#this was written for my own brain to stop spinning tbh

[an-architect-of-words]

My head is hurting after Secret History inner ramblings.

I think the one thing that’s difficult about this book is that EVERYTHING is a little true and a little false at the same time? It’s weird because sometimes I go to make a statement on something or post a thought, and I just can’t get the nuance right ever. All my opinions have a bit of a “but here’s where that thought ends” aspect to them. Here’s what I mean:

1. Henry and Camilla: I think someone kind of disliked something I said once when I said I was skeptical about Henry’s relationship with Camilla. And I tbh had strongly worded my thoughts. But here’s the deal. Henry, based on what we know of him, likely doesn’t have a good concept of love. And Camilla feels safe with Henry. Due to this, I think Henry views Camilla as something to protect. He sees her as aesthetic and wants to pursue her because he has clearly been taught by Julian and his own long history with many books and few human interactions that what’s important is what is ethereal and arcane and pretty. Camilla is going through a lot with Charles and she knows all the other guys are, in varying ways, terrified of Henry. Bunny was a jerk but his obsessive attitude toward Henry was indicative of his fear and his needing to know what Henry is up to, an attitude which makes increasing sense as the novel progresses. Richard has slips about Henry all the time but the most memorable to me is when he almost says “What if it’s Henry” instead of “What if it’s the cops?” when Charles knocks. Charles is so blatantly frightened of Henry and for good reason: Charles never seemed to want to kill Bunny, was was pulled into the murder (but it was still his choice), not taken seriously when he tried to lament Bunny, and then put into a situation where he had to just keep talking about it while minding his every word. Then there were strong indications Henry was trying to kill him. Camilla isn’t dumb. I’m sure she sees things that the guys see. She’s certainly disturbed when Henry made her douse herself in pig blood. But she allows Henry to have what he wants so she can be safe. 

Now, I don’t even think Camilla is wrong to make this choice. In fact, Richard’s attitude towards her decision was uncalled for. That said, we now have a relationship built on a man who is buried in fanciful ideas about things and a woman who is fully aware of everything wrong with him and just goes with it because she’s scared. But it’s weird because saying that this relationship is entirely destructive isn’t perfectly true either. It’s true for the above reasons. But I also see Henry and Camilla do having some semblance of a positive relationship too. He does treat her kindly and, whatever the reason, he does help her when she’s struggling with Charles. We’ve seen signs of Henry looking out for Camilla throughout the whole book. And, you know what? We even get tiny indications that she really believes in some of his nonsense. But, by the end of the novel, I was so skeptical of anything Henry did and so wary of how emotionless he’d gotten that I couldn’t really believe he wouldn’t ever hurt her (my goodness, this guy could read some ancient myth arguing that some random, toxic action is somehow akin to love and he’d take it seriously). But bottom line is that this isn’t an easy thing for me to voice my opinion on without immediately disagreeing with my own wording. 

2. Francis being untruthful about Charles. When I say Francis’s story about Charles isn’t correct, I mean that there are indications Francis is twisting facts. I’m saying it makes too much sense that he bore blame too, based on what we know of Francis. But what I’m not saying is that he spoke nothing but lies. This book is about illusions and things hidden in plain sight. Francis saying that Charles and Camilla being pretty makes it hard to see that they aren’t good does ring very true. It’s similar to Richard’s statement that he has a tendency to view interesting people as good (he says this about Julian). I do believe Francis when he says that Charles, even Camilla in a more subtle or different way, is jealous and manipulative— and the twins have been that way for a long time. We can pick that up ourselves throughout the novel. And he’s probably right that the bacchanal brought the worst of it to light. He definitely tries to tell Richard about something awful Charles did that night and can’t bring himself to. 

That said, Francis is also clearly framed as being illusionary himself. He’s compared twice to a fox in this scene. His reason for why Charles won’t admit to having been with him is flimsy. It’s an odd understanding of Charles who won’t speak of his drinking when personal details aren’t involved. And alcohol was involved every time Francis and Charles hooked up (in the story about the first time it happened, when they left Richard’s room, and at the funeral). Francis even admits that was a driving factor in their relationship. At the Corcorans’, we also see Charles say Francis attempted to coerce him into something only for Francis to cut him off. So it’s just that, knowing alcohol was involved, knowing Francis has tried to take advantage of an inebriated Richard, and knowing that he’s trying to cover up truths… it just doesn’t give us a picture of a Francis who was entirely innocent in the matter and who didn’t at all take advantage of his friend. 

A few things can exist at once because I think Francis’s big deal is being something of a doormat. He balks in the face of anything scary from doctor visits to certain social interactions; he goes along with others. He can be sharp-tongued and he does have strong desires, but he is often scared back into place. He clearly wants something with Richard (he goes for it twice) but won’t attempt to push when Richard is lucid. He asks permission, is denied, and accepts it (good!). But when Richard is vulnerable, Francis is more aggressive (fair point to Francis: this is not all the time. He’s seen Richard drunk and sleeping and been normal about it). Francis does get pushed back into place by Charles as well. Camilla states this when she tells Richard why she can’t move in with Francis rather than Henry. We also see Francis mock Richard’s speech patterns then immediately become really meek and apologetic when he sees that Richard is actually angry. And I’m kind of wondering if Francis knew all about Henry potentially setting up Richard and kept his mouth shut while Charles perhaps attempted to save Richard by taking him to the bar the night the police came. I say this because Charles says he knows Francis would betray him to Henry. And this moment seems more that just drunken rambles, based on Francis’s reaction. Francis’s suicide note even apologizes for NOT doing things. This fear does seem likely to cause him to merely take advantage of people when they’re vulnerable, to push until bitten back. (By the way, I think the alcohol he has during the funeral bathroom moment was purchased by Charles when he went out since it was in the glove compartment? The rest is vague but, to me, Francis is taking advantage of a weakness. To be honest, I like to think even Francis realized this. He payed Charles’s rehab bill. I think he knew that, in encouraging the drinking or, at least not stopping it, that he’d failed Charles— and Camilla who was directly affected.) 

This is a lot of things. So I think me having moments of “OK FRANCIS WAS CLEARLY MANIPULATIVE HERE” is not the same as me saying he was totally wrong. Just like me saying he’s likely right about Charles is not me saying Charles wasn’t a vulnerable and mistreated party too. 

3. Bunny being more morally aware than others. This one is the TRICKIEST. Because Bunny is really bad too. He’s such an awful friend. But my big-hard-to-capture-thought is that I do not believe Henry when he says Bunny’s reaction to the farmer-slaying was purely feelings of being left out. And I think Bunny was aware of and disturbed by the things going on in the group in a way the others largely weren’t. Richard says Bunny was a bloodhound for insecurities and that’s true. But I also got the sense that he was actually seeing his friends flaws and going, in some deep part of himself, “wait, this is really bad.” Julian mistakes Bunny’s behavior for a possible religious conversion. I think that’s very close— it was a moral crisis, I believe. But Julian is onto the same principle which doesn’t align with what Henry said (that it wasn’t at all moral). Furthermore, I think Henry (and Francis) was wrong about Bunny’s feelings of jealousy and hatred towards Richard. Again, this line between partially true and partially false is light because maybe Henry did note real feelings of inferiority (Bunny did harass Richard despite him not being at the bacchanal and there’s that mean moment where he tells Charles to give Richard a drink without washing the cup). But this is all thrown in to question with Bunny’s letter to Julian which doesn’t mention Richard at all. I just wonder if Bunny, despite all his rampant -isms and blatant mistreatment of his friends, was the first to wake up. And he was killed for it. Similarly, Charles starts to wake up in ways. He, in the midst of all his own crimes, was getting impacted by having helped take a life. And Henry’s reaction repeated itself; he went to silence this person who, within all his madness, was right about something. AND YET AGAIN. This is only true in some manners because Henry was also thinking of Camilla.

Revisiting my whole thesis: It’s like anything I could possibly say about this book has limits and other considerations. Many things are true to a point and false at a level. So I look back at every post I make and am like “well I still think I was right, but I wish I could shine a flashlight on every little detail and exception.” I just want to be fair about everything all the time!

[angelmichelangelo]

I know nothing about TMNT, except that they pizza I think?? But I am already in love with TLOU, so please share insights on your fic!!

hoo boy don’t tempt me into infodumping about the ninja turtles cos i will do it in full force without hesitation. and once i get going i won’t be able to stop, so proceed at your own risk lol

more under the cut because i go a little crazy oops

so my apocalypse au! i wrote a little fic about seven years ago that i ended up orphaning on my ao3 but for good reason - my old tmnt fics were just. horrendously written. like, barely readable from the bad grammar and such - so i thought why not remake it !

so it’s basically about the boys, obviously, and i kinda take a little bit of every iteration for this au, since it’s also a human au. and like i said in my post, i’m probably gonna borrow a LOT of elements of tlou cos that’s like. a little brain worm that won’t leave my head right now so it’s kind of perfect timing for this fic to be written, if i ever actually finish it

so in this version leo and mikey are half siblings. leo is half japanese half white and mikey is biracial

donnie and raph are biological twins that are italian american. they’re not related to mikey and leo but they’re close as brothers.

in this version i borrow the idea from rise that they’re different ages:

leo is 20

raph + donnie are 17

mikey is 12 (because i’m such a sucker for there being a bigger age gap between the oldest and the youngest)

april and casey are also part of the crew and they’re 17 also.

so the apocalypse starts and splinter (mikey + leo’s dad) bites it, rip, and so they escape home to get to casey’s apartment where the rest of the gang is. april’s dad is dead. don and raph’s mother is missing. casey’s dad is gone and tbh he doesn’t care because fuck casey’s dad (he’s abusive in the comics and it’s implied in other iterations too) so it just leaves the kids alone and.. honestly im just killing off all the adults for the sake of the story lol

and yeah. the fic is like, the very beginning of the apocalypse and then i’m hopefully planning to have little spin off fics about them just surviving because isn’t that the best part about a good zombie story? a found family just trying to move on with their lives ;__; but also on the subject of zombies, obviously i don’t wanna like totally rip of tlou by having clickers and stuff. but these aren’t twd zombies that shuffle along. they’re tlou zombies they’re fast as hell and scary as fuck so writing that escape scene is gonna be real hard but hopefully worth it if i can fully translate all the terror and energy from my head onto the page :)

i dunno if anyone would ever be interested into a fic like this. maybe not, maybe it’s just a fic i wanna read and if so? so be it ! im fine with that :) i’ll still post it, and frankly im really excited to get it written, it’s just writing it that’s the hard part lol

so THANK YOU friend for indulging me in my silly little fic ideas. it was fun to just ramble on about it, and who knows, maybe someone might see this post and actually be interested in such an idea. so yeah! thanks again for the ask :) it’s super appreciated:)

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

Too Tired to be Woke

I happened to invent this line in the midst of discussing bad behavior within one of my own friend groups and having to decide what to do about it, and it really seems worth investigating.

There are two objectives to any movement, good or bad: Recruit, and Defeat.

This understanding is important when you’re dealing with, say, fascist American youths who happen to be snappy dressers. A lot of folks who consider themselves “left” and “allies” will assume the goal is to Recruit these snappy dressers. It Ain’t. Those are still fascists, and the objective is to stop them from getting shit done, push our own shit through despite them, and deal with the possibility of them achieving actualization or whateverthefuck once other people are safe. From Them.

Anyway. Got off-topic.

The concept of “too tired to be woke” comes up a lot in critiques of shows and media. The complaints come from fans who miss the good ol’ days of “turn off your brain” style TV, perhaps even trotting out such tired phrases as “when men were men!”

And there is a balance to be struck. Writing affecting badass moments into media that isn’t mindless support for patriarchy can be more difficult, and writing involves many spinning plates so it is unfortunately possible to drop a “writing an interesting scene” or “avoiding a bad plot hole” plate when you make the effort to spin the “don’t make your story endorse bigotry.”

But that last plate is worth spinning anyway. Like, everything you add to or leave out of a scene is a choice with costs and benefits. If you’re an agile, clever writer you can write a scene that succeeds on several layers at once. Many a grand video essay has been written on scenes that succeed on several levels. If you can’t write a story without huge bad plot holes that has interesting scenes and doesn’t endorse bigotry...I’m not going to say you shouldn’t be a writer, tbh, I’m just going to say that personally I’d rather you left in the gaping plot holes if that’s what it takes.

This is all complicated by the twin facts that a) some of the shows catching flak for trying too hard to appeal to a diversity-loving audience are legitimately bad, and b) a lot - and I mean a lot - of the people leveling these complaints aren’t being honest (sometimes even with themselves) about what’s making them angry about the media. Plenty of them would have liked She-ra just fine gender-swapped. It’s funny, it’s got good action, starting the hero off as a gaslit member of the baddies is a cool trope, and the dynamics between the protagonist and antagonist(s) are fun.

Many men - and again, they’d be insulted to hear this, because they haven’t admitted this even to themselves - are upset by media that treats women as real people with their own agency. They find scenes that pass the Bechdel Test superfluous (because “nothing even happens in this scene”).

Beyond even that is the fact that a lot of the shitty stuff that made its way into older media is now part of a memory that may be attached to a happier time in your life. Does Jim-Bob actually bemoan the loss of scenes where women get literally objectified by hypno-rays because it’s a personal fetish, because he truly thinks avoiding mind control plotlines is somehow bad writing, or just because the stories that had it were the ones he consumed back when his life was simple and happy and he didn’t have a shit job?

And to make that first bit of this post less of a worthless tangent... We don’t necessarily need to win over Jim-Bob with every cartoon. If you’re writing kid’s media, maybe don’t worry about how well it satisfies the needs of a thirtysomething. In that case it’s less about him being “defeated” so much as “worked around.” But the principle’s the same. With the energy one might spend appeasing the Jim-Bobs of the internet you could just make a better cartoon that is more fun, even if Jim-Bob never enjoys it.

[willowistic22]

Red (Redfinch)

Despite their breakup, Albert still wanted to go see Finch perform in one of his concerts when Race asked him if he wanted to come. This is the perfect chance for them to talk things out again but words aren’t cooperating for either of them. With that, Finch decides to triy a different form of communication.

Words : 5233

Part : -

Warnings : Alcohol, cursing, cigarettes, angst in general

A/N : Woah that’s a crazy word count uhh,,,, hi i’m back with another fic. Another redfinch and for that we stan lol (well idk maybe yall are annoyed by all these redfinch fics but yknow what? i’m thriving off of it) But fr I’ll eventually get into writing other ships but for now have one more redfinch combined with another tswift songs (as you do) this time with Red. Wow we are so surprised who would have thought of redfinch being associated with the song red no we aren’t surprise :D This one specifically exists in my bandsies au. you don’t need to read that first to understand this (i think?) but it wouldn’t hurt if you checked that out as well:) Tbh i can’t decide whether i love it or hate it but at least i like it enough to post it. N ee wayysss enjoy!!

His brain is screaming about how much Albert shouldn’t be doing this. Comprising a list of cons that goes on forever. And although he thinks all of the cons his brain had written is logical, that one pro his heart wrote beside the long list was all it took for Al to say yes. All the cons will be worth suffering through if he finally gets to see Finch again. And maybe it’s for the better since he’s not doing well by distancing himself from the boy.

Unfortunately, the world isn’t black and white. Meaning that even if he did choose to follow what his heart wants, all the horrible feelings will still be there. And with every step he takes, inching closer to the entrance of the building, he’s getting even more terrified by the second. Thankfully, the line for the entrance is going pretty slow which gives time for Albert to calm down.

But it’s not helping. The line is crowded and full of fans, talking excitedly about the band’s awaiting concert inside. For some odd reason, he can only hear the conversations between fans that contain one specific name. He doesn’t hear anyone mentioning Romeo, Elmer, or Jojo’s name. Not even Crutchie, who he’s been told to be the fans’ favorite. Just the name Finch, being repeated all around him. With adoration and excitement lacing the name. The line is delaying the inevitable and the people around him makes him a bit overwhelmed.

“We can still turn around if you want. I’m sure they’ll find a way to give us a refund”

If he’s actually being honest, it was his best friend that got him to come. Race returned to their shared apartment a few weeks ago and rushed to ask Albert if he wanted to go see their friends performing tonight. Race knows about Al and Finch’s break up but it’s worth asking him first. And to his surprise, he said yes.

“No, it’s fine” Albert replied, “I’m fine”

“You’re picking your pimples right now”

“So?”

“It’s one of your nervous habits”

That piece of information really caught Al off guard. He didn’t think a tiny random fact about himself would actually corner him the way Race is doing now. Eyeing Albert through his glasses and raising his eyebrows despite his forehead being mostly covered by his beanie.

“Well… I-” Albert tried to come up with bullshit as fast as he could, “I like to do it on purpose too, alright?! My fingers just... get a little itchy!”

He slowly puts his hands down from previously reaching up to pick his face. And the line is still going slow, one step at a time. It’s not doing any favors for Al.

“Dude, it’s alright if you’re not ready to see him” Race continued, “It takes time, I get it”

“Race, I’ll be fine! How many more times do I have to tell you?” Albert argued, which finally made Race back down. And to make sure it’s no longer gonna be brought up, Al changes the subject, “By the way, where’s Specs and Mike? You said they’re watching too”

“They’re already backstage with the others for...  obvious reasons” Race answered casually, catching on to Albert's intentions to change the subject. “So is Kath, by the way. We’ll meet her in there though”

To that, Albert simply nods. His jittery movements turn into rocking his body on the ball of his feet while digging his lips with his teeth. Race tries to pretend he doesn’t notice, but he does. Albert knows he does. Although he’s glad he’s not bringing it up because it might make it worse.

He’d be lucky to know that he’s not the only one panicking over this. In the dressing room, an aggravated Finch throws his phone to the cushion of the couch after sending the last text to his friend Race. It sounds unlawful for Race to be ‘secretly updating’ Finch on how Albert is actually doing because it’s obviously something Albert doesn’t want to directly tell his ex.

Finch groans, placing his elbow on his armchair to support his head. The room is spinning in his view and he wishes it all to stop. Taking deep and long breaths to stabilize his shaky limbs. A little prayer starts playing in his heart, it follows the tempo of his fast heartbeat.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Finch opens his eyes and looks up to meet his bandmate sitting on the couch across from him. He hadn’t even been talking for a good hour because he’s too fixated with the first text Race sent him when he and Al first started making their way to the concert.

“Yeah, he’s in line” Finch replied, looking up to the blond boy who’s holding his bass.

“How are they not being mobbed?” Another voice rang. This time it’s not coming from one of Finch’s bandmates. It’s coming from Race and Albert’s bandmate, sitting next to the shortest member of Finch’s band on the couch.

Specs only ask that because their two bands have a long connecting history and their fanbase tends to be sort of the same in a way. With Specs dating Romeo and Mike dating Jojo, Race and Albert are bound to be recognized and mobbed by at least a few fans. Especially seeing that Albert is Finch’s former lover, although the fans know that as a rumor since the two never publicly addressed it.

“I’m assuming they’re wearing a lot of shit to cover their faces” Another answered, the other VIP of the show alongside Specs, Mike. He’s twirling his drink in his hand while the other keeps Jojo cuddled close to him, “I mean, Al’s head is really fucking bright!”

With the mention of that specific name, Finch sulks back in his armchair with a groan. He covers his face with his hands, hoping it’d make the world just stop for one second. He could hear a loud clean slap echoing the room, followed by overlaps of whispered scolding. If he had to guess, it was Mike who was the one getting slapped and scolded.

“This is a disaster…” Finch exclaimed to himself, still not lifting his face up.

“It doesn’t have to be unless you make it like that” this time a feminine voice spoke up. A voice he recognized to belong to Kath.

Finch hears footsteps approaching him. He feels the motion of someone softly kneeling down in front of him. His hands were gently pried open and he was met with Kath’s friendly smile.

“It takes time, but you gotta trust the process”

It’s not necessarily the words he needed to hear right now, but it still warms his heart to hear his friend still being there for him despite the sticky situation he has gotten them into.

Everything would’ve been just fine if Finch hadn’t been so pushy and upset over Albert’s decision. He was the one that decided to put his music career on hold to go get that engineering degree, which frankly seems pretty useless. Finch was so dirty for pulling the ‘you’re being selfish’ card at him when it’s not even his band at all. Race, Specs, Mike, Ike, and even their manager Denton were very supportive about his decision to get that degree. Heck, all their friends were! But not Finch. His boyfriend at the time. He argued like he secretly knew how the others felt about Al leaving when really there aren’t any secret feelings for him to know. All his arguments came from his own feelings.

However, he knows Albert’s ‘own decision’ was secretly coated by his father’s persuasive words. The whole ‘just in case the music career doesn’t work out’ argument was basically the copy and pasted words from his father. They both know it. Despite the arguments, it still seemed that Al was determined to fully focus on college anyways. Instead of following his fellow musician friends’ college path by getting a degree in the non-lecture-hall way, he followed his father’s words and actually attended his college classes in a proper campus.

In the moment, Finch was just too focused on Albert leaving. Maybe he was the one being selfish. He had only realize now that most of his arguments were because he didn’t want Albert to go. It’s too late now, since the last time they saw each other was when Al slammed the door of their apartment one last time with all his stuff and a plane ticket to Seattle. At that point, Finch was finally tired of all the arguing and told him that if this was his plan then he’s on his own.

The tears that came after were filled with sorrow and regret. Sorrowful because he missed him. Regretful because he only realized then that there was no valid reason for Finch to lash out in the first place other than for his own needs. The feeling is still present to this moment. And it’s currently the strongest right before a show because he knows he’s gonna be in the crowd.

“Look, we’ll let ya drown out your feelings with some booze later” Crutchie finally said, “But right now we got a show”

The band was all getting up from where they were seated, bringing whatever they needed to the stage. Crutchie gets some help from Jojo to bring his Bass till he properly sits on the stool on stage. But Finch stays perfectly still, holding Kath’s hand as if his life depends on it.

“I know I should talk to ‘im, Kath” Finch finally said, slowly joining the others in standing up. Kathrine follows along, eyes still fixed to her friend, “But… I can’t. I wouldn’t know what to say to him”

“Then don’t talk” Mike suddenly inserts himself in their little conversation. He gets up and approaches the two, “Sing him the new single”

“You’re fucking insane, Mike!” Katherine instantly snapped.

“Alright, your mouth will be legally sealed shut till the end of the concert” Specs joins them only to drag Mike away. There were some protests from the boy, but it was totally shut down by everyone else in the room.

“No, wait. He’s got a point” Finch suddenly exclaimed, which quickly got the whole room to freeze in time.

He looks at his bandmates, all standing by the doorway ready to kill the concert. A half confident smile appears on his face and he says, “Let’s sing that single”

-

The concert is held in a bar like-venue with multiple floors, slowly being filled to the brim by excited fans. Their excitement bounces off the walls of the venue, creating an ecstatic kind of environment despite the tight space. The concert is going to start any minute now and while the fans surrounding him are shaking in excitement, Albert is shaking in a nervous fit.

“Still okay there, Al?”

Albert looked to his side, seeing his good friend Kathrine looking up to meet his eyes with concern. She had just joined the boys in the midst of the crowd after hanging out behind the stage with the band.

“What? Yeah, I’m okay” He replied, “What makes you think I’m not?”

“You’re squeezing my hand a little too tight”

Al had only realized he’s been holding Kath’s hand just now. His brain was too focused on his fears about meeting Finch again to the point that he hasn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. He gets bashful all of a sudden, cheeks going a bit warm, harshly pulling away from her grasp.

“It’s okay, you can hold my hand if you want,” Katherine said gently.

“Kath, I’m fine!” Albert said, “Why won’t you and Race believe me?”

“Because we know it’s utter bullshit”

The pair looked back towards the crowd behind them where the familiar voice originated from. There, Race struggles through a sea of people with two drinks in hand. Oddly enough, he still seems to stand the heat despite still wearing his face disguise. A white cotton mask, black-framed glasses, and a grey beanie mostly providing cover for his blond curls. While Al, seeing that the venue is pretty dark and speculations has led him to believe that the fans would be focused on the concert rather than the people attending it, had already put away his mask. However, his fears still made him wear his snapback and grey-framed glasses just in case.

Albert takes his rightful drink, and with a free hand, Race takes off his own mask and stuffs it in his pockets. He complains about the stuffiness from wearing the mask all while doing so, which made Kath laugh. It appears the Albert-scolding has been forgotten for the time being, as Kath and Race starts engaging in their own conversation, which Al doesn’t mind because he’d much like to down his beer quickly.

And then the concert finally starts.

An exciting intro starts playing as the band enters the stage. The wild crowd welcoming the band is deafening to Albert’s ear. Time freezes and everything in between fades away. All he sees is Finch, up on stage wearing a smile brighter than the lighting of the venue itself. He’s using his old dark green guitar. The same one he uses when he’s writing songs in bed or when he just feels like strumming the strings. Albert remembers the memoirs of all the guitar string scars he had earned throughout the years of knowing him. Some of them were even caused by Albert himself.

Lucky that Finch hasn’t noticed Albert has been staring at him the whole time. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of the boy since the start of the first song, shimmering under the spotlight with amazing vocals. Laughing about at his fellow bandmates’ antics on stage. Oh, that laugh. It gives him butterflies in his stomach like it was the first time hearing it.

He can feel two pairs of familiar eyes on him. But he’s too far gone to care. Albert really did make a big mistake for letting Finch go that easy. Because at the end of his previous college days, he still loves him and misses him dearly. His little Finchy. It doesn’t matter to Al anymore if Race and Katherine are eyeing him with sorrow or the whole world were to look at him weirdly for fixating his own eyes towards the beautiful boy on stage. He was his beautiful boy. Good lord, does he long to see the days when he got to call Finch his.

“Holy shit, I fucked up” Albert muttered under his breath, only Kath and Race could hear it, “I should’ve never had left”

His friends were definitely not expecting Albert to verbally exclaim his regret. They already knew from the start despite the redhead’s previous denials. But hearing him say it just makes it all more real. Even Albert himself was hit by a truck of reality just by loudly announcing it.

“Well, now you know” Katherine started, gentle voice on the same volume as his own despite the volume of their current surroundings being incredibly loud, “Go tell him that after the show”

“I can’t. I shouldn’t” Albert replied, fully turning away from the stage to properly look at his friends. A glint of sorrow and desperation flashes before his face, “I might make things worse!”

“Well, you’ll never know till you try” Race said, sounding a little hesitant at the start. He offered a warm smile at his friend and a hand on his shoulder, since there isn’t much he could do in the moment.

With a heavy sigh, Albert turns back towards the stage only to witness the biggest surprise of his life. Finch looked back. Straight into Albert’s eyes, it pierced right through to get his heart thumping loudly in his ears. He just realized the song the band was previously playing had ended and they were waiting for the fans to quiet down. While Romeo playfully over-dramatize his thank you’s to the crowd and gets scolded by Elmer and Crutchie, Finch was continuously staring at Albert. The hands that were previously used to play with his guitar hang idly because his center of attention wasn’t at his instrument right now.

It might just be some form of hallucination Al retained from the high, but Finch seemed to be smiling at him a little. Just a little curve at the end of his lips while he’s still staring back.

Albert doesn’t know how to interpret this other than to just stare back. Deep down, his heart is flipping in all kinds of ways and his thought process is no longer comprehensible. He’s trying to read the other boy’s emotions but it’s too neutral to tell. Other than the fact that he’s smiling a little at him but that still doesn’t give him a proper answer.

Eventually Finch becomes the first one to look away, seeing that the audience had settled down for the band. Albert’s eyes were still glued to Finch, retaining his focus back to the concert. He opens his mouth for a moment to say something into his microphone, although he unexpectedly stopped. The flow of words seemed to cut short. He saved himself by pulling himself away from the microphone up front and towards the rest of his bandmates. Judging from the body language, they seem to be whispering.

“What’s happening?” Albert whispered, more to himself rather than to his friends.

“I’m not sure…” Race replied, taking a step closer to where Al is standing.

The band kept the discussion short and quickly got back to their places. Finch seems to hesitate the second time he opens his mouth to speak. But this time, he gets the words out.

“Uhh… sorry ‘bout that. I uhh… I just got the urge to go a bit out of our fixed setlist and uhh… hope you guys don’t mind” Finch explained with a little giggle at the end. The crowd couldn’t care less and cheered on. Finch smile widens at the agreement, “We thought we’d give ya an early access to our newest single that hasn’t been released yet”

A euphoric feeling passed through the crowd as the cheering got louder. It baffled Finch so much that he laughed into his mic.

“Oh my god, they’re actually doing it” Katherine commented under her breath.

But Al’s ears were sharp enough to catch it. He snaps his head around to face the girl behind him, “Do what?”

Katherine was rendered speechless to that question, despite obviously knowing what’s going on. Albert turns to Race but he has no idea. He finally turns back to the stage where Finch’s gaze was already waiting to be returned by Al himself.

Without breaking the gaze, Finch speaks into the mic with a little smile, “It’s called ‘Red’”

It was Albert’s turn to be speechless. He had no knowledge of a new single since he’s mostly been staying away from his ex’s social media for the sole purpose of moving on, which he had failed miserably. And none of his friends had told him anything about a single that’s title was a secret language only Finch and Albert share, littered with all sorts of vintage romance.

“Holy shit…” Race exclaimed, “...I had no idea they were gonna play this song”

The opening of the song starts with Jojo lightly plucking a few strings of his acoustic guitar. The crowd goes wild once again, energy bouncing off one wall to the other.

“Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street

Faster than the wind, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly”

Crutchie sang the first line smoothly. At this point the other’s had joined in with their instrument. Finch fully ignoring the crowd and focused on looking at Al. Those blue eyes are trying to send a message to Albert and it’s being coded with the song they’re currently playing.

The song had carried on till it reached the chorus. All the instruments peaked at that moment and collaborated with each other to create a very euphoric sound. The crowd jumps along to the beat of the song along with a loud cheering, obviously enjoying the tune they have yet to listen to. Some were holding up cameras to capture this moment, most likely to later share it with the fans that didn’t get the chance to witness it live.

At this point, Finch had turned his face away from Al. There was a troubling look in his expression but it was quickly covered by closing his eyes as if he’s trying to concentrate on singing the chorus with the others. But Al is no fool. He knows that look on Finch’s face is when he’s trying to avoid something, and that something is him.

“Losing him was blue, like I'd never known

Missing him was dark gray, all alone

Forgetting him was like trying to know

Somebody you never met

But loving him was red”

The words moved something in Al. It was written in a way Albert recognized it to be Finch’s writing style. Every single part of the song. From the melody, the chord progression, even the lyrics. Especially the lyrics.

“Fighting with him was like trying to solve a crossword

And realizing there's no right answer

Regretting him was like wishing you never found out

That love could be that strong”

As Finch harmonized that line with Jojo, he stole a little sad side glance at Albert. The song returns to the chorus once again, Finch gets dragged with the beat and lightly moves his body along.

Albert gets captivated along with the music. He can feel the corner of his lips slightly rising up, which is pretty ironic seeing that Finch is singing a breakup song about them. Maybe because he’s relieved to hear Finch sing about how he’s not fully over him. Or maybe it’s because he gets to see Finch embracing the break up, which could potentially mean that he’s okay with it. But whatever it is, he’s happy seeing Finch like this. Or just seeing him in general.

“Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes

Tell myself it's time now gotta let go

But moving on from him is impossible

When I still see it all in my head”

The chord progression’s pattern slightly changed. Finch sings his line into the microphone, closing his eyes as if to soak up all the intoxicating energy he gets from the crowd. Of people flailing their hands into the sky and a loud chorus of undecipherable shouting. But at the last line, he steals a proper glance back at Albert.

“In burning red”

The lyrics really says it all. There’s no more hidden message that Albert needs to decipher, as it's being presented right in front of him.

Finch takes over the next part of the song, shredding his guitar which makes the crowd go wild. At the moment, it looks like he’s feeling himself. Moving along with the motion of his fingers that creates each note.

“Oh, losing him was blue, like I'd never known

Missing him was dark gray, all alone

Forgetting him was like trying to know

Somebody you never met

'Cause loving him was red”

The song is supposed to be a punch to Albert’s guts, and yet he finds himself laughing at it. He catches a glimpse of Finch’s eyes, sneaking its way to look back at Albert every so often. And this time, he wears a smile while jumping along to the song. And it made Al smile back.

“His love was like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street”

As the song ended, the fans went wild. The look on Finch’s face seems satisfied at the success of the single they have yet been released to the world, shining at the sight of a hype crowd. He steals one last glance at Albert with a little smile on his face. Albert would dare to say he’s being a bit shy. To that, Albert smiles back with a disbelief laugh escaping his lips before Finch pulls his gaze away from the other boy.

After playing a few more songs, the concert ended. There was only one thing in Albert’s mind, which was talking to Finch. Race and Albert quickly put their disguise back on before the crowd had realized who they were as they exited the venue. The three stay behind as the venue gets emptied, Race and Katherine making quick work with their fingers on their phones to contact their friends backstage.

Jojo was the first to respond to either of them. He said that Finch is smoking behind the venue alone. One could only assume that he’s not in his best state after spontaneously choosing to sing that single. But Jojo assured them that he’s still good to talk to. Crutchie then responded, saying that Specs and Mike can pick them up to get them into the backstage.

It didn’t take them long, but Albert wasn’t keen on seeing the others right now. After being pointed towards the back door, Albert was already off. Adrenaline coursing through his veins as he makes quick steps towards it.

He gently opens the door, to avoid surprising the boy in case he was nearby. Albert steps out to a parking lot, open-spaced with another parking lot above it as its roof. At a first glance it was completely empty, only a few lights turned on to keep the area lit. His eyes gandered even further and spotted the boy he was looking for, back facing Al and his body leaning on metal bars as he enjoyed the nightlife of the city.

Albert took a deep breath to calm his adrenaline, slowing down his walking pace. The area is eerily quiet. Only a few things that can be heard: his footsteps, his thumping heart, and the sounds coming from the streets three stories below them. With every step closer, he slowly unraveled his makeshift disguise. Shoving his mask and glasses in the pockets of his jeans but left the snapback on.

“‘Loving him was red’” Albert said to catch Finch’s attention, “Did you mean it to be that obvious?”

Finch didn’t fully turn his head around, only halfway so Al can see the little grin of amusement forming on his face. A little chuckle escaped his lips, causing his chest to pulse along before he continued, “Not really. But it has a nice ring to it”

Albert takes a few steps closer towards the metal bars, leaning his body on it like what Finch is doing. Now he can clearly see the half burnt cigarette on Finch’s hand. Al tries to make eye contact with him, but Finch is purposely turning his head the other way and giving Albert his head full of blond curls.

“You came back” Finch suddenly said, voice hushed and low.

“Of course I came back” Albert replied, “You didn’t think I’d fully leave like that, did’ja?”

“Well, no. It’s just that you seemed so hellbent on going to college”

Albert slowly nods at that, moving his gaze towards the streets below like the other boy. They sit in the silence for a few minutes. Hearing different vehicles pass by the street below them and honking from the distance.

“Finch, I’m so sorry I left ya like that” Albert suddenly started, fully turning his face towards him. He couldn’t find a way to word it and so he resorted to just telling him the truth. Finch stays quiet to let him continue, “I was an idiot to let ya go that easily and all because I was selfish”

“You weren’t actually being selfish” Finch said, smiling a little at his words, “You did it because you wanted to. And it wasn’t hurting anyone anyways”

“It did. It hurt you”

Finch turns his head towards Albert. Now their eyes are looking into each other closer than before. The closest they’ve ever been since their breakup. A mixture of unsaid emotions made the gaze feel so intimate and it terrifies Al a bit. 

“I hurt myself trying to get you to stay” Finch said softly. His next words got stuck in his throat. He gives his brain a few seconds to focus with a sigh out of his mouth and dragging his gaze away from Al, “I knew you never wanted to get that engineering degree in the first place which is another reason I didn’t want you to go. But at the end of the day, it was your decision to make and not mine. I lashed out on you and said you were selfish but… I was the one that was being selfish”

Finch turns his eyes back towards Al, his face looks more sorrowful than before, “I’m sorry”

A small smile formed on Al’s face, tilting his head to the side by a few inches, “It ain’t your fault for knowing me more than I know myself”

They leave the conversation at that for the time being. Letting the streets below fill the void of their silence. Both boys focusing their gaze towards the view they got from this height they’re on again. Finch and Albert left speechless at each other’s words.

Albert’s hands unconsciously reach up to his forehead, itching to pick a pimple like earlier. His next words almost got stuck in his throat but he was able to pull through just enough to get to his point, “Well, at the end of the day we uhh… we both fucked up. Fucked our relationship, that’s for sure-”

“Stop picking on your pimples, Al” Finch casually said. The surprise look on Al’s face got Finch to side eye him with a giggle.

Al pulled his fingers away, stuttering in his movements but still continued on his words with more confidence, “What I’m trying to say is… I want to try again as long as you’re willing to”

There was a good few seconds of silence that Finch used to just stare at him. Albert could only wonder what he’s thinking about inside that head, “So we just… what? Forget the breakup ever happened? Move back in together? You know I can’t just do that, right?”

“That’s not what I mean. We don’t need to rush things. I know you can’t do that” Albert said, “Just… let me start by making it up to you? Whatever you want. Just name it”

Finch didn’t respond instantly, letting the silence between them linger for a few more minutes. But it’s deeply agonizing to Albert’s ears. A blank space of two eyes locked in a gaze, and one is obviously dying to get out of it.

“Please, say something” Albert begged. Hands suddenly reaching back up to his face to pick on his pimples again.

With a free hand, Finch reaches towards Al’s hand on his face. He pulls it down to the bars, holding it in place to make sure it doesn’t repeat its mistakes again. The grip was firm, but warm and calming to Albert’s soul. It made him go blank for a good few seconds from being so touch deprived of Finch’s soft hands. He retains his sense of reality when their eyes finally meet again.

With a little smile forming on Finch’s face, he finally answers, “I’d like that very much”

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.15

When You Come Back to Me

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 3290

Summary: The reunion of soulmates. 

Do I need to say more?

Warnings: mentions of violence, guns and death, swearing, light angst and fluff

A/N: Let me voice what I assume are your thoughts (and mine too, tbh): Fucking finally!

Story masterlist

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So… you might be panicking.

A little.

To be fair, all of your worries were justified, every single one of them, and that was why you voiced them.

“What if he’s gonna attack me? I mean, you thought I was a fake.”

“What if he passes out from the shock? I know no first aid! I barely know my own name!”

“What if he jumps out of the window? I mean, I might if thought I was seeing a ghost-“

Natasha Romanoff shot you an amused glance, continuing her stroll through the halls of Tower, and you had a hunch you weren’t the only one well-aware that the last question was simply you making excuses for not meeting your soulmate just yet.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You did, so, so much, but at the same time…. yeah, you were definitely panicking.

“He’s not gonna jump out of a window. As for the other cases, which are about as likely, I’m gonna be there with you to make sure it doesn’t happen before you get to actually talk. Happy?”

Not really.

Your brain was still coming up with more ridiculous what ifs, that annoying little things, and now your frantic heart and the actual worries joined the party and you had a strong urge to spin on your heels and walk the fuck away.

“What if… what if he hates me?” you whispered, your chest tightening at the thought. That was the real concern, wasn’t it? “I mean, I’m alive and he was through hell, because he thought I wasn’t. What if he hates me, because I didn’t come sooner? I can’t even remember him – how messed up is that?”

It wasn’t until the redhead stopped in her tracks and turned to look at you that you realized you had in fact frozen on spot.

“He’s not gonna hate you, милашка,” she assured you with softness you didn’t expect her to be capable of, her features compassionate and kind. “None of that was your fault.”

You ignored whatever she had called you in favour on focusing on more important matters. “But neither it was his.”

A smile flirted on her lips, a simple tug of the corners of her mouth, brief – but you still saw it as she continued walking then, speaking up again.

“You tell him that.”

“Uh-huh…”

By the universal law of the Universe, the she only took few more steps before facing the captain’s door, apparently.

“Ready?”

“Not really,” you murmured honestly, earning an understanding nod.

“That’s fair. Jarvis? Is he decent?” the spy asked lowly as she gently pushed you in front of herself so you entered first.

Instead of an answer, the door slowly opened upon the AI’s command, effectively sending your heart to a gallop you weren’t sure it could handle. The door could creak for a dramatic effect and you wouldn’t be able to hear it over the whooshing noise in your ears.

Natasha Romanoff might have nudged you to come in. You weren’t sure; your legs carried you on their own without you remembering ordering them so.

The spacy bedroom slash private living room with a couch and coffee table was plain. Nothing special about it, huge slats covering a window replacing one of the walls only partly opened.

Sure, it was kinda impressive and it kinda wasn’t and it didn’t matter the moment you had laid your eyes to the second door of the room right opposite to the window.

A blond man stood still in the doorway to what you assumed was his bathroom, hand frozen in motion as it went through his damp hair.

You couldn’t help but stare at him for several reasons.

Firstly, he looked… familiar. There was an air around him, screaming sincerity and gentleness, kindness. Comfort. And sorrow.

You had seen the pictures of him, sure, the video even, but this was something quite different. Upon meeting him in flesh, you somehow knew… it wasn’t all a lie. You were meant to find him and your racing heart and mind were on board with that.

He was also incredibly handsome. You had met a real-life angel and you were confident he must have helped to sculpture this man’s face and body. He was wearing a white tank top, revealing his muscled arms, dark sweatpants hanging from his thin waist, seemingly even thinner with comparison to his broad shoulders.

His face had shock written all over it, but still held beauty no man should possess. Men were supposed to handsome, but seeing his eyes, you couldn’t help but think of the word beautiful. His lips were plump, no doubt prettier than yours, his cheekbones and strong jaw were a gift from God and… you had a hunch that when his hair wasn’t wet and was lighter tone, it resembled a glowing halo.

For some reason and out of nowhere, you recalled the phrase ‘I once saw a man so beautiful I started crying’ and had to wonder if the author of those words thought of this man when writing them down. You could totally see that happening.

Your gaze was glued to him, the depth of his eyes leaving you unable to form words.

“I hate dreams like this,” he whispered hoarsely, sending a shiver down your spine.

His voice, god, his voice, the one you had heard in the video, carrying the same pain, but more importantly, the one you had been hearing in your dreams … said the words written on your skin. There was no doubt now.

It didn’t make you less dumbfounded. What should you even say in a moment like this? What could you say to a man who was your soulmate, the mere sight of you chasing tears into his eyes, because you were supposed to be dead?  

“I’m sorry?” you offered hesitantly, causing the man – Steve, Steve Rogers, he had a name, he was your soulmate for god’s sake – release a choked sound. You needed no other confirmation of your words matching the mark on his collarbone.

Also, go me. What a first line to bless him with on his skin.

No other words were exchanged, two people utterly mesmerized by one another, starring at each other in stunned silence.

Agent Romanoff, leaning onto the doorframe, cleared her throat, causing you both to wince. You had totally forgotten about her, to be honest. Clearly, so had the captain.

“Before you ask: yes, she’s real, Steve. Very real,” she emphasized as if she wanted to prove his exclaim about dreams wrong. “She’ll explain what she can, which… isn’t much. Just so you know we ran every test possible already. She’s no faker. I’ll leave you two some privacy.”

With a quiet clank, the door closed shut when she slipped from the room and seemingly, she took all the air from your lungs with her. Or maybe just your ability to speak, you weren’t sure.

“You’re… what—how?” he asked, his face pure shock, unhealthily pale.

Seeing a tear rolling down his cheek and hearing his voice crack nearly broke your heart.

You had a feeling you had always been a softie, the story about soul bonds torn apart enough to make you weepy… living it though? Being in the centre of such heart-breaking story, standing few feet from the man who had lost his soulmate, being able to almost touch the pain and shock on his face, only now noticing the lines of exhaustion, the bags under his eyes… your own eyes started to burn with tears. Again.

He took several hesitant steps closer, his gaze fixed on your features.

“Ca-captain Rogers, I…” His face twisted in a strange grimace, causing your stomach to clench. He probably wasn’t happy about you calling him that. You had been calling him Steve, at least in the video. Obviously. “I mean… Mr. Rogers. Steve.”

He seemed utterly confused and you couldn’t say you blamed him.

You were all really friggin’ confused, alright.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. You-- you-“

“Look just like the woman in the video? The one telling you to-“ let her die. Your stomach rolled over at finishing the thought. You tried to shake it off, focusing on keeping your voice somewhat even. And on actually explaining the situation as much as you could.

“I know. I didn’t remember my name, I don’t remember me, my family, my friends. I don’t… I don’t remember you and yet… there is no way I’m not the person everyone claims I am and you… you seem familiar and I heard your voice in my dream, which is entirely crazy and…-”

Steve watched you, mesmerized and frowning as you chuckled self-depreciatingly. Not knowing what to say next, you unbuttoned the top of your shirt, revealing your collarbone, first the crossed-out words, only then the fresher ones.

Steve erased the distance between you completely, reluctantly holding the hem of your shirt to see.

And the strangest thing was that you wanted him to linger with his gaze. To touch your skin even, run his fingertips over the words, hell, place a kiss over them… and it should freak you out, wanting this from a stranger, but it felt right. You weren’t intimidated by the intimate proximity of a man whom you just met. You liked it. You felt safe. You longed for his arms around you.

Rather than saying your desires out loud – and it would be ridiculously easy under his intent eyes – you breathed in slowly and collected your thoughts.

“I’m… this is gonna sound insane, but Ms. Romanoff already heard this whole story and I know it’s incredible, ‘cause it kinda involves angels and resurrections, but if you’re willing to listen-“

“I’ll listen,” he promised lowly, his brilliant eyes – not blue as you thought at first, but with a little drop of green paint in them, as if God thought of the blue being too perfect and the joke ended up being on him, because they were breath-taking – meeting yours, a vow heavier than his words written in them.

Your breath hitched when the pools of the fascinating colour welcomed you sincerely. You… you wanted to drown in them.

“Thank you. I… you should see something first though.”

“More than the words?” he asked in a whisper, bewildered.

You nodded, taking a hesitant step back, his fingers hovering in the air for few seconds, twitching even, before his hands fell to his sides. You hastily fished out your fake ID to cover the fact his motions made you blush and handed the item to Steve, who frowned in confusion.

You licked your lips and went to explain.

“Sam, Dean and Cas – the men who helped me to get here and find you – they…” How exactly you should put that? Telling a superhero that they faked your ID? “-ugh, they found me and faked my ID since I needed it in order to… eh, exist. And I don’t remember a thing, alright? I didn’t know my name until I read about myself on the internet and Ms. Romanoff – Natasha, ironically – confirmed it, along with the Jarvis. So I picked one. ‘Natasha’ came to my mind first. And-“

“-and Rogers,” he breathed out, slowly lifting his gaze. You couldn’t read his expression, but there was undeniable fascination in his sparkling irises.

“I don’t know you and yet I do. I don’t remember us, but there’s this feeling. I believe this isn’t a coincidence. Or maybe it’s nothing,” you chuckled self-depreciatingly once more. God, what were you doing now… “Maybe I’m not supposed to be here, maybe I’m being silly now-“

Steve interrupted you with a watery laugh, tears springing from his eyes. The sound shut your mouth effectively, surprising you greatly.

“What?”

“It was one of the first things you told me. You being silly. Stupid even,” he explained and your chest tightened. What did that mean? And how could you not remember that dammit!

“…oh. Did you… agree?” you pried, worrying your teeth over your lower lip, only to earn a gentle shake of his head.

“No.”

“What did you say?”

A sad smile graced his lips, soft thing full of sorrow and fondness. “I’ll tell you later if you still want me to.”

“I will!” you reassured him swiftly, perhaps to eagerly. You weren’t sure whether it was the prospect of his presence or learning about yourself (and him) that had you so eager. Probably a bit of both. “I… I’d like to hear the story behind my soulmark too... and to know yours.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Okay. I promise to tell you everything I know as long as you ask it.”

The message of you having the courtesy to set the direction and pace of the next moments – or perhaps hours, days – didn’t escape your attention and warmed you heart, causing your lips to turn upright a fraction.

“You’re a truly kind person, aren’t you?” you more stated than asked lowly and Steve lowered his gaze as if sheepish, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes frantically searched the room.

“You… uhm, you can judge that later. Why don’t… why don’t we sit on the couch?”

And here went the kindness again…

“I’d like that. I think it’s better if you sit down for what I have to say too.”

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You were surprised Steve didn’t interrupt you once.

Sure, his face spoke volumes whenever you found enough courage to look up at it, instead of keeping your gaze down in your lap, mostly fascinated by your fiddling fingers.

At the end of your narration, you shrugged and sighed in relief of getting it all out.

“So, here I am. Zero memory besides the dreams of you talking to me and calling me ‘doll’. I’ve seen a video of myself dying, learned about people actually lighting candles for me all over the United States, like I’m… I don’t know. That’s a kind of thing done for Princess Diana, for god’s sake. I did my reading – because I don’t remember who that was. I don’t know things and I—I don’t want to complain, I was apparently brought back from death, I should-- I should be grateful, I know that much, and I am, okay, but-“

You weren’t sure when you had lost control over your brain to mouth filter, when you had lost control over your emotions, because since meeting him, you had been somehow coping, so why now, why-- why were you just pouring words to the limited space between you and couldn’t just stop-

Large, slightly calloused and very much warm hand caught your suddenly trembling fingers. Your mouth fell shut, your eyelids closing on instinct. Why was there the burn in your eyes again as if you wanted to cry? You had no right to cry.

…did you?

“Hey, hey, don’t do this,” Steve coaxed you, his other hand brushing your shoulder and you just wanted him to hug you. You would take the soothing touch and calming circles drawn on your shoulder since he offered at least that though, but god, a hug would feel so much better. “You lost your memories. Your life.”

“You lost your soulmate,” you whispered back, opening your eyes with a shaky breath. He averted your gaze and you caught a flicker of shame and anger before he did so.

“I killed my soulmate,” he corrected you, his voice turning hoarse and hard, his touch disappearing from you. You wanted it back instantly, already missing it and hating how his hands clenched into fists in what could be self-hatred.

You shook your head. You two were being ridiculous and downright stupid. Instead of being happy to find each other again – though not quite – you were having a pity party and going for guilt trips. You bit your lip nervously when reaching to cover one of his fists for a change.

His fingers immediately twitched and you fought the instinct to pull away. Or lean in?

“You were given an impossible choice, Steve. No one can blame you for trying to save everyone.”

“I can. I do… as should you,” he uttered and you sighed, realizing that maybe he did believe you that you meant it – maybe he didn’t –, but it didn’t matter as long as it was eating him up from inside.

You shrugged rather light-heartedly, but took special care to emphasize every word that came out of your mouth next, to show you were hundred percent serious and honest.

“Well, I guess I don’t. All of this sucks and I cannot imagine what it’s like for you, me being here, maybe acting… differently than—ugh, than me. The me you know. The me that remembered us. But I’m here. Alive. If there’s a chance…”

This got him look at you, expression conflicted. Yeah, you understood ‘conflicted’, alright. You wanted to learn everything you forgot, but upon saying out loud how hard it must have been for him, you realized just how natural would be for him to ask you to leave and let him have his peace after… everything.

“But if… if you want me to leave, I mean, I won’t be very happy about it, but-“

His fist opened immediately, gripping your hand almost painfully before you could even pull away an inch.

“Please don’t!” he pleaded hastily, effectively starling you. His features softened when you nodded then, his eyes burning with sincerity. “If you still want to hear about how we met…”

“I’d like that very much,” you attempted to smile at him, calmness washing over you when his face lit up.

Crisis averted.

Though not the threat for your heart. It didn’t ache as much as it had when you first entered – but boy, now it started swelling in your chest as his eyes sparkled, his whole being coming a bit more to life. It was a breath-taking show to watch.

“Do you want something to drink? I’m being a terrible host, sorry-“

He stood up quickly, releasing your hand, his own instantly going to clutch at the fabric of his sweats. It was endearing, seeing him being the nervous one.

“Feels like you’d be entitled. But you’re doing fine, Steve.”

“O-okay. Tea?”

“I guess…? I found out I don’t really have a thing for coffee…?” you explained hesitantly and for some reason, it brought a smile to Steve’s face. Maybe there was a story?

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Right. You probably hadn’t been a coffee person before- before. That would make sense. Him knowing that would make even more sense.

“Well, I’m glad at least some things apparently don’t change.”

A hint of a blush painted his cheeks and you watched him, fascinated. Aw, now that was so precious. Why blush though?

“I… uhm, I still have what used to be your favourite tea stocked, so… maybe that?”

Your lips parted at his thoughtfulness. It made you wonder though; just how far your relationship had been when you had… ugh, died? Were you official? Probably. Was there any funny business involved?  With your dreams, you had a pretty good idea about that, but you could never be sure they weren’t just memories of your fantasies. Were there… plans for the future already?

Just how well did you know each other? How much you were robbed of? How much of you Steve was missing? How could you not remember this amazing man, who apparently cared about you so deeply?

Your dark thoughts must have shown on your face, because he wavered.

“Or not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, uh, freak you out or-“

“No! That’s not—it’s just-I--it-ugh-“ Oh wow, you were so terrible at speaking. ”That… the tea, yeah, that sounds pretty nice.”

His smile had faltered earlier, now returning, only less convincing. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

“And I’ll be waiting right here,” you declared, patting the couch with both hands for demonstration.

Perhaps it was only your imagination, but he actually seemed assured at that. Less worried.

Yeah, you definitely made that up.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 16

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

I hope the wait was worth it ;) Yeah/nah? Btw, Natasha called ‘Nat’ a cutie (or a loved one).

[radbutsafe]

ALL FUCKIN 35 OF THEM SKLNWESDJFPXO

I SHOULDVE EXPECTED THIS FROM YOU

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

A three! I think I’m mid range cause I ain’t terrible but there is still shit I gotta improve and grow in my writing

2. Why do you write fanfiction?

to manifest what canon won’t give me and to write more! (though yes it is mainly about the smooching and the— I’ll stop there LOL)

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

Hm! My weird research details? I’m that “fun fact, did you know...” in my fics sometimes LOL! I plan on giving a penthouse for erina in a fic and I went through penthouse listings in Japan for floor layouts and locations💀 my research gives me inspo and depth to stuff I think I lack in comparison to others sometimes.

4. Are there any writers that inspire you?

In terms of fellow fic writers, one of them I can’t name here but she’s an inspiration with her exceptional gift for prose period and her lovely skill at comedy! I want to be as funny as her when I write, I love her ironic situational humor. Other fic writers are @takoyakitenchou, @royaldragonsevgisi15 who I always love sharing ideas with and motivate me to create more! For non-fic writers it would be V.E. Schwab, Leigh Bardugo, Oda, and Horikoshi! The last two may be mangaka, however they are writers as well to create their stories! The depth these creators have given their worlds and interesting characters theyve given life to are all what I aspire to be like!

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

so far uh?? hm everything I’m currently writing are wips lol!! im proud of my wip that has been nicknamed ‘soma panics’ that is a multi-chapter fic that spans like probs 20 plus chapters maybe

6. What element of writing do you find comes easily?

dialogue! it’s so much fun! and character thoughts. I’ve said to people I may be better suited for script writing

7. What element of writing do you struggle with most?

I think it’s description, of like setting and showing action. also an expansion of my vocabulary LOL

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

erina! I think it’s because canon has shown us many of her different faces and range of emotion.

9. Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write?

SOMA!! chill ass mofo whos more carefree compared to the common shonen protagonist! for other shokugeki characters I’m not sure just yet because I haven’t flexed my fingers enough for the rest of them.

10. What’s your favorite genre to write for?

I guess I should say romance cause that’s what I mostly write LOL!

11. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

sorina and I try to get them to smooch eventually KEK and yeah it’s..usually romantic fluff lmao

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

HONESTLY ALL OF THEM but “soma panics” is my brain child

13. First fandom you ever wrote for?

pretty sure it’s digimon....

14. What’s your favorite fandom to write for?

currently shokugeki no soma!!!!

15. What’s the weirdest fandom you’ve ever written for?

uhhhh I guess SNS? LMAO fandoms...all have their quirks to them.

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

characters cuddling!!!! or getting the urge to smooch!!!!

17. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

unrequited love GOOD FUCKIN BYEEEEEE

18. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

I have plot ideas thst can be wild potentially but so far nothing fits this criteria so far that I actually have written.

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between?

depends on the fandom, but if written well, all of it!

20. Gen fic or shippy stuff?

shippy 100% like I said I like smoochin

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

romantic is...*drumroll* SORINA! platonic, soutaku and erina and alice!

22. Do you listen to anything while you write?

Sometimes! There are times songs will be on loop and times I just shuffle a playlist. and if I’m writing in random bursts it’ll be with no music but it really does depend lmao I think music is when I’m forcing myself to write?

23. Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

completely independent ideas, I’ve realized in the past prompts shoot me in the foot often unless I luckily figure something out. but I’m often driven by my own sporadic self interest with shitty ping ponging attention

24. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

multi-chap I guess cause I can post without being finished LOLLL but tbh can I really answer? I haven’t finished anything.....

25. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

I can’t answer this question imo because I haven’t finished a fic yet so technically stuff could all fit in the one fic?

26. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

MYSTERY AND CRIME! I love the genre and I have plot ideas once a blue moon but I can’t dive in because I want to make details that work and reduce plot holes where suspension of disbelief isn’t as needed. I need to study it more (I need to study all the details for any of my fics imo to be confident sometimes LOL)

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I don’t think I can say one comment was the nicest because I’ve gotten comments that have given me quite the smiles to my face many times! I know this is a cop out but it’s true!

IS WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY UNTIL REINA SENT ME THE FOLLOWING ON DISCORD LIKE TWENTY MINS AGO:

and also rad. i am never this vocal about my emotions like EVER but this needs to be said your fics are obviously far from perfect, as are mine and everyone else's. but the thing about your works is that they're so well-sanded that it's impossible to find any rough edges or faults in them in terms of cohesion to a plot. your cast is never OOC and the amount of effort you devote to developing your takes on the characters as accurately as possible is unimaginably awe-inspiring.

BITCH I WANNA CRY 😭

28. How well do you handle criticism when it comes to your writing?

I’d like to believe I take it often well to try and improve because that’s always my goal. if someone is rude lol that’s not constructive snd is unhelpful. If I disagree with criticism I’ll explain why !

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Not yet, but I have some plot ideas I think will let me test this.

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

F L U F F.

31. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

elliott fuji, a japanese-american award winning photographer who is erina’s boyfriend in ‘soma panics’ which..causes soma’s panic LOL he’s 30 with slightly wavy black hair. I still haven’t pinpointed his personality just yet...he kind of humble brags for sure an artsy fucker and flirts maybe I’ll make him a lil shy though. he teaches sometimes, and becomes an adjunct photography professor in Tokyo so he can be with erina.

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

a cook is unfashionably late in realizing his feelings.

33. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

I am a slow. so slow. motivation who is she? I also write out of order, unfortunately a bit too often.

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

this should be for the fic ‘soma panics’ it’s either megumi or satoshi talkin to him rn, I’m leaning towards satoshi

“You thought she would always wait for you, didn’t you Soma-kun? To always welcome you home.”

Soma drags his palms down his face and groans. He doesn’t like this at all. He doesn’t shy from confrontation but this is a whole different ballgame. Soma doesn’t play any ball.

“I guess..?” Is his reply, because he thinks he isn’t sure how to answer that.

“You guess?”

Just being questioned again is enough to crack Soma’s pathetic facade as if it was dropped chinaware and he lets out the longest sigh.

“No.”

Coming home means coming home to Nakiri Erina too.

Nakiri Erina is his forever.

this is @takoyakitenchou’s excerpt she’s most proud of that I’ve written, which is also from you guessed it, the long fic soma panics

SOMA: I am, I mean I will be, I swear I will always come home to you, not spend as much time abroad, once I’m done with work I’ll come right back. I’ll make sure to message you. Nakiri, I’m in love you with you. Maybe for a really long time. You know how I say I dedicate my food to you? My dad—my dad said that the key to become a good chef is to find someone to dedicate your cooking to. A special someone. For my dad it was my mom, you know? For me it’s...

(this is a good piece of dialogue tbh so I am also proud of this)

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

I’ve mentioned it throughout this but the WIP I’ve nicknamed ‘soma panics’ is something I’m super excited to write, but it’s going on slowly...and almost completely out of order. out of all of my writing it showed off that particular habit of mine, along with “what is this, a shoujo manga?!” though the latter is currently being written chronologically now that I’ve posted chapter one and is pretty solid in direction. it was originally supposed to be a one shot but I got impatient and wanted to post at least something for the sorina / soueri fandom.

however, because ‘soma panics’ (I won’t call it that LOL) is my baby I want to keep true to my rule of refusing to post it until I have a draft of the entire fic finished and I’m satisfied with the main points pretty much. due to my writing out of order, I’m worried I’ll change my mind about scenes or want to reflect things in earlier chapters for later ones etc etc

I joined the SnS fandom extremely late, as season five was airing. I was a fan of the manga five years ago and dropped it because I forgot to check for updates when I caught up 😔 I really want to bang out the different fics and aus for sorina that I have before the fandom fizzles out entirely but tbh I’m writing for myself, I’m manifesting what I want to see and I’ll just share it with all my friends to read if no one else will. cause I’m slow broski I dunno what writing fast even is like LMAO I do really want to write faster though, so I can contribute more and let the words free from the discord dms....

[laufire]

Black Sails

Top 5 favourite characters: Max, Silver, Jack, Madi, and Flint.

Other characters you like: Mr. Scott, Anne, Miranda, Idelle, Eleanor, Billy, Eme, the Maroon Queen, Featherstone, Ms. Guthrie, Muldoon, DeGroot...

Least favourite characters: Rogers, Ashe, Alfred Hamilton and Richard Guthrie are my Most Disliked People lol. Dufresne and Hornigold can suck it too xD

Otps: Silverflintmadi, Flintmiranda, Maxanne + Rackanne, Maxanor. Don’t ask me to choose lol.

Notps: Eleanor/Rogers, Silver/Thomas. Though not with the ~passion I dislike other notps of mine -I just find the first depressing in canon and the latter tiresome in fanon *shrugs*.

Favourite friendships: Silver & Max & Jack; Silver & the Walrus crew (THE LOVE THERE), Idelle & Max.

Favourite family: Madi’s family >>>>>>>>. It’s not like there’s many options to choose from lmao, but even if there was, I’d still pick them. What a gr10 reversal of one of most hated tropes *-* (aka: having a character of color save or prioritize a white character at the expense of their own relatives, to the point where sometimes it even costs them their lives).

Favourite episodes: this is one of the shows I have most difficulty picking favourite episodes tbh. Every one in s4 (I still haven’t watched the finale... I should stop putting that off lol) has hit me where I live. Same with s3, really. s1 and s2 were less !!!!! but I’ve never disliked a single episode, so. Choices, choices. To pick one of each so far (minus s4 since I haven’t completed it): 1x03 (probably a... controversial choice, but it’s when I knew the show was something else), 2x10 (I love having my heart broken and this episode provided that. And I love seeing Max & co-winning and I got that too!), and 3x05 (the Silverflint!! Madi’s family!! Flint & The Maroon Queen’s scene! Flint’s visions! Max forcing Rogers to make a place for her on the council!! Max’s “I AM Nassau”!! Spoken Spanish that didn’t make my ears bleed!!!).

Favourite season/book/movie: s4. Each episode has been just. too much xD. So thematically perfect. I hope the finale feels like that too.

Favourite quotes: oof. How to choose. Max’s quote about refusing to make enemies of those one day she could call friends; her rant about Rogers sitting “in [her] fucking chair!!”; her speech to Anne in 4x08; Silver’s “I am no one from nowhere” quote; Madi’s about the “multitude of voices”; Jack’s “did I make up a lot of ground to catch you” speech; Flint’s “no daylight between you and I” (WHO SAYS THAT. IN *PUBLIC*. I swear it’s somehow the most indecent moment of the show. It overwhelms me xDD); Idelle’s quote about Max when she confronts Anne; Mr. Scott’s “only YOU” to Madi. I’d say those are my ultimate favourites.

Best musical moment: the intro. I love it.

Moment that made you fangirl/boy the hardest: Silver and Max’s interacting again in s4 made me lose it. Also, that Look between Max and Flint and Jack confirming later Flint had argued to kill her so she wouldn’t fuck with their plans anymore lmao.

When it really disappointed you: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Saddest moment: me at the progressive erosion of Silverflint’s relationship -> DDD:

Most well-done character death: Eleanor’s, I’d say.

Favourite guest star: Idek what I’d count as guest star with this show... I’m going with Idelle. If she appears too much to be considered a “guest”, the Maroon Queen.

Favourite cast member: JPK. She blends so, so well with her roles? Sometimes I have an incredibly hard time remembering Max and Nora West-Allen are played by the same person, ngl xD

Character you wish was still alive: both Miranda and Mr. Scott, though the latter has an edge because I have the NEED of knowing how he would’ve acted if he was in s4.

One thing you hope really happens: that I get the time I need to finish my WIPs and that NO ONE, EVER, tries to do a spin-off/remake/ANYTHING like that with it xD

Most shocking twist: Mr. Scott’s reveal in 3x04, if only because it was one of the few major things I wasn’t spoiled at all about xD. But I love how it changes your perspective of his s1-2 storylines.

When did you start watching/reading?: a few months ago.

Best animal/creature: ... sharks xD. We owe them so much (if Silver’s parrot was canon here, well).

Favourite location: Nassau (aka Max’s Domain).

Trope you wish they would stop using: n/a. I love this show’s tropes and themes lol.

One thing this show/book/film does better than others: lots of stuff xD. Dialogue is one; deviating from expectations and archetypes is another.

Funniest moments: WHO’S BILLY. The Silverflintbones pseudo-triangle xD. Silver’s s1 antics.

Couple you would like to see: *coughs* I could’ve coped with Silverflintmadi going all the way xD

Actor/Actress you want to join the cast: Maggie Smith should’ve had a cameo ¬¬

Favourite outfit: one?!? Have you SEEN everything Max’s worn in season four?? Or Eleanor in s1-2?? Jack’s Iconique Looks?? *sighs* I suppose I have a soft spot for Max wearing red, so that.

Favourite item: “La Galatea”, the book Flint gave to Miranda as an apology. My heart :((( (not to mention it reminds me to my own original WIPs).

Do you own anything related to this show/book/film?: ................ the DVDs xD. They were a little over 20 bucks total and I gave them to myself for my birthday lol (I just don’t trust Netflix anymore and I don’t want to lose easy access to a HQ version the show, so fork it). I own the Treasure Planet DVD (which came along with a computer game), but I have no idea of where I put it. And I have a copy of Treasure Island ofc (that I want to re-read when I finish the show).

What house/team/group/friendship group/family/race etc would you be in?: my heart is with Flintmadi’s cause but my brain and need to win with Max’s team xD

Most boring plotline: eh. I didn’t much care for Blackbeard’s deal (though I felt for his death, because it was so fucking awful).

Most laughably bad moment: n/a.

Best flashback/flashforward if any: The Sword Flirting Sparring flashbacks ofc *-*

Most layered character: Flint and Silver ofc.

Most one-dimensional character: the one-note characters that are just there at plot devices. And of those with a little more relevance to our mains, Thomas is the least expanded-on by far *shrugs* (which doesn’t mean “poorly written”).

Scariest moment: Silver’s state when he thought he lost Madi. No wonder Flint was so worried tbh.

Grossest moment: putting aside the physically gross moments (of which this show has a few, lbr. It did not shy away from injuries, etc.)... I had my most visceral reaction to Rogers speaking with Madi. Like, fuck off dude xD. ALSO: Billy’s beard. Kill it pls.

Best looking male: Joshua was a dork and a cutie. Flint is so not my type but there are... moments xD. Same with Silver when he’s in a shippy context, even if normally I’m all ??? at his face lol.

Best looking female: now this one is a lot harder xDD. I always end up saying Max because... have you seen her. They style her so lovingly *-*. But really, which of these women isn’t absolutely gorgeous in their unique way.

Who you’re crushing on (if any): Anne. She reminds me of my ~first love lol (looks-wise at least xD). And I know I’d be drawn to her...  sunny disposition lmao.

Favourite cast moment: in my lurking over blogs to add stuff in the queue, I saw twitter exchange where Silver’s actor says Silver’s actions against Billy were revenge for the potatoes xD, and Billy’s replied he should’ve made him peel carrots, since he “likes their colouring”. LMFAO.

Favourite transportation: the Walrus, obviously. I’m sentimental :(

Most beautiful scene (scenery/shot wise): Charlestown in flames was hella pretty :))))))

Unanswered question/continuity issue/plot error that bugs you: n/a.

Best promo: I’ve seen a promo picture for s3 with Flint standing over a giant British flag on fire... very evocative.

At what point did you fall in love with this show/book: 1x03. I liked the previous episodes alone, but it was Max’s insistence of rejecting Eleanor’s help that took it over the edge. I’ve said before that although it made things harder for her in the short term, to me it showed how different and impressive a character it was and, knowing that things would go really well for her afterwards, made me see just how much promise the show had.

[all1e23]

Swallow [Pt. 7]

Chapter: Convictions and Lies

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: It’s becoming increasingly clear that Bucky will have to choose between his brothers and his girl. Y/n learns a secret. 

Warnings:  Adulty themes. Yes, I’m a grown-up, and I said adulty themes. Heavy Angst (I know. What else is new with series, right?) Sweet Bucky because I still standby that as a warning. 

A/N:   I’m sorry it’s been so long between updates, but tbh this fic takes a lot out of me when I write it – it’s emotionally exhausting to write. Send me love because I’m needy.  No beta Read at your own risk. ;-)

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

You’ve been falling; falling fast and hard, tumbling down into the dark -- the same darkened, treacherous place your head told your heart you would never visit again.

At least that’s what you have been telling yourself the last few years-- an attempt to soothe the ache of losing the other half of your heart. It turned out the dark wasn’t so scary and hidden within the shadows was the promise of something brighter. If you could give enough of your heart and place your trust in the one person, who knew where the light is hidden.

The only source of light your soul has ever needed never failed to be found within James Barnes's heart. No matter the fearsome winds and dark clouds that roll in threatening to steal his warmth, the darkness never comes, and this time would be no different.

Seven days you’ve spent, and the clouds that lingered nearby have yet to change directions even with the powerful winds approaching.

A week of sweet kisses, soft whispers, and delicate touches pointed you towards those dark hidden shadows -- sunlight pierced holes through those dark clouds that loomed just off the coast, and you’ve never felt more at home. As you lay in Bucky’s bed, watching him sleep, your heart was right there to remind you of the promises you made to yourself and how you’ve broken every one from the moment you came home. There wasn’t a part of you that could be moved to care, heart included. The only place you have ever felt at peace was when you were by Bucky’s side. He was the only home your wandering soul knew, and no one could change that.

And while nothing, absolutely nothing, sounded better than spending the day sheltered in Bucky’s arms and basking in the glow radiating from his heart and yours, you needed coffee.

Your bright morning would quickly take a wrong turn onto a dimly lit backroad if you did not find some type of caffeine and fast. Begrudgingly, you tore yourself from his side and grabbed some of the clothes you had stashed around Bucky's room. The real trick was going to be making it downstairs without anyone seeing. Not that you were in any way ashamed or embarrassed by where you spent the last several nights -- scared was a more accurate assessment of your feelings.

Scared to let go and fearful of what would come when you do. Adding people's opinions to that fear would only create a fire you were not prepared to handle.

For now, this was only you and him.

You quietly slipped down the stairs to avoid attention, but the amount of noise you made wouldn’t have made a difference. All eyes were on you the moment you landed at the bottom step. You groaned internally but managed to keep your face blank as you crossed the room towards the only friendly face in the room.

You sat down on the table next to Peggy and asked with a smile, “No one noticed me, right?”

Peggy smirked and handed you what you assumed was her cup of coffee. “Of course not.” She assured you. “No one noticed that you came down at seven-thirty in the morning and had a pair of lace panties stuck to your jeans.”

She winked and pulled the blush-colored lace from your thigh. “Shall I wash it for you?”

You snatched it from her hand and shoved it into your pocket. “Let’s never speak of this again, and thank you for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” Peggy added as she stood intent on grabbing herself another cup from the kitchen.

“It looks good on you, darling,” Peggy mentioned, turning back to find your head tilted to the side and confusion written all over your face. You didn’t have anything special on, just jeans and an old Guns N’ Roses t-shirt Bucky had bought you years ago. She playfully rolled her eyes nodding to towards the bird on your wrist -- the one now bared for all to see.

“Settling back into your life. Being home.” She clarified. 

The sound of footsteps making their way downstairs had her grinning, and she promptly made her way to the kitchen. No need to add another pair of eyes to this already delicate situation.

The room full of nosy boys were enough.

Bucky descended the stairs a moment later, only adding to the awkward tension in the air. His was hair tousled from sleep still, his leather unzipped and open to show off the thin white v-neck he was wearing under it. In the middle of his chest sat a small ring hanging from a silver chain. You would know that ring against a thousand others. You doubted anyone would recognize the chain let alone the ring, maybe Steve.

You didn’t know what Steve was paying attention to back then or now, for that matter. By the look of things, no one was the same person they were five years ago -- Bucky more so than the rest.

The leather he was sporting wasn’t new, but the smile on his face certainly was.

Since the night you snuck in, tensions within the clubhouse have shifted, and the focus was no longer on who was breaking whose heart. It made the days a little sweeter and the nights a little longer, not just for the two of you. Bucky’s been smiling on the regular, talking openly and even laughed when Peter made a joke. Sam had been there to ease the kid into a chair when he went pale and queasy.

Naturally, they all wanted to ask what had their vice president so cheery, but no one dared to tease him. There was never a discussion between you, but it had seemed you both agreed not to talk about what was happening. Though you were sure everyone knew you were the reason, it was hard to miss the sun shining through to break up a rain cloud.

Still, avoiding the topic was probably for the best. Clint hadn’t been to the clubhouse since his chat with Steve and hadn’t spoken to you in three days, six hours and twenty-six minutes (Not that you were counting or anything). He couldn't -- wouldn’t accept your decision, and you didn’t know how to repair the rift it caused between you. The last words he uttered to you was a promise that has been replaying in your head ever since. He swore to you that taking Bucky back was a mistake, and if you went down this path, he didn’t know if he would be able to fix things this time. 

You had to trust that in time, Clint would understand. He’s never been able to stay mad at you for long.

Bucky continued by every member that sat, scattered throughout the clubhouse missing countless opportunities to sit near someone else. He could have found a place near Peter or Tony and avoided the one thing the club considered to be a chink in Bucky’s armor -- his defect.

As weak as you made him, you have never been his weakness regardless of what anyone else thinks.

He swung his leg over the chair in front of you, his eyes glued to yours as he lowered himself onto the harsh wooden seat.  He smirked and tilted his head to the side, watching as your eyes frantically searched to see who around you were paying attention.

Everyone was watching with interest. Typical.

You looked back at Bucky to find him grinning, eyes shimmering in delight and you knew he did this on purpose. He was never one to shy away from touching you in public. You knew what it looked like from the outside -- a possessive claim, but the truth was the poor boy has never been able to keep his hands off you.  

He wanted this, and it was okay to admit you did too.   

“Hi, pretty girl.”

You beamed, and your eyes lit up. 

“Hey, Buck.”

“So,” Bucky whispered as his hands landed on the tops of your thighs and casually moved up and down the soft material of your jeans. Getting the hint, you set your coffee down and draped your arms over his shoulders. He stopped at the top of your thighs and gave a gentle squeeze as he spoke again softer this time but still confident. “I was thinkin’ you could bring some of your things over from Clint’s.”

“Buck.” You scold, gently and slightly amused. You should have expected it really. Bucky didn’t know what slow meant when it came to you.

“Remember we are taking things slow so we can figure out how to be with each other again and you are not going to punch someone for talking to me.” You reminded, and he grinned.

“Baby...” Bucky’s voice trailed off as his hands tightened on your thighs and he carefully pulled you off the table where you fell into his waiting lap. A soft squeak fell from your lips, and he quickly swallowed it with a chaste kiss.

It only lasted a second, but it had your head spinning.

“I’ve had you spread out in my bed the last six nights in a row,” He said, raspy and quiet, his lips so close they brushed against yours as he spoke, “You haven’t been home since and I know you got things stashed in around. What’s the difference if you have some clothes in my closet?"

Everything he was saying was right, and in some part of your brain, it made sense but, what happened when you let go? Your heart wasn't ready to find out.

“If you think I’m living in this filthy ass clubhouse you aren’t very smart.” You sassed, covering fear with a sassy quip worked for your brother it could work for you. Too bad the man you were trying fool knows every inch of your skin and every beat of your heart. Bucky could see right through you.

“Okay, let’s get a house,” Bucky conceded, pulling back just enough to clear the haze your lips filled his head with. “I can go anywhere as long as you’re there with me, baby doll. There isn’t much I need to get by. Just one important thing.”

You ignored the thudding that was sounded from your chest and wrapped your fingers around the chain slowly twirling the glimmering silver around your hand. You gave it a gentle tug until your noses were nearly bumping and inquired. “You take things that aren’t yours now? Should I add thief to your resume?”

“Outlaws don’t have resumes darlin’.” He grinned.

A large hand splayed on your lower back pushed you further into his lap, and bucky quickly cleared up why it’s still hanging from his neck. “The woman I love left it behind. I’ve just been keeping it safe until she’s ready to carry the weight of it again.”

Oh.

“What if she can’t carry the weight of it?” You whispered, tightening your hold on the chain to the point it was beginning to tear at your skin. “What if the club and everything this ring stands for can’t coexist?”

Bucky bumped his nose against yours, and his eyes flicked up from the chain between you to meet your eyes. He felt stupid for not seeing that coming, but the answer was so simple he thought you would have figured it out by now. Bucky’s had five years to live with the consequences of not choosing you, and it’s not a pain he’s willing to shoulder again.

“I can live without a lot of things, but you are not one of them,” Bucky said gently and with firm conviction. “I learned that the hard way and, I can promise you, it’s the only thing I know for certain. There is nothing that could keep me from choosing you, and if I have to, I’ll burn it all down for you.”

Burn it all down, for you.

Nearly six years it’s been, and those words were like a sweet prayer you never thought you would hear. You knew the look Bucky was wearing, the determination and sincerity in eyes gave life to his words in a way that left you aching to believe him.

Deep down, you both knew it wouldn’t be that easy though, regardless of who was burning, you both would get caught in the flames.

Steve cleared his throat, dousing the kindling between you in cold water, smothering your bright morning in a toxic cloud of smoke and ash. Just like always, the perfect reminder that the club would always be there to steal him with such ease, it left you feeling silly and naive for having ever having hope.

Bucky peered over your shoulder at Steve and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “I’ll be done in an hour. Hang around, please?” Your arms tightened around his waist, and he sighed. “We can go to lunch when I’m done and talk. I’m not going to hide anything from you, but I gotta go in there baby doll.”

Your arms slowly fell from his side, and you did your best to shimmy out of his lap without falling -- your trembling legs were no help. Bucky rose to his feet and zipped his leather concealing his heart and your ring, not that there was much of a difference between the two.  A light kiss was placed to your temple, and heavy boots echoed through the barroom ending with the rattling slam of the wooden doors that separated you.

--------

The dread that came with being behind these doors made Bucky sick. The heaviness of the gavel never left his hand even after he passed it on to Steve, and now that you were back in his arms, it only made him yearn to be free of it all. Every bullshit meeting, every idiotic rule, and every painful decision that pushed him further away from the man he wanted to be -- the man he was when he was with you.

The club would be alright without him when the time came, or it would come crashing down. Bucky wanted to care, but he didn’t. He only needed to get the club through this bullshit with Red Skulls, and he was gone, whether Steve let him go or not.

Several grumbled voices rang throughout the room as Steve’s gavel came down. Bucky was uneasy, and the meeting hadn’t begun, you didn’t want him sitting at the table, and he honestly didn’t want to be there. None of this shit has mattered for years, and it didn’t hold a candle next to you. He’d much rather be tangled up in you with his head buried between your thighs drawing out those sweet whimpers that drive him crazy than listening to their next mistake.

“Where is Barton, and how come his sister is walking around like she owns the damn place?” An annoyed voice griped from the back of the room, Bucky wasn’t sure who said it, but they were about to regret ever opening their damn mouth. He sat up, and Sam’s hand was on his chest shoving him back into his seat before anyone could take notice -- Steve noticed of course.

Punk never does miss anything.

“Clint is dealing with some family shit that isn’t anyone’s business and as for Y/n,” Steve glanced at Bucky, waiting for the okay before continuing. “She’s your VP’s old lady, so watch your damn mouth and show her the same respect you give Peggy.”

Everyone's head jerked over to Bucky who didn’t say a word, just gave a slight nod to the room and turned to face Steve. He wasn’t talking about you or whatever was happening between the two of you in this room. Ever again. His relationship was not club business any longer.

“Right,” Steve said, club president demeanor in place. “Now that all of that is out in the open, can we focus on club business? Red Skulls are dipping their hands into things I can’t let slide -- selling guns to kids and trading their girls for weapons and information on their enemies. Primarily us and our families. This has been a long time coming. They have threatened everyone sitting at this table, and it’s time we take them down before they hurt anyone else.”

“Agreed?” Steve looked around at a room of nodding heads -- everyone but Bucky. Didn’t matter anyway, when Steve called for a vote it was simple numbers, and Bucky was the odd man out.

“On to our bigger issue,” Bucky frowned and finally looked over at Steve.

Bigger issues? What the hell is more significant than taking down another club?

“We’ve got a rat within our ranks, or that's the way it looks at least."

--------

The girls were great, and you loved Peggy, truly did, but you couldn't sit idly by in the clubhouse while they voted on your life and Buckys. Yeah, you didn’t know what the vote was, but there was always a vote. It may not be directly tied to you, but every choice they made in that room affected every aspect of your lives.

Peggy was wrapped up talking to Pepper; you took your chance and snuck out the backdoor to get some air. You briefly thought about waiting on Bucky’s bike, so he knew where you were but decided against it. It would just make it easier for the girls to find you and, you needed a break. So, you snuck off to hide in your jeep.

Bucky would find you. He always finds you.

"Hey, pretty girl." 

That wasn’t Bucky. 

Your entire body stiffened at the sound of another man's voice saying those words to you. That was Bucky's and Bucky's alone. It felt dirty coming from someone else, and you really didn’t like the way Eddie Brock said it.

"Eddie. How are you?" You greeted and let him ramble on about while you subtly kept your eyes on the clubhouse. Eddie knew what he was doing. No one just showed up there without an invitation and certainly not someone who was kicked out by the club’s vice president.

"Y/n?" You blinked and refocused on Eddie.

"You okay?" He asked with such concern you almost believed he cared.

"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry." You cleared your throat and gestured back to the clubhouse. "I'm just waiting for my boyfriend. You know the one. He broke your nose and kicked you out?”

Eddie placed his hand on Jeep, caging you between his arms, and you suppressed a shiver that was threatening to reveal your fear. You wouldn’t give him the pleasure. Eddie bent forward and whispered in your ear, "You shouldn't get involved with this club, Y/n. You don't know what they are capable of. Especially your boyfriend."

You huffed a humorless laugh and shook your head. He’s got a lot of nerve, you’d give him that. Here he was telling you what your Bucky was like? He couldn't imagine the things you knew, and he had no idea what your boyfriend was capable of, but he was about to find out precisely what your boyfriend was like.

Eddie was walking a trembling tightrope that was about to snap under him.

"I know exactly what he is and if I were you, I wouldn’t be here when those doors open, or Bucky will be the least of your problems.”

Try fifteen angry bikers. That was never a pleasant sight.

"Lemme take a guess why you're out here all alone, waiting for him to put you first? He had to rush off because Steve summoned him. Trouble with the club and left you here, alone, to handle business? You deserve better than this life.” Eddie slipped a small white card in your hand and stepped back from you.

"Do you really know him, Y/n? Think about it and give me a call when you’re ready to talk.”

You watched Eddie slink off fiddling with the piece of paper in your trembling hands waiting until he was out of sight to look at whatever he handed you. You unfolded the paper he gave you and tour stomach sank when you read it. Eddie Brock was a detective.

Eddie was never trying to patch in -- he had no interest in joining the club, his only interest was bringing it down, and from the looks of things, he was going to use you to do it.

Previous // Next 

[sadprose-auroras]

okay but roger and another girl completely ruining the reader (like to the point of overstimulation) tho (im in the mood to be railed now)

Smut below the cut - 18+!

Includes: a little name-calling, overstimulation obviously, voyeurism, mild degradation/humiliation, straight up just dom/sub filth, making my subby as fuck bi ass THRIVE, no proofreading and just straight up waffle and no cohesion tbh

I have but one thought: SKDKDKSKAJAJKSKDKDK JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My brain literally short-circuited at the thought. This is the dream. The 👏 dream 👏 Good god. Thank you for this wowowow I’m sorry for how badly it’s written and how long it is, I just got so caught up in it 😂

When Roger suggests spicing up your sex life by bringing someone else in, you’re completely for it. Even the mere thought and suggestion makes the sex that night absolutely incredible.

It takes some effort to find someone who’s willing. Every woman on apps tailored for this seem to be submissive, and of course that’s not what you’re looking for. One day, you suggest your friend Lara; she always seemed to have a bit of a crush on Roger, the two of you had a bit of a thing before you got with Roger, you trusted her, and she was confident and outspoken enough to have told you in detail about her sex life. Wherein she loved being dominant. Especially in threesome situations.

The night you’re waiting for her to come over, you’re incredibly antsy with anticipation, already wet. And you hadn’t even done anything with Roger yet. You sat around waiting, Roger continually reassuring you and being so sweet and wonderful. He’d put you in a new lingerie set, a leather choker, and you’d thrown a big t-shirt over it to preserve your modesty for the time being.

When Lara comes over, you both greet her with a hug and kiss, chat politely for a few moments, then, after discussing your safeword and absolute no’s, Lara jumps straight into it.

“So, you want us to use you, huh?” She says, addressing you, eyeing you up and down and making you bite your lip and blush, clenching your thighs. She snaps her fingers, raising an eyebrow, and Roger chuckles.

“Speak when you’re asked a question, little one,” Roger says, already playing off her so well. And he knows how much you love that nickname. You gulp.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Roger cocks his eyebrow, and you suppress a whimper already. The two of you are eyeing you like you’re their prey, and it’s all so much that you can already feel your head spinning and your legs weakening.

“Yes, sir. Yes, miss.” You say, addressing both of them.

“Good girl,” Lara coos, already taking on the role so well, and her tone makes your core throb and your stomach flutter at the praise. She pulls you to her by your choker, and you stumble forward a little, making both of them laugh. She pulls the bottom of your shirt up.

“What are you hiding under here, darling? I’ve always wanted to see you like this…” she says the last words quietly to herself, so you say nothing.

Lara taps your cheek a few times, quite gently, but it still makes you blush and bite back a whimper.

“I told you to speak up, slut.”

“I’m sorry miss! I’m wearing a lacy, crotchless set, miss.”

Meanwhile, Roger takes matters into his own hands, demanding you put your arms up and pulling your shirt off. Lara doesn’t show it on her face, but the loves the sight of you. Yet, her nonchalance just makes you even wetter.

“What should we do with her first, Rog? What gets her a submissive puddle?” Lara runs her fingers up and down your sides, and your eyes widen even more when Roger starts playing with your hair, tugging it gently to tease you.

“Anything and everything gets her like this. I can just look at her and she’s putty in my hands.”

“That’s so cute,” Lara chuckles, her hands cupping your breasts and squeezing them a few times, then rolling your nipples between her fingers and twisting them, making you yelp and both of them laugh. Meanwhile, Roger has started kneading your bum in his hands. Being trapped between both of them groping you and sizing you up shouldn’t have made you feel this horny.

“What do you say, we play a little game?” Lara suggests, not even looking at you now, and the two of them completely ignore your whines and pouts as they continue their conversation.

“I’m all ears.”

“Why don’t we fuck, and make her watch. And if she’s good and doesn’t touch herself or bitch that she’s not getting any attention, we’ll give her what she wants, and make her cum again and again and again, until she’s a shaky, cute mess. If not, we’ll edge her and deny her until she’s crying.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Before you know it, you’re sprawled out on the bed, arms above your head and legs open wide as per Roger’s suggestion, watching as the two of them undress each other at the end of the bed, exploring each other’s bodies. You know if you make any noise or complain, you’ll only make things worse, you you remain silent, biting your lip to stop from whimpering at the sight of Roger pounding into your friend hard and fast as they both moan loudly. 

Just as you think it’s completely unbearable, you start to rock your hips back and forth to get any kind of friction against your clit, and Lara glances over at you, her eyes fluttering in pleasure.

“Stop fucking squirming, you l-little, o-oh, slut.”

“I’m sorry, miss!” You practically scream in frustration. 

The two of them are getting close and you can tell. It helps that they’re putting on a show for you, deliberately saying filthy things to each other and moaning louder than normal. With one last thrust and grunt, Roger cums inside of her, and Lara soon follows, her legs twitching as he pulls out of her. You’re practically panting and drooling at this point, your legs and arms shaking from keeping them spread apart.

“Y-You’ve been such a good girl, little one. Time for your reward, yeah?” Roger said, his voice breathless, before crawling towards you at your rapid nodding and wasting no time in pulling your soaked panties off, instructing Lara to take your bra off and play with your tits. She did just that, kneading them in her shaking hands, stopping every once in a while to tug at your choker just to see your reaction.

“Maybe we should get her a proper collar, Rog,” she suggests, and he hums in agreement, having settled himself between your thighs. You were getting so impatient, and it took everything in you not to buck your hips up in his face.

Finally, he attaches his lips to your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue over it, and your back arches and you cry out in delight. As he spreads your wetness with his tongue, lapping and sucking as if his life depended on it, his hands gripping your thighs tightly, you closed your eyes in pleasure as Lara continued her previous actions of playing with your nipples. Suddenly it all became too much, and you came suddenly and without warning. Roger, typically one to punish you for doing so without permission, grunted against you as your juices coated his lips, then continued as if nothing happened.

Before you knew it, you were going again, your entire body shaking, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat dry from moaning.

“One more, darling. One more. You’re gonna do one more for me,” Lara pulled your limp body so you were settled above her face, and you clutched at a pillow to steady yourself, your legs shaking as you tried your best to roll your hips in time with her ministrations, paying particular attention to your clit.

“Cum for us, little one. You can do it,” Roger encouraged, tugging at your choker, and you exploded all over her face as she held you down by the hips to milk every last drop until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

-

Fin

That’s it I give up on an ending that wraps it up nicely and makes sense thank q for your time 

[so-shiny-so-chrome]

Witness: Battle_Cat

Creator name (AO3): battle_cat

Creator name (Tumblr): fuckyeahisawthat

Link to creator works: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/works

Q: Why the Mad Max Fandom?

A: Fury Road blew my goddamn mind. I like action movies and female action protagonists, but nothing has ever quite hit me like Fury Road. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had never written fanfic and didn't know what ao3 was, but the characters just wouldn't leave my head. I started seeking out meta on Tumblr, and many of the people who were writing and sharing great meta were also writing fic, and at some point I started thinking, hey, this is a thing I can do. And then I did it, A LOT.

Q: What do you think are some defining aspects of your work? Do you have a style? Recurrent themes?

A: Smut smut and more smut, lol! And sometimes action. I really like writing about intense physical experiences and the emotions they generate. I come from a screenwriting background, so I tend to be terse and am always thinking about how to say the most with the fewest words possible. I love writing characters who find it very hard to talk about their feelings, so Max and Furiosa are pretty much perfect for me.

Q: Which of your works was the most fun to create? The most difficult? Which is your most popular? Most successful? Your favourite overall?

A: Ahhh I can't pick between all of my children! AO3 statistics says Zero to Sixty, my Max-and-Furiosa-get-together fic, is my most popular by hits, kudos and bookmarks, which is not surprising given that it was written early in the fandom. I don't think I can pick a favorite but I have a lot of love for: Desperate Measures, Her Reputation Precedes Her, Hard Run, Tough to be Tender, and Scarf Thing. The only fic I'm still slightly unhappy with: Equinox. I feel like I set up some great tension and then wrapped it up too quickly.

Q: How do you like your wasteland? Gritty? Hopeful? Campy? Soft? Why?

A: Hard but with some humanity left still.

Q: Walk us through your creative process from idea to finished product. What's your prefered environment for creating? How do you get through rough patches?

A: Most of my short pieces are really just a single scene, sometimes with setup and aftermath. Sometimes I'll start with an image (like one of @youkaiyume's excellent smut drawings) or a concept or idea for the scene. Something short, like under 2,000 words, I will ideally sit down and write in one draft, maybe in a day or two. I don't do a lot of drafts, although I do somewhat edit as I go. Something longer like a multi-chapter fic, I usually have a separate Word document with notes and a very rough outline. I usually have the ending or the big climactic scene in my head before I've got everything in the middle figured out. If I'm struggling with something, I'll usually step away and just let my brain chew on it for a while, until I figure out what about it isn't working for me. I learned in grad school that your brain can be doing a lot of creative heavy lifting while you're off doing other things.

Q: What (if any) music do you listen to for help getting those creative juices flowing?

A: I'm not much of a music person, tbh. I have gotten inspiration from fanart, Tumblr submissions and kinkmeme prompts, though.

Q: What is your biggest challenge as a creator?

A: Finding enough time and energy to write. I'm someone who needs big chunks of time to let my brain get into the creative state and this whole having to have a job thing is a real drag.

Q: How have you grown as a creator through your participation in the Mad Max Fandom? How has your work changed? Have you learned anything about yourself?

A: When I saw Fury Road, I had been in a serious writing drought for the better part of a year. I was frustrated and feeling very hopeless about the filmmaking world. Even under the best of conditions, filmmaking is an incredibly slow process with a lot of gatekeepers. Being able to just write something, put it on ao3 and get instant feedback was an incredible breath of fresh air. I remembered my love of writing and found a whole new creative community. I started exploring a new genre, erotica, and learned that I love it. I started writing prose again after a long period of focusing on screenwriting, and gained a new appreciation for what can be done in the short story format.

Q: Which character do you relate to the most, and how does that affect your approach to that character? Is someone else your favourite to portray? How has your understanding of these characters grown through portraying them?

A: Furiosa is the character who lives in my head most vividly. She has a lot of characteristics I tend to put in my original female characters: a certain ruthlessness and hardness; hypercompetence combined with standoffishness punctuated by a few key moments of vulnerability.

Q: Do you ever self-insert, even accidentally?

A: I don't really like talking about characters as self-inserts. I think every character has some part of you in them whether you're aware of it or not.

Q: Do you have any favourite relationships to portray? What interests you about them?

A: Maxiosa for sure. I already had a pattern before Fury Road of writing hard women and caring men, so Furiosa and Max fit right into that. They are both incredibly damaged people who have been the victims and the perpetrators of violence, have a lot of self-loathing, have been isolated in various ways for a long time, and are used to having no one to trust. Bringing those two people together and watching them slowly allow themselves to trust each other is very powerful.

Q: How does your work for the fandom change how you look at the source material?

A: Fury Road is an incredibly rich text and there are so many things that are only hinted at, left unexplained or implied. I've lost count of how many times I've watched it at this point, but there are always more details to notice and spin headcanons about.

Q: Do you prefer to create in one defined chronology or do your works stand alone? Why or why not?

A: For MMFR, I started out writing mostly short smutty one-shots. At a certain point it made sense to start stringing them together, and the ones that take place in the same timeline are now roughly in order in the series Together. It happened organically, though - I tend to write my longer stories non-chronologically anyway, so at some point I realized I was constructing a giant smut novel.

Q: To break or not to break canon? Why?

A: Ehn, I am pretty agnostic on this. Sometimes sticking to canon can be a fun limitation you impose on your story. Other times, ignoring it can be a fun what-if.

Q: Share some headcanons.

A: Ace definitely lived. Nux definitely died historic. Valkyrie is alive in some of my stories and not in others. Dag's baby is a girl and she names her Angharad. Max comes and goes from the Citadel, staying for increasingly longer periods of time. Furiosa often wants to leave, but feels too much responsibility to the new Citadel to ever let herself.

Q: If you work with OCs walk us through your process for creating them. Who are some of your favourites?

A: I haven't created a lot of OCs in the Mad Max world because the canon characters are just so interesting to explore. But when I do they just kind of pop up. Biltong from the story Her Reputation Precedes Her is a personal favorite.

Q: If you create original works, how do those compare to your fan works?

A: My original works are mostly on the action/thriller/horror spectrum. I had never written smut before MMFR, but to me, it's very similar to writing action. You're telling a story through high-intensity physicality and the emotions surrounding it. In my original works, I mostly write female protagonists in high-intensity situations, so it made sense that MMFR would catch my attention.

Q: What are some works by other creators inside and outside of the fandom that have influenced your work?

A: @primarybufferpanel 's Orbit was my fandom gateway drug. @primarybufferpanel, @sacrificethemtothesquid, @lurkinghistoric, @v8roadworrier, @thebyrchentwigges, @thatonezombiecosplayer, @youkaiyume, @ecouter-bien , @bethagain, @fadagaski and @yohunny have all created things that I find inspiring, epic, thrilling, heartbreaking, hot, funny or all of the above. And I'm lucky that I've gotten to know many of them online and in meatspace!

Q: What advice can you give someone who is struggling to make their own works more interesting, compelling, cohesive, etc.? 

A: Stop and ask yourself: What does this character want? Why are they doing what they're doing right now? Concretely, what are they trying to achieve? What are the obstacles? What are the consequences if they don't get what they want? If a scene or story isn't working for me, usually it's because I don't know the answer to one of these questions.

Q: Have you visited or do you plan to visit Australia, Wasteland Weekend, or other Mad Max place?

A: I've been to Wasteland Weekend 3 times (2016, '17, '18) with Clan of the Boltcutters, and plan to go again in 2019. It's been so cool watching our camp and the festival grow and change each year. I had never been to anything remotely like Wasteland before I got involved in the Mad Max fandom, and now I can't imagine it not being part of my year. Australia...maybe someday.

Q: Tell us about a current WIP or planned project.

A: While I've been writing in the Venom fandom lately, I do plan to come back at some point and finish Closer, a story I really liked writing that I just haven't gotten time to get back to. I also have a few lingering MMFR projects that will hopefully be completed later this year.

Thank you @fuckyeahisawthat

[goldenlie]

hi there, it's been a while since last time I sent an ask so I was just wondering how are you doing? :D for me it's been a lot of things going on at once but I'm somewhat managing and I hope you are doing well. I wanted to send an ask around time qnf vlogs came out but I didn't have much time and then after my brain decided to remind me of and reignite my interest in bbc sherlock lmao so I didn't keep up with what was happening in the fandom that much anymore. I hope you don't find this stressful or intrusive or anything like that, I just wondered how are you doing these days but don't feel obligated to answer if you don't want to! - qnf enjoyer ^_^

Qnf enjoyer!!! Hi!! ^-^ Always good to hear from you so don't worry, I actually logged on for the first time since January the other day so great timing. Being kept busy always makes time fly, I hope it's not too stressful or overwhelming all the same though! Don't worry at all about not having time, I'm in a similar situation, started an internship early January and I've never felt more active in my life (going well tho!! Thankfully). I actually owe you such an apology for never getting back to your well thought out, well spoken asks after all this time 😭 I have written answers that aren't even fleshed out enough for me to get my point across (as you can see I do like to use 5 lines to describe something instead of 1 😍), I'm a shambles and I'm deeply sorry for it.

Ok I'm not even gonna lie to you I was thinking about rewatching Sherlock like two weeks ago, that show was my fave years ago. They definitely (in my opinion, potentially wildly popular I never actually was in the fandom space) dropped the ball on it as soon as s3? Maybe? When they gave us no explanation for the big s2 finale (spoiler free even though we've both seen it, I don't know why 😭). Kind of maybe in the mood to perhaps read the Sherlock books instead, but it will be to the faces of Benedict and whatever johns real name is, I think it actually is John right? I'm actually finishing off Breaking bad (after like 6 months I'd be quicker make my own spin off show, it all started because I wanted to get Qnfs references and now watch the upload with Mr man who's name escapes me) so everything's coming after that. My friend recommended the walking dead, so I'll share that rec with u lmk if you've seen or if it's worth? She said she watched it like 9 years ago and is just picking up where she left off 😳 my memory would not be on the same wave of that idea ngl. Alsoo on the anime front (who can relate) started watching Mirai Nikki and also Sonic X 🥴 (that's literally the most self describing sentance I've ever wrote).

I'm the exact same as you with not being involved in this fandom space anymore it's so bad I hadn't seen one stream since like January, but I stopped in of course for Qnf bowling blog (really enjoyed it tbh) and I was like wow I miss them only for quackity to fly to England the following week. However comma despite being excited for it out of nowhere the vibes were not as fun as I would've expected ngl. Idk if you keep up with like dtqk updates on Twitter but that's where I read the cliff notes summary of what they've been at every so often but dearly beloved dream went publically blabbing about George feeling depressed in England??? King,, what? What are you doing talking about your friends personal life like this 😭 so I think that probably put a little damper on things for me. I enjoyed the stream where snf shared a mouse / keyboard, and Quackitys stream was good energy but I haven't been able to sit through Karl's / Tina's streams without turning it off as soon as i start. So if you need recs this is all I've got (so sorry) or if you've watched any of these do let me know your thoughts!! I honestly think this might be it for me (I think I might be hate watching at this point), mcc was my shining star in the dark for reigniting my enjoyment and George is not partaking amen I'll get the hint king. Side note, but I've been much more into hermitcraft lately 😳 big grian and scar enjoyer, I've been watching for a while but s9, last life, and grians hardcore series is v worth, you've probs seen but if not, they're v entertaining but chill.

I'm so sorry for the monstrosity this became, why stop now let me copy in Arthur Conan Doyles Sherlock (idk what he called the book) on here while I'm at it, wouldn't even look long next to this. Feel free to stop into my ask box whenever legend, update me on anything you want I'm always down for a chat (even if my history doesn't showcase that well)

[libretayatra]

Blog Post: On Fan Fiction and Other Storytelling Traditions

When I was twelve or thirteen years old, and even our family finally had DSL internet, I discovered the joys of fan fiction. In case you haven’t been living under the same rock as I have, allow me to explain. “Fan fiction” refers to stories written by enthusiasts of a particular book, TV show, or other creative work. While most “fics” – as my friends and I would call them – take place within the particular universe of the original story, others take known characters and put them in an entirely new setting. (That’s how 50 Shades of Grey was born.) There’s also fan fiction that doesn’t deliberately draw on any work but revolves around real, famous people in imagined situations. (See Graham Norton and Daniel Radcliffe discuss this type on the former’s show.)

The stories that interested me ranged from shorter “one shots” to multi-chapter epics, but most were placed in the Harry Potter universe and nearly all were tales of romance – if you could call it that.

The pairings I read about (and often ‘shipped’ – a verb that comes from the ‘ship’ in ‘relationship’ and means “hoped would bang”) – whether true to canon (i.e. the original books), such as Lily and James Potter, or wildly inventive, such as Hermione and a Tom Riddle to whom she has traveled back in time – usually engaged in the kind of love/hate banter that sends real couples to therapy. The pair would glare at and insult each other (often employing strangely American turns of phrase for a pair of ostensible Brits), their apparent mutual disgust hiding a deeper attraction. For my friends and I, it was riveting stuff.

While I was mainly a Lily/James shipper myself, you can’t talk about Harry Potter fan fiction and not mention Dramione. The fan-invented romance between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger was a tale of forbidden passion, a defiance of Hogwarts housing norms and the mandates of Potter canon itself. Draco did need to be less of a whiny loser to be a deserving match for Hermione, but this could be arranged without too much trouble. In the fan fiction world, Draco was dark and brooding, and he didn’t bring his dad up in conversation quite as often as in the books. Hermione was clever and empathetic, and although she was rarely depicted with less than Yule Ball-level beauty, her looks were not her main characteristic.

Sometimes fan fiction Draco and Hermione fell for each other while at Hogwarts. In other fics, they met again under changed circumstances years after the fall of Voldemort. Then there were the AU fics in which a brilliant young paralegal named Hermione Granger begins work at the firm where successful lawyer Draco Malfoy practices. You get the idea.

Photoshop creations starring Tom Felton and Emma Watson (no credit belongs to me). The purple one in particular has stayed in my memory for years, and brings on a familiar feeling of excitement at all the great content to peruse in the world. It was the banner for a website that allowed fans to nominate and vote for their favorite Dramione fics.

A particularly sexy iteration of the Draco/Hermione story was called Water by kissherdraco. In it, Draco and Hermione are Head Boy and Girl at Hogwarts. Of course, this means that they must live sequestered in their own dormitory, with its own entrance, common room and adjoining bathroom that ensure they see each other in a state of partial undress when the story demands it.

Water was held by many to be the pinnacle of the genre. It had lust and angst in equal measure, executed with a liberal dose of swear words and aggression. Moreover, Water took the common flaws of the Dramione world’s characters and actually explored them, allowing character to drive plot. In the story, Draco is brooding and cruel as ever, but these traits are linked to vicious abuse at the hands of Lucius. This backstory is not seen as an excuse for Draco’s behavior and he is forced to grow and change as the story progresses (although not quite enough, tbh).

I never finished the story, perhaps because my young brain was alarmed by all the hate-sex, but I revisited it with curiosity for this piece. Here is a relatively benign excerpt from the text, although please skip if you’d rather avoid themes of physical dominance:

“You’re crying,” growled Draco, leaning in and flicking his tongue onto her cheek. He tasted salt.

She struggled then, and he brought his hands to her shoulders to hold her still. “Don’t, Granger,” he warned. “I fucking need this. I can’t fucking…” He trailed off.

He never would have noticed before. Not like he did now, at least. Her lips were wet. They were red and moist and magnificently ripened for him. So full of blood. Hot, heated, sullied blood. He couldn’t take his eyes off them.

Other fics situated romance within a larger plot about the politics of the wizarding world. Prelude to Destiny by AnotherDreamer took place in the Marauder era (i.e. the time of Harry’s parents) and focused on the coming-of-age of Lily Evans and her role in the battle against evil. It begins, “Two cultures and a thousand miles from you, there is a castle on a hill…”

Another fave began life under the title Ancient and Most Noble and is now called Druella Black’s Guide to Womanhood. It is about the diverging lives of the three Black sisters — Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa — in the early years of Voldemort’s power. The sisters confront the crumbling of the their easy closeness as they make different choices in a changing world.

”It’ll be a laugh, you’ll see,” Bellatrix whispered into her ear, her breath sweet and thick from wine. They were curled in the cool grass, tangled in the layers upon layers of lace and satin that were their dress robes; it had taken them an hour to get them on right and just ten minutes to unsettle them. Andromeda’s head was spinning: from the liquor, from the heat, from far too much dancing. “It’ll all be just like this,” Bella was murmuring, her lips brushing against her ear. Stars whirled by overhead, maybe close enough to touch. Close enough to try.

“Always just like this.”

—

Andromeda swore as she stepped off the train. From inside the nicely cool travel car, summer had looked so charming, green and bright and gloriously school-free…

I was most interested in these fics, the ones that revolved around the generations before Harry’s. There was something compelling about the knowledge of forthcoming tragedy for many of the characters…Plucked away from the happy ending of the books, these fics became an exploration of why life is meaningful even in its flawed and finite scope.

I look back on my fan fiction experiences as belonging to a beautiful time when the internet was less like Janet from The Good Place* (if Janet were selling everything she knew about us to profit-hungry corporations and belligerent, militarized governments), and more like a library you went to when you felt like checking out a book. Nobody knew what I ate and where I went every minute of the day, because I didn’t put that stuff online, nor did I (to my knowledge) carry a tracking device with me when I went downstairs to play with my friends. At 5 pm, our moms would have to call each friend’s landline to reach us and remind us to stop home for our daily glass of milk or what-have-you.

*Janet is a humanoid presence in the afterlife who holds all knowledge in the universe and can create objects out of the void.

Fan fiction was a commerce-free creative space – devoid of ad revenue and the quick accumulation of likes. Since there was neither money nor social capital to be gained, everyone who participated did so out of pure interest. One did have the hope of raking in reviews from other community members, but these were about more than validation; reviews allowed people to have conversations about a shared passion and often included constructive criticism along with praise. There was little need for bitterness – if a fic was well-written, everybody won, since it meant they got to read it.

Below are some examples from the reviews section of Prelude to Destiny. It’s certainly no Twitter.

Written by rach on chapter #13. (March 28th 2009, 5am) Hey,

So I’ve read your whole story before, and now I’m reading it again, because I saw it spotlighted on the site. And this chapter is amazing. I love the end…I’ve never (well, before I read this the first time) compared Lily to Mrs Crouch. But it’s so true. They both gave their lives for their sons and…this chapter is phenomenal. Just thought I’d let you know

Rach

Written by Smith on chapter #26. (April 29th 2008, 11am)

…If I am to find any fault in the story, then I should say that Remus was rather dull. Not that it was completely out of character, but I imagine him being funnier and also good Lily’s friend. Their friendship is mentioned by Lupin in the third film and, I should think, in the book as well, though I don’t have a copy right now and thus can’t provide a quote. Pity, that. [Given my extensive knowledge of canon, I can tell you that the reviewer is mistaken on this last point.]

Thank you very much for writing this story. Reading it was an enjoyable experience that I might repeat in the future. You’re brilliant, to put it short.

Author Response: Thanks for the review!Yeah, Remus was a bit dull. Actually, I didn’t intend for Lily to be friends with any of the marauders besides James. I just wanted them out of the way. But I know what you mean. After Sirius entered the story, Remus was even duller in comparison. Plus, I wanted to make Peter seem like he fit in, and Remus just fell by the wayside, you know?I’m enjoying writing Gertrude again after taking over a story from my friend who used my characters. Anyway, thanks again!Miranda

For me, too, fandom was a more than a casual hobby. Since I was only allowed an hour of internet use a day, I would spend the time copying and pasting chapter after chapter of fan fiction onto Microsoft Word, allowing me to read all I wanted later. (As you might imagine, Water was not stored on the family computer.) I remember scouring for new fics on fanfiction.net and clicking through page after page of fan art on deviantart.com (both of which retain their early-2000s layouts, unlike Mugglenet or JK Rowling’s official site), very differently from how I scroll through Instagram today. I admired works of fandom the way one appreciates springtime’s first flower, or the décor of a friend’s bedroom – I admired the stamp of individuality they bore and that inspired me to create something myself, to express my joys and sorrows, to be a part of the world.

RIP old websites

When I did put Harry Potter-inspired art out there, somewhere around age fourteen, it was of course in the form of fan fiction, writing being my weapon of choice. I wrote two one-shot pieces, one funny and the other sad — or such were my intentions, though perhaps the results were inverted. While some friends wrote longer stories, I never felt talented or inspired enough to commit, which is a typical self-doubting move of the kind I am trying to leave behind. (I now plan to write no matter how untalented and uninspired I may be.)

One piece was about a character of my own invention, a Slytherin guy with the requisite pure-blood, Dark magic-loving family, and a perky, ponytailed Huffelpuff girl on whom he develops an obsessive crush. It was intended to be a BBC-inspired mockery of the character, taking all the gloomy sexiness of the Dramione universe and making it ridiculous. It was also a thorough exploration of really wanting to make out with somebody sitting in the same classroom as you, not that I’d know anything about that myself.

The other short story was a sincere ode to the books and an exploration of some of their core questions on death and loss. It followed Harry in an imagined scene that takes place (SPOILER ALERT lol) after Dumbledore’s death in the Half-Blood Prince. Harry is climbing the steps to the Owlery with a package in his hand, thinking over his relationship with Dumbledore. As I wrote, I found that I absolutely had to include excerpts from a fairly unexpected source, a chapter in the first and most overlooked of the Harry Potter books. The chapter is “The Mirror of Erised,” whose titular object reveals to the onlooker their deepest desire.

“Professor Dumbledore. Can I ask you something?”

“Obviously, you’ve just done so,” Dumbledore smiled. “You may ask me one more thing, however.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.” Harry stared. “One can never have enough socks,” said Dumbledore. “Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful.

In my story, Harry gazes out at the Forbidden Forest for a little while, wondering who Dumbledore had been behind the mask of calm wisdom and pondering the burden of those left alive and grieving. Harry then ties the package he’s been holding to Hedwig’s arm and sends her off, chuckling a little through tears. In the last line it is revealed that – OMG – he has just sent off a pair of thick, woolen SOCKS. To DUMBLEDORE. Even though Dumbledore is DEAD. Isn’t that profound?

Two years later, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was released, and to my complete surprise, it delved deep into some of the questions about Dumbledore that had tumbled out of me, stream-of-consciousness-like, in the story I wrote. The text even includes part of the above excerpt from “The Mirror of Erised”. At the outset of Deathly Hallows, Harry learns that Dumbledore’s childhood was a difficult one, the true details of which remain murky and contested by his admirers and critics. Harry regrets never having asked Dumbledore about his past, but recalls that, after all, the one personal question he had asked Dumbledore was not answered honestly…

While writing my story, I had imagined Harry’s pain and longing to know Dumbledore better. Because fan fiction allowed me to externalize my interpretation of the text, the questions in my mind took on concrete form. Their answers, when the next book presented them, became all the more striking and emotionally impactful. It was as though I had written a letter to the series of books that had shaped me and received, in a way, a gentle but meaningful response.

In 2004, JK Rowling released a statement about the phenomenon of fan fiction. She was flattered by fans’ desire to write about her characters, and her only caveats were that fan fiction should remain suitable for children (unfortunately that ship had already sailed, and Water was truly the least of it), as well as a non-commercial activity so that fans’ creative pursuits would remain unexploited. Other authors have not been as accepting, and have asked for fan fiction based on their work to be removed from popular websites. After all, in our current world, a story is classified as property. A sentence, a verse, a character’s name, can belong to someone the same way as the furniture in their house and the dollar figure in their bank account.

In the long history of storytelling, however, ownership is a relatively recent idea. Bear with me while I make an analogy – in pre-industrial Britain, every town had a commons, an area of land where anyone could gather firewood, take their cattle to graze, or hunt and fish to supplement a year of poor harvest. Storytelling has historically functioned as a kind of commons of ideas, one that anyone could pull from when the time came to tell a tale. Want to warn your kid against going near a well? Tell them about the hungry demon that lives in it. Were you hired to entertain a crowd at a wedding? Maybe you dust off an old poem about a prince and princess who meet one evening in the forest but spend years apart, not knowing each others’ true identity until it turns out they were betrothed all along.

Nobody invented well-dwelling monsters or estranged lovers for the first time – they simply existed in a shared cultural space, available when needed (or when it was particularly enjoyable to use them), ready to be shaped into something new and old at the same time. Even today, no one questions the use of familiar tropes in books and movies; we know that all storytelling involves a certain amount of borrowing and repetition, and we deem this acceptable as long as the storyteller has put an adequately original spin on the themes they utilize. The legal line is drawn once you get to the particulars – character names, or sentences and dialogue. These must be brand spanking new if you want to avoid a lawsuit and getting dropped by your publishers. (Does anyone else remember How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life?)

But for thousands of years, people told and re-told stories of beloved and familiar characters, not just unnamed archetypes – characters like Odysseus and Arjuna, Gilgamesh and King Arthur. The Sanskrit Mahabharata (Maha-BHA-rata) an epicly long, genre-defying story from South Asia, especially challenges the idea of a single, canonical text (much like other ancient story traditions from the subcontinent). It was told so many times by so many people that modern-day folks are not always able to agree on what the Mahabharata even is. The story is like a vast ocean — recognizable to all, but appears different depending on where you happen to be standing.

In the 20th century, some scholars collected Mahabharata manuscripts from all over the subcontinent, extracted the most commonly occurring parts to form a text, and detailed the many variations of each verse in footnotes that turned out longer than the text itself. No one can quite agree whether to treat this resulting (multi-volume) “Critical Edition” as the essential Sanskrit Mahabharata tradition, or as some kind of strange, post-colonial Mahabharata scrapbook. All this so that whenever somebody wrote an essay about the story, there was a single text, pieced together as it was, to use as a point of reference. (My Bachelor’s thesis was one of the lesser works of this scholarly genre.)

The plot of the Mahabharata goes like this: The five Pandava brothers, namely the prone-to-gambling leader Yudhishthira, morally-conflicted archer Arjuna, lovable beefcake Bhima, and something-to-do-with-horses twins Nakula and Sachdeva, along with their badass wife Draupadi, are exiled from their kingdom and forced into a year of disguise after a rigged dice game that Yudhishthira loses, and in which Draupadi is stripped and humiliated before a hall full of men. Eventually the Pandavas regain what they lost through a bloody war that leaves both sides devastated and questioning the point of all this conflict. The End.

Does my summary reflect my biases a little bit? For somebody else, the Pandavas might be perfect heroes, Draupadi a whiny ungrateful shrew who won’t stop yelling at them. To me, she is the moral backbone of the Pandavas, unafraid to call for what she feels is right even as everyone around her takes the coward’s way out of trouble.

Interpretations of Draupadi from various traditions

But it’s not just me who has a take on the story: the Mahabharata itself reflects a range of interacting and conflicting views, which might indicate that people from various backgrounds heard it and were able, in some way, to influence it. For example, although the text generally upholds hierarchies of caste and gender, it also pulls at the listener’s heartstrings with stories of characters who must confront these oppressive norms.

There’s Amba, who is stolen from her future-husband at her wedding and rejected by him when she manages to return; she later chooses to be re-born as a man in order to kill her kidnapper in battle. There’s Ekalavya, the talented archer from a forest tribe who trains with the Pandavas in youth and asks to prove his devotion to his archery guru any way he can; the guru, who favors the upper-caste prince Arjuna, asks Ekalavya to cut off his right thumb. There’s Kunti, who finds herself pregnant after an illicit affair with a god and places her baby, Karna, in a river; Karna is adopted by a lower-caste charioteer couple and goes on to fight against Kunti’s legitimate sons in the great battle that destroys the universe. And there’s Satyavati, whose husband/baby daddy pretends not to recognize her in front of his kingly court but gets completely schooled on how not to be an asshole.

“You know very well [who I am], your majesty; why do you say that you don’t, lying like a common man? Your heart knows the truth, and knows your lie. A man who does something wrong thinks, ‘No one knows me,’ but the gods know. If you do not do what I ask, your head will burst into a hundred pieces.” She discoursed at length on the reasons why a man should honor his wife, quoting the dharma texts.

(from The Ring of Truth: And Other Myths of Sex and Jewelry by Wendy Doniger)

Perhaps, among the traveling bards and indulgent grandmas who told the Mahabharata over centuries, there were some who identified or empathized with the pain of oppression and through whom otherwise-marginalized voices could ring out into the millennia.

The many Mahabharatas, along with the many conversations inside the Mahabharata, illustrate how the human imagination is prolific and messy, not content with merely absorbing information but impelled to remake, to take inspiration, to create, create, create. Isn’t that what happens when we read? We see the world we are reading about in our own way. We make up something in our own head as we go along, and that’s where the entertainment lies. The book itself is but a wonderful tool.

Perhaps if I had a right-wing patron who paid me to tell stories, I would tell the Mahabharata a little differently from how I do here, focusing on how the Pandavas were self-made men or how the ethnic minorities they killed were thieving encroachers. Or if I were telling the story to children, I might leave out anything particularly frightening. In the telling of a story, the will and whims of the teller have influence, as do those of the listener (or reader) and the financial benefactor (or publishing house).

What remains inevitable, however, is that rarely is a story told the same way twice. Even in our post-printing press, post-internet world, where stories are replicated identically again and again, we continue to dissect, analyze, and change them, whether it be through everyday conversations, online forums, or the prestige lens of a critic’s review. (A perfect example is the adaptation of works from one medium into another, be it from literature to film or from film to theater.) Sometimes the authors themselves continue to tweak and interpret their work – Virginia Wolf was known to make changes to her books prior to reprinting, and we all know that JK Rowling can’t leave the Potter universe well enough alone (love you Jo!).

For me, fan fiction is a grand storytelling and textual tradition not entirely unlike the Mahabharata. Fan fiction not only illustrates the malleable, generative nature of stories, it also provides a rare space, in our capitalist global economy, for storytelling to be that malleable, generative thing it has always been. It allows for democratic engagement in the storytelling traditions of our time, free from the boxes of profit and ownership. It lets us expand the possibilities of our collective imagination. Importantly, it allows voices from the margins into the story, where our canonical texts routinely fail us.

I’m also thankful to fan fiction for being a rare space, outside overpriced college English classes, where literary discussion can thrive. When I say discussion, I don’t mean mere binary criticism – like book reviews, or the Goodreads star rating-aggregates that help determine book sales. I mean questions about how a text makes you feel, what it reflects or critiques about our world, the things that literary characters, beloved and abhorred, may teach us about our shared humanity and flawed choices. And yes, some of these conversations involve Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy as co-Heads of Hogwarts, using the same bathroom.

Are you a reader or writer of fan fiction? Have you you dabbled in fan art? Or do you engage in a non-online form of fandom, like a book club? Please share!

Thanks for reading.

[singingwordwright]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation

*All answers should be about works published in 2017.

1. List of works published this year:

NON-SHADOWHUNTERS

Celestial Bodies (Yuri!!! on Ice, a WIP from Yurio’s POV trying to illustrate a headcanon I had about Yurio, ended up on indefinite hold because the new SH season began and ate my brain.) 

SHADOWHUNTERS (TV)

Episode-based speculations, missing scenes, codas, and fix-its:

Of Laughter and Lima Beams, 2x07 missing scene attempt #1

No Half Measures, 2x08 coda

Breathing Room, 2x09 extra scene

Life Support, 2x10 missing scene/coda

Things We Think We Know, 2x07 missing scene attempt #2 and possibly the point at which I truly accepted I couldn’t smut anymore

No Stay of Execution, 2x12 what-if/coda that went to an unhappy place

One Memory, pre-2x15 what-if/speculation

In the Glow of a New Day, pre-2x18 speculation on Magnus’s greatest fear (or his unwillingness to go there) based on the sneak peek.

Midnight Oil, 2x18 coda

AUs

Alicante Hall, college AU written for the Malec Secret Santa exchange

Magic and Mass Effect, just what it says on the tin, Mass Effect 3 crossover on indefinite hold because the One Easy Answer universe ate my brain

One Easy Answer, marriage-of-convenience AU. Canon-divergent beginning at 1x12, offering a look at what season 2a might have been if Magnus hadn’t interrupted Alec’s wedding (but Alec called it off on his own) and thus the events of season 2a weren’t influenced by Alec and Magnus’s developing relationship. When they come together post 2x10/2x13 they enter into their politically motivated marriage to try to prevent war between the Downworld and the Clave.

A Separate Peace, sequel to One Easy Answer that got way more canon-divergent, focusing on giving the characters far more agency and filling a lot of plot holes. Covers the events of season 2b from the premise that Alec and Magnus have gotten married and are trying to unite the Shadow World, but pressure on multiple sides may destroy what they’re trying to build.

2. Work you are most proud of (and why): Definitely A Separate Peace. First because it’s the first actual novel I’ve written in, like, three years, and also because it’s the most tightly-plotted piece of work I’ve ever done, and that includes my professional published novels. It just came together so well and while it might not be the greatest craft-wise because I’m out of practice (so. many. dialogue. tags) it was really a truly excellent piece of storytelling, IMO.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why): Probably one or both of my 2x07 missing scene fics. I’ve been an erotic romance author in both fandom and professionally for 20 years, so the discovery that I just can’t (and don’t want to) write smut anymore is a really hard pill to swallow.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

“Yeah, but he wasn’t entirely lying,” Jace said with a shrug. “Clary and I do share the same blood, in a way. And those first few weeks, it’s like we needed to be close to each other, to, I don’t know, figure out the abilities the angel blood gave us. And once we’d done the work we had to do, we didn’t need to be with each other like that anymore. So maybe that’s why we felt that pull toward each other, and we just didn’t know what other context to put it in, you know?”

“I really don’t,” Alec said, shaking his head.

“Look, I love Clary. I do. I’m gonna love her the rest of my life. I just apparently don’t want to…be with her like that.” Jace shuddered. “To be honest, after the first few weeks, it sort of started making my skin crawl. And she says she feels the same.”

“Wait. Wait.” Despite his best efforts, the first snicker slipped through Alec’s nose. He covered his mouth to try to hold back a bark of laughter, but it wouldn’t be contained. The rest followed, pouring out of him in a torrent of amusement while Jace looked on in disgust.

“What the hell? Are you drunk?”

Alec flapped a hand at him. “No! Wait wait wait!” Alec gasped, clutching at his sides as he slid down the wall, fighting for breath. “Are you—are you—telling me—”

He couldn’t even manage the words. His ass hit the hard, dirty concrete of the sidewalk and he pressed his face to his knees, shoulders jerking convulsively.

“—After all you two have been through—” He snorted and that just made him laugh harder, his head spinning with oxygen deprivation. Finally, he managed to wheeze, “—That it’s like kissing your sister?”

That set him off again, the peals of his laughter echoing off the walls of the nearby alley. If a demon came along now, he was a dead man, because he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. His stomach was starting to hurt and he still couldn’t stop.

Jace gave him a withering glare. “I hate you,” he muttered, and stalked away with Alec’s howling laughter chasing him.

A Separate Peace, Chapter 8

(Okay, look, I’ve ALWAYS struggled with writing comedy, so this was a major achievement for me. Also Jace/Maia is way more awesome than Clace so I was pleased to have found a way to walk Clace back and make way for different ships for Clary and Jace.)

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received: I love all the people who leave me feedback, especially the ones who leave feedback with each and every chapter, but I really have to say, @lyannastarkweather was my MVP for A Separate Peace. Every single chapter she just left these beautiful, long, thoughtful comments and they were such a joy to read.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard: Did I mention the fact that I can’t smut anymore? So pretty much any sex scene or almost sex scene in my fics was like pulling teeth. I ended up fading to black a lot.

(Also, pretty much everything that happens from Chapter 13 to the end of A Separate Peace made me cry. A LOT.)

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: Maryse Lightwood. I haven’t written much from her POV, only Midnight Oil, but her development in A Separate Peace was a joy to delve into.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year: I wrote both heavily plot-driven stuff and comedy, which are two things I’ve very much struggled with. Usually my books and fics have been more about character exploration, so that was really an accomplishment for me.

9. How do you hope to grow next year: I hope to keep improving on those fronts, and also to find more of a balance between character exploration and plot movement, because I feel like I went a little too far in the plot direction in A Separate Peace.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): @roseglass was a champ for beta’ing basically a novel and a half worth of fic that I sort of volunteered her for. The conversation went something like this:

Me: I’m thinking of writing a marriage-of-convenience AU Her: I think that’s a fine idea Me: Okay, I’m doing it and it’s all your fault for encouraging me therefore you have to beta it

I’m lucky she didn’t tell me to take a flying leap, tbh. Of course, after 30 years of friendship “a flying leap” would probably involve a lot more f-words and more anatomical specificity.

@faejilly @janoda @actuallyredorchid @ladymatt @blj2007 and @lyannastarkweather  @nancyloumm @s-erendipitiness @champagnemagnus @nanf1c @ketzwrites @beatperfume @nanichick5 @247malec @sharona1x2 @rayofsunshinemaiaroberts @lecrit @irina-something @blav527 @uniqxfuera @a-rosewood-by-any-other-name @michellemisfit @rutherinahobbit @djchika @immortal-husbands @bane-of-brooklyn @accal1a @ohfreckle

were all tremendously friendly, supportive, responsive, inspirational, are people i want to get to know better, and/or are just positive people at a time when I needed positivity in my life. (forgive me if I’ve overlooked anyone; i know there are others I’ve had meaningful interractions with this year, I’m just not remembering everyone.)

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: well, Mouse in One Easy Answer/A Separate Peace looks like my cat (who also looks like Alberto’s cat Stella.)

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: it’s okay to step back, take some time, and come at it again later when you need to.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: I really cannot wait to delve into the sequel to A Separate Peace. There’s something gonna happen in there that’s gonna make a lot of people happy.

Tag writers whose answers you’d like to read. If I’ve already tagged you, consider yourself tagged here. Hell, if I didn’t already tag you, consider yourself tagged here.

[anne-wentworth]

This Love Came Back to Me

Six months after Donna’s left New York, Harvey shows up at her door.

A/N  I was listening to This Love by Taylor Swift and I was having darvey feels and this happened ?? Idk how I feel about it tbh but I neglected studying for my midterms next week to write this so it’s getting posted.

Read on ao3

Six months.

That’s how long it had been since Donna walked away.

From Specter Litt. From New York. From Harvey.

From her whole goddamn life.

She kissed him and he couldn’t forgive her and she couldn’t stand the silence and bitter glares and the anger so she left.

And he didn’t come after her.

She wished she could have said that she was surprised.

But all she felt from the moment she walked out of her apartment to when she got on the plane to when she landed in Chicago and those first few days after was disappointment.

Grating disappointment mixed with sadness and ire of her own but never surprise.

Donna had known he wouldn’t choose her.

So she did what she should have done years ago and put herself first.

She let him go.

To proclaim that she didn’t miss him would be a lie and Donna had lied to herself long enough. However it was just something she had to live with. She would never do anything about it.

She tried to do something once and it blew up in her face.

Thus, Donna Paulsen fell into a life without Harvey Specter, embracing her new routine and environment as best as she could.

After all, there were worse places to be than working for Jessica Pearson.

The older woman had her own opinions regarding Harvey and by extent her but she never voiced any of them out loud. Except for the rare occasion where she and Donna would drink a little too much wine and Jessica would mutter about how he’s a goddamn idiot.

Donna didn’t disagree.

But he was happy and Donna had always meant it when she said that was all she wanted for him.

Even if it came at the expense of her own happiness, even if it hurt like hell, he was happy.

And this was the reason why the last person Donna ever expected to see at her door after midnight was Harvey himself.

She blinked, taking in the man she hadn’t laid eyes on in so long.

A part of her idly wondered if she was dreaming. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Donna,” he said, those two syllables falling from his lips in the way they always had.

The way that made her knees weak because no one else ever said her name like that.

The way that used to wrap her in hope because he never said anyone else’s name like that.

It was then she knew that she was awake.

“Harvey,” she breathed, trying to gather her thoughts but her mind was racing at full force. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

His tie was loosened around his neck and his hair looked as if he had run his hands through it one too many times and panic began building in her as she automatically envisioned everything that could be wrong.

“No. I mean yes. Yes everything is fine. I just…needed to see you.”

He was struggling to string a damn sentence together and Donna’s wariness only increased because Harvey was hardly ever at a loss for words.

“Why?” she asked, echoing a word from another century.

“Why did you kiss me?” he had questioned, eyes blazing.

“I told you. I had to know,” she repeated.

“Know what?”

“How I feel about you!”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she exploded, while a breeze caressed their skin where they stood on the rooftop as if in an attempt to put out the fire.

“And how do you feel?” he had asked softly.

“I love you.”

Three words that were supposed to mean everything.

For her, it was nothing more than a death sentence.

“Donna.”

She shook her head because he didn’t have the right to say her name like that anymore before brushing past him because she couldn’t do this.

“Wait,” he had said, reaching out to grab her wrist.

Her heart was in her hand as she turned around and met his gaze.

A thousand different emotions warred in his eyes. Like a fool, she searched to see if she could find love among them.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, his voice barely a whisper. “But I can’t…you know I can’t forgive you for this.”

In an instant, something in her snapped.

Pulling away from his grip, she took a step back.

“Well I’m not asking you to. Contrary to what you believe the world doesn’t revolve around Harvey Specter. This isn’t about you.”

His expression hardened at her statement.

“Then what the hell is it about?”

“Me! And the fact that for the second time in over a decade I put myself first to try and figure out my own feelings!”

“You put yourself first by kissing someone who has a girlfriend.”

Donna took a deep breath before she spoke again, dislodging the knife he had just planted in her chest.

“You don’t get to put all of the blame on me Harvey. You kissed me back.”

She watched as he was rendered speechless because he couldn’t deny it but he couldn’t accept it either.

He didn’t have a damn thing to say.

And this time when Donna turned her back to him, he let her leave.

Now, she watched as he appeared to struggle to find his tongue.

“I made a mistake,” he finally said.

“About what?” she questioned, hating herself for the way her heart skipped.

“About us.”

The entire world stopped spinning at his declaration.

“What are you saying?” she whispered.

“I’m saying I love you,” he said quietly. “I’m in love with you. I always have been.”

Just like that, the floor gave way from beneath her feet and she was falling again.

Maybe she never stopped.

Time and space were suspended as they both stood there staring at each other, waiting for something to happen.

They had been waiting for years.

“Why now?” she asked, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

She couldn’t be sure that this moment wouldn’t completely disappear.

She couldn’t be sure that this was real.

“What changed?” Donna added.

“Nothing,” Harvey sighed and she noticed how tired he looked.

Her heart cracked at the bags under his eyes and the creases on his forehead.

She knew she didn’t look much better herself.

“I’ve been miserable for the past six months,” he continued. “And then today…well today was our anniversary.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a sort of half smile and Donna’s chest seized.

He remembered.

“I thought you’d forget,” she said softly.

“Never,” he replied, his eyes wide as if such a thought was absurd.

“I’ve just been thinking about you all day,” he admitted after a while. “About us. And all of the regret that I have when it comes to us. And I don’t want to feel that anymore.”

A lump immediately formed in Donna’s throat because that was the reason why she had kissed him all those months ago.

Now it was the reason he came for her.

It was possible that the universe wasn’t as cruel as she thought. That perhaps fate did have something more in store for them.

“Besides Mike told me I needed to get my shit together,” Harvey mumbled and she snorted.

“Well he’s not wrong,” she quipped.

A grin appeared on his features and Donna automatically mirrored his expression because god she had missed that.

“I booked the first flight I could get. Then I tracked down Jessica, interrupting her in the middle of a date with Jeff which she’s very pissed about by the way, just to get your address and well…here I am.”

“I didn’t think you would ever show up at all,” Donna stated.

Guilt flitted over his face because he knew that was on him. He had broken her heart far too many times and planted the seed of doubt in her brain over and over again.

“I’m sorry that it took so long,” he said lowly. “I’m sorry I blamed you after you kissed me. I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you when you left. I’m sorry for every shitty thing I said to you because you didn’t deserve any of it. God Donna I’m sorry for the past thirteen years.”

“Hey,” she interrupted tenderly. “We had some damn good times together. You don’t have to apologize for the entire time that we’ve known each other.”

“We did have some good times,” he smiled softly, his eyes just barely lighting up.

She wanted to get lost in them.

“I know it’s been a long time,” Harvey said, his expression becoming serious. “And I understand if things have changed for you-”

“Harvey,” Donna cut him off because she couldn’t stand the anxiety that radiated off him. “My feelings for you haven’t changed.”

He visibly let out a breath as relief washed over him.

“I love you,” she declared, every syllable coated in pure affection.

Three words that meant everything.

“I love you,” Harvey repeated, his voice rough with emotion and all of a sudden her arms were around his neck and his were wrapped around her waist as they collided into one another.

They were two storms meeting in the dead of night, a force of nature that shook the earth because they were done with being careful.

All of the stars looked down at the man and woman who had finally found their way to each other while every other moment simply ceased to exist because they knew they would never be as significant as this.

This was what destiny had been waiting for. This had been written in stone since the beginning of time.

Donna frantically pulled Harvey inside before shutting the door, her lips never leaving his. Before she knew it, they had made their way into her bedroom and tumbled clumsily onto her bed.

A giggle escaped her throat and Harvey gazed at her in wonder.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered, voicing her own thoughts.

“Me neither,” she whispered.

All of her dreams were coming true. Except reality tasted so much sweeter.

“I’m never letting you go again.”

Fireworks exploded within her at his promise.

“Good,” she replied, knowing without a doubt that he meant every word.

His mouth met hers again and this time he kissed her at a slower pace, as if they had all the time in the world and they did.

He took his time in removing her clothes, laughing softly at her impatience as she glared at him. His fingertips on her bare skin burned and she wanted nothing more than to be reduced to ashes. His lips scorched her neck and her fingernails dug into his back as she pulled him closer and closer, burying herself into everything he was.

Donna and Harvey were the only two people to exist that night, with the moonlight shining through the window just for them as they unraveled in each other’s arms.

A feeling of unadulterated content pooled in Donna’s stomach as she rested her head against Harvey’s chest, her eyes beginning to fall shut as she listened to the steady beating of his heart.

He came back to her.

They were alive again.

She finally found something more.

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Omg I never knew you wrote spiderman!!! i was like omg??/ Im so happy?? anyway what about if Peter gets a migraine round at the stark tower and he's like 'its only a headache I'll be fine' and... he's not lol @ him

(This is baby’s first Spiderman fic!! There’s been quite a few amazing ones so have my dollar store discount contribution :“) but I love me some Spiderman tbh!! not the longest fic for now bc I haven’t written Peter ever!! Also I’m excited to come back to marvel!!)

Occasionally Peter would feel a little insecure about his place in life; sometimes feeling like he wasn’t quite a part of something as much as everyone else. Of course, he had Ned who he loved very dearly and appreciated, but he wondered sometimes if he was missing out on his teenage years. Sometimes felt excluded and pushed to the shadows, being at the bottom of the High School Hierarchy.

Being the Spiderman gave him a sense of purpose, it made him feel like he was doing something with his life, made him feel good about himself.

It had been a week full of parties he wasn’t invited to, a week of scrolling through his little to no followers instagram trying to study for a Spanish test and seeing fellow classmates with hundreds of likes having fun. So when Tony Stark invited him round to the Stark Tower that weekend for some suit upgrades, Peter was excited.

It was all he was really thinking about, using that as an excuse to get through the horrible week. He had pulled a lot of all nighters trying to study for various tests, and catching up with the Decathlon team to redeem himself for his disappearances, and needless to say he was burned out. He needed this trip to Stark’s more than ever.

"Are you sure you should go to Stark’s like that?” Ned frowned, eyeing up his way too pale friend who had the darkest circles under his eyes, and who was also desperately rubbing at his temples.

“Like what? I’m good, Ned! Look at me, I’m ready to see him,” Peter insisted, clenching his teeth at his pounding headache.

“Did Mr Stark request that he sees you at your absolute worst or am I missing something?” Ned shot back, still very hesitant to let his best friend just take off like this.

Peter rolled his eyes, “I’m fine, dude! Look, I really need this right now.”

Ned sighed, still obviously very concerned, “Just..look after yourself or something. If you die I guess I’ll have to be Spiderman and I can’t do that yet because I’ve got a huge test coming up!”

Peter smirked, “In your dreams, dude! Catch ya later.” He scurried out of the school doors, where he caught sight of Happy’s limo. A wave of excitement rushed through him, momentarily forgetting about his pounding headache and waved enthusiastically at him. Happy waved back boredly, but fondly.

“Wait this shit is real?!” Flash gasped as Peter climbed onto the car and waved proudly at Flash. Happy could only groan as he pulled away, driving off.

“I’m so glad that you picked me up at the front of the school!! Thanks dude!! Now Flash knows this isn’t a fluke!” Peter said excitedly, adrenaline rushing through his body.

Happy huffed fondly, “Well, it is kinda a fluke, you don’t actually have an internship. But I only did that because I want to get out of this car as soon as possible.”

Peter pouted, a sly smile creeping onto his face, “Awh, you just missed me, Happy! Don’t try and hide it! You missed me so much you just couldn’t wait for much longer!”

Happy tried to disguise his smile, and was thankful someone decided to call him. He picked up the phone and answered. As the car quieted down, the adrenaline in Peter’s body lowered and suddenly he became aware of his extreme fatigue once again.

Peter slumped against the car seat, hissing ever so slightly as his head throbbed, a sudden surge of pain in his head. He lifted a hand to his temples, rubbing circles discreetly as not to raise any suspicion.

He closed his eyes as to suspend any possible sensory stimuli. He felt exhausted and drained, weak, lowkey wishing he had listened to Ned. However that stubborn voice inside his head told him otherwise, that this was the right choice. He felt his body relax, begging him desperately to rest for a little bit. He was hesitant, but a few minutes of nodding off while Happy spoke on the phone was totally fine, right?

“Wake up, kid,” Happy’s voice boomed out, causing Peter to jolt awake.

He tensed, looking up to see Happy’s disapproving gaze, smiling sheepishly. He went bright red in shame, realising he must have been asleep the whole trip there.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, pressing his lips together as he climbed out of the car, nearly tripping over his own feet. Letting out a little “whew”, he straightened himself out, and looked up to see the Stark Tower, amazed. He was in awe, the magnificent spectacle never ceasing to cause his jaw to drop.

“Alright kid, stop gawking and get inside,” Happy chuckled softly, although he was extremely concerned, watching with furrowed eyebrows as the teenager ran inside the tower. He cleared his throat, knowing something was wrong.

As Peter and Happy escalated through the lift, his headache, which now was surely a migraine, begin to intensify, a sharp paining throbbing in his head. Peter let out a tiny grunt of discomfort, eyes squeezing shut for a few seconds in pain. In those few seconds he missed Happy’s concerned glance.

Once the elevator doors reopened Peter stepped out, eyes twinkling with delight as he saw all the advanced tech around him. He walked around slowly, trying to walk as straight as possible due to his dizziness. He hoped he was convincing, but deep down he knew he was was not walking straight at all.

“Don’t break anything,” Happy warned, jokingly.

“I’ll try! Can I touch though?!” He said excitedly.

“Absolutely not,” Tony’s voice rang out from across the room, making his presence known and strutting out in full designer suit.

Peter flushed bright red, chuckling nervously, “Totally a joke!!”

Tony raised an eyebrow fondly, “Yes, of course it was, Pete.”

“So! What do you need me to do? Do you need me to demonstrate anything?” Peter asked with as much enthusiasm as he could, wanting to make the most of this experience and prove himself Tony. In reality, he was declining in energy levels fast and all he wanted to do was curl up and rest. He did a twirl in the air to try and show off his eagerness, but only resulted in his head spinning rapidly, the room spinning like he was on some amusement park ride. It was like his Earth was tilting, causing him to stumble slightly.

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Nice going, prima ballerina.”

Peter blushed again to which Tony frowned, “Also, aren’t ballerinas meant to be all prim and pretty? You aren’t looking too hot, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes widened, “Uh, I just..had a long day at school! Is all!”

“Hmm,” Tony replied and began to walk towards another room, “follow me then, Swan Lake.”

Peter nodded, carefully following Tony, trying to keep his balance and not trip over and break something and lose the suit forever. He entered Stark’s lab, eyes lighting up with awe and wonder.

“Woah,” he whispered, eyes twinkling with delight and excitement.

“Woah indeed,” Tony remarked, heading to one of his most recent developments and beginning to demonstrate.

Peter tried his absolute best to listen to him, because he wanted to, he really did. Normally he’d be all ears, sucking in information like a vacuum. This was Stark Industries tech for gods sake, one of the most advanced tech of their generation.

As Tony continued to explain the science behind his invention coolly, Peter began to get extremely frustrated. His brain wasn’t fully processing the information, cutting out bits, concentration wavering as his migraine continued to intensify. He clenched his teeth, hoping the pain would just subside for a little bit so he could actually listen to Mr Stark.

As Peter forced his senses to cooperate with him, he found that his head hurt even more. His vision began to blur and fade in and out, blinking rapidly as a futile attempt to correct his impaired vision. His spidey senses were going haywire.

“Peter, are you having trouble keeping up?” Tony said, interrupting himself from his little lecture.

Peter shook his head, “No Mr Stark, of course not.”

As he forced himself to process information, his brain was desperately trying to reject it, overloaded and overwhelmed. There was a finite amount of energy left in Peter before the migraine would eventually win. As his senses were overwhelmed, so was his migraine, and the agonising pain reached a peak.

A shooting, burning pain tormented his head, so harsh and unforgiving Peter couldn’t help the hiss and groan of anguish ripping out of his throat.

“Peter?” Tony exclaimed.

His entire body was wracked with this overwhelming pain as his knees began to buckle, giving out, feeling himself begin to fall when Tony was at his side. Tony held him tightly so he wouldn’t fall, his grasp firm and reassuring.

“Peter, what’s wrong?” He asked calmly, trying to keep a level head in this situation. It became clear to Peter that Tony knew something was up all along.

“My head hurts so much,” Peter whimpered into Tony’s side, teeth clenched.

Tony gave him a sympathetic look, sighing softly as he called out, “Happy? Go get the medicine and stuff, I’m taking Peter to his room.”

Tony picked the teenager up effortlessly, as Peter struggled to stay conscious, lights flickering in and out. The older man exited his lab, heading towards a room already made elegantly and laid him down onto the bed. Peter’s muscles relaxed as his skin came into contact with the soft, luxurious mattress and blanket.

Happy entered the room, saying something inaudible to Tony as the room started to fade into darkness.

“I’m sorry Mr Stark,” Peter whimpered softly as he lost consciousness.

Peter woke up groggily to a night sky by his window and Tony flicking the lights open. His heart a lot less, with only a few remaining remnants of the pain.

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked as he approached the teenager.

“Better,” Peter croaked, sitting up weakly as he rubbed his eyes. He tried to calm down the bedhead he was sure he had; but knew he was not too successful at that. Tony sat down at the edge of his bed, sighing as he passed Peter some aspirin and a glass of water.

Peter gulped down the glass of water, trying to distract himself from the feeling of guilt and shame ridden in his chest. “What time is it?”

“6:30,” Tony replied, inhaling deeply, a sure sign that he was about to lecture him.

“Pete, if you wanna be the Spiderman, you gotta start looking after yourself. Your no use to the civilians if you’re not well, you need to learn to take care of yourself more and know your boundaries. Hiding stuff doesn’t help anyone, you, me, the innocent people you want to save..It’s not convincing either,” Tony started.

“Happy texted me that you were sick the second you fell asleep in the car, I was hoping that you would give in and tell the truth once you got here. Pushing yourself when it’s not necessary isn’t the way to–Peter?” Tony came to a halt as a very light and quiet sniffling sound resonated from the teenager.

Peter cried quietly, aggressively trying to wipe away the tears he was unwillingly shedding. He tried to repress the sounds of his tiny sobs, feeling pathetic and weak.

Tony’s eyes softened, heart breaking as he inched closer to the boy, “Hey, c'mon man, what’s up?”

Peter shook his head violently, unable to stop himself from the little hiccups and never ending tears. He turned away from him, not wanting him to see him like this.

Tony sighed softly, “Pete, did you not hear anything I just said there? My whole lecture about not hiding things? Bottling up emotions is the same situation–you can’t do that shit. It doesn’t work–trust me, I would know.”

Peter sniffled, voice shaky, “..I just..I’m really angry at myself I guess..I wanted this to be special because nothing in my normal life is ever really special and everyone else seems to be having so much fun..they all seem so happy..and I’m lucky because I have Ned and some people have no one but still I know everyone looks down on me and I just wanted to prove myself–”

Tony interrupted him, “Is anyone bullying you? Who’s bullying you? Tell me–”

Peter shook his head, “No, Mr Stark. No ones..I just..i guess it’s more of a me thing..I feel like I’m just on the outside watching everyone living their lives and being teenagers and I’m just..not capable of that I guess. I feel so stupid and useless all the time like nothing I ever do is important or means anything..and I guess I just wanted this Spiderman thing because it gives me purpose and..maybe I am nothing without this suit, I don’t–”

“Peter, stop this at once. You have proven yourself worthy of that suit on numerous occasions, all those things you’re saying about yourself is not true,” Tony interrupted, his voice firm and genuine.

Peter stayed quiet, wiping away at his tears, the sight way too heartbreaking for Tony.

“Oh for..c'mere,” Tony said, opening his arms.

Peter widened his eyes, “Y-you mean..”

Tony smiled, “I’m not just opening the door for you this time.”

Peter practically tacked Tony into a hug, wrapping his arms around him as he sobbed quietly. Tony sighed, rubbing the teenager’s back sweetly, trying to offer this kid reassurance and care.

“I felt like you too once, you know,” Tony said softly.

“..Y-you? Really?”

Tony chuckled, “Yes I did. Sure, I was Howard Stark’s son, but I always felt left out and excluded growing up. I felt like I couldn’t just be a teenager, you know? It’s bullshit when people say your teenage years are the best years, there’s still a lot coming for you, Pete.”

Peter giggled through his tears, feeling a lot better, a whole weight lifting off his shoulders.

Tony rubbed his back soothingly, smiling, “We are going to have a good weekend, Pete. I promise you.”

[dustiarab]

Barter offer: wisdom teeth for tiny bits of wisdom

My son’s dad has been out of the country for the past three and half weeks. I typically have him half time, and while I couldn’t imagine being away from him for more than a night a few short years ago, I’ve become accustom to my rhythms. These rhythms that allow me to work, move my body, and then show up for my kids when they are present in my own time, and tbh, I felt the absence of them.

So naturally during this extended solo parenting spree, I experienced one of the most painful moments of my life when my impacted wisdom teeth finally let me know they’d had enough of my shit and were coming out NOW. The result ended up being 5 teeth being surgically removed.

When it rains, amiright?

The pain was on the scale of childbirth. All I could do those first few days was read, and oh, did I ever. Essentialism, Attached, BARE, and more kept my brain engaged while I dipped in and out of lucidity. As weak as my body felt, there was something stirring here that I had to pursue.

BTW I was 100% on the couch the whole time all of this was spinning in my head, so don’t @ me about self-care and taking a break to recover. Trust me, I did. I had literally no choice, otherwise, I never would have paused this long.

But thank god I had no choice.

The time to truly pause and think has been transformative.

*I had to ask for help.*

More than that, I had to rely on other people in ways that, frankly, I hate doing. I don’t call myself a single mom, because in many ways, I’m not. My kids’ dads are engaged and have them half-time. But because they are both effectively remarried, the burden of care is much more distributed there.

And y’all know the process of beginning to integrate a new human into a family – let alone a complex coparenting situation – is a long game. I’m lucky enough that it has gone as smoothly as it has. My boyfriend helped get my son to school and back after it happened. My mom took me to the appointment and back.

And I’ll have you know, I was SO excited to ride in a wheelchair out the door back home.

But after the meds wore off, I didn’t move from my couch for almost three days.

*I had to get more efficient.*

If you’ve known me long, you know the number of things I can get done in a day borders on obscene. My systems are the work of years of trying, testing, and truly dedicating myself to the pursuit of what I most care about.

But let’s go back to the part where when I’m so drugged up on my couch that I’m only having moments where the pain isn’t debilitating. All of the systems have gone out the window.

All that’s here is the present and managing the pain and that’s when it hits me that that is all that any of is is ever really doing.

The only difference this time (for me, as a person who is generally healthy) is the pain is on such a scale that it refuses to be ignored. I have less spoons than I tend to, and they are more precious to me as a result.

Suddenly, there’s only one question left. What really matters?

If I am this limited, I can only spend my focus where it counts, and it’s never been so clear to me that so much of what I do and how I spend my time does not.

I’m more than a little embarrassed by that. Who am I to waste my normally healthy body and my precious energy on tasks, ideas, people who are unequivocally not worth it?

When I see the people I admire, is this how they are choosing to show up? No. No, they’ve been here before, and now, this is the next phase for me.

*I have to choose.*

If I only have so much time, I cannot waste it. The people I love and the things I care about are worth far too much to me to keep doing things the way I’ve done them before.

Given that, what can I cut out, delegate, or stop doing? What will move the needle most? There are so many questions to answer now.

Content creation is one of my most valuable tasks at work, at home. How can I create better content faster? According to Strengthsfinder, my top skill is Input. Synthesizing a lot of concepts and curating them into something useful is my jam.

That said, I can hang out way too long in research mode. So what can I do? I can outsource the research part of that task to my assistant based on the post concept.

Then I can batch it, generating all of the related social media posts, come up with possible photography concepts to shoot later for Instagram, and oh, also, stop procrastinating on creating content because it’s not always easy to just sit down and produce The Damn Thing.

From the macro to the micro, there’s so much room for change and improvement, and it’s just. not. enough. to do it for the sake of being more productive. Who fucking cares?

You might hit inbox zero every day, but do you make it to your kid’s soccer practice? Sure, you had a viral Facebook post with a hot take, but have you written the book yet? (When was the last time you even worked on it, tbh?) Maybe you sold a thing, but was it something you were proud of?

I’m not trying to shame anyone. What I desperately want is for you to see just how precious this time we have is. The tiny, repeated choices we make add up to routines that will make or break us into who we do or don’t become.

If we aspire to be more productive, let it only ever be in pursuit of a life that leaves us tired and satisfied at the end of the day. To create a perfect-fit sized life dripping in sweetness, one that I can smile and say with quiet pride is mine – does anyone really need a Why story beyond that?

I don’t think they do. I know I don’t.

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