped up in my head after scrolling tiktok and now I'd like you all to suffer with me(also I know I promised the Gaz fic first, it is coming! I promise!) warnings:mentions of blood, injuries, wounds, gore, depressive thoughts, thoughts of suicide, mentions of death

Price had been the one to introduce you to everyone, saying that you were the newest member of their team. Gaz welcomed you with open arms and even offered to show you around so that you wouldn’t get lost. Soap was happy to greet you, talking too quickly for you to understand even half of what he’d been saying. Ghost was a little more closed off, friendly enough to say hello and introduce himself but didn’t go out of his way to be your friend. It was something you were used to, men in the military were one of three things. Friendly, flirty, or standoffish. While Ghost wasn’t your typical “I’m better than you” military meathead, he wasn’t an open book.

It was all fine though, you had gotten close to the rest of the group and made friends with all of them quick enough. Alejandro and Rudy were much friendlier during the first meeting, Rudy and you swapped recipes and talked about your interests. Ale joked that you would end up stealing his best friend right from under his nose. Of course you would never do that, stealing someone else’s best friend was a big no no in your book.

“I would never steal him away from you! Best friends are sacred.” You smiled over at Ale, watching the way he became flustered ever so slightly.

“Well, thank you then.” He wasn’t sure what to say, most people teased them for being such close friends, this was a nice change.

“Of course, no need to thank me.” Rudy pulled you back into the conversation, explaining how to properly cook one of his mother’s best dishes.

It went on like that for months, you making friends with everyone on the task force, along with Ale and Rudy. When everyone would go home for break you didn’t leave, assuring everyone that you would leave the following day. No one needed to know that you didn’t want to go back to your family, their toxicity pushing you to where you were now. Your mother had been an alcoholic your entire life, your father no better when he actually bothered to come around. Your brother had up and left the moment he turned eighteen, leaving you behind to suffer.

No one needed to know what happened in your past, to them things were good and you had a loving family. They didn’t need to know that you had nothing left waiting for you, no family, and no friends for if you succumbed to your death during a mission. You’d wanted to tell them the truth so badly, that you truly weren’t alright, but you couldn’t.

You were out at the bar with everyone, sitting between Gaz and Soap. The Scot had interrupted you nearly five times now, voice booming as he recalled a tale about how Price had embarrassed himself during a mission. You bit your lip, sinking into your seat and not bothering to try and speak up anymore. The night continued on like that, everyone talking about different things as the drinks flowed. You’d even learnt a little bit more about Ghost, how his parents weren’t the nicest of people, how he’d done what he could to help them. It reminded you of your own situation, abusive parents that refused to take accountability.

It continued on like that for months, you would head out with everyone and continue to turn into nothing but a shadow. Seven turned to six, six turned into five, and soon enough it was only you, Ghost, and Soap going out. Price was too busy with paperwork, Ale and Rudy had their own duties to attend to, and Gaz was seeing someone. You were happy for Gaz, he was a total catch and anyone with eyes could see how attractive he was. Though you missed his corny jokes at the tables when you’d go out. Soap was the main jokester, Ghost throwing in a few from time to time to throw the Scot off his game.

It was strange seeing Ghost without his mask, the first time your jaw dropped open but you refused to comment. Nothing more humiliating than bringing up someone’s scars to them when you’re in public. He ignored everyone who tried to flirt with him, shutting down their advances with a “not interested” before they could utter another word. That same night they left you behind at the pub, you’d gone to the bathroom to relieve yourself before heading back. When you walked out the table was empty and cleaned, surely they were waiting outside. However once you stepped foot outside you noticed the truck you’d all driven in was gone as well.

Your throat closed up as you realized they had completely forgotten you, the base was over ten miles away. Refusing to try and call them, you tugged your jacket closer to your body and made the journey on foot. Price was still awake when you arrived, feet nearly bleeding from the blisters you now had, and tears running down your face.

“Sweetheart? What’s going on?” Price abandoned his paperwork to rush over to you.

You lied and told him you were simply too intoxicated and had forgotten you had gone to the pub with Soap and Ghost, the two men soundly asleep in their own rooms. He didn’t look as if he believed you, but nonetheless he let it slide. You would tell him the truth when you finally felt ready. Instead of pushing for more answers he helped treat your wounds, and gave you some warmer clothes to sleep in for the night.

Your sleep had been restless that night, struggling to get over how much pain you were in physically, and emotionally. Maybe they had just forgotten because you hadn’t talked the entire night? Sure, that’s what it probably was.

Price kept you on light work for the next two weeks, letting your feet heal before putting you into weapons and basic training. You were being sent out on a mission in a few days and he wanted everyone to be prepared. You stuck close by Gaz and Price for the most part, not wanting a repeat of the pub again. Training was easy, you excelled with each weapon you were given and surpassed everyone else, even Ghost.

Laswell was happy with the progress you’d made since joining, happy to know you had integrated so well with everyone else on the team. It didn’t matter if she didn’t know the entire truth, or that you were miserable deep down. She lead the briefing for your next mission, you were to get the intel required and get out, taking out any hostels if needed. You were a little nervous, the last firefight you’d gone into had nearly gotten you killed. Had Rudy not yanked you down behind the pillar you wouldn’t be standing there.

The helicopter hovered as you rappelled down onto the ground, unclipping your belt and grabbing your gun. There was no one as far as you were able to see, though you couldn’t be too careful, enemies were trained to hide in plain sight. Price and Ghost lead the group, guns raised as they begin a slow but cautious walk towards the building. No one noticed the enemy as they slid from behind their own hiding spots. 

The bullets were raining down on the group before any of the guys or yourself could take cover. Price had thrown Gaz behind one of the pillars, Ghost doing the same with Soap to help prevent his teammate from becoming swiss cheese. Alejandro wrapped his arms around Rudy and tackled him to the ground, laying completely still until the sound of the enemy reloading calmed his nerves. It wasn’t until they realized that you were laying out in the open, screams ripping the air apart as you began to slowly bleed out. Ghost’s heart stopped, how the hell did they completely forget about another person! 

“Shit!” Soap turned to run around Soap’s bulky frame, grunting as Ghost grabbed the collar of his tac vest.

“You do that an’ you’re both dead!” Ghost couldn’t risk someone else getting injured, they needed to neutralize the threat.

“We need to save her!” Soap couldn’t watch you bleed out, it would destroy him.

“Stand down!” Ghost winced as the gunfire drew closer, they needed to retreat before they lost anyone else.

The group slowly retreated, watching the way your frame became smaller and smaller with each step they took. Ghost was gnawing the inside of his jaw, angry that he’d let something like this happen under his watch. Shit, they’d have to figure out how to get you back before you ended up bleeding out on the field.

“Ghost!” Gaz was staring over at the older man, eyes wide with terror.

The enemy had grabbed you, running off while they seemed to be too preoccupied figuring out a plan to stop them in their tracks. His blood ran cold, they were surely going to kill you if they couldn’t rescue you soon enough.

“Stop them!” Ghost raised the gun in his arms, aiming down the scope to try and get a shot off.

It was with a sickening realization that he noticed they were all gone, nothing but dust kicked up in the air as they fled. He’d always kept everyone safe, or as safe as he could when they were in enemy territory. This? This was his worst nightmare come to life, someone getting injured and captured because of his actions. How the hell had he not realized you were near him? While you were quiet when needed you always made your presence known.

“We’ll get them back, but we can’t go in with our heads up in the clouds.” Price was angry, they were split up into two groups. 

You were following behind Soap and Ghost, keeping a close eye on your surroundings while watching their six. Soap was on Ghost’s left, you were on his right, so how could they have gotten to you so easily?

“You let her get hurt, you were too busy keeping an eye on Soap that she got hurt!” Gaz stood up harshly, stomping over to where Ghost and Soap were crouched.

“Hey! Let’s not start going at each other’s throats.” Price grabbed onto his tac vest, stopping him before he could reach the other two.

“I saw it, she was walking too far from Ghost and instead of remembering that she was even there he saved Soap instead, and now she’s been taken by the fucking enemy!” Gaz was angry, angrier than he’d been in quite a while.

Ghost wanted to deny it, that he had been keeping an eye on you the entire time, but it would’ve been a dirty lie. It had been obvious over the last few months how little attention they ever spared you, especially him and Soap. The three of you would go out during your leave together and it was simply as if you didn’t exist to them. You were the third wheel during their conversations, trying your hardest to speak up only to be ignored.

Everyone had gone out for a night of drinks and dinner, mainly because Price all but demanded on getting off base for at least one night. Things had been silent for a little while and he needed to release some tension. You and Gaz were up getting drinks for everyone at the bar, the waitress already swinging by to get everyone’s order for food. Price had seen how sullen your expression was, the sparkle your eyes usually had seemed so dull now. Maybe this would help bring it back and things would go back to normal. You were his favorite(don’t tell Simon)and he would do his damndest to make sure you were okay.

“Sorry about the wait, bar was a little busier than expected.” You and Gaz set down all the drinks, being careful not to spill any liquid onto the, for now, clean table.

“No worries love, food won’t be out for a little while anyway.” Price smiled at the way your face flushed, proud that he could still have you blushing like a schoolgirl. 

The conversation seemed to flow easily with everyone, Gaz was telling a story from his teenage years that had everyone laughing. He’d embarrassed himself trying to impress a girl and refused to even look her in the eye afterwards. You opened your mouth to make a comment before Soap cut you off, the entire table echoing with laughter. Clearing your throat quietly you took a quick sip of your drink. 

The chatter died down once the food was brought out, everyone eating in near silence, save for the bustle of the restaurant around you. You wanted to talk about something, anything, but the timing never felt right. So instead of opening your mouth to talk you kept eating, your stomach turning slightly as you pushed the food around the plate. The chance to strike up a new conversation was dulled entirely once Ghost started talking about something. You didn’t bother to listen, eyes locked onto your plate as you tried to muster up the energy to keep eating.

Everyone was pulled into the conversation, offering their own bits and pieces here and there, everyone except for you. Why bother speaking to people who clearly didn’t notice when you did anyway? It would be a waste of energy and you needed to worry about what would happen on your next mission. Only you didn’t notice the way Price’s gaze lingered on you, a frown marring his nearly perfect features.

“If you don’t get them back, then I sure the fuck will.” Gaz knew the risks that rescuing you would entail and right now he was willing to take that risk.

“Kyle, if you go running in there you’ll be dead before you can get to her. I’ll go with you.” Price was willing to do whatever it took to get you back.

“Sir.” Soap felt terrible, had he kept a closer eye on you this wouldn’t have happened.

“No, we need to start thinking about how we’re going to rescue her, I’ll call Laswell.” Price turned and walked off without waiting for anyone to follow.

Ale and Rudy were horrified, they’d known the men for quite a while, having only just met you a few months prior, and watching the way this had gone down? It sickened them, but they wouldn’t voice those opinions out loud. They’d do whatever needed to be done to rescue you, to make sure that you came back home alive.

You, Ghost, and Soap were all sitting in the cafeteria, trying to enjoy the MRE’s that had been given to you earlier that day. A new shipment wouldn’t be in for a few more days so you were suffering through what had been left over. They weren’t terrible, but it was obvious why these were the ones left over from everyone else. Ghost and Soap had been keeping conversation going between them from the moment you sat down. You didn’t bother to say a word, simply ate your rather dry and tasteless food and waited for it to be gone so you could leave.

It was becoming more obvious as each day passed how little they liked having you around, from the way they would simply ignore you, to even brushing you off when you tried to join the conversation. It had stung in the beginning, but this was something that happened quite often, and you weren’t going to sit there and whine like a child. No, instead you learned to hide the disappointment and hurt deep down inside. If John ever found out how you were mentally, he’d have you discharged before you could even blink and stop him.

“‘M tellin’ ya! You nevah believe me!” Soap was laughing at something Ghost had said, you were sure of that, but the effort to even pretend to listen was too much.

“Oh will you stop with that? I don’t need to believe ya if I don’ want to.” Ghost rolled his eyes, shoving another forkful of…something into his mouth.

Neither of them had so much as glanced at you in the twenty minutes it had been since you’d sat down, another reminder that you weren’t wanted. Your throat closed up slightly, a sickening feeling clawing at your chest as you tried to keep the negative thoughts at bay. That was all wiped away when Price walked in, your back straightened immediately. It was a habit you had tried to break so often but never seemed to be able to.

“At ease soldier, just here to let you know that we’ll be headed out at 0400, so I suggest you get ready to go.” Price nodded at you before heading out.

You would all be debriefed on the plane ride over, it was something Price had begun to do so you went into the mission with the details fresh in your mind. Unless things were sensitive, then he wouldn’t run the risk of the wrong person hearing. Maybe this would finally be the mission you’d be left behind, a girl could have dreams right?

Soap was pacing the room, mumbling to himself to figure out how he could even try and get back on your good side. It was his fault that you were not only shot, but also captured. Price had gotten into contact with Laswell the moment they were back to safety. She was furious, asking how you’d managed to get captured when it was a simple recon. Gaz had exploded then, telling her how Ghost and Soap had been too caught up in each other to keep an eye on you. Price had to calm him down, nearly threatening him.

“There’s been an update, and before any of you say anything I need you to watch this and not rip out each other’s throats.” Laswell turned towards the screen, hitting play.

The screen was blurry for a few seconds before your slumped over form became clearer, it was obvious they’d done a shitty patch up job to your wounds. Your wrists and ankles were bound to the chair, blood dripping down your temple.

“If you want her back, we want something as well.” A voice, presumably someone behind the camera, spoke.

You laughed loudly, the sound surely causing your head to throb as you struggled to sit upright in the wooden chair.

“You couldn’t have picked anyone worse to ransom. Everyone knows I'm expendable on the team, nothing but a throwaway.” Your smile tore at Price’s heart, you looked defeated, ready for the comforting embrace of death.

They growled in anger, fist colliding with your jaw as a sickening crack echoed through the speakers. You groaned, spitting blood onto the floor with a huff.

“You don’t understand, they’re never going to come back for me. You’re better off letting me just die.” Your body was begging for death now, pain surging through every nerve ending.

The man turned towards the camera, angry that you seemed so unwilling to help get whatever they were so desperate for.

“You have two days.” The screen suddenly went black, leaving the room completely silent.

Price walked over to Laswell, afraid of what answer he was going to get for the million questions running through his mind.

“How long do we have?” The video wasn’t brand new, they would never actually give the men enough time to properly plan.

“Less than twenty four hours, we found her location from that bracelet you gave her a few months ago.” Ghost’s head whipped around, why was his captain giving you gifts?

“Everyone gear up, we need to get her back before it’s too late.” Price wasn’t going to waste another second, not when you were so close to death.

The plane was fueled up and ready to go by the time everyone headed out, briefing over the plan during the flight. Gaz would go in guns blazing if it meant saving you, and he’d force Ghost and Soap to wait until they got you. It was reckless to think that way of course, and being angry with his teammates wouldn’t do him any good either. Once you were back and safe with them he’d reprimand the other two. It didn’t matter that Ghost ranked higher than him, he’d give those two an earful they’d never forget.

“Rudy, do you have eyes on her?” Price walked over to check the monitor, a small sigh of relief when he saw your outline.

You were still breathing, the motions slow and labored as you struggled with each breath. Rudy was going to stay on the plane, keeping an eye out to make sure no one tried to sneak on. It was a risky move, especially considering he’d be sitting alone, save for Nikolai. They each geared up, checking their weapons ammunition to make sure everything was loaded.

“Hold down the fort til we get back.” Price slapped a hand against Rudy’s shoulder, nodding towards Gaz and Ale to follow him.

Ghost knew better than to argue, Price was their leader and right now he was definitely on his shit list. Soap wasn’t getting off scot free either, it had been both of them that caused this entire situation. No, the focus was solely on you, Ghost could deal with the repercussions later on when you were safe.

Their footsteps were silent, Gaz lockpicking the door before heading inside behind Price and Ale, guns drawn high as they looked around for enemies. The air was thick with tension, sweat beading up underneath Price's hat as he tried to keep his breathing steady. The sound of fists colliding with skin they picked up pace. They’d managed to find you quicker than expected, but what awaited them beyond those doors?

“Tell us where they are!” It was the same voice as your abuser from the tape, they were enraged at how you simply laughed at their anger.

“I’m tellin’ ya, don’ know shit.” You groaned as his fist collided with your stomach, doubling over in the chair as much as you physically could.

They’d been interrogating you for hours, doing whatever they could to get any information from you before they’d finally send you into the afterlife. The pain was excruciating, resonating through your body like a livewire. How long would you last before you would finally succumb to the wounds that adorned your skin?

The sound of gunshots echoed inside the tiny room, deafening you as the pain in your skull amplified by a thousand. You’d surely had a concussion, if the amount of times you’d been punched had anything else to do with it. The scent of gunpowder and blood filled the air, though you were positive almost half of the blood was yours. A hand grabbing your face caused you to flinch back violently, a terrified screaming ripping from your lips.

“Please! No more!” Whoever had killed your captors wouldn’t have the best intentions for you.

“Sweetheart it’s me, we’re here to get you.” Gaz’s voice was calm, even if his heart was nearly beating out of his chest.

“Gaz.” Your eyes filled with tears, staring back at your teammate and friend.

Price stood right behind him, eyes filled with worry at your state, they needed to get you to a medic immediately. Gaz cut through the ropes binding you to the chair, helping you to stand up. It became obvious that one of your legs was broken as you stumbled in his hold, grabbing onto your thigh with a vice grip.

“Fuck, I’m gonna let Price carry you to the plane, we’ll get you hooked up to an IV to get some fluids in you, alright?” You could barely nod but it was enough of a confirmation to hand you over to Price.

He lifted you gently, cradling you in his arms as Gaz and Ale lead the way back out. Ghost and Soap were checking for any stragglers, not wanting to leave anyone else alive. They hadn’t managed to find anyone, or anything else of importance when they met back up with you. Soap could see the way Price was holding you, as if you would turn into dust in his arms. The two men wanted to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness but with Price it wouldn’t be allowed. You needed to make that decision on your own.

“Alright, we’re gonna get you back to base soon enough,” Price had let the team medic take over, checking your vitals and setting up an IV drip.

Ghost opened his mouth to apologize before Gaz’s glare stopped him in his tracks, Soap quietly sat down in a seat without so much as glancing at you. Clearly some things needed to be worked out, and right now they weren’t going to be talked about. Ghost never backed down from a challenge, not when it came to his teammates. He’d gotten enough shit from Soap to last him a lifetime, lord knows the other man never knew when to stop.

That was the whole point though, wasn’t it? He was being taught a very important lesson about how blind he’d become. Maybe not literally, but Ghost was focusing on the wrong things and it was biting him in the ass now. Soap didn’t seem any better, silently sulking in his seat as he went through a million different scenarios in his head. How long had you been suffering in silence while they simply ignored you? How terrible of a friend was he that he didn’t even notice what was going on.

“We left her at the pub one night.” Ghost nearly missed Soap’s words over the engine of the plane.

“What?” His head whipped around, when the hell had they genuinely forgotten you during a night out?

“Remember O’Malley’s? It was that one.” Soap felt the guilt eating at his soul.

Everything began to hit him like a freight train, they were neglecting you both and off the battlefield. You were an amazing teammate and an even better friend and they’d completely taken you for granted. They didn’t know anything about you aside from that you’d joined the army at eighteen and were now with the task force. The first thing Ghost would do was apologize and do whatever he could to help ease your pain.

“We’re about to land, already let them know we’ve got injuries.” The routine medic, a man named Jacob that couldn’t be any older than twenty two, began to prep you for departure.

You’d need surgery to set your leg properly, the break was most likely a shatter which would cause an intense infection. Nurses ran out to grab the gurney, rushing you inside to get you prepped and ready. Price stood at the top of the ramp, back turned towards everyone else.

“You will not go near her at all, she’s going to need space to process and heal. Do I make myself clear?” Price glanced over his shoulder at Soap and Ghost.

“Sir I-” “I said, do I make myself clear sergeant?” Price couldn’t let his emotions take over, but losing a teammate because of someone else’s negligence.

“Yes sir.” Soap straightened up in his seat, ignoring the way he felt like a scorned child.

“Good, we’ll have a debrief once she’s out of surgery.” You wouldn’t be joining, but once he knew you would be alright Price could finally relax.

The doctor and nurses worked quickly to fix the broken bones littered across your body, extracting pieces of bone that had dug into the muscle of your thigh. It took them over five hours to fix you completely, relaying the news to Price. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, the worry that you wouldn’t pull through finally gone. Now it was all about making sure you healed properly.

Laswell called them to the debriefing, waiting until everyone was seated before beginning with getting every piece of information. Her expression didn’t give away any emotion of how she felt, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, getting attached to the task force. She was a little upset with them though, being unaware of your surroundings could cost your life.

“Unfortunately, she’s going to have to be discharged..permanently.” Price slammed his hands down.

“Absolutely not! You are not sending her off after everything that’s happened.” How could they just throw you away so easily?!

“I’m sorry John, this is even outside of my own jurisdiction. She got injured during a mission and might not be able to walk properly for a few years.” Fuck, you were going to be devastated hearing this.

“If she’s gone, then so am I.” Price was risking a lot for you, but you’d saved his life countless times before.

Laswell sighed, running a hand over her face before heading off to contact god knows who and see if they could keep you as part of the task force. He hadn’t fought to get this team together for nothing, and he would do whatever he could to keep everyone together. Things would work out, they had to.

—---------

You’d been struggling through physical therapy, learning to walk after having your right femur reconstructed was not easy. Price had found you the best physical therapist in all of England, determined to make sure you made a full recovery. It warmed your heart that he was so willing to help, to make sure that you were safe. He’d been by your side for months, helping you settle into your apartment and all but moving into the spare bedroom.

“Sweetheart, you’re doing amazing.” Price was standing at the opposite end of the walk way, ready to catch you in case you lost your balance.

“Fucking hurts.” You winced, arms shaking as you struggled to keep yourself upright.

Price hadn’t wanted to tell you, but Ghost and Soap had wanted to apologize, to sit down and have a discussion about everything. He wouldn’t push the subject if you disagreed, you deserved to be treated with respect first and foremost. It would be better to wait until you were back in the apartment where you could relax. Maybe he could give you one of his sweaters to wear, you always seemed to relax when wearing his clothes.

Your physical therapist was happy with your progress, saying that you were exceeding expectations and could possibly go down to three days a week instead of four. It made you feel a little bit better, knowing you were doing so well. You hadn’t been in the apartment for longer than two minutes before Price was wrapping one of his jackets around your shoulders. It was something he tended to do when he had bad news.

“Now you have every right to say no, but Johnny and Simon want to come by and talk.” John waited to see how you would react, knowing physical therapy had been a good day he felt optimistic.

“What’s there to even talk about? That they don’t see me as anything other than an annoyance? John, we're having a good day, I don’t want to ruin it.” Your eyes were pleading with him.

He wanted to argue that this conversation needed to happen or else things would only get worse for everyone. So, instead of listening to your pleas of “don’t you dare call them” John let them know to come over. He’d make it up to you later with a great dinner and some dessert. After all it was the very least he could do after subjecting you to their antics. Hopefully Johnny didn’t end up saying the wrong thing and pissing you off even more.

—-----

No one had dared utter a word for nearly ten minutes once Johnny and Simon arrived. The taller of the two had forgone even his surgical mask, muttering how it felt wrong to hide. Johnny was twiddling his thumbs, waiting for someone to break the ice so that he could make amends. John had made you a cup of cocoa(extra marshmallows and whipped cream as always). Simon sighed to himself before straightening up in his seat on the couch.

“No amount of I’m sorries will ever be enough for what happened. We never truly realized how shitty our actions were because we’d gotten so used to routine that adding someone else didn’t feel natural. I’m not saying that as an excuse, you didn’t deserve what happened, and I fully blame myself for you getting taken and for all of this.” Simon gestured vaguely to where you were perched in what was apparently John’s favorite chair.

You glanced at Simon over the rim of your mug, sipping the warm liquid as you soaked in his words. Simon wanted to mention the dollop of whipped cream on the end of your nose, but John beat him to it. He reached over and gently turned your head to face him, wiping off the cream with his thumb. Your smile was radiant, eyes sparkling as you stared back at your captain. 

Oh.

Oh.

This was something entirely new, but it also explained why John had been so angry that you were going to be discharged originally. Somehow they’d convinced Laswell, and whoever else, that you were too much of an essential player to lose. You were in love, and here they were intruding on an otherwise very personal moment. John suddenly seemed to remember the other two were there, awkwardly clearing his throat before sitting back in his seat.

“It’s going to take a while before I can fully trust you guys again, I’ve been through a lot in my life but having my teammates basically throw me to the wolves? It fucking hurts.” Maybe it was time to finally come clean about your life and who you truly were.

You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, telling them about your abusive home life growing up before finally making it out and finding a purpose in life. How on every break you would stay on base and make sure it looked like you’d left when they all came back home. You didn’t want their pity, you just needed them to finally understand why you were hurt by their actions.

John had carefully scooped you up and placed you into his lap when tears began to slide down your cheeks, comforting you the best way he could. Simon could understand your pain, having dealt with abuse from his own father growing up. It was a reminder that sometimes the strongest people were often hiding the darkest past. He’d done the same thing for years, refusing to open up and let anyone close.

“We really just wanted to apologize for treating you like shit, and wanting to make sure that you were doing better now.” Johnny could see that even being shot, tortured, and left for dead that you still had that shine to you.

“I know, I’m just going to need time to process everything, it hasn’t been easy.” You wanted to forgive them, but deep down the feeling that it would happen all over again ate at your mind.

“I understand lass.” Johnny nodded, he would gladly give you time to process and even see if you could forgive him.

John set you back into the chair so he could walk Johnny and Simon out, promising to keep in touch if anything changed. He wouldn’t disrespect your decision, and with the other two being on board he wasn’t going to argue. Now it was time to sit and think about what he could make for you to make up for everything.

“Hey, I just want to say thank you for everything you’ve been doing, it means a lot.” You pushed yourself off the chair slowly, stepping over to John who looked seconds away from panicking.

“You don’t need to thank me love, it’s my pleasure.” He kept his hands out, ready to help in case you needed it.

“You’re doing a lot more than you might think, so yes, I do need to thank you.” You rested your hands on his shoulders, slightly winded at how far you’d had to walk.

John’s hands slid to your waist, pulling your body closer to his. He wanted to lie and say it was only because he was afraid you’d stumble. How would you react to hearing about his true feelings? Knowing that he’d harbored a crush for frankly much too long than was appropriate to be honest. Your gaze landed on his face, lips parted as you watched the way his eyes dilated ever so slightly. John couldn’t stop himself before he was kissing you, lips pressed softly against yours. You would be a liar if you’d said you hadn’t dreamt of this before, hoping that John felt the same way towards you.

You were the first to pull away, face flushed and lungs desperate for air as you clung to the cotton shirt John wore. A small chuckle slipped through his lips, fingers digging into your hips as he pulled your bodies closer.

“I’ve wanted to do that for quite a while if I’m being honest.” Your heart was racing, had you really heard him correctly?

“So have I.” You rested your forehead against his chest, relishing in the warmth he exuded.

Neither of you made to move from the kitchen, simply wrapped in each other’s embrace. You couldn’t forgive Simon and Johnny for causing the damage they did. But maybe they helped push you into the right direction. tagging: @gaylemonshark

[spnfanficpond]

June 2024 Angel Fish Awards

(Angel Fish design by @slytherkins!!)

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words. (Click here to learn more about how to nominate a fic for an award!)

Nominated by @autisticandroids

The Horror of No Detrimental Redaction by sp8ce (AO3)

Really top tier whump that is also a super attentive cas character study which is also willing to sit with him in a really uncomfortable space

The Trapdoor by hal_incandenza (AO3)

it's an epic rewrite of dabb era with a level of attention to detail that i've rarely seen in any fiction. the metatextual elements are carefully woven in and the character beats feel real. plus, it's an almost episode by episode rewrite and the new monster of the week casefic elements are fresh and fun. also it answers the question what if apocalypse world was good.

finer things by @explainslowly

i think it's maybe the ultimate pinnacle of the deancas triangulation of desire genre. when dean and cas have weird sex via a woman... one of my favorite things. and this is my favorite iteration.

By Your Hand by @restlesshush

this is my favorite relitigation of moriah that i've ever encountered. cas is so crazy in it. you can kind of feel that things will eventually work out without that coming off as cheap. it's perfect

~*~*~

Nominated by @candygrammes

LIMBO by entselene (AO3)

It's the creepiest. angstiest, scariest story I've read this year. Sam wakes up in Sioux Falls Hospital horribly injured, with no idea what happened. Not only that, but Dean is nowhere to be seen. Why? Has Dean abandoned him?

Nominated by @charliethealpaccaso

Strange Encounters by deanandsam (Ao3)

I loved the idea that there are dog versions of dean and sam along side the main sam and dean that I found it cute but also opened up a whole side story I wish there was more of.

Dogs Don't Pay Taxes by Zetal (Rodinia) (AO3)

There oddly is a huge lack of dog!sam fics on A03 that I love to try and spread the word of the ones that are out there. This one was cute both prompt wise and just made my day when I came across it

Faithful Companion by brokenlittleboy (AO3)

What if during season two Sam developed a whole new issue with his psychic powers and turned himself into a dog then this is the fic for you. Dean does mess around with him in this fic but I think it was a fun and interesting read for the concept

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Nominated by @glygriffe

Why’s every song is about love (or drinking too much) by @quietwings-fics

They didn't give us enough Sam and Castiel scenes in the show. Here's a bitter-sweet one between the two of them, talking about Dean and the whole 'unrequited love' thing. A ficlet the gives a Destiel fan just the right amount of heavy heart.

It’s the Stars that Lie by @seperis

Ok, this fic doesn't need recommandations, but it's still needs public praises. To fully appreciate it, you need to read the fever dream that is Map of the World first, but I love how the author builds on the glimpses that the episode The End gave of the apocalypse!world. The OCs are interesting (and many of them are POC), and the lovely slow burn between Dean and Castiel is spiced up with the fake boyfriends trope.

Since I've Been Loving You - Remaster by tgel210 (AO3)

I like Castiel's first-person POV, Dean being a musician without being a rock star: it feels close to home like my next-door neighbor is talking to me about the love of his life.

Closer than they appear by sunkenfox (AO3)

Dean and Castiel figuring out what their life could be together by looking at Misha and Jensen is interesting. Even more interesting is the concept that like it or not, the Supernatural characters would not exist in their world without the writers and the actors in an other world. That Dean and Jenses share more than a face; same for Misha and Castiel (even if the difference are more obvious between the last two). A story of discorvery on a meta level, hiding inside a cute Destiel and RPF romance.

he feels no control of his body by withthekeyisking (AO3)

A wonderful but sad exploration of Sam Winchester throughout his life; from his lack of bodily autonomy to his dying faith in god(s) and humanity. With just enough brotherly love to leave the reader aching from loss and something like betrayal. (I love Dean, but he his a royal dick to his brother sometimes)

~*~*~

Nominated by @handsliketruth

evergreen endless by @whiskeyjuniper

A glimpse of endverse!Dean and Castiel during the earliest days of The End, via Chuck (prophet? god? something in-between?) as he continues to chart their story...and struggles to keep them from their inevitable collision despite their wildly infuriating pattern of falling into it... (full disclosure, this one was a gift for me, but I would rec this anyway 💛 dark, spicy, funny, clever meta fun)

But I Ain't Dead Yet by @bloodydeanwinchester

I cannot wait to see how this one plays out! Clever and charming with a fun hook: what if s4 Dean and Cas time-traveled back to 1x12 Faith to save Layla? (I would read a million words of Dean watching faith!Dean and Castiel get along 😂)

~*~*~

Nominated by @heavenssexiestangel

Bad Day Love by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

it's a cute pick-me-up story with one of my favorite ships. I really like how Arthur is so soft with Dean here.

Bedtime Routine by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

It's another rareship of mine andI love how they care for each other here and take care of Emma.

The Fool's Journey by @ladyknightskye

I know I was the artist for this story but - what Meg wrote for my art is awesome and it features one of my favorite characters - Gadreel. The journey he has in this fic is extremely important

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Nominated by @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis

Presence by @ani-coolgirl

This story broke my heart in the absolute most beautiful way. It's sad and sweet and doomed and it haunts me still.

~*~*~

Nominated by @mariekoukie6661

Stitches by @kittenofdoomage

Its cute! I like it!

Sweet Little Lies by @impala-dreamer

I like how funny it was despite all the angst!!

~*~*~

Nominated by @masoena

Nothing Ever Really Ends by @nyxocity

Beautiful heaven fic with Sam and Dean, bring tissues, post S15E20

In Silence Sealed by @fiercelynormal

Dean loses his hearing but starts talking his thoughts out loud beautifully written Smitty short

Love, Your Brother by @eninkahootz

Sam and Dean communicating by letters btw heaven and earth post-series. Work in progress and so well written

~*~*~

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis

Cretaceous by tiamatv (AO3)

This is a cute, fluffy romp through Jurassic Park as a Destiel fic! You don't have to love dinos to love this fic, but I imagine it would make it even better. If you're looking for something sweet and light to read before bed, this is the bedtime story for you!

~*~*~

Nominated by @rainythursdaynight

Clean Air by @anactorya

I read this story when I was maybe 16 and re-read it twice or three times in the year after. That being said, I can remember it almost excruciatingly well. I'm a post-apocalypse gal and I crave anything in that genre, so it was doubtless that I'd love this story. But the world-building done in this story? The characterization? The tension it manages to build? It's so gripping and exciting and I remember reading it worried out of my mind for the characters and exhaling the deepest breath as the story drew to a close. It's a not too dense read and an enveloping one, you'll forget you're above ground by the end of it!

Empty Spaces by @schmerzerling

This story made me fall in love with writing again. It's so heavy with how it distributes emotion in its words, but also so soothing too. This reads like watching a glass vase get tipped over the edge of a table and, maybe distantly, wondering if someone will catch it in time. But it doesn't quite matter because the flowers are beautiful and if you're crying then it's about the flowers and not the vase. I highly recommend this story to everyone, heavy as its contents may be. I felt safe reading this, I ached, I adore this story beyond words can capture.

Phantasma! by @thisisapaige

I very rarely read things that are horror inclined (funny as that is given the nature of Spn), and maybe this story is not considered horror either, but it left me just on that edge of eerie and it was exhilarating. Most of the story is sweet, and cathartic, as Dean rebuilds his life outside of his family and finds that in Castiel. But the mystery of it all, the unknown, it left me waiting for the other shoe to drop and this writer was excellent at making that payoff worth it.

The Art of Falling by @zipegs

This story was gritty and ugly and didn't pull back punches when it came to its emotional weight. Recovery is a nightmarish process of relapse and pain and relief and this story embodied this with its characters beautifully. This story was lonely, in the sense that its only two characters yes but it also felt a lot like reading about two characters pitted against the backdrop of everything. The world, the universe, existence. It made me feel small but so vast at the same time, and it was so utterly human (funny given the context of the story). It's a short and beautiful read that left me aching but in a way that was comforting as opposed to alienating.

With The End Came You by @lotrspnfangirl

I adore zombie apoclaypse AUs but so few of them focus on the characters' growth alongside the events of the series. And so few of them do side characters justice. This story was THE exception. Not only does the progression of the characters not sideline the plot and vice versa, but the story handles people so so well. You have those that stick around for long, and those that don't, and it treats both parties so faithfully that I'm left emotional over side characters I've only had a page worth of content with as much as the main characters I'm with the entire time. This is a zombie apocalypse AU that puts people first and foremost, and its so human and such a rewarding story to those that have even the smallest interest in these types of AUs. And the progression of the plot is so smooth and natural, TWD could never (and I love that show so take with that as you will).

~*~*~

Nominated by @samanddean76

Dark As Midnight (And You Don’t Look The Same) by @kassyscarlett

This is a story that follows a young Dean (17 years-old) out looking for a good time and running into an older man that gives what he wants. Not realizing he knows him, that he is in fact his Sammy. This story is so good! Time-travel, the follies of youth, needing to be protected from yourself, and realizing years later what that random encounter really was. It is part of a series, but works as a stand alone. But the entire series is worth checking out.

Coming Out Of The Dark by firesign10 (AO3)

It's a story about others helping one they know is broken, giving him what he needs so he can move on and live the rest of his life. The Richesters visit Sam in the bunker after Dean's death, and give him one final night together, so that he might carry on. It tragic and beautiful and has all the feels. Highly recommend.

~*~*~

Nominated by @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

Interspecies Romance and Its Associated Perils by suspiciousflashlight (AO3)

I have read this story many, many times. It’s adorable and hilarious. It’s cute and awkward in a way that someone who isn’t sure how to tell about a weird scar or birthmark is. The ending is the best part of the entire thing.

A Helping Hand and Thrilling Touches by mydestielbabies_67 (AO3)

I don’t normally nominate smut but this was just amazing. It was beautiful, and what and intense.

The Cherry Pie Club by zation (AO3)

This is a work in progress. It’s great! Zariah is such a great writer in so many genres. This one is about Dean exploring bdsm for the first time and ends up also realizing things about himself too. Poor Dean learns the hard way that it is Cas he loves about bdsm but still. Their connection and energy with each other is felt as you read. Highly recommend reading!

Absolute Beginners by @ahurston

Chapter 5 made me scream then go feral and foam at the mouth.

Dancing moves by faithlesshunter (AO3)

I am not normally one to read infidelity fics; however, this is destiel. It’s the holidays and Cas and Dean get left alone to reconnect. They tried to be a couple at the beginning once Cas came back from the Empty but they weren’t ready for it. Now, years later and they are! The confessions and the hot smut is just so exacting for them. It’s gorgeous! Dean has always loved Cas and Cas still loves Dean. Oh, I’d love to see how it works out but this reconnection is just purely intense and the dopamine is addictive. Good luck. MUST READ!

The Case of Dean and Castiel's Extremely Resolvable Tension by CanonFodder (Tartan_Temptation) (AO3)

This is hilarious and hot AF! It starts out explaining the premise and drives right into it where Dean finally gives in. He is so happy he does too. He gets a wonderfully deserving reward. Poor Sam and his need for eye bleach. Lol!

Objects May Appear Smaller by @valandrawrites

The instant connection of Cas and Dean, and the science of this story makes this a one-of-a-kind a/b/o. Despite it being incomplete, it’s such a fluffy and fascinating read. It keeps you wanting more with every one of the six chapters. I hope one day they get inspired to write more.

Sentinel by Followsthebees (AO3)

I love this story. I love that it’s a different take on Castiel—he’s a gargoyle. It’s such a fascinating story and their connect is seen by the readers but not Dean. It’s interesting how Dean starts to notice and how intense and romantic it gets. Sex and flying are fascinating, man. This is written oh so well!

Three's Company by @luci-in-trenchcoats

Cas x f!Reader that becomes Cas x f!reader x Dean. It shows a very healthy ethical non-monogamy relationship. I love how the Reader initially freaks, I think, and when Cas and them come to talk to Dean, he freaks too. Everyone is patient with each other though. It’s as it should be when introducing polyamory to non-poly experience people. It’s so sweet and wonderful to read. It’s adorable. This is how poly fics should be.

Ketch and Release by NichePastiche (AO3)

Oh, the fluff and growth! I love this series so so so so much! I always get excited when I see they wrote more. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

~*~*~

Nominated by @spnbabe67

Finish What You Started by @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

I love the tension that melts into silly goofiness.

Spin Cycle by @winchester-girl67

I usually don't do a lot of fluff but I loved the way the writer did this one.

~*~*~

Nominated by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Take A Shot by @rizlowwritessortof

It's just so sexy and Dean. Guh.

Rest by @zepskies

It's swoony and cozy and melancholy, and I love that for us.

The Iceman Cometh by @talltalesandbedtimestories

Ice play is one of my favorite things. Pair that with Dean Winchester, written by Sandra, and, well, you've got a winner.

Damned If I Do by @zepskies

I liked Lisa and Ben, and this is a very satisfying way to show that!

~*~*~

Nominated by @whiskeyjuniper

Truth & Despair by @shallowseeker

It's so compelling, every time a new chapter is posted I'm so excited to see what happens next. Also it's Shal's first fic and they're almost done with it so I wanted to celebrate it :)

(Divider by @glygriffe)

THANK YOU ALL, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

- From your Admins and Manta Rays, @manawhaat, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @thoughtslikeaminefield, and @heavenssexiestangel!

[glitter-stained]

I'm always thinking about Jason because fixation so my judgement is biaised because every song I listen to makes me think about at least one of my Jasons, but here are some songs though were definitely written for and about canon Jason Todd, and I will take no criticism (but you are definitely welcome to add your own songs):

-Take me To War, by The Crane Wives

>"But I keep snapping at Goliath hands with all of my tiny might"/ "All of the fire I swallowed, all of the sparks that went down in my guts, I am always burning out"/ "I'll be the sweetest thing to ever scare you"

The Robin -> Red Hood transition is so seamless

-Little Soldiers by the Crane Wives

> "On the broken back of all the words we spared, Like little soldiers in the trenches; It was a march we made towards ruin and despair, But we held hands all the while"

I always rant about how how Jason's character and story is centered around love, this is the song that plays in my head while I'm yapping

-Blue Lips by Regina Spektor

> "He took a step but then felt tired, He said I'll rest a little while; but when he tried to walk again, he wasn't a child"

If you ever wanna be sad about Jason's resurrection, catatonia and stolen childhood, this is the song to listen to

-The Horrors and The Wild by The Amazing Devil

"Think of all the horrors that I promised I'd bring, I promise they'll sing of every Time you passed your fingers through my hair and called me child, Witness me old man I am the Wild"

> If Under The Red Hood has one song it's this one

-The Old Witch Sleep and The Good Man Grace by The Amazing Devil

"There's a fire burning/And I'm learning to be/So much more than my tiredness/ So much more than that old witch sleep wishes/ She kisses my eyelids, and I/Breathe"

> If Red Hood: Lost Days (minus the gross bits) has one song it's this one

-Elsa's song by The Amazing Devil

>"And you'll throw some sage and lillies/ And roses where I'll rot/ Of all the flowers you picked/I knew you would forget/ Forget-me-nots"

idk who Elsa is this is about how Jason was grieved but he wasn't remembered

(Yeah I'm pretty convinced that at least either Madeline Hyland or Joey Batey read Under the Red Hood so many of their songs fit so well I restrained myself to three but there are so many)

-A Burning Hill by Mitski

>"I'm tired of wanting more, I think I'm finally worn/ For you have a way of promising things/ And I've been a forest fire"

Jason admitting loss and giving up on begging Bruce is something that can be so personal actually

-Heaven Knows by The Pretty Reckless

>"Now you're on your knees with your head hung low/ Big Man tell you where to go/ Tell them it's good, tell them okay/Don't do a goddamn thing they say"

Crime Alley united!!! Also, "tell the big guy I said hello" :))) (the God/Batman amalgam in Death in the Family is such an incredible one-liner and works so well for Jason omg)

-For the Departed by Shayfer James

>"Now I must finished what I started/I'll write a symphony for the departed/And I have no time for second chances/ So I survive on bourbon blood and backward glances"

The amount of angst, dramatics and intense devotion to his cause at the cost of his life, the literature references, everything about this song? Jason at his angstiest for sure

-Goodbye by Bo Burnham

> "If I wake up in a house that's full of smoke I'll panic/So call me up and tell me a joke/ When I'm fully irrelevant and totally broken dammit/ Call me up and tell me a joke /Oh shit/ You're really joking at a time like this"

exploded warehouse parallel aside, this song feels like not being able to heal because you're not capable of asking for what you really need, wanting to come back but feeling like you aren't allowed to because it would ruin you or the you that was shaped by other's perception of you and most importantly, begging to matter and to have mattered. So. Jason.

[onejellyfishplease]

Jelly's SnapDonnie Masterpost

Welcome to the angstiest thing I've ever made.

Donnie gets infected with a hella nasty curse, and slowly starts to turn into a man-eating venus flytrap monster.

Serious trigger warnings for this one guys. Im talking body horror, gore, blood, extreme violence, dismemberment, and cannibalism.

✨and more!✨

(there will be more specific tags in each upload)

(Poster) (Reference)

This fic will also have more of a loose timeline! basically none of the episodes will be released in chronological order! they will be listed here in order though! The names/number of these episodes are not set in stone and may change

I would recommend reading Containment Breach (here) first however- to get that cold open feeling

Discovery: (complete)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4

Confusion: (ongoing)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Cravings:

Get Help:

Spiralling:

Restrained:

Consumed:

Containment Breach: (complete)

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4

Fix me:

Grief:

[welcometololaland]

almost uploaded a picture of my bank statement instead of this header! happy days!

thanks for the tags @hippolotamus @kiwiana-writes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @rmd-writes

@nancygillianmvp @terramous @tellmegoodbye @freneticfloetry @beautifulhigh

@orchidscript @myheartalivewrites and @strandnreyes (don't think that was a real tag but i'm taking it anyway to force you to love me).

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

49 (last time it was 46 but i feel like that isn't enough of a difference? disappointed in myself dfhskjh)

2. What's your Ao3 bodycount word count?

1,119,086 which does include some co-writes, but I also have around 200k of unposted WIP in my google docs so i'm counting it (including a fully written fic - someone put their hands around my neck and force me to edit it PLEASE).

3. Which fandoms do you write for?

red white and royal blue, 911 lone star, top gun maverick (flirting with winter's orbit always)

4. Top 5 fics by kudos?

the order of these has changed but not the identity:

Speak for Yourself (RWRB) (you know when eminem said he'd never be able to top My Name Is? this is my version of that)

Fifty First Dates (RWRB) (oodie agenda reigns supreme)

The RIng-In (Lone Star) (otherwise, lone star is in danger of being eviscerated from this top 5 lmao)

(Not) A Cinderella Story (RWRB) (NDAs are hot, apparently)

Cursed is a State of Mind (RWRB) (cursed caffeine is the main drawcard let's not lie)

5. Do you respond to comments?

i try my absolute best to. i am currently really behind and i apologise for that (the problem is, i reply to comments before i post anything and i haven't posted anything in ages).

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

serious answer - Contaminated

my answer - oh baby i'm a fool for you because we never find out if they actually watch twilight and that's a damn shame

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

literally everything else - i don't really do open endings or sad endings! in the words of the great philosopher, skepta: "nah, that's not me."

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i used to, but i haven't in ages! thank god for that.

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

yes, although i have to say i've been moving away from pwp lately. i feel my best smut is written into longer fics where the sex serves a plot or characterisation purpose within the frame of the overarching narrative.

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

yes, a RWRB/LS but i never finished it. ALTA is a veronica mars inspired tarlos fic which kind of feels like a crossover at times.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge :)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! Phonography (Lone Star) has been translated, as has Baby, Make Your Move (Lone Star) and Warm Whispers (Lone Star). I'm very grateful to the incredible people who have made these translations happen - you are so talented.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

yes, many with @dustratcentral. I also wrote a chapter of a co-written fic with a whole bunch of incredible RWRB authors called never the same twice.

@rmd-writes and I have created (Un)Professional Services and (upcoming) Call Me (By Your Name).

The Rainbow Fish was co-written with @strandnreyes.

I love co-writing so much and I am always open to anyone who wants to give it a go!

14. What's your all time favourite ship?

me + my unposted wips.

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

probably the aforementioned crossover which was apparently also my answer last time.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i'm allergic to giving myself compliments but i would say maybe dialogue/banter and worldbuilding.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

keeping things short. also, exposition.

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

kinda scared to because i don't speak any other languages and i'm so hesitant to annoy my very talented multi-lingual friends with my annoying questions.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

we don't talk about that.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

probably still Love Game because the experience was just so amazing and i never wanted to stop writing it.

heaps of people have already done this so leaving an open tag and also a couple of suggestions under the cut but apologies if you've already participated or been tagged 7 million times:

@bonheur-cafe @theghostofashton @thebumblecee @indomitable-love @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@tailoredshirt @vineofroses @liminalmemories21 @mikibwrites @birdclowns

@ladytessa74 @basilsunrise @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @rosedavid @sanjuwrites

@alrightbuckaroo @three-drink-amy @marjansmarwani @dumbpeachjuice @doublel27

@lemonlyman-dotcom @blueink3 @ambiguouspenny @clottedcreamfudge @emmalostinwonderland

@sail-not-drift @inexplicablymine @celeritas2997 @cricketnationrise @reyesstrand

@goodways @carlos-in-glasses @heartstringsduet @sunshinestrand @sherryvalli

[papayafiles]

quite possibly the angstiest thing i've ever made. enjoy!

(lando norris - stranger by ethel cain)

[batrachised]

I got tagged by @kraytwriter to do a 20 questions challenge! I've done this one a few times, but I like it every time because it's fun to see how my answers change :D

With that, let's do this!

20 Questions for Writers

How many works do you have on AO3?

A total of 50 across my accounts now! wow!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

ao3 is down so I can't check :( i know its a few hundred thousand!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star Wars, LM Montgomery, and I made a brief foray into Bridgerton that is now dead in the water because I disliked the third season so much D;

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

ao3 is down :( I know my bridgerton fics would probably take up a good chunk of these - writing for it was certainly a lesson in writing for an extremely active fandom. I wrote my fics for the main couple of season 3 in the weeks before and after season 3 came out, and compared to other fandoms it was like drinking from a firehose in terms of response

5. Do you respond to comments?

I TRY! I really love and appreciate all comments i receive (fine, most comments i receive, looking at you hate comments) but I tend to like responding to all comments on the final chapter best. there's still some i want to respond to because they point out details/make jokes that made me guffaw. i used to have the habit of responding to all the comments from the previous chapter when I posted the new chapter, which is something i might pick up doing again

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

I LOVE writing surprise angsty endings, it's my form of crack. getting swarms of upset readers on the last chapter is therapeutic to me

i once wrote a fic that I based on calvin and hobbes, where Vader gets de-aged into an eight year old on the executor, the imperials assume he's a stowaway, the ghost of obi-wan has to frantically babysit him throughout various shenanakins until he realizes anakin being as destructive as possible on an imperial ship is actually a great thing, little anakin proceeds to go a merry and destructive ship tour, all is light and merry, and then the ending involves Anakin stumbling across Vader's quarters and then everything plummets into sad/mildly horrific territory - i had a ball

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

probably a bridgerton fic because it comes with the territory of the fantasy romance. i had a lot of fun writing one that was pure silliness about how dumb Colin was, and I'd say that one simply because of the tone

8. Do you get hate on fics?

occasionally, yes, but it's pretty rare. i can only ever remember deleting one, and I don't even remember what it was.

I do however, get some pretty backhanded compliment ones. i tend to give the benefit of the doubt one those and just take the compliment being shoved from behind

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

this is me when i get a comment slightly pg rated:

all this to say, I would never be comfortable enough to write smut 😭i wrote one - one - long form romance fanfic for anidala once, once, and it's been long hidden under the anon tag because even though i kept things fairly clean, the comments were of a sort where i was not comfortable

10. Do you write crossovers?

nope, and i doubt i ever will unless the stories happen to fit very well together (merlin and harry potter was the only crossover that really ever made sense to me)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yes, but i was credited although not asked, so i'm not sure if it really counts

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yup, i've had a couple translated (one without permission lol, see above)

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

YES, i wrote a fic with @cheesenames that is very dear to me, they are a favorite writing partner of mine because doing "and then they" star wars with them feels like this

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

vader and parenting

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

all of my bridgerton fics. every other WIP i'm stubbornly hanging onto, even if it's been years, but my bridgerton fics suffered from my catastrophic loss of interest in the storyline due to such a badly written season

16. What are your writing strengths?

i find it very easy to be very silly, so crack comes easily to me [sentences that only make sense in fandom context]

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

consistency - i read of terry pratchett and LM Montgomery and flannery o'connor and Chuck Close, who has this amazing quote:

Inspiration is for amateurs. The rest of us just show up and get to work. If you wait around for the clouds to part and a bolt of lightening to strike you in the brain, you are not going to make an awful lot of work. All the best ideas come out of the process; they come out of the work itself.

basically, i wish i wrote on a regular schedule because so far literally every good author i've read whose talked about writing has said consistency is necessary

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

i don't know another langauge, and when it comes to fictional languages i'm not a huge fan because my lack of linguistic skills results in sentences that sound like "Gleeble glork glork, glook?"

19. First fandom you wrote for?

star wars! shout out to clifford roommate for telling me I should, I would have literally never written fanfiction in my life if not for her

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

ao3 is down, which makes this an interesting challenge, because i have to remember what i've written. today i'm gonna say a ticklish business

tagging: @healerqueen; @cheesenames; @sparrowsarus; @mollywog

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC REVIEW: Honey Cut by Sierra Simone

5/5. Releases 6/18/24.

vibes: WEAPONIZED LONGING, the perfect angst recipe, the man Lana Del Rey was singing about but much better, We Can't Discuss Our Feelings Because My Feelings Are Hard

Heat Index: 10/10

Isolde Laurence is in a bind (literally, at points). She's about to marry Mark Trevena (the cold, dangerous man who deflowered her and promptly crushed her heart) in an arrangement that will enable her to seduce him and offer his secrets to her uncle, a high-ranking cardinal. However, on her way to do so, she's fallen in love with Mark's romantic, pining bodyguard Tristan. And Tristan--who very much loves her back--is also in love with Mark, thanks to a preexisting whirlwind affair he put a stop to upon finding out about the engagement. Isolde is determined to, if nothing else, guard her heart against her new husband. And, for personal and practical reasons, honor the agreement they made years ago: once they exchange vows, they'll be faithful to each other.

Easier said than done.

But Isolde herself is deadlier than she seems, and in the midst of a thorny triangle, she may end up crushing not only Tristan's heart, but her own... and maybe even Mark's. If he has one.

Well, this was my most-anticipated release of the year, and BY GOD did it live up to expectations. This is an ongoing series (you must read Salt Kiss before starting this one, and in my opinion? You should ABSOLUTELY also read the prequel novella, Salt in the Wound, as it lays the groundwork for Mark and Isolde's relationship) and of course, I don't want to count chickens before they hatch, but... If Sierra pulls the ending off--which I totally believe she will; she's yet to let me down--this could end up being her best series yet. And that is a LOT coming from me, someone who worships at the altar of New Camelot (and Thornchapel, for that matter).

The thing about the way Sierra writes triads--and nobody does it better--is that they all feel unique. You might think that Mark, Isolde, and Tristan would have a lot in common with New Camelot's Ash, Greer, and Embry. They're MMF, they're based on Arthurian myth, these people literally know each other (Sierra: I owe you my life for that cameo). But the dynamic is completely different--and in this installment especially, quite darker. I didn't see Mark's darkness as much in Salt Kiss (Salt in the Wound... perhaps more so, which gives you some insight into the differences between his individual dynamics with Isolde versus Tristan) but here? Um. She portrayed the conflict within him and his ruthlessness perfectly... While also letting us even further into the vulnerability she hinted at in Salt Kiss.

Mark can be a difficult character for readers to humanize, I think, because we haven't had his POV yet. It's easy to sort of dismiss him as this frosty, stern alpha who doles out pain while also dealing with plenty of his own (on the inside, because Mark is clearly very uncomfortable with feeling a feeling). Where she makes it brilliant is through these moments of BOYISHNESS. We got sneak peeks of boyish Mark in Salt Kiss, but here? Oh my god. The grins, the poking at Tristan, the GOOFY HOT FACETIME SEX WITH ISOLDE??? It's so human, and dropping those sneak peeks in makes his pain even more palatable.

And the thing is that you do get that pain. Because Sierra also doesn't shy away from the agony of a love triangle and, yes, cheating in this book. I often find that MMF is used in a sort of like... "Why choose? Heehee it's all okay because everyone wants each other" get out of jail free card. Sierra really doesn't do that ever, but this is the hardest she's gone in on "these people are cheating, and it HURTS the person they're cheating on, and it HURTS them". No punches are pulled here. This is one of the angstiest books I've read, and as an angst hound, I loved every second of it.

The ending? I am going to be in actual PAIN until Bitter Burn (out early next year, SHIT). There was a moment in the last few pages of this book that made me gasp. In part because I really didn't think she'd go there on multiple levels. This is a book of huge swings, and for me, every single one worked.

Quick Takes:

--I have been very vocal about how much the one time Mark called Tristan "puppy" in a cut scene (Beg Me, which you should absolutely read if you can--I think it's on Sierra's website) has not left my head since. Guess what? It's just a regular nickname now. He says it SEVERAL times in this book, in prime moments. And I was extremely happy.

--You can for sure read this series on its own, but I will say that this book in particular "spoils" a good bit of New Camelot. In the same way that any romance in the same universe or series of standalones sort of spoils others, but if you want to read chronologically without any giveaways, you should read that series first. And in general, read it even if you do read Lyonesse first. Because it's gorgeous.

--I can't emphasize enough how happy Isolde and Mark's dirty Facetime calls made me. Like. At the end of the day, Mark is just like any other man with a hot young wife, desperately trying to get a peek over his phone. While someone else peeks, perhaps.

--Isolde's such a fantastic heroine. Broken and devoted to God and maybe lowkey a zealot, while also craving physical and emotional pain and release and Tristan's soft heart and Mark's cold one all at once. She's the kind of heroine we very rarely get to read about in romance. If I'm being honest, I was a little worried about how the dynamics would balance here, as so much of the last book was Mark and Tristan on their own, and then the remainder was Tristan and Isolde on their own. (Which is another reason why you should read Salt in the Wound first, in my opinion.) But God. The dynamic of the three, the dynamic between Mark and Isolde, just blew me away. Two black cats circling each other, Mark perhaps a little more reticent to open up to Isolde than Tristan because he recognizes something of himself in her.

While at the same time, I found that Tristan and Isolde's relationship deepened. I always fully believed in their agonized love for Mark, and their desire to stay loyal to him. Yet I also completely believed that they couldn't possibly stay away from each other, not permanently.

--Mark's backstory? I foresaw some surface level stuff, but not the parts that mattered. Those kind of blew my mind.

The Sex:

I mean, it's Sierra Simone, so it's creative and very much a part of the character development. One of the sex scenes in this book was so... it was really one of the best she's ever written. But also? DEVIOUS. Sierra, you did not have to do us like that. However, I'm glad you did.

There are so many different "flavors" of sex in this book--super kinky, kinda vanilla (or as vanilla as these people can get), happy, angsty, sad, passionate, light, funny.

You can expect, among other things: restraints, impact play, cum play, breeding, biting, public sex (a lot of that), car sex, edging, voyeurism, pain play, cum licking.......... all that shit. And more!

Look, dude. Read this book if you've read the other books. If you haven't read the other books, read those and then read this book. I can't recommend it enough. This is angsty, passionate, heady romance at its best. Hot and emotionally complex and well-written. Sierra's prose! It's what romance should be; she sets the pace, and we all must chase it.

Thanks to Candi Kane PR for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[sattlersquarry]

a sneak peak at orange juice 2 (title tbd)

a/n i am on a social media sabbatical but am here just to share this snippet of orange juice 2. i've been procrastinating on starting it because i'm unsure how i want to take this story and i feel so out of practice writing this style. but am really excited to keep going! For a [virtual, nonexistent] dollar, find the noah kahan reference 💵

icymi: this is the opening of the sequel to orange juice, my angstiest work yet

(tw for slut shaming, aka two old women at church speaking ill of sex workers)

AUGUST 1987

It’s been three months since you returned to the land of the living. You’re not taking it well.

Surviving in the Upside Down meant constantly being in fight-or-flight, scrambling to find food and clean water while avoiding demo-creature attacks. Thankfully, without Vecna’s evil influence, the animals weren’t so bloodthirsty—but they still needed to eat.

You were able to avoid them, surviving yourself off disgusting canned food from the Upside Down’s version of the Big Buy and whatever houses you ransacked. It wasn’t very appetizing. It made the meal you were serving up today seem like a 5-star, 5-course delight.

It was neither of those things. It was for a church potluck that your mother had a hand in throwing. Lots of casseroles and carbs. She dragged you along to volunteer in hopes to get you out of the house.

Ever since you left the hospital in May, you’d only ever left the house to go to doctor’s appointments, therapy appointments, and Steve’s place. Your parents wanted to encourage more of a well-rounded life and schedule, and although they’d never admit it, you figured they hoped you’d turn back to your normal self. To the person you were before it all happened.

You think she might have died.

As you plate some macaroni and cornbread for your next patron, you sense eyes on you. You glance over and see two women at a table a few feet away. To your chagrin, they’re gossiping about you.

“I mean, it’s appalling,” an old bat named Shirley hisses. “She claims to have lost her memory after the earthquake and gotten lost, but it’s obvious that she just ran away.”  

“Probably thought she was grown up, that she knew better than her parents,” Mildred says with a sniff, adjusting her too-big glasses.

“I can’t believe she left poor Steve Harrington high and dry,” Shirley adds.

Your heart clenches at the fact that these women see you as a villain, as an irresponsible idiot who up and left everyone who loved her out of spite. If they knew the truth…if they knew the nightmare you’d survived…

It only gets worse from there.

“You know what Cynthia told me?” Mildred says. “That her cousin’s roommate’s friend’s brother saw Y/N working a street corner in Manassas. It's just shameful.”

Anger burns through you, hot like hellfire. So you’re a slut now, too? What happened to loving thy neighbor and forgiveness and all that shit?

“Can I get some more of that?” an elderly man says.

It snaps you back to your task at hand: dishing out food to hungry churchgoers.

“Ah, yeah,” you say. You dump macaroni on his Styrofoam plate. “Sorry. Here you go.”

The man smiles and ambles off. You take a deep breath and try your best to tune out the whispers of the chattering hens.

Your mother must notice the scowl on your face. She makes her way to you, practically floating. She’s as graceful as ever. She’s totally in her element. She deserves a daughter who doesn’t clomp and stumble her way through life. Who doesn’t jump at every loud noise and sleep with a hunting knife under her pillow.

“Doing all right?” your mother asks you, giving you that sympathetic look that you think you might despise by now.

You muster up a smile of your own and nod.

Your mother can’t tell its fake and beams.

“See?” she says. “I knew getting you out of the house would turn that frown upside-down!”

She doesn’t know about the Upside Down. She thinks you got injured in the earthquake, stumbled through the Indiana woodlands, and got found by cops two states over. That you couldn’t remember where you came from due to amnesia, that since they pronounced you dead no one assumed you were the missing girl from Hawkins until your memories came back.

So you let her comment slide and continue to fake a smile and figure that it’s better to pretend you’re fine than feel it all.

[spybrarian]

Twenty Fanfic Writer Questions

Tagged by @storyspinner91 a while back but I was in Australia!

Who'd like to play? I've tagged a few people in the questions themselves, but maybe also... @onlyshestandsthere, @expensivefate, @jayenator565, @commanderbuffy @geek-and-nina if you like?

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 

19, which feels *wild*! 19!!

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 

221,606

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Willow! Just Willow, these days. Tanthamore have my heart.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

one night at the start of the end of the world - my Shattered Sea one shot, tender tender Tanthamore, and there's only one bed, and it's the birthplace of pillbug Kit, and the fic where I worked out how much I liked writing them looking after each other. I'm glad this one is other people's favourite, too.

more than just survival - my multichapter canon story about Jade as she grows up, from when she was a kid in Tir Asleen to what happens after they return from the quest. Also a 5+1 (five times Kit made Jade blush and the one time Jade got her back).

The Pieces - kinkverse modern au short stories, a collaboration with @acre-of-wheat and @swashbucklery. I've written The Spider, The Mile High Club, The Maintenance and The Holes.

kiss me, kill me - my Bone Reaver Jade au, Jade busts into Tir Asleen to kidnap the princess and ends up getting got herself, in so many ways.

I scream at your chest for as long as I must - a post canon one shot, just after they return from the quest. Jade grieves for Ballantyne and Kit learns how to walk with her though her grief.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I like to!

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

I don't know - I can tell you my darkest premises (probably the very canon divergent the cellar door is an open throat aka the barbed wire, Kit Jade and Elora in a dungeon au) but even the ending of that one finishes with a glimmer of hope.

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

Huh, I think with most of my fics I tend to go for hopeful endings over happy ones. I think my most *satisfying*, hopeful ending I wrote was Samaras (an Architect of Catastrophe story) that I wrote as a present for @wigster07. I'm really, really pleased with that one. It's about rebuilding after tragedy.

8. Do you get hate on fics? 

I haven't, and am very grateful for that.

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

Do I ever?! What kind? What *kind*?! The gay kind. Aside from the aforementioned kinkverse, I've also got a canon based smut series (my kissing fics!) called There's not a step we can take that does not bring us closer where Kit and Jade are inventing all the different ways they love being together.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? and 11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope and nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

Also nope - although Juliette made [Podfic of] one night at the start of the end of the world where she read this fic GORGEOUSLY! It's there for download if you want to listen.

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

I've collaborated! I haven't done a true co-writing thing for this fandom but, there's the kinkverse series in which I'm in deep cohorts with Acre and J, the singing cowboy fic I wrote into J's (cowboy) take me away (tanthamore rdr2 au). I love them both - they push me in new directions, and the feedback loop of inspiration is an utter joy.

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

Tanthamore, hands down

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

I plan on finishing them all. Yes even Wyrm Jade/I'll be the sweetest thing to ever scare you, yes I know it's been a hot minute. I do have genuine plans to finish.

16. What are your writing strengths? 

Coming up with phrases/images that people remember, that's probably the part I get a kick out of the most. I think my pacing and character and words in general are all pretty good, but writing callbacks to earlier in the story, or getting the foreshadowing right, are two of my favourite things to play with.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I get repetitive - mostly I manage to catch this in edits, but ho boy do I know how to say the same thing over and over.

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

I'm not fluent in anything other than English so I haven't used dialogue in other languages in any of my fics - unless you count the Ancient Angoran in 'kiss me kill me'.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Dragonball Z, an epic written by hand in double spaced lines over several exercise books ;)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? 

I'm really proud of 'one night' and 'more than just survival' but there is a special place in my heart for Let's take a knife and cut the world in two and its follow up there is light somewhere (it may not be much light but it beats the darkness) - my Exorcist Jade/possessed Kit au. The strange not-canon, not-modern, some-mix-of-the-two world that I made for that one is my *favourite*.

[sensitiveheartless]

20 questions for fic writers!

Tagged by @feralrookie! :D Thank you for the tag!!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

10! (technically, kinda)

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

379,547

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Bungou Stray Dogs! It's also the first fandom I've written for, actually. :D

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is how it feels to take a fall (Dazai goes feral, time shenanigans)

Plate :( (Dazai breaks a plate, experiences emotions)

Dazai and the Moving Detective Agency (Howl's Moving Castle AU)

Chuunyaa's Pawsitively Catastrophic Day (Chuuya is turned into a cat, it's short and pretty much just shenanigans)

Wish in one hand (First fic I wrote, and the first one I posted — Dazai has emotions about handholding)

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

I try to, but I've been absolutely terrible at it lately — whenever I'm particularly stressed I start worrying that the negative emotions are going to leak through into what I'm writing and make my tone sound weird, so then I end up turtling in on myself and not saying anything at all, no matter how much I want to engage with people. It's a bad habit, and I want to work on it, so I'm gonna try to catch up on comments! (I treasure every single one of the ones I receive, so for anyone who has left a comment and hasn't gotten a response from me yet, thank you and I am very sorry about my inability to form words in a timely manner skdjfksd)

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

Probably An Unsent Letter, since it's pretty much just a short snippet of Dazai being sad while he's leaving the mafia. And even with that one, I have in my head that skk still get together after the four years apart, I just didn't write it. I am dreadful with sad endings — although the ending to "This is how it feels to take a fall" is a little bittersweet, perhaps.

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

Hmm...I'm gonna say Dazai and the Moving Detective Agency, because it's the one with the longest buildup, so I think it has the most catharsis, at least for me! But I tend to give all of my fics happy endings because, as established, I am a wimp when it comes to hardcore angst. I will say that Zut Alors I Have Missed One is probably a contender for happiest as well, just because that fic had no angst whatsoever and was just Unhinged

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Nope! Everyone's been lovely! I have gotten some for my art, but honestly it was pretty toothless and I couldn't take it seriously lol

9. Do you write smut?

...Yeh. :0 There was an attempt, at least — one fic, and I made it anonymous (so on the extreme off-chance that anyone notices a discrepancy between my total ao3 wordcount listed here and the summed up wordcounts of the fics viewable on my profile, that's why!) It's also another fic I need to finish, I hit my writing roadblock with that one at the same time as all my others, and it's almost doneeee I just need my brain to cooperate >:|

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not any proper crossovers, only things like the Howl AU and the Little Mermaid AU, where I took the settings/plots and put in BSD characters.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

...Possibly? I'm not actually sure, I've given a couple people permission, but I'm not sure if anything came of that, I haven't heard one way or another :0 I do have a tendency to use puns, which I realize might make things difficult for translations

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

No, not so far — and given how tempestuous my schedule has been, it'll probably be a while before I attempt anything like that! Sounds fun, though

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

...I mean, it's gotta be soukoku, because for all that I've enjoyed a lot of fictional pairings before (for example, Howl and Sophie specifically from the HMC books, Beatrice and Benedick from Much Ado About Nothing — I like bickering duos, what do you know — Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane, currently falling down the Hualian rabbithole because I'm reading Heaven Official's Blessing with my friend, and there's lots of other ones), for as much as I like all those, I haven't really had much of an urge to write anything for them.

So, purely in terms of me wanting to mess around with two characters and write them over and over and over again, it's really only skk! They hit the exact right combination of braincells, I guess lololol

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but probably won't?

Hmmm...honestly, most of my WIPs I still intend to finish at some point or another — first priority being the ones I've already started posting, of course! Although...just due to time constraints, I might not get around to writing the thief!Chuuya/detective!Dazai one I was planning a while back. (and I mean a WHILE lol) I didn't write very much of it, and honestly most of the reason I wanted to write it was for comedy — so maybe I'll turn it into a short comic series instead, because I do think some of the bits were funny :0

16. What are your writing strengths?

That's a hard one; I tend to look more at the ways I want to improve my writing then at what I like about it, and I nitpick just about everything I create, art and writing alike. But if I had to pick something, I would probably say dialogue? That tends to be what I write easiest, at least. I still want to get better at that too, though.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions and action scenes. I've been making myself write them more, so I think I'm slowly improving (the Howl AU has been great for that! It pushed me to write all sorts of scenes I wouldn't have normally :D ), but those two things remain what I get bogged down by the most.

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

Depends on the circumstances, I think? I'd include translations if I did. I do tend to include Japanese honorifics when I'm writing in the canon universe, because there's not really english equivalents and it feels like I'm leaving something out when I just do their names straight — although I did take them out when I was doing the Howl AU and the Little Mermaid AU, just as a setting thing.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Bungou Stray Dogs — like I mentioned in the ship section, this is the first fandom where I've really felt the urge. Although I did write things when I was little that very blatantly yoinked in various creatures and concepts from the things I was reading and watching, which resulted in stories with pirates and weeping angels and Ringwraiths all running around in the same place. But I didn't usually bother with bringing in actual characters from those pieces of media, or even using the settings, I just made ocs and had them run around in my own made up world.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I like all of them for different reasons, but I think my favorite overall has to be Dazai and the Moving Detective Agency. It's the longest thing I've ever written, and when I started out I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it — so the fact that it's most of the way done (currently chipping away at the epilogue, it is getting to be a LOT of words) makes me really happy. And it's just been so much fun! Writing characters I hadn't before, piecing the world together, working out the magic system, writing Dazai being a mess and Chuuya being cool, it's all been a blast. And I seriously need to finish the epilogue, because the followups are living in my brain and they demand to be freed aksdfjksdjfk

But yeah! I'm not sure how many writers I know on here have already been tagged, so I'll just go open tags on this one! :D If any of y'all write and feel like doing this, then go for it!

[chejuu]

20 questions for writers

thank you @wingdingery for the tag and excuse to self-indulgently talk about myself <3

1. how many works do you have on AO3? 17 on cheju, then 11 more on my various and sundry accounts 🫣

2. what's your total AO3 word count? 73,122 on cheju, a total of 110,145

3. what fandoms do you write for? nightwing + some original work as of late + various fandoms i used to be in that people request in fic exchanges

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos? like two days ago bad desire just surpassed the kudos of a ten-year-old sansa/margaery fic i published on my old account. wow! please ignore that i was writing smut at 16

setting aside my other accounts, then it’s diesis (smut), listen to teeth (smut), sex, lies, and audiotape (mafia au. also smut), and exactly what it looks like (silly identity porn crack)

5. do you respond to comments? always!

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? down together leaves it open but probably fits the bill, in that the sex makes things significantly worse between slade and dick

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Rescued Slut Thanks His Studly Savior is established relationship sladick fluff (if pure smut can be fluff i guess) which i thought i would never write so maybe that. or better now, but it's about theater camp (2023) which is already a feel-good comedy movie to begin with

8. do you get hate on fics? not yet. i feel like it's a rite of passage, tho. quick someone send me hate

9. do you write smut? If so, what kind? it’s like... all i do

10. do you write crossovers? no, but never saying never!

11. have you ever had a fic stolen? nope

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? i think i’d be too embarrassed

14. What's your all-time favorite ship? gotta be drarry (sorry sladick)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will? i plan to finish all my wips eventually, even the unpublished ones! at least any that have made it out of the notes app and into a word doc. the only one that maaay not make it is a recursive fic (author permission granted!) based on a popular sladick story—i’m a bit nervous about not living up to the original 🙈

16. What are your writing strengths? character voice, i think, and banter in particular. sexual tension, smut. so i've been told!

17. What are your writing weaknesses? i hardly write anything longer than a single scene, let alone more than one chapter. the one time i've given it an earnest go, i've gotten so caught up in the weeds that i haven't updated in months T_T

i'd also like to get better at atmosphere. not so much descriptions of the setting, more like... creating a distinctive tone through detail, metaphor, word choice. sometimes i feel like unless i'm writing a very particular setting, the tone is just. nonexistent?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? i honestly have zero thoughts

19. First fandom you wrote for? harry potter when was 14. wow it even has an A/N and everything

20. Favourite fic you've written? i think it’s bad desire so i’m glad the people agree hahah 

-

tagging @lordwisteria @roipecheur @mattdillon @thesubtextis @ontheropesss !

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @a-canceled-stamp

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Uhhhh... 99, I think. AO3 shows 100, but one is a translated work.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

Minus the translated work, 570,446

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Batman, primarily. I also have just a couple Marvel fics, because Endgame made me mad.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Emergency Contact

The Return

If the Sky Comes Falling Down (For You)

A Child of the Manor

Nature and Nurture

That is a wild list with a wild order, to me.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I used to respond to every comment, religiously. Less so now because it feels spammy to just paste variations on "Thanks!" But if there's a specific piece of a comment I think I can reply to, I try to. And I do read them all.

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

lol. Um. Maybe The morning and what came after?

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

I think most of my fics end happily, so I throw this question back to those reading. What's my happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not as bad as a lot of people, but yeah. I also maintain my boundaries pretty aggressively, so it doesn't stay for long.

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

Nah. I've only written one non-Gen fic, and all they do is kiss once.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Only once. They don't interest me.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Once. If it has happened again, I don't know about it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah! Super cool. Here it is.

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

No, but I would love to collab sometime :3

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

In fic? I don't really read for ships, if I'm honest. @audreycritter's Jimmy and Talia is the only exception I can think of.

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

Ghost. Poor, poor Ghost.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm. From my point of view, I'm good at:

Putting words in the right order. This sounds like a cop-out, but truly. The same words in a slightly different order can change the entire implication of a phrase. It can also wildly disrupt the rhythm of a sentence or paragraph. I think I'm at least cognizant of those two things and do my best to put the right words in the right order.

Realism. Or as realistic as fictional superheroes doing things can be? Maybe practical is a better word. Or sensible. I want my fics and the things people do in them to make sense.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plots. I don't want to write a book, I want to write a fic. I'm here for the emotions and the dynamics.

Logistics. Because of how much I like realism, that means I have also have to deal in logistics, but I am horribly bad at picturing anything spatial. And there are so many DANG PEOPLE in this family that I've chosen to write. It's a struggle.

Keeping it brief. I like words. My sentences are so friggin complex.

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

I don't know what this question means.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

BatFam. :) My first fic on AO3 was my first fic.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

I have different favorites for different reasons. If I had to close my eyes and point, right now I'd say White Lighters/Afterglow.

I'll give a no-pressure tag to @frownyalfred @audreycritter @imbecamiel