#so i went into ao3 searching for fanfics because clearly there was something about them i was missing and i found this absolute masterpiece

[kamuro-junrenka]

So ive been obsessed with this minedai fanfic for a few months now and i asked the author i could translate it bc i read it like a million times and i wanted to do something with it and they gave me permission and man i really recommend translating fics bc you start appreciating things more and bc you have to read it very slowly as you translate and you imagine the scenarios way better, its actually very fun

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

https://www.tumblr.com/gardensofivy/760120697566707712/where-is-the-fluff-i-am-sick-of-the-smut-what

i feel like i remember you talking about posts like this before.

it kinda irritates me that everyone on that post are so harsh about how they REALLY WANT FLUFF and are SICK OF SMUT

all my dash has been lately is fluff and i’m not complaining, i like every genre. maybe it’s their dash.

fanfic writers are writing what they want and i’m sorry that you don’t like it, but again, it’s out there, you just have to look. maybe they should look harder. do they know that there are tagging systems on this app + ao3 where they can search for fluff specifically?

i know first hand that it’s hard to write fanfic but can’t they at least try it out for themselves if they are really wanting fluff instead of complaining about it and how writers won’t give them exactly what they crave?

sorry for bringing this to you i just have no one to talk about this with 😭

don't apologize for bringing stuff like this to me. my inbox is always open as a rant space

I went to look up the post and it said that it was deleted (I was very curious to see the comments, but rip lmao) - but even just from that blurb of the url, I can definitely get a sense of the aggression against smut in the post

as far as the 'I hate smut, I want fluff' crowd - it feels like people who don't know how to navigate fandom spaces, but also people who are sexually repressed.

BECAUSE

from all my experience, especially recent experiences - smut fics will always be more popular. if people actually wanted fluff fics, or fics without smut, then my non-smut fics would be more popular. every single time one of my fics has smut, it will always be more popular.

a lot of the time, I regret not putting a smut scene a fic (especially toward the end) because I know that people will read through the actually interesting well-thought out hard work 'plot' part of a fic that I wrote in order to get to a pointless smut scene that I never intended to have there in the first place (as of right now, one of my biggest regrets is not putting a smut scene in Heaven's Gate to get more eyes on it)

it is my opinion that people are lying when they say they don't want smut fics. just straight up fucking lying. (or very few people are telling the truth when they say it, and then they don't seek out the fics they truly want)

Heaven's Gate - which is clearly tagged as having fluff got 11 notes in its first 24 hours

Need - which is tagged as smut/pwp got over 100 notes in its first 24 hours of being posted

yes, there are other factors to take into account, like the length, the gender of the reader character (which, don't even get me started on the 'GN afab' reader character thing - which is so fucking transphobic and misogynistic and rigid to the fucking gender binary it makes me wanna die), and the fact that Heaven's Gate is also marked as Hurt/Comfort and a lot of people in fandom these days seem to hate basic conflict in stories??? - but they are for the same love interest and they are posted for the same fandom

so to me, this is solid, concrete proof that smut will always attract a larger audience. every single one of my smut fics that exists in the same genre as a fic without smut has a larger audience

(unless it's a wlw fic, but again - that's a whole different story. cause don't get me started on the whole 'we need more sapphic stories' crowd who never fucking read wlw fics when they are posted)

I feel like this is really a two pronged problem

one: the recent Catholic sexual repression in fandoms (and in queer spaces/the internet in general)

two: people who love to complain but make zero effort to change the things that they complain about in fandoms (hecklers, in a sense)

the first one is something me and @nctzenkane have talked about at large. it's the "sex scenes are so unnecessary in movies" thing and people directly relating the things you ship to your morals - the idea that the kind of fanfiction you write and read is directly in line with your moral fiber as a person. these are known as thought crimes. which is a highly Catholic sensation

in Catholicism, it's the idea that God can see all and knows all, and therefore, thinking bad things is on the same level of sin as performing a bad act - so thinking about sex too frequently or thinking about harming someone is on the same level as physically committing a murder, and both of these things equally make you a bad person. (and so you need to keep your mind 'pure' for God.)

in modern times, it's the idea that associating with certain topics of fanfiction makes you 'sus' and an untrustworthy person, and that you are more likely to follow through with the bad acts that you read about - like rape, pedophilia, unhealthy age gape relationships, violent crimes, ect. - if you read about those things frequently. (which is untrue, for the fucking record.)

and for the hecklers... god.

someone talked about the sensation of how the pandemic caused this huge shift in fandom, and yeah - I felt it happen in real time.

people who formerly were never in fandom or saw it as a 'nerdy' hobby (people whose hobbies were based around socialization - like drinking and going to bars, etc. or younger people who were allowed unsupervised internet access for the first time) all flooded fandom spaces with 0 sense of fandom etiquette. those are the 'writing fanfiction is too hard so I'm going to harass experienced fanfiction writers' people.

they love to complain about things they don't like in fandom without doing anything to change those things - even if it's something as simple as blocking and following the right people to curate their feed or curating their AO3 tags. the other day I saw dozens of people on tiktok saying that they don't know what the 4 symbols in the corner of the fics on AO3 mean. A lot of people assumed that they were there FOR NO REASON. it made me want to start chewing on glass, no lie

anyway. the landscape of fandom right now is so... (sigh.)

[paradoxcase]

Chapter 11 of Gideon the Ninth

Gideon really does not know how to say no to attractive women, does she? I'm still on the fence about whether or not Corona is going to turn out to be evil too, but Muir did almost literally name her "Cain", so I guess that settles that

There's actually something interesting here (to me, anyway), because although Gideon just cannot shut up about Corona being hot the entire chapter, except during the swordfight, there's something different about how this is portrayed here, that I don't really see much, or maybe at all? Forgive me, I've just been thinking a lot lately about attraction, and how you write it, because it's a day that ends in y and I have a story that's trying to be written and I keep going back to my Homestuck-fanfic-writing experience, and yeah

Normally when I see stuff like this, it's more explicitly sexual, or more explicitly romantic, there are references to things like people's bodies, to physiological reactions like butterflies, or being warm, or what have you, and I can't relate, depending on where exactly it falls on the sexual/romantic spectrum I come away with something in the range between "that sounds like an interesting experience, let me try to imagine it" and "rolling my eyes real hard right now" and "people like stuff like that? how curious, I must take notes", but this here, and also with Dulcinea in the last chapter, doesn't seem to fall into this category at all, it's all very aesthetic, about the general picture/vibes the person gives off, about the sound of their voice, about smiles and laughter, and so I can say, yes, I feel you, I get this experience you're having. I don't think it's a male gaze thing, because I see the same stuff happening in the female-dominated fanfiction world (most of the time there, actually, although certainly not exclusively), and I also really don't think it's intended to be an ace thing, because I'm pretty sure that no one in this book is intended to be ace, least of all Gideon. I don't know, though, maybe this will change later and it will become the same old same old. I noticed this today, because immediately after I finished reading the chapter, I checked my email and there was an AO3 notification for a fanfic I'm following, and I went and read the latest chapter, and the difference was stark

Anyway

I note now that Corona initially said she had organized matches for all the cavaliers, but having reached the end of the chapter, I see that we are missing the Sixth, Seventh, and Eighth cavaliers, but Corona did not go off in search of them. Of those we've so far only met Protesilaus, and the Sixth and the Eighth have not yet appeared as named characters, although by process of elimination we can conclude that one of them must be the guy with the missing middle finger who appeared with knife-face earlier

I do feel for Jeannemary, she's only just arrived at Lyctor Camp and already her (not) dad is going around telling everyone embarrassing stories about things she did as a toddler, if this is the kind of thing Harrow was afraid of, I guess I can see why

Please, Gideon, do not write down Magnus's dad jokes for later use, you're so much funnier than that

Yeah, no comment

Naberius seems very unpleasant, but I can see why he's upset if the match was supposed to end when he disarmed Gideon. A little strange that Corona didn't call it at that point, tbh

I have like, less than zero understanding of what this means. Gideon seems to know what it means, but she is not telling

Magnus's comments about Jeannemary's last name seem to indicate that last names are hereditary, but this is clearly not the case given that Harrow's last name does not match either of her parents', and also the pronunciation guide seems to be saying that they aren't hereditary. I am confuse

I wonder what Harrow is up to? I guess this room is going to turn out to be Important

[lunar-wandering]

Peach Slices

the Sick!Wukong fanfic is finally done! this is the longest one shot i’ve ever written lol.

tagging @winterpower98 and @ninja-knox-ur-sox-off since you two seemed interested

read on ao3

Word Count: 5.4k

-----

When MK arrived at the temple to train, he could immediately tell that something was wrong. For one, Wukong wasn't hidden anywhere in an attempt to surprise him, which he had been doing lately to help him "hone his instincts". (Usually all that got him was a smack in the face with his own staff. MK would apologize each time, but Wukong would just wave it off.) Instead of hiding, Wukong was sitting in the middle of the courtyard, a few of the monkeys hanging out around him and hanging off of him. The second thing that was off was how the monkeys were looking at him, concerned. Upon noticing MK, they had immediately started to point him at Wukong, as though saying "something's up with him, please help him out.". The third thing that was off, was Wukong fur. It looked absolutely horrible, like he'd just rolled out of bed and hadn't brushed it, and had also been through like 5 fights.

That was concerning enough, but what really worried MK was the 4th thing.

Wukong hadn't noticed him yet.

Nevermind the other things being weird, Wukong not noticing him was just plain wrong. Wukong always noticed when MK arrived, even if he'd been distracted before.

Something was clearly up, and MK was going to find out what.

Deciding to use the fact that Wukong hadn't noticed him to his advantage, MK started slowly sneaking up behind him, making a shushing motion to the monkeys to let them know to be quiet. He had a suspicion about what was up, and honestly he kinda hoped that he was wrong.

Finally managing to make it to Wukong's side, MK slowly reached up-

And lightly pressed the back of his hand to Wukong's forehead.

Wukong yelped and jumped away in surprise at MK's "sudden" appearance, but the few seconds that MK's hand had been on Wukong's forehead was all he needed.

"Kid! I uh, didn't hear you come in-"

"You're sick." MK stated the facts, as Wukong looked at him in surprise. "Why didn't you call me to cancel training if you're sick? I could've just gone to spar with Red Son or Mei instead."

"I, wh-" Wukong sputtered for a moment, before he seemed to collect himself a little. "I'm not sick."

"Uh, your fever says other wise." MK replied, not certain what his mentor thought he would get out of denying his incredibly obvious condition.

"What fever? I'm perfectly fine." Wukong clearly lied, leaning against a nearby tree in an attempt to look cool. MK rolled his eyes and was about to respond when Wukong let out a sudden yelp, as the tree he was leaning against snapped and fell to the ground, causing him to stumble. There was a moment of silence as the two of them stared at the fallen tree.

"I totally meant to do that."

"Alright, that's it." MK said, setting his bag on the ground and walking over to Wukong. "Come on Monkey King, I'm taking you back to my apartment to keep an eye on you."

"That's really not necessary- hey! Put me down!" Wukong yelled as MK scooped him up, carrying him like a sack of potatoes. "Seriously, Kid, I'm fine!"

"If you were fine you'd have jumped away before I grabbed you." MK said. Wukong didn't seem to have a reasonable response for that, so MK started the long trek back to the noodle shop with only a few more complaints from the Monkey King.

---

At some point during the walk to the noodle shop, Wukong had fallen asleep. MK was kinda grateful for that actually, it meant he didn't have to deal with his mentor continuing to complain, and it meant that he was resting, which he honestly probably needed, based on how he looked.

MK avoided going in through the front door of the noodle shop, from what he could see, there were quite a few customers in there. If he went in with a passed out Monkey King on his back, it was sure to cause a commotion, and he.... really didn't want that, especially if all the noise would wake Wukong up. So, MK snuck around to the back of the shop, and used the fire escape to climb up to his apartment on the second floor.

Once inside, MK carefully set Wukong down on his bed, shaking some of the ache out of his arms as he did so. Wukong was heavy, and carrying him for over an hour had done MK's arms no favors.

Wukong curled up in the bed, and MK sighed, before going off in search of more blankets and pillows, and hopefully some medicine to bring Wukong's fever down. MK... wasn't actually sure when he last bought medicine. He might have to ask Mei to run out and buy him some, because there was no way he was going to leave-

Almost as soon as he thought that, MK's phone dinged, telling him he'd received a message from Pigsy.

'I know you're here.' It read, 'Heard you on the fire escape. If you aren't training, can you come back down and work for the next hour?'

'Cant.' MK sent back, 'Busy rn'.

'What on Earth could you be busy with?'

MK thought for a moment on how best to explain the situation, before figuring that a visual example was probably the best, and snapped a quick picture of Wukong and sent it to Pigsy.

The yelled "What the fuck!" was loud enough for MK to hear, and apparently Wukong heard it too, as he started to stir.

"Kid?" He asked, slowly sitting up, "W'as goin' on?"

"It's nothing Monkey King, go back to sleep-" MK was proven wrong however, as the two of them could hear a series of loud footsteps running up the stairs. Within seconds, Pigsy had burst into the room.

"MK." He said, "Would you please explain to me why Sun Wukong is in your bed."

"He's sick." MK said, glancing back at the monkey in question. Despite the rest he'd gotten on the way over, he was actually starting to look worse than before, as well as very confused. He hoped that his fever wasn't getting worse.

"Oh well that's plainly obvious." Pigsy said, "What I want to know, is why you brought him here instead of back to his mountain."

"I figured it'd be easier to look after him here? I kinda.... doubt that he has the materials needed to look after someone who's sick back at his house." MK explained. Pigsy sighed at the answer, suddenly looking incredibly resigned to the fact that he was going to have to deal with there being a sick monkey king directly above his noodle shop. Gods, this was going to be a pain....

"Zhu Bajie?" Wukong suddenly asked, drawing Pigsy and MK's attention back to him. "What....what are you doing here? You're... Dead."

MK and Pigsy stared at him in confusion.

"What on Earth is he going on about now?" Pigsy asked, and that was all it took for Wukong to start suddenly crying hysterically. MK panicked, rushing forwards and trying to calm him down, but not really knowing how. Pigsy stood back, shocked and confused at the sudden emotional outburst from the monkey.

Pigsy would've tried to help MK calm Wukong down, but there was a sudden yell from down in the noodle shop and, remembering that he had practically left said shop unattended, he was forced to turn and start back down the stairs. He gave MK a look of apology as he went, and mentally noted that he would have to make some kind of soup for the sick monkey.

...Did Wukong even eat soup?

As far as Pigsy remembered, the answer to that was no.

.....He'd have to ask Tang and Sandy to pick up a basket of peaches at the store.

---

Later, after Wukong had cried himself out and fallen back asleep, and Pigsy closed the shop for lunch, MK pulled Pigsy aside for a moment.

"So." Pigsy started, "What was all that stuff earlier about?"

"He. He kept saying things like 'he's supposed to be dead' and 'he doesn't remember me' while he was crying." MK said, "His fever's pretty high. I think it's made him delirious. And I think that. He thinks you're Zhu Bajie, one of the people who was with him during the Journey to the West."

Pigsy was silent for a brief moment.

"Kid....I'm about to tell you something that might.....upset you." He said. MK tilted his head, confused.

"What do you me-, oh my gods." Realization struck. "Are you kidding me?"

Pigsy gave no signs that he was kidding. MK stared in shock.

"You're Zhu Bajie??"

"Yes. Sandy and Tang are Wujing and Tripitaka too."

MK's shock quickly turned to anger.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell him?" He asked.

"I... I didn't tell you because I didn't think you needed to know." Pigsy said, "As for Wukong.... he was never there when we tried to go visit him over the years. We knew he was still alive, Heaven would've lost it's shit had he actually died, but we...figured that he was avoiding us. That he didn't want to interact with us, for some reason."

"Well clearly that is not the case, considering he apparently thinks you're dead!" MK shouted, ignoring Pigsy's hurried shushing. "Can you imagine how upsetting that must be for him?? Thinking that all the people he considers friends, maybe even family, are dead, or that they don't remember him? I want to cry just thinking of it!"

MK would have continued yelling, but a sudden thump and crash upstairs drew his attention. He paused for a moment, during which he and Pigsy both heard the quiet, slightly scared, "Kid?" from Wukong. MK sighed, moving to head back up the stairs, but not before giving Pigsy a glare.

"This isn't over. We will be talking about this later." He said, before disappearing up the stairs. Pigsy slumped against the counter.

"Jeez....." He muttered, "We really fucked up didn't we."

---

When he walked back into his apartment, MK was only slightly surprised to find it a mess, and Wukong missing from the bed. Clearly, Wukong had woken up while MK was downstairs, and, upon not seeing the kid anywhere in the general area, had panicked, probably assuming the worst. Worried for a brief moment, MK glanced at the window, breathing a sigh of relief to see that it was still locked the way it had been before. Good, so Wukong was still somewhere in the apartment.

Now where did he-

There was a sudden crash from the kitchen.

MK rushed to the kitchen, to find Wukong standing in front of the sink, bits and pieces of what used to be a cup on the floor. Wukong still looked dreadful, but he did look  slightly better than before.

Slightly.

"Oh, Kid, there you are." Wukong said upon noticing him, "I was worried about you."

"Yeah, I uh, could tell." MK said, thinking back to the mess he'd caught a glance of in the living room. "What are you doing in the kitchen?"

"I wanted to get a drink?" Wukong said, "I'm sorry about your cup though... I can replace it-"

"After you go back to bed." MK said, "Monkey King, you still look awful."

"Do I?" Wukong asked, sighing when MK nodded his head yes. "Fine. But if I'm in your bed, where are you going to sleep?"

"On the couch." MK answered, and, upon seeing the look on Wukong's face, added, "Don't worry about it. I've slept on the couch multiple times before."

"If you say so kid..."

"I do say so. Now c'mon, back to bed."

It was definitely a good thing MK made Wukong get back in the bed, as Wukong was just slightly wobbly the entire walk back from the kitchen to the bedroom.

"Weren't you going to play games with Mei tonight?" Wukong asked, as MK dropped another blanket on top of him. "You can go play with her if you want. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, forgive me for not trusting you on that one." MK said, "Unless you don't remember your emotional outburst from earlier."

"I had an emotional outburst?"

"You- actually you know what, it's probably better that you don't know." MK replied, before quickly changing the subject. "I already messaged Mei by the way, told her what was up. She's going to pick up some medicine."

"Bold of you to assume that human medicine will work on me."

".....Will it?"

"I don't know. Haven't tried."

---

Red Son was peacefully walking down the street, rather quite enjoying his day, when suddenly, Mei ran by in a green rush, almost knocking him off his feet.

"Hey Dragon Girl!" He shouted, grabbing her attention, "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Monkey King's sick!" She said, "MK's asked me to get medicine-"

"Hold up. Sun Wukong is sick?" Red Son asked, looking straight up shocked when Mei nodded in response. "I... I must tell Mother and Father about this."

"You're not gonna like. Spring an attack on us while he's sick are you?" Mei asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Red Son gasped, offended.

"Of course not! We are nothing if not honorable villains." He said, "I just think that... Mother and Father would want to know about this is all."

"Hm....Okay." Mei said, "But if I see even one hint of an attack, I will not hesitate to beat you up."

"...Duly noted."

---

Over the past few hours, Wukong had tried multiple times to get up and do things. The Monkey King, apparently, didn't know how to rest. MK had to keep practically dragging him back into the bed before he broke things on accident, which, unfortunately, was happening a lot. 3 glasses, 2 plates, one vase, and one coffee table had been destroyed before MK got the bright idea to set up his laptop and stream the Monkey King Animated Series for Wukong to watch. That, at least, managed to get him to stay in bed while MK started trying to clean things up.

He had just finished sweeping up the last few pieces of the plates when the doorbell rang.

MK set down the broom and opened the door to see Mei, with one arm carrying two bowls of noodles, and her other arm holding two small baskets of peaches and a box of medicine.

"Hey MK." She said, giving him a smile.

"Come right on in Mei, here, let me take that for you." MK said, taking the peach baskets and the medicine box out of Mei's hand so that she could use both of them to carry the noodle bowls. He set the peaches and medicine down on the kitchen counter as Mei set the bowls down on the table. The two of them sat down to eat.

"So uh, what with the peaches and the noodles?" MK asked.

"Well, I remembered you said that Monkey King liked peaches, so I figured I'd pick some up for him while I was at the store." She said, "Turns out, Tang and Sandy had the same idea. Pigsy sent the peaches and the noodles up. Said something about you probably not wanting to see him right now."

"I wouldn't say that I wouldn't want to see him." MK said, "Just that me and him are...going to have a conversation later. It's nothing you need to worry about, I promise."

The look Mei gave him was skeptical, but when MK didn't retract his statement, she sighed and decided to move on.

"Sooo....How's Monkey King doing?" She asked.

"He's doing.... better than he was this morning I guess." MK said, fiddling with his chopsticks. "He still isn't near what I'd deem healthy, but I'm pretty sure his fever has gone down a bit. I set things up so he could watch the Monkey King Animated Series on my laptop so that he'd stop trying to get up and do things. I should probably give him the medicine before I go to bed."

"So, basically, what I'm taking away from this, is that you're Mother Henning the Monkey King." Mei said, laughter in her voice. MK was about to respond, argue that he was not being a Mother Hen, he was just concerned, when there was a thump outside, and then a knock on the balcony door. MK gave Mei a questioning glance, wondering if she knew anything about who could possibly be on his balcony, but she just shrugged, clearly as confused as he was. Sighing, MK stood up and walked over to the balcony door. On his way, a quick glance into his bedroom showed that Wukong had fallen asleep again, the laptop still running. He'd have to turn it off to save the battery, as well as wake Wukong later to give him some food and medicine, but another knock on the door meant he was going to have to see who had decided to come visit him first.

He opened up the door, only to come face to face with Red Son, who was holding a basket of peaches and looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"...What are you doing here?" MK asked, briefly wondering if he should summon his staff, just in case. But then again, Red Son didn't seem like he wanted to attack at the moment, so...

"Dragon Girl happened to inform me that Wukong is sick." Red Son said, "I told my parents, as I figured they should know, and they practically demanded that I bring this here. So.... take it."

With that said, Red Son practically shoved the peach basket into MK's hands. MK sighed as he looked at its contents.

"At this rate, my apartment is going to be both destroyed and full of peaches." He said. Red Son quirked an eyebrow.

"Okay, I was going to just leave, but now I'm curious. Why would your little apartment be both destroyed and filled with peaches Noodle Boy?" He asked.

"For one, Monkey King keeps getting up and trying to do things, but keeps accidentally destroying stuff." MK explained, "Secondly, everyone seems to be bringing peaches, though I'm not entirely sure why-"

"It's because literally the only thing we know that he likes to eat is peaches." Mei interrupted, appearing beside MK after having grown tired of waiting in the kitchen. "That doesn't leave us with many food options."

"I mean, I think he enjoys other fruits too?" MK said, sounding uncertain. "But yeah, either way, I think I'm going to be overrun with peaches."

"Well, at least not everything in the basket is a peach." Red Son commented, "There's a box of tea in there too."

MK took out the tea box and after a few seconds of inspecting it, snorted out a little laugh.

"The tea is peach flavored too." He said.

"Of course it is." Red Son sighed. "Well...whatever. See you around later Noodle Boy, Dragon Girl."

And with that, Red Son disappeared in a flash of flames. MK closed the balcony door, bringing the peach basket into the kitchen to set it beside the others.

"You think we can trust that they didn't poison those?" Mei asked. MK gave the peaches a glance.

"They......probably didn't. Just to be safe though, I think I'll give Monkey King the ones you and Pigsy gave me first."

----

By the time Mei left, it was 10:30 PM. MK walked back into his bedroom carrying a small plate of sliced up peaches, as well as a dose of medicine and a glass of water. He set them down on top of his bedside table, and then reached over and paused the episode of Monkey King the Animated Series that was playing on his laptop. He carefully picked up said laptop and brought it over to the wall to plug it in. With that done, he went back to the bed and gently shook his mentor awake.

"Mmmn....Kid?" Wukong slurred, clearly not 100% awake.

"Yeah, it's me." MK said, "I"ve got some peach slices for you to eat, and some medicine to take."

Wukong accepted the peach slices and medicine surprisingly easily, taking the medicine before starting to eat.

"Y'know..." MK said, "Earlier, you mentioned that you'd never tried medicine before. So like, what do you normally do when you're sick?"

"Go to sleep for 3 days and don't wake up until it's all over." Wukong mumbled around a piece of peach. MK gave him a deadpan look.

"Monkey King that's a coma." He said. Wukong snorted in response.

"It's only a coma if I can't wake up."

"No, I'm pretty sure sleeping for 3 days straight is genuinely considered a coma."

"Whatever." Wukong mumbled, yawning. He'd finished the peaches. MK sighed as Wukong flopped back down onto the bed, rolling over so that his back was facing him. MK silently pulled the blankets over top of the Monkey King, quietly amused at how Wukong's tail didn't quite fit in under them, and was left dangling off the side of the bed, swinging back and forth.

"Goodnight Monkey King." MK said.

" 'Night, kid." Wukong responded, and with that, MK turned off the light and left the room, leaving Wukong under what was at this point a practical mountain of blankets, alone.

---

MK woke up.

It was dark out, no sign of the sun at all. One quick glance at the clock in the living room revealed the time to be 3 AM. MK usually didn't have any problems sleeping, so what could've woken-

He saw something move in the corner of his eye.

Still half asleep, MK jumped off the couch, summoning the staff into his hand as he whirled around-

Only to be confronted with nothing but shadows.

....Huh.

Must've just been his eyes playing tricks on him.

Leaning his staff up against the wall, MK leaned down to pick up his stuffed monkey, (which had fallen off the couch when he'd jumped up), when he heard it.

A small whimper, from his bedroom.

Oh.

So that's what had woken him up.

Holding his stuffie in his arms, MK walked over to his bedroom, activating his golden vision in order to see better in the dark.

What he saw was pretty much what he should've expected.

Wukong had kicked off most of his blankets, and was partially curled up, shaking, with his tail thrashing wildly.

He was having a nightmare. Or, well, it was probably a fever dream in this case, but still. MK had to wake him up. He knelt down by the bed and gently shook Wukong's shoulder.

"Monkey King?" He said, "Monkey King, wake up."

No response.

".....C'mon, Wukong wake up."

Hearing his actual name seemed to rouse him.

".....Kid?" He asked. There were leftover tears in the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah it's me." MK said, softly, "You okay?"

"M'fine."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" MK asked. Wukong curled up a little more.

"It's nothing you'd understand, kid." He mumbled. MK supposed that made sense. Wukong had been alive for a long time after all, there was sure to be no end to things he had seen, or knows, that MK could never hope to comprehend.

"...Okay." MK said. "Do you just wanna go back to sleep."

All he got in response in a nod.

Now, as stated, MK knew that Wukong didn't want to talk about... whatever his nightmare had been about. But MK couldn't just leave without doing something to help.

...He looked at his stuffie.

"...Monkey King?" A hum, Wukong was listening. MK held up his stuffed monkey. "I think I'm gonna leave this little guy here with you."

Now that got Wukong to sit up a little, tail fluffing up a bit in surprise.

"...Don't you always sleep with him though?" Wukong asked, as MK placed the stuffie into his arms. "Kid, you don't have to-"

"It's fine." MK said, giving his mentor a smile. "I've slept without him before, I'll be fine. Besides, I think you need his services more than I do tonight."

Wukong couldn't seem to come up with any sort of argument for that, so he simply laid back down in the bed, pulling the blankets up over his head and curling up around the little stuffed monkey. Job done, MK left the room, going into the kitchen to get a glass of water before heading back to bed.

....Huh. That was weird.

Was there one more peach basket than there'd been before?

MK narrowed his eyes at it for a moment, before shrugging it off, figuring he must've just miscounted the amount of peach baskets Mei had brought, and went back to the couch to sleep, leaving the peach basket with the purple bow undisturbed.

---

The next day was mostly uneventful. True to his statement of typically just sleeping the sickness off, Wukong slept for most of the day, only waking up when MK woke him to get him to eat, drink, or have a dose of medicine. MK would be concerned about this, but it did seem that the sleep was actively doing Wukong some good, he was starting to look much better, so MK let it be.

There was other matters he had to take care of.

When Pigsy closed the shop for lunch, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to see MK standing behind him, glaring.

"Uh, MK, what's up?" He asked, awkwardly. MK just kept glaring.

"Call over Tang and Sandy, now." MK said, before sitting down at one of the tables to wait. "It's about time we had that talk."

It took an unsurprisingly short amount of time for Tang and Sandy to arrive. MK waited until they were all seated.

"So." He started, but he was interrupted by Pigsy.

"Look, MK, I know we should've told you about who we were-"

"Oh! Oh you definitely should have." MK said, "I can't believe you guys just didn't tell me that you were on the Journey to the West. But that's not important right now. What's important, is that there is a sick Monkey King in my apartment who thinks you guys are dead, and I would like an explanation as to why."

"Well," Tang started, "We haven't seen him in over 300 years-"

"I told you two we should've left a note that one time." Sandy mumbled, calmly petting Mo. Pigsy sighed.

"Look kid, we tried to interact with him, believe me we did!" He said, "But every time we tried he either wasn't around or had just left. It is ridiculously hard to catch the damn monkey when he doesn't want to be caught."

MK nodded slowly.

"....Okay." He said, "I... suppose that makes sense."

He stood up.

"Tomorrow, if Monkey King is feeling better, which I'm guessing he will, you guys will be having a talk with him." MK said, walking away from the table to go back up the stairs to his apartment. He paused on the first step, turning slightly to say over his shoulder, "Just to be clear by the way. I'm still mad at you. Expect a 1 week business period before I forgive you."

"....Yeah that's fair." Tang said.

And with that, MK went back up the stairs, leaving the three immortals to anxiously contemplate how the next day's conversation would go.

---

As MK had guessed, Wukong was feeling a lot better the next day. He was actually awake, and the fever had definitely gone down, at least as far as MK could tell. Overall, he seemed to be doing a lot better.

...Which meant it was time for a conversation MK wasn't entirely sure would end well.

"Monkey King, I need you to stay right here, okay?" MK said, gesturing at the couch Wukong was currently sitting on. Wukong let out a confused laugh.

"Might I ask as to why?" He said.

"You'll see."

"...Okay then?"

MK turned to go down the stairs, to get the other three members of this conversation, before pausing, suddenly thinking of something he remembered hearing in one of the stories about the Journey to the West. Turning, he grabbed a paint brush from his desk, dipped it in some white paint, and proceeded to draw a circle around the couch where Wukong sat. Wukong watched him do this in barely contained amusement.

"You will stay here." MK said, just for emphasis, as he finished the circle.

"I heard you the first time, kid." Wukong said, laughter in his voice. MK gave him an 'I'm watching you' look, before finally going down the stairs. Wukong, true to his word, stayed inside the circle.

...When MK came back up the stairs with his friends Pigsy, Tang, and Sandy though, Wukong kinda wished he'd just left after he woke up like he'd planned. Those three just reminded him too much.... of them.

MK, seeing the look on Wukong's face, sighed.

"Okay, let's just get this over with, because I doubt there's any way to do this gently." He said, "Monkey King, these three are Pigsy, Tang, and Sandy, and they are also the ones who were with you on the Journey to the West. And before you ask, yes, they do remember you."

Wukong's mind stopped as those words registered in his brain.

The Monkey King went a whole minute without speaking, during which Tang shifted from foot to foot nervously, Pigsy pointedly didn't look him in the eyes, Sandy patiently continued to pet his cat, and MK just looked entirely done with the whole situation.

"Uh, MK?" Tang eventually said, "I think you might've broken him."

That one sentence was enough to break Wukong's stupor.

".....Is it really them?" He asked, sounding like he was on the verge of breaking down into tears. Pigsy gave a gruff sigh, but didn't respond, so MK rolled his eyes, and casually shoved Pigsy next to the couch.

"....Yes, it's us you dumb monkey." Pigsy said, and that was all it took for Wukong to break down crying jumping off the couch and tackle hugging Pigsy to the ground, tail swinging. Tang immediately went to Pigsy's rescue, trying to pry Wukong off of him before Wukong could accidentally suffocate him, but ended up also getting dragged into the hug by the monkey. Sandy didn't hesitate to join the hug himself, squeezing the other three as tight as possible, before setting them down gently onto the couch. MK figured he'd better leave the four of them alone for a moment, and went into the kitchen to make them some tea.

"Where have you guys been?" Wukong finally asked, laying on top of Pigsy and Tang's laps, his tail curled around Sandy's arm. "I thought you all were dead."

"So we've heard." Pigsy mumbled, before speaking louder. "Truthfully, Wukong, we did try to interact with you these past 300 years, but we just never could seem to find you. So we stopped trying."

"Why?" Wukong asked.

"We kinda... thought you might be upset with us?" Tang said, "We figured you were avoiding us on purpose, and that you'd come and interact with us again once you'd calmed down a bit."

"Why wouldn't you try harder to find me, to ask what was wrong?"

"Would you want to deal with you while you're mad?" Pigsy asked.

"....Touché." Wukong said, and there was a moment of silence between the four of them, in which Sandy's cat crawled unto Wukong's chest, and Wukong started petting it.

"..You know." He said, "I'm really glad you guys are alive. Being alone... wasn't really all that fun."

"We're glad you're doing okay too, you damn monkey." Pigsy said.

It was at this point that MK came out of the kitchen, carrying a tray with five cups of peach tea, and a plate of peach slices.

"You guys done with the emotional experience?" He asked, setting the tray down on the coffee table. "Because I've got a ton of peaches that aren't going to eat themselves."

"Ooh! Don't mind if I do!" Wukong said, quickly picking up the plate of peach slices to hoard them all to himself, which got him a light smack on the head from Pigsy, telling him to share his food, or he'd get out the rake.

Wukong just laughed in response.

He didn't care.

He had his family back.

[youngerdrgrey]

highlight(s) of my life // a WildMoore fanfic (2/2)

about: Inspired by Sophie's new S3 highlights. Good Bro ™ Ryan Wilder teases Sophie about what other post-break up activities Sophie might have partaken in. Sophie is less than amused and more than a little interested.

read part one here + read part two on ao3

🦇

Right. It’s not like Ryan hasn’t considered it. Sophie is, well, she’s Sophie freaking Moore. But she’s also Sophie ‘Kate’s ex,’ and Sophie ‘member of the Bat Team.’ Sophie ‘quit her job after Ryan wanted her to.’ Sophie ‘sat with Ryan on Coryana when they both thought Ryan was dying.’

There have been many nights where Ryan lies awake with the ghost of Sophie’s hand in hers. It’s ridiculous. She couldn’t really feel the heat of Sophie through the gloves. But she could feel Sophie’s shoulder. Hear Sophie’s breathing along with the crackle of the field. Remember Sophie’s voice straining as she urged Ryan to hold on just a little longer, just until they got to Luke.

Ryan used to say she wanted to go peacefully, in her sleep, with her wife beside her. Very The Notebook. Dying on Coryana like that wouldn’t have been the exact same, but it wasn’t the worst interpretation.

Maybe that moment did something to her. Maybe it changed them both. Maybe it… crossed some wires to have literally been there together through that. Or maybe it has more to do with the last few weeks. With everything from “I know you’re Batwoman, Ryan” through to here, in the bar, with Sophie’s expectant eyes on her.

What the fuck does Ryan say to that?

Another woman slips up beside Sophie before Ryan can respond. This brown skinned girl with dark blue box braids and a staggering set of dimples. Her smile’s amazing as she turns to Sophie.

“I’ve seen you around here before. Vodka, right?” she asks.

Ryan responds at the same time that Sophie does. “Tequila,” they say together. Ryan flashes back to that night of Never Have I Ever at the loft. Back when the couch seemed miles long and too small at the same time, when Ryan’s face betrayed her and softened as she watched Sophie think up things that she hadn’t done.

Sophie gives Box Braids a polite smile before looking back to Ryan. “Can we…?” She motions with her head to the side.

Box Braids’ eyes volley between Sophie and Ryan. “Ah. Well, can I still get the discount?”

Ryan shakes her head at Box Braids. “Deal’s off. Sorry.” Box Braids walks off, and Sophie stares at Ryan expectantly. The thing is, if Ryan goes with Sophie, then everything changes. That should be a good thing. That could be, right?

Ryan scans the bar for some kind of excuse. Sophie clocks the avoidance. Sophie’s earlier nervousness shifts into impatience. Her brows lift as she tries to tamp it down.

“Seriously? You’re supposed to be off soon anyway.”

Ryan chuckles. “Leaving work early? Issa bad look for the manager.” Sophie glares at Ryan, which, okay, that’s fair. Sophie’s trying to put herself out there, and Ryan can feel her heart pounding in her chest.

“You know what else is a bad look?” Sophie motions at the general charged air between them. “This. I’m a big girl, Ryan. If you’re not interested, then say that. I can handle it.”

After being rejected by her own mom, a bartender probably wouldn’t hold much weight. Ryan gulps. It’s not that she isn’t interested. It’s just… the timing and the bar and… the them. But she can’t let Sophie leave thinking that Ryan’s not interested.

Ryan pulls her apron off and slips it under the counter. “Come on.” She leads the way from behind the bar and out towards the back exit. Sophie follows her without another word. They turn down the small employee-only hallway and out the door to the back.

It’ll be better out here. It’s private, but not too private. The loft would’ve been an awful idea. Mary’s gone tonight, and it would’ve just been the two of them. Just Sophie with her sunshine hair and incredible lips.

The back of the bar’s well lit, but it’s an overhead light that somehow makes Sophie look smaller than normal. Sophie holds herself tighter when she’s unsure. As if exuding confidence will make up for the fact that she so clearly doesn’t know how to proceed here.

Sophie breaks the silence first. “Believe it or not, I thought this would go much smoother.”

Has she thought about this a lot? How long has Sophie been into her? Ryan bites down the questions and goes for a smooth response of her own.

“How’d you see it going?”

Sophie glances around. Her eyes land on the bench against the brick wall. It’s mostly for smokers and vapers. One time Ryan saw two people hooking up on it. Ryan’d hosed them down and taped a ‘DO NOT HAVE SEX HERE’ sign on the wall behind it. Sophie chuckles at the sign as she crosses to sit down.

She leans back. “First, I walk in with my new hair and my nice outfit, but you don’t see me right away.” She’s already off to the wrong start. Ryan had spotted Sophie the moment that she entered The Hold Up. Ryan played it off, but Ryan usually knew where Sophie was.

Sophie continues, “I sit at the corner of the bar and wait until you look my way. You’d go to make me a drink, but I’d stop you and say that we’re getting out of here.”

Ryan would’ve smiled at that. Would’ve joked that Sophie isn’t in charge here, and Sophie would’ve lifted a brow in a silent challenge. Her apron would’ve been tucked under the counter within minutes.

Sophie grins. “I drive us out to the quarry near the river. There’s not much to do there, so it’s quiet when nothing else ever is. I’ve got blankets in my car, and a hoodie since you never wear real clothes.”

Ryan cuts in. “I wear real clothes.” Sophie gives her a doubtful look from the bench. There’s still way too much space between them, so Ryan walks over to sit beside Sophie. “I’m not knocking your plan or anything, but you know I have a van, right? It’s got a heater, a ton of blankets, and a lot more space than your car.”

Sophie’s eyes widen. “Wait, is that where you went when Kate came back?” She turns to face Ryan as her own face crumples. “You chose a van over staying with me?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Ryan insists.

Sophie’s tone hardens anyway. “Yeah, right.”

Ryan shakes her head. “It wasn’t. I…. I’m used to holding space and giving it back.” In group homes, in seasonal jobs, and here, in the most important job she’s ever had. “You were so excited to have her back, and I didn’t want to be in the way of that. It’s easier if I just let go.”

Sophie breathes that in, and her eyes seek out Ryan’s. Ryan averts hers to the ground in front of them. She doesn’t need to see the pity. It’s not—

“Hey,” Sophie bumps her shoulder into Ryan’s, “You’re not in the way. You were once or twice, like when you stopped my fear toxin run, but….” Sophie takes a deep breath. “I meant what I said during the blackout. About you making Batwoman your own and giving the city hope again. It’s not the suit that did that. It’s you. And I would gladly spend the whole night praising you if that’s what it takes for you to see that.”

Her tone’s earnest and raspy in the way that makes Ryan’s heart swell. It’s hard to talk around it, so Ryan jokes, “I don’t need your praise. It’s not really my thing.”

Sophie reaches up to cup Ryan’s cheek in her hand. Ryan melts into the touch. It would be embarrassing, if not for the fact that Sophie’s hand shakes just a bit against Ryan’s skin.

As Ryan turns her head to face Sophie’s, Sophie whispers, “Show me what is?”

Honestly, the praise thing would be pretty great. Ryan could use a few reminders that she’s meant to be here, that Sophie wants this and wants them. That Ryan’s not a placeholder and is actually the reason Sophie’s sitting out here instead of going after any of the women who might want her.

Ryan lifts a hand to the highlights in Sophie’s hair. “You really do look amazing.”

Sophie smirks. “You should see them in the sun. Maybe in the morning?”

Ryan laughs. “Very smooth.” She drops her forehead, and Sophie brings hers to meet it. “I’m not that easy.”

Sophie snorts. “You’ve never been easy, Ryan. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.”

This could be an awful idea. But Ryan’s done a lot worse than go out with a woman she’s already falling for. Ryan has to look through her lashes to meet Sophie’s eyes. They’re rich and searching, and Ryan knows hers could give the answer. Hers could give everything. So she pulls back just enough to bring her lips to Sophie’s. A soft brush at first. A yes to trying. A yes to a night on the river and finding each other under the covers. A yes to a life, if that’s what Sophie wants.

Sophie chases after Ryan’s lips, catching her and deepening the conversation. Because she does want. She’s shown again and again that she wants anything Ryan will give her. She’s gone along with ridiculous plans and the countless times that Ryan’s iced her out. She’s here for this, and as her tongue swipes across Ryan’s lips, Ryan finally lets her in.

When they do break away, Ryan’s breathless. “You wanna see my van?”

Sophie laughs, then nods, then kisses Ryan again. “Who’s easy now?”

🦇

[otp-holic]

Stucky Week: 21st Century

A Fanfic + Pics inside for @stucky-week

Nothing is scarier than posting writing, TBH. It's already in my AO3 where i will probably edit it to death. As I do.

Thank you @moonykat because the anger at all the Bucky!erasing yesterday was the seed for this. And sorry, too because I wish I could do better, haha.

A COUPLE OF KIDS FROM BROOKLYN

Bucky comes back home after a few days out on a mission and finds Steve in the middle of a research of its own.

PG. Established relationship, fluff, lots of books, 1ks

When Bucky opens the door after four days of helping Sam out with some crisis in Portugal, he has to do a double check because he doesn’t remember their living room being a library when he left.

There are books, comics, and notebooks everywhere: Floor, table, countertops, over the couch… and upon a closer look they are not just random books. They are all books about Captain America. And no sign of Steve… This doesn’t look promising.

“Steve?” he asks as he takes off his jacket.

“Buck, you are home!”

The voice from the bedroom is clearly happy Bucky is back and, yes, a second later a smiling Steve Rogers comes into view and walks towards him dodging all the books on the floor: crazy hair, un-showered, and very very gullible.

“I missed you,” he says, planting a kiss on his lips and hugging him tightly. God, he’s such a sap but he missed him, too.

“Mmm… Steve,” he ventures as he untangles himself from the hug. “Care to explain…. this?”

Steves looks behind himself and onto the floor and his expression changes into a frown.

“Buck, what year is it? Are we really in the 21st century?” Bucky panics and instinctively takes his hands to Steve’s head, searching for any indication of a concussion.

“What…”

“No, Bucky, I’m ok, it was an hypothetical! But hear me out!” he talks with passion and anger, so whatever it is, it is important. This was not the welcome Bucky was expecting.

He walks towards the piles of books and takes a couple of them with him.

“Don’t know how it started… but I was bored and I’ve been doing a little research.”

Bucky takes one of the books Steve is handing him “Man of Many times: Updating Steve Rogers”, the title says.

“Research… on yourself.” Bucky has so many puns that he has to bite his tongue. “Didn’t know you got so lonely without…”

“Leave the masturbation jokes for later, this is important!”

He takes a stall from the kitchen and sits down on it, putting the book on the counter right by another one called “Steve Rogers: The Official Biography. 1982”. They are really everywhere.

“You’ve got not only my whole attention but also the best part of my curiosity.”

“Do you know how many books about me there are? No, don’t answer, I will tell you because I know now! There are at least three biographies published every decade, plus comics, cards, books on tactics, about my fucking body changes, official thesis, scientific articles, and everything translated into different languages!” Bucky is impressed. “A little digging on Wikipedia and Amazon… and I concluded there are about 594 books. About me. Every fucking aspect of me.”

He stops for a moment to take a breath and Bucky stays there looking at him and experiencing all kinds of emotions. Passionate and almost enraged Steve is an instant turn-on, but he’s also pretty intrigued about where all this is going. He honestly has no clue.

“Please, please go on before I start with the narcissistic and masturbatory jokes again. I beg you.”

“Buck!” He is full-on outraged now. “There are almost six hundred books about me… some of them apparently “official”, and I haven’t been able to find a single one that dares to hint or even question the nature of our relationship.”

There’s a two-second silence while the gears inside Bucky’s brain start processing the turn of the conversation. Faulty.

“So, you are all worked up because the world doesn’t have a clue that we do the wild thing between the sheets?”

Bucky knows he’s said the wrong thing when the hurt reaches Steve’s eyes in an instant, and he wants to punch himself for trying to release some tension at the worst moment.

“That we’ve been together since the ‘30s, you heartless punk. That we are fucking married, Bucky. That you would have married me at 16 if that would have been an option. And this is the 21st century, somebody should have at least made a book chapter or a fucking thesis just maybe raiding the question. I had to go into some obscure corner of the internet to find a single post from 2014 wondering if there was something hidden between us.” He stops and laughs a bit. “I almost wrote back with a thank you message!”

“I understand. I really do, and I’m sorry about my response just now, I didn’t mean to downplay you, just… ”

Steve briefly touches his face in reassurance as he leans on the counter and starts talking again. Calmer now.

“There is a Collector’s Captain America Encyclopedia that just came last year to cover all my… career as Cap,” he keeps looking at Bucky straight in the eyes, this is clearly what sparked it all. “It is 10 fucking volumes long, and I went to the “B” I couldn’t believe the entries for ‘Battle’, ‘Brooklyn’ and even ‘Banner’ were longer than the one for ‘Barnes’, and… Let me show you something.”

He walks towards the couch, retrieves a book, and comes back to hand him Collector’s Captain America Encyclopedia: Volume 3.

“Page 159, it has a marker,” Steve says.

He uses the little yellow marker to see the page and suddenly he’s angry and a little sad, too.

It’s the entry for “Bucky” and it says: “Bucky: see ‘Barnes’”. And that's it.

The silence is heavy where it was light before, and Steve takes the book out of his hands and comes closer placing his forehand on Bucky’s.

“I cannot let history erase you, Buck. Not as a whole and especially not from my story. None of it makes sense without you, so it’s either nobody or both of us there, pal. And, spoiler alert, but it might be a little too late to take me out of it.”

Steve looks for approval on his face by taking a step back and Bucky nods to whatever it is Steve has on his mind because how could he say no?

“I should have never married an international superhero whose tour de force spans more than seventy years.” Steve laughs. They are back to relaxed now. “Now, out with it Rogers,... I know you have a play-by-play plan for what to do next.”

Steve escapes to the living room and starts piling up books to make room on the couch, not answering Bucky’s question. Bucky can see a mischievous smile even with his back to him.

“We are writing our own book. Well, you are writing, since the Smithsonian got it right about your excellence in the classroom even if they missed on your birthday.” He says and he is glowing. “I might just bother you with important facts, deadlines, and little drawings.”

Bucky is speechless again. And tired. And he knows he is going to say yes, so why bother arguing?

He decides to just give up instead, and walks towards Steve, pushing him onto the couch and, after removing “Steve Rogers’ Lovers: An Unofficial Biography of Caps’ Love affairs” from under his elbow and throwing it towards the kitchen, cuddling him.

“I bet you picked the title already.” He says closing his eyes and taking a deep breath full of Steve.

“Yes, but I’m not telling you just yet,” Steve answers as he kisses his forehead. And Bucky doesn’t care, he can wait.

[wolfstar-supremacy-innit]

"Tell who?"- Part 3

Remus smiled into his pillow. Why’s he so cute? He felt something rustle under his stomach. Reaching under himself, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment. His resolutions list. Remus flipped onto his back and squinted at the letters. Warmth was pooling in his chest. Something is missing here. He patted the bed in search for his quill and ink, then wrote:

5. Fuck this I wanna tell him I love him

The paper slipped to the floor as Remus’ arms gave out and he drifted into an instantaneous, profound sleep.

Alternatively:

The Marauders are in their 6th year at Hogwarts, it's New Year's Eve and Remus writes a New Year's resolutions list. Sirius finds it the next day. The story is written from Remus' point of view. It's wolfstar and lighthearted. Kinda inspired by this fanfic.

This is part 3 of the story. I will be posting the other parts separately here and also the full fic on ao3 (I will link everything when it's done, check this post for that in some time). Warnings: underage drinking and smoking, mentions of anxiety disorder.

Part 1 Part 2

Enjoy <3

I’m such an idiot. I’m an idiot. Why didn’t I lie?! Why didn’t I disprove it? This was it. This was the end of the world. He knew Sirius wouldn’t react terribly badly. He wouldn’t express disgust or resentment, not after Remus confided in him about how sensitive he was on the question of his own sexuality. But it would be painfully awkward. Their connection would never be the same; it couldn’t. Remus dreaded losing his best friend. But it was done. Sirius’ best friend was James anyway. Remus buried his face in his hands as tears stung his eyes. He settled into his new hideout and slept there for the night. He couldn’t bear to face Sirius.

In the morning, Remus made an effort to arrive to Charms class as late as possible, right as Flitwick was commencing his lesson. He slid into the chair at the end of their usual table, next to James. Sirius was on the other end. “Where were you, mate? You scared us,” James whispered. Peter was gazing at Remus over his shoulder.

Remus cleared his throat. “Sorry, fell asleep in my spot,” he said. In his peripheral vision, Sirius was leaning far on the table, trying to catch his attention. But Remus took it upon himself to laser focus on the lesson, his nose buried so deep into his notes, it was nearly touching the parchment.

After the class, he bolted again. He just couldn’t face him. He couldn’t. He returned to his hiding place and waited out his free period and most of lunch. He had to repeat his breathing exercises more than ever. Suddenly, Remus paused. Determination was rising in his chest. Then he forced himself to pull it together. It wasn’t like Remus to run away from his problems. If being a werewolf had taught him anything, it was that neglecting and avoiding your issues doesn’t make them vanish. Makes them worse, even. Also, Remus didn’t have a lot. He had his parents, music, books, magic, and he had his friends. There wasn’t much he prised more than his friendships with James, Sirius and Peter. Sirius knowing about his crush was thoroughly embarrassing, yes, but it wasn’t worth completely losing his friends. Plus, he was due for a shower. So Remus took a few more deep breaths, dusted himself off, and headed for the dorm. When he got there, nobody was inside. He took his sweet time in the shower, allowing the warm water to drain out more of his nervous energy. I can handle this.

When Remus got out, Sirius was there, lying on his stomach, doing homework. He looked up. Remus put on a brave face and said: “Hi.” Sirius’ worried expression was exchanged with a slightly more relaxed one. “Hi.” Remus sat on his own bed looking in Sirius’ general direction, but not quite at him, cleared his throat, and said: “Um, sorry I bolted. That was childish.”

“That’s alright,” Sirius replied in the tiniest voice. It was very unlike his usual loud, assertive self.

Remus wanted the bed to swallow him whole, but he pushed through. “We don’t have to talk about the... thing. Or acknowledge it. It’s not a big deal, really.” A lie. But it needed to be done. Sirius didn’t say anything. Remus was certain he didn't know what to say. Reaching into his bag, Remus retrieved his Charms textbook and started on his own homework. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sirius still looking at him for another minute, then he went back to work. The silence was agonising and tense, but Remus had known it would be. They would just have to persevere. After a while, Sirius asked: “Hey, could you help me with this? It’s Arithmancy. I procrastinated, and now I have to hand it in in half an hour.” Remus snorted. Their next class was Arithmancy, and only he and Sirius took it. So, Sirius was choosing to act like nothing happened. That was okay with Remus. “Sure.”

Only, as it happens, Sirius didn’t ignore it. Throughout the next week, he started acting a little peculiar. He was still loud and fooling around, but he would also hold doors for Remus, for example. If anyone knew Sirius, they knew doors were either held for him, or he would just swing them open and let them slam behind him into the next person’s face. Even James noticed it and asked him if he had brain damage. Also, a couple times at meals, Sirius would scoot his seat closer to Remus’, making their arms brush while they ate. The first time it happened, Remus blushed so profusely, he could see giant pink splotches splattered all over his neck and cheeks in his reflection in one of the large silver bowls on the table. Sirius stopped calling him ‘mate’ too. Occasionally, he’d ask for help with his homework, even though he clearly didn’t need it. It all made Remus want to shoot himself in the face with a hex. It seemed like Sirius was pitying him, and he despised it. It was somehow worse than Sirius being awkward and distant around him.

January’s full moon fell on the 25th, and Remus’ transformation didn’t go particularly smoothly. It was likely one of the worst ones out of all those he spent with his friends as animagi. He was fairly confident it was because of the whole Sirius thing. Just because he decided to deal with it didn’t mean it wasn’t taking its toll. Remus was stressed all the time. Not just because of Sirius, of course, but that was a key factor. When he woke up in the hospital wing the following morning, his friends were there. James rambled on enthusiastically about an upcoming Quidditch match. Remus didn’t really comprehend half of it, but still tried to nod at appropriate times. Peter piped in once in a while to agree with James or add something. Sirius, however, was completely silent the whole visit. About an hour later, Madam Pomfrey chased James, Sirius and Peter out, but Remus didn’t mind too much. He was knackered. He drifted off to sleep before the boys were even out the door.

Later that day, at dusk, Remus sat in his hospital bed reading a muggle novel when Sirius popped in. Or rather sneaked in. He was alone this time. “Had a free period. Thought you might want some company,” he explained. Elation started brewing in Remus’ stomach.

“Oh, brilliant, thanks.”

“What are you up to, then?” Sirius sat on the bed.

Remus lifted his book. “Reading. Not much to do here, really.”

“Sweet. Will you read to me?”

“What?”

Sirius smiled. “Will you read out loud for me?” He turned around, plopped on the bed face-up with his boots propped up on the railing at the foot of the bed. He tucked his hands behind his head, half lying on Remus’ legs.

“Oh, okay.” Heat sneaked up Remus’ neck. He read to Sirius until it was almost time for him to leave for his next class.

“Transfiguration next. Think I’m gonna gouge out my eyes if we don’t move on from teacup to gerbil.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You mastered it two lessons ago.” Remus rolled his eyes, smiling. Sirius let out a soft laugh.

“Moony...” He was now sitting on the bed next to Remus. “I feel like this is my fault.” He reached out and gently touched the bandage on Remus’ arm. Sirius was referring to Remus’ beat-up state.

“What? Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Well, because of the... You know... I mean, you’re upset and-“ Remus’ heartbeat picked up swiftly. They hadn’t so much as mentioned the crush since that day in the dorm.

“I’m not upset. Really. I just have a lot on my mind.” He searched his brain for something more to say to make Sirius feel better. It wasn’t his fault at all. It was Remus’ for letting this bother him so much. “It’s not you.”

“You sure?” His eyes were so sad; it was painful.

“Yes, Sirius, really. It’s not you, okay?”

“Okay.” After a pause, Sirius continued: “Oh, I almost forgot. Brought you something.” He smiled, finally. After rummaging in his bag, Sirius emerged with a stack of chocolate bars and dropped them into Remus’ lap. They were Remus’ favourite. Warmth fluttered across his chest. Sirius had to have ordered these from Honeydukes. Now it was Remus’ time to smile.

“Oh, brilliant! Thanks, Sirius.”

“No problem. Right. I better clear off, then. I can’t handle another detention with Minnie for something as stupid as being late.”

“Right. See you in the dorm then.”

“See ya, Moony. Oh, loved the reading. We should definitely do that again!” Then he walked out the door. Remus’ cheeks flamed crimson. He sank deep into the covers, yanking them over his head. He’s gonna be the death of me.

***

After that visit at the hospital, another strange thing started happening. On several occasions, Remus caught Sirius staring at him, then quickly looking away when their eyes connected. In class, at meals, in the common room as the four of them sat in front of the fireplace doing homework. It made Remus very nervous and a little confused. Furthermore, with James’ upcoming match, Sirius and Remus found themselves alone more often than not. James either had practice or was in the library going over tactics for his team, and Peter loved tagging along. When Sirius and Remus were alone in the dorm, Sirius would usually suggest that Remus read to him. At first, they were in their respective beds, but then Sirius started sneaking onto Remus’ bed as he read. It made Remus’ heart thump every time, because Sirius Black in his bed, well. That was a sight to see. He would lounge on his back, one ankle over the other, hands behind his head, eyes shut, and listen. He never fell asleep. Occasionally, he would laugh or comment on an interesting segment.

One of those times, both of them were on Remus’ bed as Remus read “A Stranger in a Strange Land” by Robert A. Heinlein. Sirius liked the muggle books. He was in his usual disposition, with half of his hair loosely and messily pulled back with a hair tie. Remus adored that look on Sirius. He was sitting cross-legged in level with Sirius’ hips, with the book sprawled onto his lap.

“Hey, got a cig,” Sirius asked as Remus was turning the page.

“Yep.” He used Accio to fetch his rolling equipment from his bedside table, placed the contents on the rizla and performed his spell. It rolled smoothly, the tobacco and filter tucked tightly into the paper. He’d been practising.

“Hey, that’s one thing off your resolutions list,” Sirius said, smiling as he accepted the cigarette. Their fingers touched.

“Well, technically, it’s two, isn’t it...,” Remus trailed off, clearing his throat. Christ, why did I say that?! He could already feel the blood rushing in his ears. Maybe Sirius wouldn’t get the reference... But Sirius pushed himself onto his elbows and peered at him. Remus pretended to pack up his cigarette equipment with intense concentration. Sirius sat all the way up and leaned so close, Remus could feel his breath. Nervousness sparked off goosebumps all over Remus’ skin. He swallowed thickly. Sirius smelled of mint and expensive shampoo. “Moony,” he said, and Remus finally turned to face him. Their noses were less than two centimetres apart. Remus’ heart was hammering against his ribs.

Sirius glanced at his lips, then slowly leaned in and closed the distance. Remus fluttered his eyes shut as adrenaline set his insides ablaze. The kiss was warm and gentle. “Sirius..,” Remus started, but the other boy just connected their lips again, this time kissing him more eagerly, and Remus just gave over. Sirius was letting him know this wasn’t charity; he really wanted it. He licked into Remus’ mouth delicately, grasping the back of his neck to pull him closer. Remus had never had a real tongue kiss before, but Sirius was leading him, and it all came naturally. Without warning, he felt tears burning behind his closed eyes. Remus had never, not even for a moment, let himself get caught up in the idea of Sirius liking him back. He knew rejection would shatter his soul, and he couldn’t let himself be torn apart by his own fantasies. But it wasn’t a fantasy anymore, and Remus was overwhelmed with the relief of letting go. Of finally allowing himself to crave what he'd been pushing down for months. His favourite person wanting him back. He entwined his fingers into Sirius’ hair and kissed him back intensely. They were both breathing heavily, then Sirius placed his other palm on Remus’ upper thigh. A tingling sensation shot up his lower back as he inhaled a long breath through his nose. Sirius was remarkably skilled, Remus noted.

Remus lost all sense of time. He didn’t know how long they kissed, it simultaneously felt like minutes and hours. Suddenly, they leapt apart as steps and chatter echoed on the stairs leading to the dorm. Sirius stood up and hurriedly smoothed down his hair. Remus wiped his lips with the back of his hand and frantically covered his lap with the covers. He was tight in his trousers. Christ. He wondered whether Sirius noticed as the heat blazed his cheeks. Peter and James trudged into the room, still talking.

“Alright lads,” James said, sauntered to his bed and started taking off his Quidditch robes.

Sirius cleared his throat, then said: “Uh, yeah. Brilliant.” His voice came out lower that usual.

"Bloody amazing practice today!"

“Oh, you guys Should have seen them! I could barely keep track of the Quaffle! Ravenclaw hasn’t got a chance,” Peter prattled on, but Remus couldn’t focus. His brain was whirring a thousand miles a minute. Holy shit, was the only coherent sentence his mind could congregate. He could still feel the the ghost of Sirius’ kiss on his lips.

Minutes later, Sirius returned to his usual banter and mucking about with James. If something different was going on inside his head, it didn’t show. A sudden arrow of disappointment and yearning shot through Remus’ chest. Was this just a one-off? His excitement dwindled for a moment, but when he glanced over to Sirius again, he was already looking at him. They smiled at each other. It didn’t matter anyway. Remus felt like this kiss could power his brain for all eternity. It had been like something straight out of a dream.

Part 4 will probably take me a little longer, given that I basically had the first 3 parts drafted when I posted the first one. Also 4 will probs be the last one. Hope you like it so far! :) <3

Part 1 Part 2

[foilfreak]

BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

The Part-Time Puppeteer - Chapter 09

<= Chapter 8

Summary : Lukas gets to have a conversation with a friend.

Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828971/chapters/81432325

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Heehooo, new chapter ! I hope you'll like it !

Thank you again for all your comments, likes and reblogs. You're always making my day !

I get to see them when I wake up and let me tell you, this is the best thing I could get before going to work. Thank you so much.

This fanfic also makes me realize I'm not as bad at writing slice of life stuff as I first thought- Huh, good to know.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Chapter 8 - “Was… Was he always like this?”

It was such a strange feeling for Lukas… Having won that duel when he had been so convinced he had no chance to begin with. He had been prepared so much to be downgraded to being a stagehand again that he had never truly considered what he’d do if he ever beat MJ.

So… He was an actor, now? The realization seemed surreal, like he was just imagining things… And yet, here he was, sitting in the staff break room, staring into space. His body was there, but his mind was somewhere else, lost in thoughts and unable to focus on the current situation. Even when other stagehands had come to congratulate him, telling him they were happy he put the diva in his place… He replied, saying thanks and every variant of it, without really being there at all.

In hindsight, the fact he had won wasn’t the reason he was feeling like this- it was that it had been so easy. Just like DJ Grooves had said, it was… A switch to flip. Sure, it required him to put his anxiety aside- but on this particular occasion, the anger he had felt towards MJ had been a way to temporarily shift his… Priorities, in some ways.

What the investor had said regarding the show had created quite the mess in the crew. While the Conductor and DJ Grooves had joined him for a private meeting regarding the scenario, most of the stagehands seemed lost. Lukas couldn’t blame them- with how the project had been questioned, it was hard to know whether to continue their job or wait for new instructions. A lot of them were exchanging thoughts about the whole thing: how they had been lucky most of the search of actors hadn’t officially started, how they were worried about a lot of their work going to waste… It was all understandable.

To think he might have been with them, perplexed about the same things… Apparently, fate had decided something else for him.

His attention was caught by the sound of a door opening, and he lifted his head. He didn’t know how much time had passed since the directors had started their meeting or how long he had been sitting in there… But he was pretty sure it had been at least a good hour. And so, when the student recognized Mike through the door frame, a feeling of confusion settled over him. Wait, didn’t he go to comfort his asshole of a twin…?

When the two young men’s eyes met, the puppet maker’s expression lightened up slightly. It didn’t take long for Lukas to understand his friend had been looking for him. Thus, he wasn’t surprised when he saw the other approaching him, before sitting next to him at the table.

-“Hey,” Mike greeted him, his voice clearly showing things hadn’t gone so well with MJ.

-“Hey,” he answered back, his expression turning concerned: “You alright?” he asked. He didn’t want to ask about the actor unless his friend actually wanted to talk about it- contrary to some people, he had been raised with manners and tact.

Said friend put his elbows on the table, leaning in as he rubbed his face:

-“I wish I could say yes, but I’m not,” he replied honestly. His mismatched eyes glanced at him, a sigh leaving his lips: “It’s not because of you,” he assured, probably not wanting Lukas to feel guilty. Well, too bad, he kinda did, with how upset Mike seemed to be.

-“Do you… Want to talk about it?” he offered, wanting nothing but to help his friend to feel better.

At his question, the puppet-maker remained silent, as if he were hesitating. Lukas waited patiently- he knew that if Mike needed to open his heart, then he would, but if he didn’t want to, then… It simply meant he wasn’t ready to, which was fine. The law student wasn’t going to force him. Eventually, though, Mike sighed again, moving his hands back to the table as he answered:

-“Morg- MJ, I mean, he’s not… He’s not a bad person,” his voice was faltering and he had to rub his eyes to hold back his tears: “I know he’s not easy to deal with, but… But he’s a nice person once you get to know him.”

“How much do you need to dig to find that ”nice person“, deep down?” Lukas thought to himself with sarcasm, but he did everything he could to keep those words to himself. Mike being related to that diva, the former most likely wasn’t objective- hell, Lukas’ relatives certainly weren’t perfect, but he still loved them nonetheless.

-“I’m sure he is,” he lied, his tone kind and comforting. With how Mike was dealing with everything, it wasn’t hard to guess some things had been said between the twins, and that it probably wasn’t the first time nor the last. Sure, Lukas couldn’t stand that guy, and the current situation wasn’t improving that, but he had no right to judge Mike for loving his brother. Still, what a great relationship… Not.

The puppet-maker sniffed and looked away. His eyes were getting red, just like his nose.

-“Sorry for… What he said to you,” Mike added after a minute: “And for… Him trying to punch you.”

-“It’s… It’s fine,” the student assured him, even if it wasn’t. Still, his friend didn’t need to hear that right now. Apparently, the other instantly noticed Lukas had just lied, as a weak scoff left his mouth, an insincere smile taking place onto his lips.

-“It’s not, you can say it,” he admitted with a shrug: “You wouldn’t be the first one to tell me that, anyway.”

Lukas turned his head, caught red-handed. Well, at least he had tried, he supposed… It was obvious Mike had gone through unpleasant conversations about his brother’s behavior- lying about everything being fine most likely wasn’t a good thing to do in those circumstances. The puppet-maker wasn’t stupid, after all.

-“Was… Was he always like this?” the young man dared to ask, slowly turning back to his friend, hoping this wouldn’t offend him. But it didn’t- on the contrary, Mike imitated him, facing him again. His expression showed sadness, pain, but also… Inner conflict.

-“… No, he wasn’t,” he shook his head, taking a deep breath as he tried to repress other, new tears: “A lot of stuff happened when we were kids, and… That left a mark. He’s never been the same since then.”

-“Do you… wanna talk about that?” the student asked, hinting at whatever trauma MJ had gone through. However, his friend frowned:

-“No. No, I don’t- I can’t,” he breathed out, leaning back against his chair: “Look, I’m… Not supposed to talk about that. It’s very… Personal, and I guess it just… Slipped out,” his eyes glanced to Lukas apologetically: “Sorry. I promised not to talk about it again, and he… Really wouldn’t like the fact I told you.”

Lukas tilted his head to the side with a wince- yeah, that was understandable. Still, he couldn’t help but be curious about what Mike was so secretive about. What kind of trauma could justify acting like an asshole to everyone? Sure, one could have gone through a lot of stuff, but that didn’t allow them to be a bitch to their friends and especially not their family! With how hard Mike was trying, it was frustrating to see the diva just… Hurting his own twin because he was frustrated or angry.

-“No, it’s fine- I get it,” he agreed, deciding not to push the topic any further: “You don’t have to tell me. Is he still around?”

-“No,” Mike shook his head, his breathing finally calming down through efforts: “He’s gone back home. I always tell him to when he needs to… Calm down.”

-“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Lukas asked out of politeness. To be completely honest, he couldn’t care less about MJ’s tantrum, but it was obvious his friend needed to speak about it. Comfort was the minimum he could offer for that.

-“I don’t… I don’t know,” the other confessed, rubbing his face again while his eyes stared into space: “It has never been that badbefore. I’m not gonna lie, this kind of thing happens… A lot. But this time, he just… Refused to talk to me. Usually, I can get him to speak his heart a little, you know? Today, he ignored me and drove back home- he didn’t even look at me.”

“What a jerk, what a jerk, what a fucking jerk,” Lukas did his best to keep that thought to himself again. Seriously, how could one act like an entitled brat that much?

-“Why… Uh,” he paused, joining his hands together as he struggled to find the right words to convey what he wanted to say: “Okay, this is going to sound bad no matter what I say, but… If he’s acting like that to you, his own brother, why would you… Keep trying?” At his sentence, Mike looked up, frowning at him- of fuck, he had been too direct, he should have kept his mouth shut: “I-I mean, don’t get me wrong, I understand why! But… You seem really upset, and you said it kept happening, so, you know…”

The student was now rambling, trying really hard to make up for his lack of tact, but eventually, Mike’s frown turned into a weak, genuine smile:

-“Because I love him,” he answered as if it were blatantly obvious: “And I guess… Because I feel guilty too,” he then admitted, looking away with an ashamed expression. Well… That was new. Him, feeling guilty? But what for? After all, Mike was perhaps one of the nicest person he had met! Apparently, his confusion must have been quite visible as the puppet-maker sighed.

-“Listen, I really can’t talk about this, it’s… Like I said, it’s something very personal for MJ. Still, well… MJ and I went through a lot when we were kids, but he had it much worse than I did. Compared to him, my childhood was easy. So… I kinda feel like I owe him my help, now that it’s over, because I couldn’t be there for him years ago. That’s all I can tell you.”

The law student fell silent- yeah, he could get what the other was saying. Still… He couldn’t help but feel like Mike was putting his own feelings to the side, prioritizing MJ’s first. It wasn’t healthy. A simple look at the puppet-maker was enough to see how upset he was!

-“Does he… Know you feel that way?” Lukas dared to ask, a bit hesitant after his previous question.

A soft and sad scoff left Mike’s lips:

-“No. I haven’t told him- but trust me, it’s fine, I’mfine,” he replied, his expression showing more determination: “I want to help him the best I can. I know he doesn’t actually want to hurt me, and that’s all I need.”

It took Lukas a lot of willpower not to retort anything about that, and so he simply nodded. Oh, he wanted to tell Mike he didn’t have to play the role of a punching bag, that he didn’t have to feel guilty about something that had happened when he was literally a child… But it was clear that Mike wasn’t going to change his mind. Plus, it wasn’t like he could have a say in this, he was just a stranger. He had no idea what had happened during the twins’ childhood and… Well, even if he didn’t think any of that would justify MJ’s actions… He still had to give both of them the benefit of the doubt.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but feel like this was really unfair.

-“Thanks,” the other added, visibly glad Lukas hadn’t insisted. He let out a sigh before glancing at his watch, his eyes widening as he quickly stood up: “Crap, my break’s over,” he mumbled, and then spoke louder: “I need to repair some costumes. I’ll, uh, see you soon.”

-“Oh, yeah,” the student nodded awkwardly: “Good luck.”

-“I’ll definitely need some of that…” the puppet-maker sighed again and quickly left the break room, barely looking back. His face had looked so stressed, but Lukas couldn’t blame him: with what had happened with his twin and the fact that his work had gone to waste… Yeah, that seemed to be a lot. Furthermore, Lukas guessed Mike had to postpone the work on the new puppet, considering he had to wait for the new script to be validated. Poor guy wasn’t going to design a new character when no one even knew said character’s personality yet.

The young man let out a sigh, his eyes glancing around: what was he supposed to do, now? He had been promoted, sure, but what could he do if he had to wait for his role to be remade from scratch? Even the other stagehands didn’t know what to do! It sure was a weird situation to be in. Maybe he could lend a hand to whoever needed it? There had to be someone out there needing assistance or something…

After taking a deep breath, Lukas stood up and left the break room. His legs led him through the different part of the studio, hoping to find something to do. At some point, he passed in front of a door, where loud voices could be heard through it- the Conductor’s, Grooves’ and the investor’s. Well, seemed like it was the meeting room, which was probably the last place Lukas wanted to be right now. It didn’t sound like they were arguing, no, it sounded more like an intense discussion. He couldn’t understand anything, as the voices were muffled, though it was enough for him to quicken his pace.

He then found a group of stagehands ready to put the props and backgrounds for the Moonjumper’s home back in a closet, never to be seen again. There were a lot of stuff and so, naturally, the young man decided to help them. The stagehands he joined were touched by the attention and thanked him for it. Once they were done, they offered Lukas to tag along for other tasks, and he happily accepted. Not like he had anything else to do anyway and, well, it was always a good thing to be close to the crew.

Hah, helping the stagehands… Not something MJ would do, huh?

In any case, the hours passed and most of the work was done by the evening, when it was time to leave. After saying goodbye to his co-workers and making a quick stop to Mike’s workshop for the same reason, the young man took the last bus of the day and headed home. What a day this had been… Lukas’ mind was unable to think anymore- how could he, after everything that had happened in only a few hours? His shift had been… Wild, to say the least.

Once he got home, the first thing he did was to let himself fall on his couch. Were all of his shifts going to be so exhausting…? He sighed in one of the cushions, already feeling tired enough to fall asleep- nope, he still needed to eat and do his homework. Doing the latter after such a day of work sounded terrible, though he didn’t have a lot of choice, as he didn’t want to procrastinate. Plus, thankfully, law was something he was interested in, so at least it wasn’t boring, just… Time-consuming.

After the previous night, he really, reallyneeded to sleep a good amount of hours. With that new, motivating goal in mind, the young man hurried up to put a quick meal in the microwave. As he ate, he started his homework in the meantime, his tired brain doing his best to produce a good essay. Thankfully, it was a short one, allowing him to go to sleep earlier than what he had first thought. And so… He went to bed, his head full of memories from today. He wondered what the next day would have in store for him…

It actually took two weeks for the studio to get a new, validated version of the script. In the meantime, Lukas kept helping the other stagehands the best he could. He visited Mike in his workshop during his breaks, trying to see if his friend was feeling better. It took a few days but soon enough, they were back at talking about various topics. Visiting Mike also let him have a look at the new character designs the other was preparing, various versions he was planning to show the directors, so they could pick a particular design. All of them were really different from one another.

Lukas didn’t get the opportunity to read the script yet, as the Conductor and DJ Grooves wanted to be sure it was perfect before showing it to the team this time. However, Mike had gotten some information on the new characters and changes, as he had to design them and couldn’t do so without knowing their personality. Thus, the other shared him the secret info he had been given- and so, apparently, the new character was going to be a ghost ruling over a forest or something like that… Mike wasn’t given too much information on the setting itself, but the student still got to learn that this character was going to be charismatic, sadistic, and mischievous. From what the puppet-maker had learned, he told Lukas the directors were most likely inspired by his performance to write this new character.

This was… Really flattering. For days, he had thought they had disliked his improvisation, but it seemed like he was wrong. Learning that made his day- his week, even!

Eventually, the script was finally ready and finished, with the investor’s approval. Lukas received a copy and was told to read his parts for the day after, so he could get familiarized with this new character. He was… Strangely excited to do so, knowing this character was based on him. In the meantime, the crew made another audition announcement, this time featuring all the new characters and removing the ones that were cut.

Lukas didn’t think he would be one of those people but… He actually couldn’t wait to go back to his job!

… Too bad this passion was going to be stained in the near future.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Oh boy I love ending my chapter ominously huh

=> Chapter 10

[hayden-thefuck-whywouldyoudothis]

The Inevitable

Hello wonderful people! This is going to be my first ever fanfic that I am posting anywhere, so please be nice. I would appreciate feedback, and I think that if it does well here I’ll post it n Ao3. 

I came up with this fic idea a little while back, and I’ve been writing it since 03/13/21. Basically the idea is that while Tommy was in the afterlife, he met characters who died during Tales From The SMP episodes that took place in the past. They told him their stories, and Tommy connected the dots. He goes to confront Karl in Kinoko Kingdom.

This story includes a headcanon that is not mine. I read a fanfic with the mute!Karl headcanon. The story was an absolute banger. If you want to hear a little more about that go read their story Come Home With Me by icaruswontmelt on Ao3

Story starts under the cut .

The Inevitable, by BangHaydenCoven

Death was the one thing that had always been truly eternal. When Wilbur came back as Ghostbur, it had seemed like death maybe wasn’t completely permanent because Wilbur was back. But he hadn’t been brought back to life. He was a ghost, a shell of the person he had been before everything went to shit. Tommy had truly thought that death was the one thing that stayed constant on this god-forsaken server. Being beaten to death and brought back by the person who hurt you so deeply puts a lot of things that were just beyond reach of perfectly understandable, into perspective. In the amount of time that had gone by while Tommy’s life actually went to hell and back, everything had changed. Tubbo had gotten married of all things, He had a kid. And a new best friend as well, apparently. There was, for the first time in a long time, a semblance of peace between all of the factions. Peace smashed, the moment he had been let out of the prison. No one looked at him the same way anymore. No one looked at him like the kid he was. The kid he was supposed to be. All they saw was an anomaly. Not a real, live, breathing person who has feelings and needs validation, just like other people. Proof of something that never should have been real. 

Since declaring that Dream had to die, Tommy had holed himself up in his little house dirt mound of a house. When he finally got over the initial panic, the firsthand terror of forcing himself to think about the time he had spent dead, he allowed himself to do it freely. Puffy had told him it was good to think back on the trauma. He wasn’t sure just how much he could trust that ideology, but it seemed to work for the most part. Tommy had spent the majority of his time in the afterlife with the people he had known when he was alive.  Wilbur, Schlatt, Mexican Dream. It had been pretty simple. They spent a lot of time playing card games, for some reason. But one day, a fight had sparked between Tommy and Schlatt, causing the younger to storm off into the distance. He had been fuming that day. It hadn’t even been a fight that made sense. Schlatt had thrown some baseless accusations his way, and Tommy had just given up. He needed a break. So he walked away. 

He walked.

And he walked.

And he walked.

And he walked.

And he stopped.

Looming over him was a building that was like nothing Tommy had ever seen. It was old, dusty, and cold. It belonged in the afterlife, to put it simply. It fit. It was a simple embodiment. Then, laughter filled the air. Frightening, drunk laughter that was cold but inviting. Tommy followed the spine-chilling noise into the building where he found four people. Three were dressed like they were from the Wild West. Cowboy hats, cowboy boots, and simple revolvers at their hips. The fourth was also clearly from the same time period, put was dressed simply. When he walked into the building, they just stared at him. Cold, level stares that made him feel like he would rather die all over again then be stuck under those gazes for the rest of eternity. But suddenly the looks of the people softened as they beckoned him over, introducing themselves as Connor, Mason, and Jack Kanoff. They were group of bandits called the Democrat Haters, and a simple bartender named John John. They told him their story, to put it simply. They told him how they died.

That was only the beginning.

Tommy wandered for a week straight, meeting people, hearing their stories. He met higher members of society who attended a masquerade only to die brutal deaths at the hands of a possessed butler, the members of a village with a crazed murderer that didn’t know haw to stop, that killed people brutally, among many others. And every single story Tommy heard had a one thing in common. There was always one man, in every story, who appeared out of no where, wearing colourful clothing and iridescent goggles perched on his head. He didn’t always use the same name, but he was always there, no matter when it had happened. As Tommy moved around his home to prepare, one thought rang true in his mind. 

Karl was getting a visitor tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Walking to Kinoko Kingdom had taken a lot longer than Tommy had originally thought and planned for. Not that the little settlement was close to the rest of the Greater SMP, but it wasn’t far either. Regardless of distance, it was still far too long of a walk for Tommy to be in a good mood when he arrived to find Sapnap of all people tending to the garden in Kinoko. Usually Tommy would have snuck up behind Sapnap and scared him to intentionally piss the older man off, but that was the old Tommy. The old Tommy had stayed dead. Instead, he announced his presence by kicking an acorn at the other mans head. There was a loud yelp, followed by a string of curses that matched the flowers in the garden with how colourful they were.

“George, I swear to god, if-” his sentence dropped of in a look of pure disbelief as he turned around, expecting to see his best friend that deserved a good scolding. A dead teenager was definitely different. And confusing. 

“Shit...” Sapnap mumbled, “Tommy?”

“Hello Sapnap. I must say its very nice to see you doing something other than killing pets. Or your fiances.” He smirks.

“Well it’s definitely you. The question is how. How are you alive?” he says as the shock on his face fades into confusion mixed with disbelief. Tommy freezes. 

“Only if your okay with it of course. Don’t answer if your not comfortable. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up. That was insensitive of me...” he trails off as he realizes Tommy seems less stressed at the fact that Sapnap isn’t going to make him talk about it.

“Sapnap,” Tommy started, “I need to talk to Karl. Like, right now.” 

“Alright,” said Sapnap, nodding slowly, “I’ll go get him. Stay right here.” As Tommy watched the other man walk away to retrieve one of his fiances, he really hopes that what he is about to accuse Karl of is wrong. Maybe one day they’ll laugh about this. Probably not.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Sapnap entered the house, looking for his fiances, he couldn’t help but wonder what it was that Tommy so urgently needed to talk to Karl about. Not finding his fiances on the first floor of their shared house, he went upstairs to continue his search, not wanting to keep the teen waiting for too long. As he opened the door to the throuples bedroom, he let out a small huff of affection when he saw his fiances, the loves of his life, asleep in their bed. Quackity had his arms around Karls waist, with his wings over both of them like a blanket, reflecting the golden light of the sun filtering through the window. Not wanting to disturb the scene in front of him, he let out a small sigh of annoyance as he forced himself to wake up Karl, and by extension Quackity.

“Theres someone here who wants to talk to you.” he muttered softly in Karls ear. 

“Who?” Karl signed sleepily.

“Tommy. It seems pretty important. He’s down in the garden.” Sapnap said a little louder, seeing that Q was now awake, so there was no reason to stay quiet.

“Alright.” He signed, “Let’s go.” as he got up, he tugged on Quackity’s sleeve lightly. “Are you coming, Q?”  He nodded and gave a small smile.

“Alright,” Sapnap said, pulling Quackity into a quick hug, and giving him a quick kiss on the temple, “Let’s go then.”

As they left the house and approached Tommy sitting at the picnic table in their back garden, they exchanged a small conversation in sign language.

“Is he okay?” said Quackity with some concern clear on his face, his movements slow and scuffed from sleep.

“He looks really tired.” Sapnap added.

“Q, could you run in and prepare some sandwiches and lemonade?” Signed Karl, “We’ll bring Tommy inside and we can all have lunch together while we talk.”

“Of course, my love.” Said Quackity, giving Karl a small kiss on the cheek before hurrying inside to prepare some lunch.

Turning to Tommy to thank him for waiting, he was met with a face of absolute, genuine confusion. As Tommy stared at their hands, then looked back over to Karl, his face quickly changed to a look of understanding.

“I forgot,” he said as he stood up sheepishly, “that Karl was mute.”

“That’s okay Tommy.” Karl cut in before Sapnap could say anything, “I know you’ve been through a lot recently. It’s okay to forget things from time to time. I should know.” Karl signed slowly so that Tommy could keep up with his rusty remembrance of sign language, adding a small smile at the end of his sentence. 

“Thank you Karl.” Tommy said with a sigh of relief.

“Would you like to come inside and have lunch with us? I know you have something to talk to me about, but you look hungry. We could talk right after though. How does that sound?” Karl signed with a smile on his face.

“That sounds great.” Tommy said after a beat of hesitation.

“Perfect,” said Sapnap, “let’s head inside. Q is making some sandwiches.” They all headed inside, one dreading the talk that would come after, the other two wondering what could possibly be so important to cause Tommy to come all the way out to Kinoko Kingdom to talk to Karl.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tommy and Sapnap sat down at the table in the dining room as Karl went into the kitchen to help Quackity. Usually it would be all three of the in the kitchen, making food and having a good time, but Sapnap needed to take advantage of the situation at hand. Since he hadn’t visited the main SMP in a while, Tommy gave him the rundown of the current and recent events he knew of. Nothing too bad, but Sapnap knows you can never be too careful. A few minutes later, Quackity and Karl emerge from the kitchen carrying some plates and the food. As they sit down and start to eat, Sapnap and Quackity make small talk that Karl contributes too every once in a while with some one handed movements, putting his sandwich down when it was necessary. But Tommy stayed quiet, which the fiances found quite odd. Clearly whatever the boy had been through recently, on top of all his other trauma, had really messed with him. The loud, boisterous teenager they had known before was gone, replaced with someone they didn’t recognize in the slightest. So Tommy stayed silent the entire time, not noticing the quick, worry filled glances the trio sent his way every so often.

Soon enough, they had all finished eating. They were sitting in the fiances’ living room together, Tommy on one couch, the tree of them on the other. The room sat in an awkward silence as Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap waited for Tommy to talk to them, and as Tommy decided what to say.

After a moment, Tommy said, “Are you sure you want them here for this?” Karl’s eyes widened at how blatant he had been.

“Of course I want them here.” He signed quickly, “They are the people who matter most to me. Whatever you need to say to me you can say to all three of us.” Sapnap and Quackity nodded, not wanting to disrupt anything.

“Alright,” Tommy sighed, “Where should I start...” Karl’s hands stayed firmly in his lap to give Tommy a moment to think. “Well, I guess I’m just going to say what I came here to say, and pray to Prime that I’m wrong.” Karl nodded, once, slowly. Tommy took a deep breath before opening his mouth and saying...

“Your a time traveler, aren’t you?”

Silence.

And then laughter

All he could hear was laughter.

Sapnap and Big Q were laughing. 

Karl was not.

Karl was not.

Karl wasn’t laughing.

The look on his face was not one of someone who had just been accused of some laughable fallacy.

A fantasy, really.

Sapnap and Quackity had stopped laughing.

They seemed to have come to the same conclusion that Tommy had.

“Karlos?” Quackity started, “There is no possible way...” he stopped, a look of pure disbelief on his face.

“Tell me that he’s lying Karl.” said Sapnap. “Please.” Karl’s hands started to move, making aborted and scuffed movements as he tried to figure out what to say.

 “No,” He finally settled on, “he’s right. I’m a time traveler.” Sapnap started crying at this, and Quackity gave him a hug as he buried his face into his fiances neck. Karl looked completely torn. He clearly wanted to comfort his fiances, but he knew he shouldn’t while Tommy was still here. But he also didn’t know if he could. Karl didn’t know if he was even still allowed to comfort them after keeping this big of a secret from them, and for so long. Karl started signing again, this time with clear urgency behind each movement.

“Two things, and then I need you to leave. Understood?”

“Of course,” said Tommy, “I will leave immediately.” Karl nodded.

“Thank you. First things first,” he signed, “how did you know?” Tommy sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this. But Karl deserved to hear the truth.

“When I died, I was in the afterlife for a little while,” Tommy said softly, “One day I walked away from the people I knew in the afterlife, Schlatt, Wilbur, and Mexican Dream. I walked for so long I came across a building I had never seen before, and when I went in I met a group of people from the Wild West.” Karl’s eyes had gone wide.

“You met Jack and Mason and Connor?” he signed.

“Yeah, and John John as well. They told me what happened the day they died, and they mentioned you. Not directly, but they mentioned a man that had showed up out of nowhere wearing bright colours and iridescent goggles.” Karl looked wistful, remembering his time sent in the Wild West, even if it hadn’t been an exceptionally fun trip at the time. Tommy continued. “I also met the people who visited the masquerade, same story. But this time they mentioned your name. And lastly I met the townfolk of the Village that went Mad. Same story, but no name once again. I just connected the dots.” Tommy fell silent, waiting for Karl to tell him something. Sometime during his revelations, Sapnap and Quackity had left the room to comfort each other. Karl clearly wanted to tell them he was sorry, but he couldn’t do that until Tommy had left. Turning back to the teen, he started signing once more.

“Thank you for telling me, Tommy. I just have one thing to ask of you, then you can leave.” Tommy nodded his head, and Karl continued, “You cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone what you know. It would put everyone in grave danger. Is that clear?”

“Of course. I won’t tell a soul.” Karl gave him a small smile. “Now I think you should go talk to your fiances.”

“I will,” he signed, leading Tommy to the front door, “Goodbye, Tommy. Have a good trip back.”

“Goodbye, Karl.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

As he walked towards the door of their shared bedroom, he could barely hold himself back from running to the room to comfort them. But Karl couldn’t be sure that they would ever be the same again. It broke him to think that, but he had lied to them, for a long time. They probably hated him.

He stopped outside of the door, hearing faint sounds of crying on the other side of the door. He slowly opened the door to see Quackity and Sapnap cuddled up together against the headboard of their bed, with all of the lights out. Sapnap was asleep against Quackitys chest, tear tracks all over his face. Q wasn’t much better.

“Hey Karl.” Quackity said softly, sniffling a little.

“Hi.” he signed back, gong to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry.” he signed after a beat of silence. “I have no excuses. I just wanted both of you to be safe from it.”

“But... what is it, Karl? Why couldn’t you tell us? Are these the trips you’ve been going on? Does it have something to do with your memory problems?” Quackity rambled, question after question. He cut off when he realized how tense Karl looked. “...sorry.” he said, lowering his voice once more.

“Woah, Q, it’s okay. But I can only answer one question at a time.” Quackity nodded. “It is the In-Between,” he started, making the ASL sign for between, then spelling it out, “I don’t actually know what it is, but I managed to get away from it recently. It was stopping me from telling you about my time traveling. It told me that telling you guys would put you guys in grave danger. I couldn’t let that happen. So I kept it a secret.” He stopped, hands dropping when he couldn’t figure out where to go from there. Quackity opened his mouth, about to ask a question, when he felt Sapnap stir at his side. 

“Hey babe.” Quackity said, Sapnap just let out a little huff. “Sap, do you feel up to talking right now?”

“...yeah...is he here?” he mumbled, voice heavy and slurred with sleep. 

“He is.” Quackity answered. Sapnap looked up at him, then looked over to Karl.

“Hi Sap.” he signed, not making eye contact. “I want to apologize to both of you. For not telling you. There really is no valid excuse that I have. The In-Between was crazy. I just wanted to keep both of you safe.”

“What is the In-Between?” Sapnap asked. Before Karl could answer, Quackity cut in.

“He doesn’t know, Sap.” he whispered. 

Sapnap continued, “I want you to tell us the whole story. Please?” Karl looked conflicted.

“Alright.” he signed, “I’ll start at the beginning.” So he did. He told them the whole story. By the time he had finished, all three had tears running down their face. “Do you understand now?” Karl wiped his eyes before continuing, “It wasn’t safe to tell you.” Sapnap nodded, eyes red and puffy from crying.

“You need to stop traveling Karl. Me and Sapnap wouldn’t be able to live with ourselves if you forgot everything.” said Quackity, pulling Sapnap even closer. Karl sighed.

“I can’t control the traveling. I don’t know if it will ever stop. All I need right now is you two. If I hadn’t wanted to get home to you guys so desperately, I would have forgotten long ago.” Karl got up and grabbed his journal. “Fill it.” he signed, after he gave it to his two fiances, “fill it with everything I need to remember. And when I come back each time, help me remember. Please.” Sapnap looked up at him, then glanced at Quackity, coming to a silent agreement. They would do anything to keep Karl with them.

“Of course we will, mi amor.” said Quackity, opening his arms to invite Karl to come sit with them. Karl smiled, tears running down his face once again, crawling into their warm embrace. And as they sat there, holding each other close, Karl took each of heir hands, pressing his favourite symbol in ASL into their palms.

“I love you.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading!!! Once again, if you like this, leave a comment or something, idk. And make sure to go check out the story linked at the top of this post for more about the mute!Karl Jacobs hc.

Have an amazing day, wonderful people.

[jbbuckybarnes]

We need to talk...

I knew that this topic of interactions will come up again, because it has never been talked all the way through, so I had this drafted for a while. So much of this old draft still resonated with this permanently unfinished discussion that I just had to edit it and post it, because I feel like it has to be said and put into one post. We can’t keep starting this conversation and then make it so dramatic that there is no conclusion or compromise. The only reason this time is more mellow is because people have better standards for this stuff due to a pandemic going on. This is written for the MCU fandom, but I’ve seen this go down in different fandoms, so here we go:

Things that are NOT at fault for readers not interacting:

The Readers. Should be clear after asking them again and again. And nothing changing. The readers at large are not at fault for a couple people being demanding or hateful. Neither are they at fault for this website and other social medias automatically putting writers at a disadvantage. They do their best with the time they have in their life (just like writers). And after asking them over months to try and reblog more and not much changing, it should be obvious that it isn’t where the problem lies. At least not 95% of it. NOW:

Things that ARE at fault for readers not interacting:

Pushing them, thinking they owe you stuff, while you tear other writers down saying that nobody owes them stuff. That happens time and time again. To me, to friends, to writers I check in with. Don't expect community to come to you when you don't come to them.

Not putting anon asks off when demands and hate get too much. It’s literally THAT easy when people get nasty. It’s sad for the nice anons, but they will understand. Save your mental health! Save the mental health of people reading that hate on their dash. I don’t know how many people constantly answering to hate I have unfollowed and I’m sure people have unfollowed me for doing the same.

Ego and hypocrisy. You can't say numbers aren't a problem and then say they are. In the same post. AND then also deny it later in some of the cases we’ve seen in recent months. Yes, that happened. In several fandoms where this topic comes up semi-regularly. And that might also be the reason people are tired of this stuff and speak out against it.

The fact Tumblr is only used approximately twice a year by most people. And has a shitty tag system. And a shitty algorithm. You are at an automatic disadvantage.

The fact some of you can't understand that 3-5% of your following interacting is a good and normal rate on pretty much all social media. The bigger you get in followers, the bigger the gap gets between followers and interaction (and demand and hate). There are literal statistics on that. 1% interaction at 10k is still good for a platform you have no power over!

The fact some of the people here call anons *haters* for pointing out that you interact w the same 10 people, making that speace seem excluding, when it's literally true what those people say!? Nothing wrong with only support the same 10 people on your blog, but then don't say that you practice what you preach (cause you don’t). You can’t demand more interaction when you don’t interact more yourself. That is how it works, for anyone, not just people of a certain follower count. If I reblog more fics, my blog gets more clout. Logical conclusion. Works for everyone. You have no time for that? Then don’t expect more back. It’s called SOCIAL media for a damn reason.

Telling people asking for Tumblr advice to interact more to make new friends but being the most defensive/indifferent person once they talk to you in DMs. Yes, that keeps happening and I know it from either my own experience or from others sharing their experiences with me. It’s kinda sad. It’s more of a minor factor in people not interacting, but I’ve seen it enough to mention it.

Making shitposts and personal posts all day and then saying you don't have the time in your life to interact w peoples' writings. Like, drabbles exist on almost anyone's masterlist. 5 minute read, easy support for a writer that might be losing motivation. Not every work has to be written like a novel to be great as hell or “quality proven.”

Oh, and there hasn't been a MCU movie in a while, making most of our readership probably currently not care about the fandom as much. Especially after Endgame ended up being a total opinion splitter.

Bonus: The misunderstanding that pushing shy readers to interact does the exact opposite. Not to start about the fact that we are in the middle of a pandemic at the moment. That means they may not have time to read and you may not have time to write. Normal. Logical. The same reason lots of people currently don’t publish. Don’t expect anything predictable and controlable out of current times.

Bonus: Check how you connect interactions to self worth and worth/fun of your writing hobby. Define what success means for you in this space, otherwise you will never be satisfied. It won’t matter if a post has 1k reblogs, you’ll always want more, because you chase an infinite metric.

Bonus: Maybe take a month to concentrate on community, getting outside of your bubble that you deny but very likely have (I’m not excluding myself from this), and actually improve interactions. Some people seem to have forgotten that when you interact with other writers, they probably interact back. Surprise! Your followers already know your tried and true fanfic friends, they want some new stuff without searching for it. Basic Marketing knowledge, know what your audience wants. If you do this for the interactions you gotta look at it from a marketing standpoint and not a pure passion standpoint. Oh: And maybe they find you interacting in the notes of someone else’s post and become an active follower. Win-Win-Win situation.

Bonus: Community is a loop, a net of interactions. Some people here have clique behavior, sound defensive and/or simply don't practice what they preach. That is not me or anyone else hating on specific blogs (I’m also no complete exception), it’s people trying to tell you that you can’t ask for shit you don’t practice yourself. Nothing wrong with supporting your friends only, but then don’t go around expecting new people to find your stuff. It’s literally THAT simple. You can’t have both!

Bonus: Ignoring some of the ride or die readers that are already there. Some of the people on here wish they had that and it’s deadass taken it for granted by some. Meanwhile I'm sitting here with Serotonin levels like christmas when someone I know reblogs my stuff and my fic gets some clout. Imma repeat myself: If you do it for the numbers, you gotta look at it more like marketing and less like pure passion.

And again: You are on a social media platform that will always put you at a disatvantage. That is not the readers' fault. It's how social media works at this point. If you want as much interaction as you can without putting in more interaction work yourself, simply share your works on here, AO3 and Wattpad simultaneously. Problem solved.

Bottomline: If you want more love on your work you gotta go beyond what you currently do, since it’s clearly not working for you. Reblog stuff from people you don't know. I don't give a sh*t if it's a 5k or a 100 follower blog. Hell, there is the whole 366 reblog challenge and some of you deadass went on reblogging the same people when that’s not really what this was made for. I, personally, haven't run out of new people to reblog, so this shouldn't be hard. Actually take time to talk to people in DM's, it takes 10 minutes in the evening to write a few people a message asking how they are or sending a cute gif. If you want stuff, you have to give it. Not leave it. People have come to me before, telling me "the community doesn't owe you stuff", no, they don't, but they do owe if they wanna be owed something back or even demand to be owed something back. Community is about back and forth. You give, you get. It's work, cause it's a big hobby. If you don't have time, that's cool, but then don't be sad about lower interaction. It’s logical that low activity from you leads to low activity from others in the long run, unless you do something worldshakingly new. You don't wanna look beyond a circle of friends or your go-to writers much? That's fine, but don't be upset about barely new people interacting cause they feel excluded or simply don’t find your work because of the same people seeing the same people reblogging the same works. What's not fine is not seeing how readers are NOT THE PROBLEM.

I haven’t talked to a single person about this that DIDN’T find the posts surrounding it demanding and completely ignoring the arguments some others had...repeatedly. Every single time it came up. Not just once but time and time again, whenever this topic comes up. You want interaction? Interact. You don’t want hate? Don’t give it a platform. As harsh as that sounds, I’ve never felt better on this platform since I put anon asks off, even when I miss the nice anons. They probably understand. PS: Again, this was written a while ago and edited to fit into a more general context now. I hope people can discuss this in a civil, non-judgmental way, because that is how I tried to write this. This is not again a specific person or group, it’s pinpointing what I see repeating for two years on this platform now, in all corners. I’d also like to mention that we are still in a pandemic and lives have never looked so vastly different, so you can’t demand anything normal in this very not normal time. Even if you do it all right, your interactions dropped in the pandemic cause people likely stay away form this platform for mental health reasons. There is so many layers to look at, these clearly aren’t all, but I hope it makes some people think about what and when they complain. Numbers will never satisfy you, they will always leave you wanting more if you don’t know why you do what you do and for what. Anyway: Be nice to each other and me in the notes in case this gets shared! No drama please! Ignore any grammar and typo mistakes, lol. Love ya!

[ashleybenlove]

Title: The Trap’s Aftermath

Prompt: Trying Not to Cry

Summary: Family On The Edge but if the gang had gone into the trap. Dagur has to deal with the aftermath.

Fandom: How To Train Your Dragon

Pairing: None

Word Count: 1260

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death, Wrongfully Accused

Disclaimer: I don’t own the source material in this fanfic. That’s to whatever company or person owns it. I would never claim to own it.

Notes: There are probable influences from fandom and whatnot in this story. This story is based off a post I made shortly after Family On The Edge premiered about the fact that Dagur saved the gang from the trap and from certain death. I’m also noting as an influence, “What If I Was There” by snotlout (a fic in which Dagur dies in Hiccup’s arms in the context of the same episode) because I thought about it while I wrote this fic. Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo @badthingshappenbingo​​ for the space “Trying Not to Cry”. This takes place in the Race to the Edge episode Family On The Edge, but diverges from canon. This is also on AO3.

And it is below.

Dagur arrived too late. He and Shattermaster should have escaped the Edge’s stables before the Riders even left for Viggo’s shipyard.

 Maybe he could have prevented this.

 There didn’t seem to be any Hunters about anymore, but the area seemed to be a wreck of smoke and debris and… bodies.

 He really hoped they were Hunters. And not the Dragon Riders. Or his sister.

 He sucked in a breath, trying to take a deep breath. Ended up coughing because of the smoke from the fires.

 “Find the Dragon Riders, Shattermaster,” Dagur whispered.

 He hoped they wouldn’t find them. Maybe they were back at the Edge already, celebrating their victory.

 Though, the area didn’t feel like a victory.

 Shattermaster made the search easy, in the sense that he wasn’t running around all over a battlefield looking for them.

 And it wasn’t long before he did start to find bodies.

 And they weren’t Hunters.

 He found Fishlegs first.

 His Gronckle was with him.

 Shattermaster made a sad sound. Dagur patted his nose. Dagur forced himself to not cry or not make any sounds. He was going to hold it together. He needed to; he couldn’t break down now. He had to continue the search.

 He also needed to figure out what to do.

 Does he perform their funerals here? Does he bring Berk’s dead to them?

 He couldn’t help but think about how much pain he had from not knowing what happened to his father. Was he alive or dead?

 The idea of just giving them their battlefield funerals here, and not letting Stoick or any of the Riders’ families know. No. He had to go to Berk after he finished the search. Bring the Riders home before they made the trip to Valhalla. Even if it meant something bad happening to him. If Hiccup hadn’t told the Riders about how he and Toothless had been saved by him, he strongly doubted Stoick knew about it. He was sure he would not get a warm reception from Berk at all.

 “Let’s find a ship, Shattermaster,” Dagur said, softly.

 Quickly, they found an intact ship, with white cloth available, and placed Fishlegs there. He covered Fishlegs with some of the white cloth, and then continued on with his search.

 He knew that the Dragon Riders, who so obviously cared for each other, would not have left Fishlegs alone here. They would have taken his body back.

 And then he found the twins.

 Together, even in death.

 They had been so kind to him recently. They seemed to enjoy his company. Less on edge about him being on their turf than the rest of the Riders.

 He continued to steel himself to not cry. Now was not the time for that.

 He still had to find his sister, his brother, and two of the other Riders.

 He found Snotlout next.

 And then he found Astrid.

 He had been hoping that maybe she would have survived this, just on the basis of her skill as a warrior, but… here she was.

 It was at that point that he realized, if Astrid had not survived, what chance did Hiccup or Heather have?

 Especially after all this death. Hiccup would have not left his Riders alone like this.

 He sucked in another breath. He really did not want his sister to be dead. He wanted the chance to repair their relationship. Wanted her to know that the rumors of his patricide were wrong.

 He forced himself to not cry. He can cry later.

 He continued on the search; his only breaks having been to transport the Riders and their dragons to the ship.

 He eventually found Heather, and he willed himself hard not to cry. His chance at repairing his relationship with her had been destroyed with her death. He could cry later. Now was not the time.

 But wow, his chest hurt. It took everything he had to not just give up now and cry on his sister’s body.

 But he had to find Hiccup. And Toothless.

 And he did.

 He had hoped that they had survived, but he knew that neither would have left the Riders and the dragons in this situation, that Hiccup would have been found weeping at their bodies.

 Instead, Dagur was the one weeping. Once Dagur had placed Hiccup and Toothless with the rest of the Riders and their dragons on the ship, he allowed himself to weep.

 All these lives. Gone.

     Dagur had a white flag held up high alongside the sails of the boat, to indicate his neutrality. Technically, he was on their side, but he knew the kind of reception he might receive, given his past. And the fact that he was transporting their dead tribespeople and dragons on the boat. It could be interpreted as a hostile act.

     When he finally got to Berk, the Berkians that saw him first were at the docks and they immediately recognized him and were calling for Stoick, and yelling at Dagur quite forcefully to stay on the boat. Multiple Berkians had their weapons trained on him.

 He had his hands raised to show he had no weapons and would not attack.

 “I come in peace!” Dagur exclaimed.

 He found that despite wanting to take a deep breath, he couldn’t.

 No matter what happened, he was going to be the bearer of the worst news a parent could hear. For multiple parents.

 Soon, Stoick was striding over to the docks, flanked by two other men. One was a man with a long blonde mustache and only two flesh limbs, the other was a man with dark black hair that looked like Snotlout.

 “I can’t believe he turned himself in,” the Snotlout-look-alike said. “And where are the Dragon Riders?”

 Dagur willed himself to keep it together.

 “That’s why I am here,” Dagur said. “The Dragon Riders and my sister attacked Viggo Grimborn’s shipyard. And unfortunately, perished in the attempt.”

 There were gasps from every person that had gathered.

 “I warned Hiccup that it was a trap. And unfortunately, he did not listen. And I brought them back to their home.”

 Stoick told some of the gathered Berkians to board the ship with the words, “Find my son and his Night Fury.”

 Stoick and the two men stared at him, and he was sure they did not believe him. He did not have a good track record with Berk.

 A Berkian said, “Chief.”

 Stoick looked away from him and strode past him onto the boat.

 Dagur couldn’t bring himself to look and was sure that if he moved at all, they would attack him.

 Then he heard it.

 And both men who had flanked Stoick rushed past him.

 He heard some Berkians make exclamations to go get some person or another and it just got worse.

 He watched as multiple people, clearly the Riders’ parents went on board and then he heard it.

 Eventually, he heard Stoick say, “Arrest him. I believe he killed the Dragon Riders and their dragons.”

 “No! I wasn’t there! I found them after!” Dagur exclaimed.

 “The last information I heard about you was that you had joined forces with Viggo Grimborn and the Dragon Hunters. Therefore, you killed them. And your sister. And while we don’t have evidence, you have, in the past, made implications, that you killed your father, Oswald the Agreeable,” Stoick said. He said this in a very stoic way. “Arrest him. And give the green Gronckle some fish.”

 “That’s my dragon,” Dagur said, softly, as his hands were bound. “Hiccup picked him for me…”

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with RivkaT

RivkaT has 28 stories at Gossamer and 270 stories at AO3, so she knows her way around fanfic and fandom. She's also a co-author of one of the most well-known X-Files fics of all time, Iolokus. I've recced that here before, along with some of my other favorites of her stories, including And Dance by the Light of the Moon and Into the Woods. Big thanks to RivkaT for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I think it's amazing! Writing styles have changed so much, along with everything else, that it's really nice to know they're still being visited. I tried to show my son the pilot episode, and it didn't move him at all, but it's good to know it's not forgotten.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I made a number of good friends, and had my first taste of bitter fandom battles. I made dumb mistakes and, I hope, learned a bit about navigating fandom spaces. My long-time writing partner MustangSally taught me that it was always worth blowing the budget in writing--go over the top if you want. I put that to good use in my next big fandom (Smallville).

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I started on Usenet! Then mailing lists, and webrings, but mainly the Gossamer list.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

(1) Serials are different than works posted all at once, and have different strengths and weaknesses. (2) There are many ways to write a good fic, and somewhat fewer (but still a large number of) ways to write a bad one. (3) Most good fics are bad to some readers, and many bad fics are good to some readers, and that's okay. (4) Summaries can often instruct many readers how a work is meant to be perceived, especially if they already know you as a writer--the importance of authorial intent is clearly not dead and may be unkillable! (5) Fandom has awfulness and greatness in it because fans are people.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

Dana Scully. Enough said! (Ok, it was Jose Chung's From Outer Space specifically, but Scully generally.)

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I mentioned to a friend that I was really into the show and she said that if I went online there were people writing stories about the characters. I knew about fanfic from childhood fannishness (Star Trek etc.) and so I went looking on this vaguely-understood thing, the internet. At the time I didn't have a computer that ran Windows so I logged onto Usenet at home and used Pine and Mosaic (an early search engine). When I wanted to see pictures I had to go to the computer lab at school.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

An ex where I don't have too much memory of the bitter and drawn-out breakup and just have vague nostalgia for the good times. Of course all that was about the show, not the fandom!

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

A bunch, including BTVS, Smallville, and Supernatural. I loved them all--my relationships with those fandoms were equally intense, but associated with different times in my life and therefore different availability of time and other resources. I wish I had that new-fandom love again, but right now it's just not happening for me, even though I've experimented.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Dana Scully, because she is Dana Scully: smart, driven, and good at her job, with occasional daddy issues. Subsequently, Lex Luthor, Olivia Dunham, Dean Winchester. I like characters who are driven by a sense of mission and who are really good at their jobs: competence porn!

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

Not very often; I last did a rewatch about thirteen years ago.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I rarely revisit the XF, but I could definitely be persuaded. I read a fair amount across various fandoms now, but mostly it's dabbling.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Waaaay too many to mention. But if I had to choose: Jane Mortimer's The Sin Eater. Totally blew my mind about what fic could do. [Lilydale note: it really is a great fic!]

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I go through patches of love and hate for my own work. Right now I might pick my SPN/Smallville crossover Under Darkening Skies because I had fun with the character voices and I got at least one great set piece out of it (mannequins in a hell dimension).

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

It seems unlikely but I have learned never to say never.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

For the past few years it's mostly been Yuletide, but I'd love to get back into it more if I can be inspired.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I have no idea! Usually it was something that bugged me about an episode, or a chance to play with a classic trope, or a random news story that would spark an idea.

What's the story behind your pen name?

Not much of one--it's a variant of my nickname that was available on AOL and I managed to snag it on most platforms fans use, which has been lucky!

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

Most of my friends are fannish and know everything; my family knows generally but basically doesn't want to know specifics, which is fine with me.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Archive of Our Own.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Dana Scully Forever!

(Posted by Lilydale on August 18, 2020)

[synthmusic91]

thoughts? kjfhlkjdfh asking bc i rb'd the original post from u a bit ago because i agreed w/ original poster but i just saw this rb of it and wanted to know what u thought. ciaran(.)tumblr(.)com /post/652413157345820673/there-is-a-genre-of-posts-thats-obsessed-with-the

well first of all i hope this isn't a bait ask. this reply really doesn't deserve the time and effort i put into refuting it, but there was a point in time when i was emotionally confused by these..."arguments", so whoever u are, anon, i hope this is helpful. i also recommend some distance - literally, "go outside and touch grass", which is a lot more difficult than it sounds, but it needs to be done. anyway, here's my "analysis":

for context, here's what the post in question said:

and the tags:

at a high level, we can see that what ciaran is saying doesn't really respond to what OP was talking about. for this reason, i'm not going to bring in much of what OP said, because it's uncontested in this context, and look at ciaran's reply. i'll try to break this up...

EDIT: i had a long-ass response here, but then i realized it was dumb because the source material is dumb. i cut out most of it, but here are the highlights.

"there is a genre of posts that’s obsessed with the notion that fandom is something much larger, more prevalent, and more able to affect the way media is processed and consumed, than it actually is in reality."

so, as we can all see on tiktok and, indeed, on the electronic lore olympus billboard that takes up a side of a literal skyscraper, fandom is no longer the niche thing that "fandom olds" make it out to be. also, we can't ignore how many (white) fandom players go on and work in the industry (cassandra clare, whoever wrote 50 shades, man idk much of anything so there's probably many more). so this comment is sort of myopic. and since this is what characterizes the rest of the reply, well...it's not great.

also don't look up lore olympus; it's basically a dd/////lg fanfic that happens to be one of the most popular series on the line webtoon app, which is rated for teens...and for $1 to the creator's patreon, you can view not sfw p*dophilic art, so. also obviously i didnt do that; there was a video essay about this. i can't find it though

"ironically but understandably, these posts are made by people who are so terminally fandom-poisoned that they ascribe phenomenal power to it, and think of it as some great evil that must be defeated (by making posts on tumblr, which is obviously a very influential thing to do)"

"fandom-poisoned" is such a nebulous term, especially since it appears to mean "has had some really significant, (in this context) bad experiences with fandom." this is, first of all, a huge assumption to make about a stranger, and second, not the own they think it is. i'm just going to link this post, and hopefully you can see how it relates.

anyway, the "making posts on tumblr is meaningless" is um...interesting, seeing as off the top of my head i can think of two very influential tumblr blogs that talk about really important issues, Gradient Lair and Red Light Politics. I don't know as much about Red Light Politics, but Gradient Lair is frequently cited by academics (not getting into academia nonsense now but... -_-). also, they sound more pissed that the original post did gain traction, but whatever. this paragraph doesn't really make sense, but nothing here does, because i wasn't given much to work with.

"...and then because these people have basically no imagination and unfailingly pick on others for their own faults, they project their own experiences on everyone they perceive as being more ‘in fandom’ than them,"

jesus christ. i'm going not say anything about the tone of this because i put too much effort into this for some rando to call me a cyberbully.

i think what they're thinking about is how there appear to be some "fandom critical" people who try to, holistically, "ruin everyone's good time" by "stirring up drama" about popular fandom artists/writers/whoever else idk. oftentimes these people will also make jokes about fandom whatever, seemingly picking on random people's interests.

however, if you look at the long history of fandom racism, fandom's normalization of p*dophilia, and even general fandom harassment, and then you look at fandom's visceral, unwarranted reaction to criticism regarding these things, you can quickly see that disillusionment towards fandom is entirely reasonable. as for the joking, well...this an oversimplification but not everyone needs to like what you like. it sounds like they just need to get over themself.

and go “You, a 27 year old queer blogger who is into [tv show/anime/movie] an embarrassing amount, are now going to be the face of Capitalism” with no self-reflection or critical thought given to how fucking cringe it is-"

so, i'm regretting putting so much effort into this because this is so fucking long and i have to analyze this nonsense...it feels like i'm back in my feminist thought class. nightmarish. but anyway, this seems to deal with- [CUT FOR LENGTH. nothing important was missed].

EDIT 2: actually here's a summary of what I had. it deserves better than to be a response to this nonsense, but first it detailed how this took 1. the op's post and 2. a comment that we don't even know if op agreed with and misinterpreted that, and threw quite a fit about this- and i hate to say this because this term is misused so often by redditors, but- strawman.

I then went on to discuss how, for example, PoC can uphold systems of white supremacy. while obviously no person of color is going to be the "face" of white supremacy, the discussion still needs to be had, especially within that group. similarly, while fandom constituents may not be the face of capitalism, there needs to be a discussion, within fandom, on how they support and are defined by capitalist (and other) systems.

it was really too good of a point to be making for this trash reply. I could go say more, but I'm still trying to stay on topic, unlike ciaran.

"to act like random people on the internet, end users with no influence over corporate decisions, are the ones personally responsible for the fact that late-stage capitalism has destroyed popular art and culture in an increasingly sordid attempt to make money."

we've been over the "no influence" bit - because in fact fans do have influence, especially since media creators are literally fans, etc etc. i'm tired of people acting like they have no power and using that as an excuse to support and perpetuate harmful, easily avoidable behavior.

also, to act like the nebulous system of late-stage capitalism is the only cause of bad media is ludicrous. first of all, someone has to make these so-called "corporate decisions", and the people making artistic decisions are, again, overwhelmingly members of "fandom." this comment is really trying to keep marvel trash and lore olympus-esque nonsense in the same atomic, indivisible category lest someone catches a whiff of nuance.

"the above post is a great example of this phenomenon because op admits freely that they only think fandom is destroying media because they have been spending more time in fandom and thus have an over-inflated sense of its importance in greater culture. posting your own Ls indeed."

i'm so tired. this person literally has 120 works on ao3 like...who is spending more time in fandom.

and the tags:

#i assure you that fandom has no bearing on my actual real life #and if it does on yours. then that is your problem #it's also a very funny problem to

now this is just egregiously tone deaf. you do not need to do more than a cursory google search to find a bottomless well of examples of fandom harassment, threats, doxxing, and violence, much of which is racially motivated. you can see why it would be bad to make fun of this. 

also the way that “fandom has no bearing on their actual real life“...120 fanfics on ao3. 120.

conclusion:

the reply clearly misinterprets of op's point, and as such, does not refute it. they responded to another issue altogether, which is that of the sanctity of their ~coping mechanism~ or whatever it is. their argument in this respect was, in my opinion, delusional and pathetic, especially given that they wrote it on someone else's unrelated post.

FINAL NOTE: i cut out lots of this because the reply went in so many different directions, so some stuff might not make sense. let me know if you have any questions.

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Prologue

.

Summary:  Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

.

Rating: M

.

AO3

.

.

A/N: I started to write this story two years ago, but I never found the courage to post it. Until something happened. 

I read some of the brilliant fanfics written by @thisonesatellite​, and commenting them with her, gave me the pleasure to getting to know this amazing person. She is the reason why this fic sees the light of the day. And she is also my beta: I will be forever thankful to her for all the help she gives me, I owe her so much!

Happy birthday Stephanie! I hope you’re having a wonderful day, because you deserve the best!

.

.

Prologue.

And a softness came 

from the starlight 

and filled me full 

to the bone. 

(W. B. Yeats)

Fucking ice bitch is not so icy after all. Killian thought while he was crossing the Royal Palace's limits. And yes, he was probably drunk, but not enough to forget that he didn't want to stay on this ridiculous planet another day more than necessary. He needed to repair his ship and fly far, far away from here as soon as he could. He would be damned if he didn't. 

.

.

***

.

.

Eight full moons before.

.

.

The room was too bright for his liking; it was big, neat and decorated with minimalist furniture, just a double bed with a couple of night stands. 

Killian shook his head; this was a mistake, a huge mistake, one that would pester his soul for the rest of his life. He knew better. Why am I even here? He thought. Oh, yes, because of the bloody money. If there was any chance to leave this damn place, this was it. He needed the money to repair his ship.  

Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary." 

When a rock had collided with his ship, Killian had made a forced landing. New Tolemac seemed a quiet place to lie low for a while, at least at the beginning. But, the ins and outs of the Royal Government of this planet weren't aligned with his philosophy. Long ago he had sworn to himself to serve no king and live by his own rules. 

There were only two things that stood between him and his next destination: A new gimbal block for the engine of his ship, and the money to purchase it. 

He stood at the end of the bed pondering over the best outfit for the occasion. He wasn't exactly attending a Royal Gala, this was a commercial trade... sort of. 

In the end, he stuck with his usual attire: a black vest over a dark grey long sleeved shirt, black jeans, and boots. He was in contrast to the place he was staying. Everything was white: the blankets, the walls, the pavement, even the door. 

He didn't flinch when that door suddenly opened. “Here we go.” He said to himself and tried to put on his best poker face. 

Through the door frame, he could spot three figures. Two of them were Royal Guards with black and maroon uniforms, helmets hiding their faces, and the characteristically rounded blades around their waists. Killian wished he had his automatic harpoon with him as well, but of course, no foreign arms were allowed inside the confines of the Royal Palace. 

The third person of the group was a lithe, young girl with straight blond hair tied in a complex braid. She was wearing an elegant but simple white dress with thin straps that was long enough to hide her feet. She was the only one who entered the room; the guards closed the door behind her. 

So this is the famous Princess Emma, Killian thought. Well, she was beautiful, indeed, and young, so very young. Nobody had ever seen the Princess in public, not the common people at least. Raised by the Royal Family in the utmost secrecy, she had never crossed the barriers of the Palace and its gardens. Protected like the most precious treasure in existence, she held the future of the entire planet in her hands.

And that was exactly why Killian was in that room with her.

She stopped a few steps in front of him, her chin raised and her arms crossed in front of her, in what Killian would have defined as the typical arrogant Royal attitude. 

"Let’s do it quickly. I have a pretty busy schedule today," she stated.

"Well, that's a shame, Princess, because I do like to take my time around a woman."

"We are not here because of what you like," she replied. "During the last few weeks, you have been thoroughly tested by a highly professional medical team, and you've been selected as the most capable for the role, and that is what matters to get the most satisfying result," she explained in an unsentimental tone.

"Capable sounds good, but it's probably not the adjective I would choose to describe myself." Killian tilted his head and hooked his right thumb in one of the loops of his belt, then made a step towards her invading her personal space. His flirty innuendos usually had a certain effect on women. "Regarding the satisfying results…"  He added in a low sultry voice "well, love, you don't have to worry about that."

"I'm not worried and I'm definitely not your love," she huffed impatiently and he immediately realized he had not impressed her. "Now, if we are finished with the preliminaries, I'd rather get to the point," she added, indicating the bed near them. "As I said before I have a busy schedule. Some people have responsibilities."  

"Believe me, Princess, I haven't even started with the preliminaries." He grinned, blinking at her.

"Mr. Jones..." she started what seemed to be a petulant comeback, but he lifted a hand to stop her. 

"Killian will do," he smiled. “Or Captain, if you prefer something more formal.”

"Whatever." She went on, "let me make this clear: you're expendable. You're here just because you were the first name on the list, but that doesn't mean that I can't discharge you and choose the second one."

Killian remembered who the ‘second one’ was. Some bloke full of bullshit named Cassidy, whom he had met while waiting for a test to run. The thought of that piece of work and this beautiful young lady in the same room sent an unexpected shiver down his spine. He suddenly felt like he had to protect her, but why? "Oh, but you won't, because Royals never settle for second best. Besides, you don't intimidate me, Princess. I believe you're the one who's going to lose here." Confidence had always been his most effective weapon.

"You're so full of yourself, but at the end of the day I will fulfill my duty. You, on the other hand, will end up with no reward at all. And I've heard the paycheck is quite alluring. Wasn't that why you applied in the first place?" Damn woman, he thought. She knew how to push his buttons. 

Something about the Princess captivated him but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He studied her. She was guarded, she clearly didn’t want him to look through her barriers. But it wasn’t all due to her status, it seemed more of a protective measure. 

He decided it was time to stop with his demeanor; he shouldn't have even started from the beginning. What was he thinking? Flirting with a girl so young. But innuendos and suggestive remarks had always been his coping mechanisms in a thorny situation.

A muscle clenched in his jaw and with a more serious tone of voice he asked, "How old are you?"

"Excuse me?" Her eyes widened for a brief moment. She looked him up and down as if she was wondering who he was exactly. 

The fleeting crack in her stance she had just shown him confirmed to Killian that there was much more behind those pompous Royal walls of hers. "You are way too young. How old are you?" He insisted.

"Not much younger than you are." The Princess put her hands on her hips and immediately stepped back. Her posture was rigid, her mouth set in a firm thin line, her eyes cold and challenging. 

"Appearances can be deceiving. I'm quite a lot older than you can imagine. I’m not from here, and I’ve been in many lands where time runs differently."

She seemed to consider his words for a few seconds. "I'm seventeen." She answered, but before he could react she went on to explain,“and tonight the three moons of New Tolemac will align with the northern star, which makes the best scenario for me to conceive a Royal Heir.” 

“This is the most preposterous nonsense I've ever heard.” Killian knew what he was supposed to do in that room, but this was insane. The girl was only seventeen years old, she had a whole life in front of her.

"I don't expect you to understand. As you said, you're from another planet. In this realm, we follow the rules. And my parents raised me to be a reliable part of the Royal Family, who in spite of my age can assume the responsibilities of a pregnancy, and consequently raise a child to be our future King."

"The same sweet dear parents that locked you up in a room to be fucked by the first random guy of the week, I presume?"

"It's not locked. I can go out whenever I want." She answered in the same pragmatic tone with which she had been speaking the whole time.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing, how could she agree to these methods? But maybe, if it was true that she had been raised for this purpose, the King and Queen had probably done everything in their power to not let her think otherwise. "But you won't." He stated as a matter of fact. 

"Of course, I won't. I'm here to fulfill my duties." She replied, and it didn't slip by him that it was the second time she had used the exact same words, as if they were a memorized speech. 

“Oh, come on, don't tell me you've never imagined a grandiloquent wedding.” He tried to tease her.

“I will marry a suitable candidate when the right time comes, but it's definitely not on my agenda at the moment.” She explained as if it was the most obvious thing in all the worlds. 

“A suitable candidate? No knight in shining armor who will rescue you from your miserable existence?”

“I'm no damsel in distress, Captain Jones.” She answered, emphasizing his rank, “I don't need to be rescued.”

“What about love?” He needed to probe her limits, to know what was behind her walls.

“Love is overrated. We are at war. There's no time for such trivialities.”

That surprised him. “I had no idea New Tolemac was at war.” 

“Maybe not right now, but the Lepka Industry is pushing forward, and we all know the consequences.”

Killian definitely knew something about those consequences. I've seen with my own eyes what that monster is capable of. He thought to himself. Invading a peaceful planet and depleting all the resources until it ends up imploding with no safe getaway for its inhabitants. It was a painful memory he had spent years trying to avoid and eventually forget. “I’m well aware of The Industry’s methods.” 

“Then, you of all people should understand the importance of some good defensive measures.”

“But The Industry is very far from here.” He wasn’t sure why the Government of this planet was so intimidated by a faraway menace.

“For now. But we have to be prepared for every possibility. And the population will need their rightful ruler when the time comes.” The Princess explained. “So, if everything is clear, I'd like to get started.” She added.

Killian stared at her. He was starting to understand. She seemed so young and somehow vulnerable, but behind that fragile appearance she was a tough lass, and he liked it. Still, he believed that this was a terrible mistake. “I'm not going to touch you.”

“What?” She asked outraged. “This is not what you've signed on for.” 

Killian shrugged. “I've changed my mind.”

“Why?” She inquired with wide open eyes, and he couldn’t decide if she was shocked by his refusal to follow an order, or if it was the rejection that was hurting her. 

He stepped forward, and now they were so close he could spot some golden flecks in her emerald eyes. “Because no woman in any land should be treated like this, no matter how noble the reasons are.” He almost whispered.

“I'm not being treated in any way.” She replied in the same low voice. “This is my choice and my duty. My planet needs an heir that will be able to lead it.” 

“You are the heir.” He stated and made a step back. Then, he lifted a hand to his head as if he was suddenly remembering something and added in a mocking way, “But oh, I forgot, you're a woman, which means that you can't govern because of some stupid rules.” 

“You don't understand.” She hissed through her teeth, now clearly annoyed. “This is the only chance I have to save my people.” 

“Well, then, do whatever you have to do, savior, but not with me.” Killian bowed to let her clear that the conversation was over from his point of view. “Sorry Princess, but as appealing as it may look, I'm not going to have sex with you.”

"You're wasting my time!” She didn’t raise her voice, but she definitely looked furious now. “Guards!” She shouted, and when the door opened she ordered: “escort this man outside the Palace's boundaries."

.

.

***

.

.

Eight full moons after.

.

.

Taverns in New Tolemac were scarce, leisure activities were not banned, but not happily welcomed either. The Crimson Crown was probably the worst tavern Killian had set foot in, and he had been in many of them. A band was trying to lighten the atmosphere, but the music was awful and the acoustics even worse. Killian didn't mind; his gaze fixed on the bottle he was grabbing. The glass long forgotten, he was swirling the amber liquid inside, or what was left of it. His senses were with him: the cold crystal in his hand, the out of tune string in his ears, the sour taste in his mouth; but his mind, his mind was in a place very, very far from where he was sitting.

"In which galaxy are you right now?"

He had completely zoned out and forgotten he had company. "Come again?" He tried to focus on the presence beside him.

"What's bothering you? And don't tell me it's nothing, 'cause that look on your face speaks volumes." 

Robin was his best friend, his only friend would be more exact to say. He wasn't from around here either, but he had been living in New Tolemac for much longer than Killian. The two of them had known each other since Killian had landed on this damned planet. 

Two foreigners, two lonely souls with no attachments, maybe that's why they connected so easily. 

But Killian was in no mood for conversation, not tonight. He was going to finally leave this planet once and for all: he had bought the last piece he needed to fix the engine of his spaceship first thing in the morning. A couple of days more just to arrange everything and he would pack his things and fly away. 

He had asked Robin to go with him, to search for a better life in a more hospitable place, and his friend eagerly accepted the invitation. They had ended up in that tavern to celebrate it. Killian should have been euphoric. But his guts were clenching. Why wasn’t he so happy to leave as he was supposed to be?

Nine months had passed since his unfortunate landing. So many more than those he would have stayed if he had had the chance to leave. Eight months since the day he met the Princess.

No, no, no. He thought, shaking his head. Don't let your mind go down that path again. He warned himself.

Killian drew the bottle up his lips, but a hand stopped his movement. 

"Easy. Don't you think you've had enough for tonight?"

"There's no such a thing as enough alcohol." He grunted, but the hand didn't relent. "Fuck off, Robin!" He exclaimed. 

"Your enchanting behavior doesn't work with me." Robin retorted ironically. "Come on, let's get out of this place." He added tugging at Killian's arm. 

The air outside was thick and humid. "Bloody summer" Killian cursed while stumbling over a little rock. As he regained balance he realized that maybe his friend was right, and even if he could hold his rum, he might have had too many drinks. 

They walked silently side by side for a while, since one of the perks of having a best friend is that you don't need to entertain the other person all the time. So Killian's mind started meandering through a road he had tried to avoid just a few minutes before.  

"It's completely bad form." He exclaimed eventually. 

"What is?" Robin asked, probably taken a little aback at his abrupt words. 

"I just wanted to help her. Why didn't she accept my help?" Killian went on without many further explications. 

"Wha...?" Robin started to ask, but then realization clearly struck him. "After all these months why are you still thinking about her?"

"Fucking ice bitch." Killian cursed. 

"I beg your pardon?" Robin was having problems in following his friend's thoughts. 

"It's the moniker I chose for her, don't you think it's accurate?" The other said as if it was the most obvious thing.

Robin shook his head. "It's not like you to talk this way about a woman. You must be really wasted." And after a moment of silence, each of them lost in their own inner world, Robin asked: "Are you sure you can get home safely by yourself?"

Killian stopped and realized that they had arrived at a crossroad where their paths back home diverged. "I'm fine, mate." He replied with a little persuading smile. 

"I'll call you in the morning... or not. You tend to be a bit irritable when you're hungover." 

"Good night to you, too." Killian answered back ironically. And they went separate ways.

The night was still young, at least for Killian's standards, so he decided to walk a bit more, clear his mind, and his feet brought him near the water. The sound of the ocean waves crashing into the shore had always calmed him. 

He inhaled deeply the salted breeze and for a while he just stood there staring into the horizon that was clearly visible due to the bright light of the three full moons. After a while lost in his thoughts, he was almost ready to call it a night when he noticed a presence not far from where he was standing. 

Someone was sitting on a large rock in a meditative position with straight back and crossed legs, hands resting on the knees. It was the Princess, as if she had somehow materialized from his thoughts. But how could it possibly be?

Maybe he had already passed out and was now dreaming, he thought, or maybe he was simply hallucinating because of the high level of alcohol in his veins. Otherwise, he would never have trespassed the Palace's limits without being aware of it, which could only mean problems.

He should turn back home, he knew it. But as a moth is attracted by a flame, he was drawn by her. While approaching her silhouette, he could make out her closed eyes. 

He didn’t mean to startle her, so he cleared his throat to announce his presence. The Princess opened only one eye; if she was surprised to see him she didn’t show it. “I’m trying to concentrate.” She closed her eye again and went on with whatever she was doing.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” He asked nonchalantly, disregarding her statement.

“Do you need help finding your way back home, Mr. Jones? From the smell that precedes you, I assume you may not have realized that you entered a property where you’re not welcome.” She said without changing her position.

“You remember me! It’s always a pleasure to know I did a good impression!” He exclaimed cheerfully. “I mean, it’s quite some time we haven’t come across each other.” But after a deeper glimpse at her, he realized that the curves of her dress weren’t the result of the breeze. She was very much pregnant. "And you clearly let that bastard fuck you." The words left his mouth before he could even think about them. 

She didn’t move, didn’t even open her eyes. He hadn’t exactly approached her with the intention to start an argument, but now that the cards were already on the table, there was no point in going back on his words, so he went on. "Of course you couldn't disappoint mom and daddy. But let me tell you one thing, no mother or father would ever do something like that to their own daughter.”

She was making an effort ignoring him if the sudden increase in her breathing rhythm was a hint, but that was all he obtained from her. “Don't you see it?” Killian insisted. “They are not some loving parents, you're just a pawn in their hands. They don't have a legitimate heir to the throne, because, oh what a shame, you are a girl! So they raised you just to give them what they've ever wanted: a boy." 

He knew he was hurting her. She hadn't moved a muscle during his speech, but he saw her bottom lip trembling in spite of her efforts to remain untouched. Nevertheless, he couldn’t give a damn. He had nothing to lose at this point. At least she would listen to everything he had needed to tell her since the day he left the Palace eight months before.

"Do you really think they will let you take care of your child? Don't be so naive. They will probably discard you as soon as you give birth. They have locked you inside this prison for all your life, a shiny beautiful cage, that is, but still a prison. You don't have a life of your own. They didn’t let anyone near you. Nobody knows you, and nobody will care about you when you will be expendable."

At those words she finally opened her eyes and if looks could kill he would be instantly dead. She was angry, he could see that, probably furious with him, but there was more, her eyes had become a little watery and a turmoil of feelings was passing through them, he could read it. He held a hand up and didn't let her speak "No need to call the guards this time. I'm going to walk myself out of this miserable place with great pleasure." 

Fucking ice bitch is not so icy after all. He thought while crossing the Royal Palace's limits. And yes, he was probably drunk, but not enough to forget that he didn't want to stay on this ridiculous planet another day more than necessary. He needed to repair his ship and fly far, far away from here as soon as he could. He would be damned if he didn't. 

[mari-vargas]

So I finally started watching some of the DC animated movies, specifically because this one fanfic series kept popping up in some of my ultra filtered favorite searches on AO3. Well okay as with everything of course it’s not that simple, but with each consecutive search it popped up in, I became more and more intrigued and I read the summary at one point and realized hey this is exactly the kind of thing I’m looking for! Except I have a rule that I don’t read something if I don’t know all the base story it’s built from (it’s happened and I eventually got to know the base material and realized I had understood the whole story wrong and hadn’t gotten the full enjoyment I should have—thus I vowed never again). For this particular purpose I decided I needed to know about the Robins (which I had just discovered there were multiple iterations of). I still wasn’t convinced though, you know? There’s a LOT to DC and much of it I’m either uninterested or irrationally upset by (ie Superman). I’m not opposed to it, though… I mean, I know I think the Flash is pretty cool. I enjoyed that live action Shazam movie (and my opinion has only gotten stronger as I’ve gotten to know the animated version—I apologize to anyone reading this in horror, I know he’s Captain Marvel but I’m more a Marvel fan so that just feels wrong to me).

Anyways, I’m not even sure how it came up. My SO and I were on the phone with my soon to be mother in law, and suddenly I’m blurting out that I need to know about the Robins. My SO was mega excited and immediately started plotting out what movies to show me, messaging our friend group who also became mega excited to give recommendations for the uninitiated. It started with “okay this gives the best encompassing look at this Robin” and then somehow morphed into us watching… “the new earth 52”? movies. Of course any prior knowledge I had, has had to be stuffed far far away. That Justice League animated dvd I somehow owned (as in it was mine and if it’s ever found will be returned to me) as a kid trying to understand superheroes so I could keep trying to relate with my favorite cousin? Nope forget anything I vaguely remember from it. Those shows I’d catch sporadic episodes of during my many times staying home while sick? Well turns out that character I thought was maybe the villain of the story was actually one of the heroes so clearly all that information is irrelevant. All the rants and information overloads I went through trying desperately to make friends? Well the thing about “information overload” is that my brain likes to jumble it all up into a Gordian knot with a paper mask taped over it.

Regardless, I’m enjoying this adventure. My stance remains steady that DC is almost entirely made up of cliches, but I’m learning that Batman is not actually how I thought he was, and my reasons for being here have expanded from “the Robins and Flash” to include Batman, dc’s Captain Marvel, and somewhat for Cyborg and Beast Boy. I’m still really uninterested in Superman, expanded to Wonder Woman and Aquaman.

Okay but what’s the point of this post? Well I’m getting all my initial information from basically one source: my SO. I want to know what other people’s favorite movies or shows are. I want recommendations to more deeply entrench myself in the DC universe (multiverse?).

Perhaps most importantly: if there’s anyone out there who knows what fanfic series started me on this escapade I’d be extremely grateful for a title or author username so I could find it again now that I know enough to read it. I have no clue what sort of deep dive I wound up in but I’m pretty sure it was an irondad story that wasn’t tagged as such, I am fairly certain it wasn’t tagged with any DC fandom tags because it was deep enough in I had likely already filtered them out, the summary didn’t mention anything about the dc universe or characters, but I’m pretty sure something in the tags mentioned a dc character or two maybe something about Batman being a dad to the robins because something tipped me off that they were in it. It might’ve involved Danny phantom and/or time travel or it could’ve been something entirely else altogether. Please help. I hyper filter and it kept popping up in 1-3 page searches, but now that I’m actually looking for it it’s not showing up at all and my eyes are going cross eyed trying to go through 42+ pages of results.