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onyxbird · 8 months

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...Just rediscovered this WIP in my files, and I don't foresee it getting fleshed out anytime soon, but I do love the ridiculous scenes I've got, so I might as well release them into the wild. 😉

A Tree Grew on Yavin

Summary: Poe's friends in the Resistance are baffled/skeptical when he describes the animate "Force tree" he grew up with on Yavin IV, but they soon get to see for themselves when Groot, his partner Rocket, and their team of "morons" make contact.

“You know, Poe,” said Rey, as they rehashed the attack run, “that almost sounds like the Force.”

“Wait, is that how the Force works?” said Finn. “Because I've gotten some conflicting reports on that.”

“Nah. I don't have the Force, Rey. I grew up with this tree… It's kind of complicated to explain. But if I had it, I think I'd know.”

“Of course you have the Force, Poe.” Leia entered from the hall. “We all do. It's life's music. The song we make.”

Poe didn't argue, but he shrugged. Fine. Terminology. He wasn't Force-sensitive.

It wasn't until days later, during a lull from the work of settling the remnants of the Resistance in on Ajan Kloss, that the subject came up again.

“We want to know more about that tree,” said Rey, apropos of nothing.

Poe stared blankly at her, and then at the jungle surrounding their new base.

“Which one? And why would I know any more about it than you do? I've never been to Ajan Kloss before, either.”

“Not these trees,” said Finn. “On the Falcon, you said you grew up with a tree, and that's why you're confident you're not Force-sensitive. Why? Rey's been studying the Jedi texts and we asked around a bit, but no one has ever heard of tests for Force-sensitivity involving trees.”

Poe raised an eyebrow. “You've been—who would you even ask about that? Besides the General, of course. She would have been able to tell you.” He frowned. “You also could have just asked me to begin with, you know.”

Rey and Finn eyed him with identical expressions of skepticism.

“You mean, in the cumulative 5 spare seconds since we got here that you haven't been busy setting up landing fields—”

“Building hangars.”

“Organizing patrols.”

“Flying patrols.”

“Eating.”

“Or sleeping?”

“...OK, fair. It's been a little hectic.”

Rey smirked in victory. “So, the tree?”

Poe sighed and settled in for a story. “I warned you it's complicated to explain.”

Both listeners nodded.

“All right, then. So my mother, Shara Bey, flew for the Rebellion—both my parents fought in the Rebellion, but Mom was the pilot.”

A mixed group of mechanics and pilots passing by their table chuckled affectionately. “Everyone knows, Dameron!”

“Er, I didn't, actually,” said Rey.

“Yeah, same,” said Finn.

“Thank you!” He mock-glared at the passing group. “You may think you know all of my stories, especially after hanging around with L'ulo too much, but this context is actually relevant.”

“Someone has to heckle you with the rest of Black Squadron still out on mission!” teased a tech.

“Your mother was a Rebellion pilot, and?” prompted Rey.

“And right at the end of the war, after the second Death Star blew up, when the dregs of the Empire were still coming down, she got pulled onto an undercover mission that Luke Skywalker was running. He needed to get something out of an Imperial research lab. Apparently, the Jedi temple in the Old Republic was built around this massive Force-sensitive tree. The Empire destroyed it, but they kept a few live pieces. For research, I guess.”

Rey's forehead wrinkled thoughtfully. “The Jedi texts on Ahch-To were in a tree. I wonder if it was the same type.”

Poe blinked. “Uhhh… maybe? …You couldn't put books in our Force Tree, but I don't know. Can't rule it out, really.”

Rey shook her head. “Sorry! I'm side-tracking your story. Go on.”

Poe smiled. “So when they got there and tricked their way into the lab, they found these two little Force trees. Skywalker was only expecting to there to be one. At the time, my parents were just about to muster out and go settle down somewhere, so Skywalker gave them second one to take with them and plant. He said he wanted it to be safe somewhere.

“Point is, according to Skywalker, that tree just radiates Force energy and is obviously not an ordinary tree. So it seems highly unlikely that I would never have sensed that growing up if I were Force-sensitive.”

Finn looked vaguely let down. “So… it's this amazingly cool thing, but without the Force—or, without being sensitive to the Force—it's just like a regular tree?” He frowned. “You don't think Skywalker was just pulling your mother's leg, do you? Rey said he's kinda sarcastic…”

“Well, not just like a regular tree. I mean, regular trees don't walk around. Or talk.”

“What?!”

“I said, regular trees don't—”

Finn waved for him to stop. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Got that. Completely true. You're saying this Force tree does walk and talk? Like a person?”

“Yeah. His name's Groot.” He glanced around at the jungle again, with more satisfaction this time. “He would like it here.”

...

“Commander Dameron! Commander Dameron!”

Poe stifled a groan and rose from his crouch under the X-wing he was working on. “Yes, Threepio?”

“We have just received a communication for you, sir!”

Poe frowned as he ran through the mental list of who might be calling him. Black Squadron was all here. Finn and Rey were here (in fact, Rey was heading towards them now, apparently on her way back from another obstacle course run). If it were his father, C3PO would have led with that. Any of his old navy contacts who hadn't died on Hosnian Prime had mostly found their way to the Resistance by now…

“OK, who is it?”

“He called himself 'Rocket,' sir. He refused to be any more specific and insisted you would know who he was. If fact, he was quite—”

“Rude?” said Poe.

“Indeed!”

“Yeah, I know who he is. Thanks, Threepio. It's not personal. He's rude to everyone.”

Poe replaced the open panel and grabbed his jacket.

“Wait…” He stopped in his tracks. “What codes did he use to call us?”

“I believe it is one of the communication codes we use with our suppliers, sir! I was intending to ask you with whom you had shared it.”

Poe shook his head and sighed. “He didn't get it from me, pal. But Rocket turns up all kinds of things he's not supposed to have. Might be time to start cycling in some new codes.”

He fell into step beside Rey as they both headed for the base's central complex. “Done already?” she asked curiously. “I figured that sort of repair would take all afternoon.”

“It will, but apparently not today. Threepio said a communication came through for me.”

The curious stares started as soon as they stepped through the door. Rey wasn't that much of a curiosity anymore, and Poe certainly wasn't, which meant Rocket must be in fine form today. Rey gave him a sidelong glance—she'd clearly noticed, too.

“Poe!” Finn waved from the command room and jogged towards them, flashing Rey a quick smile before getting back to the business at hand. “There's someone on the line for you, named—”

“Rocket. Yeah, Threepio told me. That's why I'm up here.” He continued his brisk stride towards the command room, running a hand restlessly through his hair. “Who did he insult besides Threepio?”

“What?”

“What did Rocket say? Threepio was in a huff; everyone's giving me weird looks, and I know Rocket—civility is not his strong suit.”

Finn hesitated. “I'm not sure he insulted anyone exactly. He's just… kind of… glowering at everyone.”

Finn wasn't wrong about the glowering. The holo showed Rocket's diminutive arms folded belligerently over his chest, his pointed face twisted into a familiar sullen scowl, and the tip of his bushy, ringed tail swishing impatiently over the ground.

Of course, most of that was just Rocket's default appearance. The gigantic blaster over his shoulder, almost as large as his entire body, was new since Poe had last seen him, however.

“Rocket! Good to see you! You still working with Groot?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Finn and Rey straighten sharply, suddenly laser-focused on the conversation.

Behind Rocket, a much taller being leaned into the shot. The long wooden face split into a broad smile as he boomed out a cheerful “I am Groot!”

Force, it was good to see him again. Poe grinned up at the hologram that now towered over him to capture both of the beings on the other end.

“Beep! Bee-weeoooo!” BB-8 piped up cheerfully from by Poe's feet.

“I am Groot,” agreed Groot.

“Yeah, yeah,” groused Rocket. “Everyone's happy to see everyone. Great. Now that we've established that, can we get back to business?”

“What are you calling about? And how did you get this access code?”

Rocket loftily waved off the latter question. “Oh, you know. Sometimes you just stumble across these sorts of things.”

“Actually, no, I think there are quite a few people working to make sure you don't just 'stumble across' that code.”

“Well, maybe not just lying around, but once you're already in the right computer system…”

Poe sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Threepio wasn't going to be thrilled, but knowing Rocket, he could guess the rest. Apparently at least one of the Resistance's suppliers wasn't Raccoon-proofed. Probably not a huge security risk—just Rocket being dangerously skilled and a compulsive thief, as usual.

“OK. I'm assuming you weren't just calling to make sure it works.”

“No. Quill came across an interesting piece of merchandise that we thought you or your… friends” (Rocket somehow made it sound derogatory.) “might be interested in.”

Poe glanced around the command center, wondering if General Organa was around by any stroke of luck. He blinked. Every one of the unusually large number of people currently in the room was watching the conversation play out in more-or-less open fascination. You could have heard a pin drop.

He glanced back at Rocket, as his full sentence sank in. “Who's Quill?”

Rocket frowned at him, one ear cocking quizzically. Then his expression cleared. “Riiight. You haven't met the morons yet.” He turned towards someone out of sight and shouted “Quill! Poe's on the line! Where's the thing?”

“I told you it's in the aft compartment.” A human man entered the hologram. He glanced towards Poe and frowned. "It's—Wait, that's Poe?” He peered at him for a second. “Weird. I expected you to be a tree."

Rocket stared at him. "Why would he be a tree, you moron?!"

"You said Groot knew him when they were kids! I made an assumption! A wrong assumption, clearly!"

#poe dameron #groot #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars #guardians of the galaxy #Initial lines of dialog are from the Poe Dameron 27 comic #onyxbird fanfic #incomplete fic

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paradoxolotl · 2 years

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hello para! I started writing fics some months ago but i made a pause. I posted some but i have a lot of wips that I dont know I will finish so I am debating with myself if i want to just post them and put my progresses when (and if) I have something or if I keep them on my docs

do you have any advice?

(I love your fics!!)

Mmm I have been thinking about this for a while now, trying to think of how to answer. And really, I keep coming back to one thing: what do you want to do?

There is no wrong answer here, which makes it both easier and more difficult, I know. It’s just one of those things that you will be happier with when it’s done for yourself (as your writing should be). I know people who post as they go, schedule consistency be dammed. I know people who will. not. post. until it’s completed to their liking. Neither of those methods are “wrong”. I myself, have an entire work on ao3 filled with nothing but snippets of my WIPs, but refuse to start actually posting another long fic until it’s near completion or until my current one is finished. Some of those are ones I don’t know if I’ll ever return to, even if I originally planned to. I have countless more sitting in docs, never posted at all. That’s just what makes my brain feel settled.

You could try things like WIP Wednesday, or teasing a fic here or there to see if you like having the response to an unfinished work. A couple posts floating around will probably receive less of the dreaded “are you still working on this when is the next update” comments than an actual fic posted to read would. You might also find that seeing people excited for your story gives you a little boost, or reminds you of a fic you meant to come back to.

Saying this, your will and enjoyment of writing should hopefully come from yourself, as depending on engagement is a slippery slope that leads to disappointment and worse. But I know I love going through old comments, seeing people enjoy something I loved making. Even rediscovering little things I had hidden in my writing that time had faded from my memory, but someone else had pointed out.

So should you post now and update as you go, if you even do? Should you keep them in your docs until you know for sure? I can’t really tell you. But here’s the nice thing: whatever you decide, you can change your mind. You can post things now and then take them down or private them later if you want to. You can keep things to yourself until you feel like you want to share. You can change your mind a million times, as long as you’re doing what makes you the happiest.

Remember this: it is your writing, your fic, and you get to decide what to do with it

I hoped this helped, even a little

#ask para #writing #fic writing

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heartstopsbeating · 2 years

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An Introduction

Hello. This is sort of a Writeblr intro, though does it technically count as a Writeblr if I don’t post any of my actual writing to my account? In any case, this is also just a general introduction to who I am and what you’ll find on my blog.

I’m Raina. I’m sixteen but look older and have a general disdain for the human race (there are some good ones, but. For the most part people suck). I’m pansexual and mostly a she, but occasionally feel like a they; feel free to address me by either pronoun if you’re talking about me. My entire life is writing and music. I’m a metalhead by nature (my dad’s one too, we like a lot of the same music) and that’s pretty much all I listen to, though I will listen to pop music occasionally (very occasionally). I play the cello, have been for six years now, and while I’ve been told I’m good at it musicians are always our own worst critics so I still doubt myself.

As far as the writing goes...I’ve been writing for as long as I can remember. Even way back in first grade I was creating stories and trying my best to write them out. I can’t draw for shit, but as long as I got the words (even misspelled) onto some sort of paper, whether that be a clumsily drawn map or the back of a coloring page, I was happy. I found a third-grade “time capsule” a few months ago, and where it asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I had written “author”. Stories are my life.

I’m an avid reader, and I draw a lot of my inspiration from works I enjoy as well as music. The inspiration for my current WIP―which I’ve been working on since eighth grade, three years ago now―came from a Disturbed song of the same title, “Warrior.” A bit of background on that so you’re not completely confused when you read my little rants about the story:

Warrior is the first of a trilogy, the Fractured Memory Trilogy. It’s a sort of dystopian fantasy with medival elements, if that makes any sense (i.e. the characters in the country of Arritana, the main setting, all still fight with swords & other traditional weapons rather than the more modernized guns, bombs, and tanks). The story follows Z Angevin, who is a skilled warrior of unnatural prowess at only eighteen years old, as he goes on a quest to rediscover who he is. He’s a soldier for the Lightguard when we start his story, but then a brutal battle goes wrong and the Dark (very original name, I know) kidnap him. Z wakes up at the Dark compound with no memory of who he is except his name and the knowledge that he’s a warrior. After a few months of integration into the Dark’s ranks, Z runs into his old friends from the Lightguard again, and they take him back with them; when Z reveals the loss of his memories, he is sent on a quest to find said memories and rediscover who he was. Along the way, he meets Shade, a Tormentor (species I invented) that used to be human with a complicated history; Evanwill, a young Bracarian girl with the spirit of a fighter and the wisdom of a goddess; and Darren, a criminal-turned-reluctant-hero with a tragic past and a heart full of vengeance. As alliances are formed, love blooms, and betrayals arise, Z and his friends uncover startling and terrible secrets about the true nature of the civil war Arritana has been embroiled in for over a century. Soon it becomes a race against time to retrieve his memories and put an end to the war...before the war puts an end to them.

Anyway. That’s the main project. That’s pretty much all my blog is about, writing Warrior and music, specifically Black Veil Brides. Have fun with my randomness! :3

#anyway that was a lot #but that's me :)#now if i can just figure out how to make it a pinned post #update: figured it out :)

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rainbowtyrant · 11 months

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I thought, let's see if there are any wolfstar fics, I haven't checked into that fandom in years, and dear gods I never expected this.

I thought I was going to find a relic of a fandom, like with most of my favourite ships from when I was a teen. I thought I'd have to delve into fanfiction.net, which I still haven't really worked out, as someone who primarily reads destiel fanfic on AO3. Can someone tell me how to filter them so they're all complete and no WIPs, btw? I can google how to do it but I've never bothered tbh.

Instead what I found was an ACTIVE wolfstar community!! Recent fics! Epics, too, like in the destiel fandom (think, redemption road), and I just finished All The Young Dudes after 3 days of non stop reading and I can't even. It's brilliant.

For a fandom to have a fic of that quality and size is a feat on its own. I thought I'd be reading oneshots. I understand that might be a bleak view, but I got obsessed with destiel pretty early, and going back to old ships has always been a disappointment. Going from thousands and thousands of fics to maybe 300, if you're really lucky.

I liked to call myself a prolific fanfic reader, before branching out and realising I was only ever good at finding the specific fanfic I wanted in the destiel fandom, and obviously, as I had known before becoming so distant from everything but supernatural fanfic, that every fandom has its own conventions and tags and ways of doing things. I've grown attached to the supernatural fandom's way of doing things (as well as AO3's platform), I must admit. It has been difficult to branch out.

Of course, I haven't needed to search actual fanfic sites yet with wolfstar, with all the rec lists. You have no idea how happy I am that there are rec lists. Ever tried finding good fanfic without any rec lists at all? No authors to start with, wattpad is the first couple results on google. It's a nightmare, honestly.

I am really, fucking happy to have found this fandom again. I kinda feared going back, I didn't want to find the ship abandoned like so many others. Wolfstar was my first true ship, and also the one and only fanfic (a oneshot) I ever finished. Never published it. If I can find it again, I'm thinking maybe I should. After a rewrite, of course, I was hella young back then, I'm scared to even look at how I wrote lol

Yeah idk this was a rant, I guess. I don't have anyone in my life who'd be excited to hear about me rediscovering a fandom, so I thought I'd just post it here.

Also want to add I don't agree with J.K.'s politics and I don't know if I'll ever be able to separate the author from the work. At least with fanfic, I don't have to do that, because it's not written by her, and she's not profiting from its existence, right?

#wolfstar

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janelevy · 2 years

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calling longtime until dawn fans to help me track down some older fics that i recall reading years ago but can’t seem to find now! i even checked my favorites on my old ffn account that i haven’t touched in ages, but they weren’t there, so i’m thinking these are buried somewhere on ao3 and probably date back to pre mid-2017 or so…

first one i remember had SUCH a good premise. i think it might’ve been an au and primarily featured sam and josh. she’s driving out in the middle of nowhere and nearly runs him over, then picks him up as a hitchhiker, and they have an interesting conversation but the vibes seem off? and then she pulls off at a gas station and he gets out, and she waits for him but he doesn’t come back, then she notices the front of her car is damaged and is horrified to realize she had actually hit him and imagined the whole interaction. those are all the details i recall and i really really hope i didn’t dream this up because i would kill to read it again

the second one i seem to remember began with the kids waking up in this sketchy hospital i believe immediately post-game. they all survive (not sure about josh) but soon realize something’s really wrong and have to break out of the hospital. they’re being chased by something (i wanna say it’s wendigos but honestly could’ve been zombies idk) and i can only think of fuzzy details of their escape down the mountain, stealing an ambulance and breaking into an abandoned supermarket? this might’ve been an abandoned wip or i didn’t finish it because i can’t remember how it ended

anyway if there’s still anyone out there in the void who can help me rediscover these fics i would be super grateful! i’ve been on a nostalgia craze recently so these have been on my mind but they weren’t too easy for me to find unfortunately :/

#until dawn #fic search #until dawn fanfiction #sam giddings #josh washington

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scribeofred · 3 years

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Thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the tag!

1. What fandoms have you written for?

This is embarrassing but I actually had to look at both FFnet and AO3 because I couldn’t remember all of them. TRON: Legacy, Assassin’s Creed, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit, Sherlock, Final Fantasy VII and XV and Kingsglaive, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Merlin, Skyrim, and, of course, Thunderbirds. I have a couple other fandoms that crop up in various wips, including a Tom Swift/Thunderbirds crossover that I really should finish.

2. How many works do you have on AO3 &/or FFNet?

FFnet has 45, and AO3 has 41. There’s also a couple stories lurking on tumblr, notably a final chapter for Reflection.

3. What are your top 3 fics by kudos on A03 &/or Favs on FFNet?

AO3 dominates in this area, if I can use a word like “dominates” for stories that have less than 125 kudos each haha. Oh well, the numbers don’t matter!

1. 118 kudos on tell the shades apart (my world is black and white)

2. 94 kudos on Reflection

3. 91 kudos on The 43rd Hour

4. Which 3 fics have the least kudos & Favs?

Again on AO3:

1 kudos on I Am You (And You Are Me)

5 kudos on The Dragonborn Chronicles

6 kudos on cynosure

5. Which Fic has the most comments and which has the least?

Reflection has the most at 29 threads, and I Am You (And You Are Me) has the least at zero.

6. Which complete fic do you wish had gotten more attention?

Lodestar, definitely. Sure, it’s for something of a rarepair, but they aren’t that rare, and I just really really like the way the story came together. On the other hand, of course my unfinished Merlin fic has gotten probably the most attention, because that’s just the way it goes, eh?

7. Have you written any crossovers?

None that I’ve published! I have various crossovers lurking in mostly unfinished states, including the aforementioned Tom Swift/Thunderbirds crossover, and an Assassin’s Creed/Thundeerbirds crossover that is very good and I should also finish. There’s an Expanse/Thunderbirds fic lurking in my brain that I may or may not ever commit to paper, who knows. I’ve also very vaguely toyed with a Batman/Thunderbirds crossover, in the sense that “nebulous” is too strong a word for the kind of toying I’ve been doing.

8. What is the craziest fic you’ve written?

I don’t really write crazy or crack or humor in general, so probably the closest thing to “crazy” is On the Lam, which was the result of wanting to throw Scott and Penelope toward an Egyptian stud farm. It ended up being the host for a bad joke about that, courtesy of one @thebaconsandwichofregret, who consistently gives some of the best dialogue advice I’ve ever encountered.

Actually, the true answer is probably a chapter in Glimpses into a Supernova, maybe the one about blood? It seems bonkers when I think back on it now, but I admittedly haven’t read it in many years. Possibly I am misremembering. Glimpses has some weird ones, though.

9. What’s the fic you’ve written with the saddest ending?

It’s a tossup between The Painting and a place where the water touches the sky. The former deals with a prior off-screen death; the latter is (maybe??) an on-screen death. People seemed upset by it, at any rate. I said it was ambiguous!

10. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

“Happy” is probably a matter of perspective? Depends on the overall reading experience and the ending within that context. Either septet or Three Towels and a Tracy, they’re both pretty fluffy overall.

11. What is your smuttiest fic?

protoinstincts, which I completely forgot I wrote and then rediscovered like a year later and realized “hey, this is actually pretty good” and you know what, despite it not being overly spicy, it is pretty good.

12. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not hate, per se, but someone left a review on Less Than Nothing saying they “didn’t like” that I “wrote the story as a series of drabbles.” Cool, I didn’t write the story for you, random guest reader, and the back button exists, friend 😂 It didn’t bother me on a personal level because I wrote the fic for an audience of one (incidentally, not myself and rather the recipient of a secret santa event), but I was mad because the reviewer had no way of knowing where I was at as a writer, and I know from longtime observation how that kind of comment can crush less experienced or confident writers.

Don’t leave flames, kids, you don’t understand the power your words have. Don’t like, don’t read.

13. What is the nicest comment you’ve received?

The nicest? Goodness. Hmm. I’d have to go hunting to find the nicest, but in recent memory, @ayzrules sent me a couple passages from Spanish texts she’s been studying that reminded her of my writing, and I was honestly so touched by the fact that she even thought to make such comparisons, much less mention them to me. Taking the time to familiarize yourself with someone’s style until you can make comparisons between it and someone else’s work is so much more meaningful to me personally than a basic “Nice story!” or “Loved this!” type of comment ever could be. <3 Ayz <3

14. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of, but I’ve never gone looking on any sort of copycat site or whatever either.

15. How many fics do you have marked as incomplete?

Two. First is The Dragonborn Chronicles, which is a retelling of Skyrim from Lydia’s perspective via her journal, to complement the in-game journal. It’s a slog of a style to write, though, even for someone who loves writing first person and doesn’t really want to write a lot of dialogue, and the outline is huge, and the story will be many times more huge, and just. Some day. Some day.

Second is tell the shades apart (my world is black and white), which has always been unfinished because the outline itself is over seven thousand words and the fully written story would undoubtedly land between 100,000 and 200,000 words, and there’s no way I’m writing that. I’ve always meant to upload the outline, but I got kind of self-conscious about the way I formatted it, and ugh I just haven’t bothered. One day, one day, right?

Moral of the story is I’m intensely a short story writer, and I’ve really found myself settling into that role over the last couple years. Better a clipped, punchy short story than a bloated slog of an epic.

16. Which of the WIPS will most likely be finished first?

Literally no one knows that. I wrote 95% of the observable entropy of a closed system over five years ago, and then I proceeded to pull it out roughly once a year and write and rewrite various endings until last month, which was when I finally figured out how I wanted to end the story. septet, too, languished for about five years before I finally remembered it existed and managed to wrangle an ending. Endings are hard, man. So are those third plot points. Terrible creatures, those, bog me down every time.

17. Which WIP are you looking forward to finishing?

Uh... mm. See. If I were looking forward to finishing any of them, I’d be actively working on them. At this moment, writing fic isn’t exactly high on my list of priorities, but I am also coming off a four-day idle game bender, so I still feel like I haven’t quite reengaged with myself as a living person. Give me another few days and I might have an answer.

(I am always most looking forward to finishing this ridiculous Ignis-drives-the-Audi-R8 fic that’s been languishing in my wips for literal years. As mentioned above, third plot points. Killer, man.)

(oh and also the working-titled the art of murder. Scott and Penny attend a private art auction. Things don’t go to plan. It, too, is stuck at the third plot point. I know, I know I have a problem, shush.)

18. Is there a WIP that you’re considering abandoning?

Any wip has the potential to be revived—this year and the old wips I’ve unearthed, dusted off, finished, and posted have been proof of that. I don’t intentionally permanently abandon anything for that reason, some stories just probably will remain dusty old wips forever because I didn’t actually need or want to write the full story for one reason or another.

19. Which complete fic would you consider rewriting?

Now that’s an interesting question. Hmm! Honestly? None of them. Once I finish a story, I’m not inclined toward rereading it again any time soon, to the point of years in some cases, and I feel like I’ve moved on from the stories I wrote one, two, five, eight years ago in the actual writing sense. They’re finished stories, and on top of that are relics of their time, which doesn’t mean the stories don’t have any ongoing significance on a reading level—I just don’t have any interest in rewriting those particular stories. I’ve gotten them out of my head, to the point of not remembering at least a third of them on demand anymore, and I don’t have any desire to “retell” those exact stories. I do tend to tighten the wording and fix perceived errors/weaknesses whenever I do end up rereading an old story, and I usually silently update the AO3 version if I make any significant changes because AO3 makes it a breeze to update a posted fic. I might do FFnet too if I’m feeling up to it or have the time.

20. Which complete fic is your favourite?

Once upon a time I would’ve said Holding On, but I honestly find it kind of unbearably melodramatic now. the observable entropy of a closed system is equally melodramatic, as it was written in the same era, but at least it has the excuse of being told in second person and via a style that is a half step away from being poetry. Possibly I will reread it in a few years and find it equally obnoxious and overly dramatic, but it received some shockingly positive comments, which I wasn’t expecting at ALL, and I’ve been honestly blown away by the amount of praise it’s received. <3 to everyone who’s said anything about it!

21. What’s your total published word count?

141,000 on AO3, 160,000 on FFnet, but technically the light of my life SS wrote fifty thousand words of each. It’s too late for math.

I tag @velkynkarma, @lurkinglurkerwholurks, @writtenbyrain, @thebaconsandwichofregret, and anyone else who wants to play!

#tag games

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limit-list · 4 years

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ATLA AO3 Fic Recs!

idk about how y’all are handling the state of the world rn, but i have retreated into the “consume every available fanfic ever” phase!! for anyone else who wants to read lots of Avatar: The Last Airbender fanfiction, i’ve gathered a list of some of my favs so far!! i’ve split it into gen series, zukka series, gen fics, and zukka fics because those are the types of fics i thrive in. they’re not in any particular order other than that.

i will say that a funny trend i recognized was that Haicrescendo on AO3 (@sword-and-stars on here) made it on to every single list because everything they write is amazing hahaha, feel free to do as i did and just read all of their atla fics. anyway!! here goes, hopes this helps people, ill prolly add onto it at some point haha.

GEN SERIES:

What We’re Given by Haicrescendo

The premise of the story is that Zuko, Iroh, and the crew set out when Zuko was banished, found out that the Sky Bisons never died out, turn their ship into the Jasmine Dragon (a tea shop on a boat!!!), and never hunted the Avatar. This series is so good, it’s currently updating every Friday I think and I love it so much.

Dragon of the Yuyan by 00AwkwardPenguin00

Summary is: “In which Zuko is fostered/adopted/raised/recruited by the Yuyan Archers of Pouhai Stronghold, and destiny hiccups.” Y’all I adore this series so much, I receive so much serotonin every time this updates. The plot develops really really nicely, the OC’s are my fav people ever, and the way the author uses the signing is just perfection. It’s currently updating every Saturday I think.

kintsugi by discordiansamba

Summary is: “au in which a banished for good zuko ends up being hired by the beifongs to watch over their daughter- or, zuko and toph never took that field trip in canon so now she gets to hog him for three whole years”. If y’all know me, y’all know I love some Zuko and Toph friendship. This story is PEAK bonding, it makes me so happy.

ZUKKA SERIES:

Quarantine and Chill 2020 by Haicrescendo

Literally what it says on the tin haha. Series about roommates Sokka and Zuko as they’re stuck in quarantine, first two are explicit, there’s four total so far, and I love them all. The characterization is immaculate, the banter had me cackling, and all in all just a great series!

Carry On For You by Haicrescendo

Summary is: “Not the Pokémon AU you asked for but the one you’re getting anyway. Featuring: full time gym leader and local cryptid Zuko, badge challenger Sokka, and Katara who can only look at so many memes before she flips.” Yall I know nothing about Pokémon but this series!!! It brings me SO much serotonin. I adore this series so much, we get Zuko interacting with animals at the same time as Zukka develops and Iroh is there and I just love it.

the best laid intentions by alittleduck

Post-show fics for the most part. Summary is: “Centers around members of the Gaang coming out to their well meaning but woefully unprepared friends. Part one is centered around Zuko coming out as gay, the second one is centered around Toph coming out as a lesbian and the third one is centered around Sokka coming to terms with his bisexuality.” I love this series a lot, it’s super cute and I thrive on LGBTQ+ gaang fics. We got gay Zuko, lesbian Toph, and bi Sokka and they make me so happy.

GEN FICS:

Embers by Vathara

Ooo boy, this is a long fic, but it is my absolute favorite fanfic in possibly any fandom I’ve been in. The summary for this fic is: “Dragon's fire is not so easily extinguished; when Zuko rediscovers a lost firebending technique, shifting flames can shift the world...” I dunno how to put it any better than that without spoilers!! It rewrites canon from I think Zuko and Iroh getting into Ba Sing Se on. Expect politics, interpersonal tension, several plot lines overlapping and weaving their ways through the story, amazingly developed OC’s, and just incredible writing overall. Definitely a must read.

For Hearth and Home by Haicrescendo

Post-show fic in which Zuko hangs out with a baby all day while everyone falls in love with him. Summary is: “In which Fire Lord Zuko is a total mess and somehow people manage to love him for it anyway.” Honestly I think that sums up the plot, this is just such a pure story, it cheers me up like instantly haha! This is one of the cutest and most relaxing fics I’ve read.

The Family You Choose by TunaFishChris

Show rewrite soulmate fic with the Gaang as family! Summary is: “Some people are born with soulmarks. Zuko has them, but his grandfather burned them off because they ‘make you weak.’ Team Avatar has a few things to say about that.” No spoilers, but I love a good soulmate fic and I’ve never seen a concept quite like this one!! I think I’ve read this two or three times at this point. Amazing.

Unwanted Friends by FoiblePNoteworthy

This was inspired by The Family You Choose by TunaFishChris (see previous), and I love it so much. It’s the same concept, but minus Suki and told from the other’s perspective at an earlier place in the timeline! If y’all end up liking The Family You Choose, you’ll like this one too!!

Perfection is Overrated by Jagged Cliffs

Post-show fic. If you’re like me and have a soft spot for fics where Fire Lord Zuko is an absolute sweetheart to the palace staff, then you have to read this. One of my all time favorite fanfics. Everything about this story makes me happy.

Another Brother by AvocadoLove

Show rewrite. This is a WIP, I’m actually still reading it rn but it’s really good!! It’s about if Hakoda found Zuko as an 8 year old injured on a Fire Nation ship and brought him home to the Water Tribe. No spoilers here, but it’s a really good pure story and I love it so much so far.

Salvage by MuffinLance

Show AU WIP. Ooo goodness I love this story! Summary is: “Mid-Season-One Zuko is held ransom by Chief Hakoda. Ozai's replies to the Water Tribe's demands are A+ Parenting. Hakoda is… deeply concerned, for this son that isn't his, and who might be safer among enemies than with his own father.” Zuko is an angsts bby whomst I adore, Hakoda is my favorite ever, and the OC’s are legit the best. MuffinLance is another author where every fic is amazing! This fic in particular tore me to shreds and then makes up for it in absolute amazingness.

OUTLINE: Amnesia!Zuko Joins the Earth Army by MuffinLance

Show rewrite, I can’t remember from what point exactly, but it’s before Ba Sing Se. Summary is: “Zuko loses his memory and becomes an Earth Kingdom war hero. His father is going to LOVE this.” Written in outline/concept form, I adore this so so much. This fic is why I post concepts of stories I’ll never write, cause this story made me realize people enjoy reading them!! And this is sooo enjoyable, I fuckin love this fic.

ZUKKA FICS:

The Good Vanilla by Haicrescendo

Show AU-ish from the Western Air Temple I think. I think this is the fic that made me fall in love with Zukka actually omg. A beautiful fanfic that shows how Zuko and Sokka slowly fall in love, no spoilers here, there is lots of cooking.

Quit your life and come train Pokemon. (orphaned)

Modern Day AU. Another one of my starter Zukka fics!! Sokka kinda maybe falls in love with Aang’s roommate Zuko. There is nerdiness and awkward situations and ~emotions~. It makes me happy, definitely one of my favs.

by the stars above, i knew we were in love by theycallmesuperboy

Post-show fic. This one tore me to shreds!! It’s a fic about Zuko working his way up to proposing to Sokka. No spoilers, just saying that this story hurt me in all the best ways. Amazing story.

Unchained Melody by AvocadoLove

Show rewrite from Hei Bai’s Forest episode, WIP. Basic premise is that Sokka turns into a ghost, and Zuko is the only one who can see him. The dynamic between Zuko and Sokka is just explored so well here, and the banter is perfection. There are so many things I could say about different parts of the story, but I don’t wanna spoil a thing, so go read it!! Love this fic.

Sea Cranes by Druddigonite

Show AU. Summary is: “Between chasing the Avatar and dealing with his disgrace, Zuko begins to cough up flowers.” It’s a really interesting concept which I’d never heard of before, but I loved this fic! Just enough angst to tear my heart up and then mend it back together.

Hotman by callmecaramleh

Set during the Western Air Temple Arc. Summary is: “Toph decides she needs to know who in the gaang is hot. This leads to quite a bit of trouble for Sokka.” I love this fic so much. It’s so clear that they’re awkward teenagers here, and as an awkward teenager I love the dynamic!!! I just adore these boys so much.

Something Good Can Work by beersforqueers

Bookstore AU!!! I live for a good bookstore AU, as well as library and café AUs. Anyway, summary is: “Bookstore AU! In which Sokka tries to not-so-subtly pick up the cute boy working in the bookstore, and the cute boy is totally oblivious. Because the cute boy is Zuko.” They’re adorable and flustered. It’s precious, another fic that brings me outta a bad mood in like a minute flat. I love this!

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bybibucky · 3 years

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We Do It All – Everything – on Our Own

All That I Ever Was – Chapter I

Bucky Barnes x reader Series – post Captain America: The Winter Soldier (WIP)

You are a damsel in distress, not matter how much you don’t want to be. Bucky Barnes is your knight in rusty armor, lost in his own head, trying to figure himself out. After having found each other, you go from there, accidentally fixing what shouldn’t be broken in the first place.

– song fic based on “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol

warnings overall: language, slow burn, angst, violence, mentions of death, injury, mentions of rape, prostitution, physical abuse

word count: 4.3k

author’s note: and so the journey begins. I’m hella excited, are you?

In a way, he should have seen this coming. Wandering around New York City, trying to relearn the ins and outs of the place, he was bound to run across something he wasn’t supposed to see. Usually, he was good at ignoring things that didn’t concern him, and he was by no means a vigilante of any sort, but that helpless, muffled scream that perked up his ears wasn’t anything to walk away from.

“Please.” The way just that simple word held so much fear was enough to make him grind his teeth together. Someone was in danger, helpless in the hands of a bad person, that much he knew and he also knew that, somewhere deep down, even though he didn’t want to allow himself to admit it, there was a part of him that was better. Maybe, this would take him a step further to rediscovering that person he had once been.

So, he briefly checked whether his gloves were still in place, and then walked towards the noise all the way down the alley. Every step made your whimpering that much easier to discern, his heightened senses always on high alert, and he could make out the unmistakable sound of fruitless struggling. When he saw you, he knew for sure.

“Stop fucking trying to escape.” The man, large but not muscular, had one hand tightly fisted in the fabric of your flimsy dress, one on the back of your head, pushing it against the rugged brick wall. Bucky knew from experience that it would leave a burning mark on your skin and he already wanted your attacker to feel the tenfold of that sharp pain.

Your voice was muffled against the stone when you tried to beg again. It wouldn’t go anywhere, and Bucky decided to make himself known. Taking both you and the attacker by surprise, he grabbed the latter by his collar, yanking him backward. He hadn’t even used his metal arm, but the man still lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. Weak. Bucky followed suit and you could do nothing but watch. He straddled the guy’s legs to keep him still and, this time, used both hands punch to him black and blue, using some of his hidden fury that always seemed to be there to really make it hurt. But contrary to what everyone he knew thought, he was able to stop himself before he’d commit another murder. Watching his victim for a second, making sure that he’d stay down, he looked up to see you cowered against the wall, hands cradled to your chest, wide eyes leaking tears that had to sting in the fresh cuts on your cheek. You were favoring your right foot.

He stood up, hands raised to show he wouldn’t hurt you, and waited for you to react. He’d anticipated for you to scream or run away, to tell him he’d made a mistake, but what he hadn’t seen coming was for you to just, well, collapse. Bucky was just barely fast enough to catch you from where he had stood. You were limp in his arms, helpless, and he was looking around as if the dark alley had answers, running his mind to figure out what to do with you now.

:::::

You woke up on a mattress. Not a bed, but a mattress. And that alone made you sit up way too quickly, the blood rush forcing out a hiss between your teeth. But you pushed it aside, fingers rubbing your temples, and took in your surroundings. None of the things you saw belonged to either you or your roommates. Not any of the books scattered around the tiny apartment, not the piles of clothes on the floor, some neat, some carelessly dumped there, and not the small kitchen counter with the dirty dishes in the sink. The windows were covered by thick black fabric, basking the place in darkness which was only broken by the one window that didn’t have a makeshift curtain, and this told you it was already morning. Where the fuck were you?

“You’re awake,” came a deep voice from a corner of the room and you almost jumped out of your skin. Moving your hands to cover yourself on instinct, you noticed that someone had put a sweater on you.

“You were shivering,” was all the explanation you got and you chose to be okay with that. You were still wearing your dress and there wasn’t that unmistakable feeling between your legs that you weren’t wearing any panties. So he probably hadn’t raped you.

And then the memory came back. The way Dylan had pushed you against the wall, how he had threatened to kill you, once again, how his fingers had dug into your skin. You shook your head to clear it. “Where am I?” This guy had apparently saved you from Dylan but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t dangerous himself.

“My apartment.” He slowly moved out of his corner and when you finally saw him, your first thought was that he was absolutely gorgeous. The kind of guy you used to joke about with your friends that you would let him do anything to you. Besides the fact that he could use a shave and maybe a different outfit, he was beautiful.

“I brought you here when you passed out,” he said, “I don’t know where you live.”

The more he spoke the more it became clear that he didn’t converse with strangers very often. The pauses in between his sentences he used to figure out what to say next, and his voice was deep but not loud like you were used to. He might have beaten Dylan to a pulp but, from what you knew, he hadn’t laid a harming finger on you. You nodded.

“Thank you.”

The man flinched. You didn’t know what to do with that.

He changed the subject. “Are you hungry?” he asked, “I think I have something in the fridge.” And he pointed towards the old, crammed kitchen space.

You shook your head. “No, thank you.”

“Water?” He looked weirdly hopeful for a yes and you realized he probably didn’t get a lot of guests.

You nodded and the man hurried to the small kitchen. He emerged with a bottle of water that he handed you with a gloved hand. You chose not to ask. Thanking him again, you took it and screwed off the cap. The seal was still in place so you were sure he wasn’t trying to poison you. He watched intently as you brought the bottle to your lips and, finally realizing how parched you were, gulped down half of the liquid in seconds.

“Okay?” he asked and you nodded.

Something about his careful, almost shy demeanor made you feel like he was nothing like any other man you had met. While clearly being strong – you had watched his strength in person and even all the layers he wore couldn’t hide his muscular build – it hadn’t made him cocky. It was a nice change.

“Are you in pain?” he piped up again, softly and in the same deep rumble you had sort of gotten used to already.

You wanted to shake your head once more, but now that your adrenaline had subsided, you were starting to feel the events of the night. “A little.” There was no saying what he would do with that response and you wouldn’t have thought that you’d get to watch him ball his hands to tight fists by his sides before he walked out to a room you deduced must have been the bathroom. When he came back, the small first aid kid was comically tiny in his gloved hands that held it out to you. You had no idea what to do with it.

He gestured toward the bed, silently asking for permission to sit. You scooched over a little to give him more space on the small mattress. Silently, he got to work. Opening up the plastic box, he rummaged through its contents for some disinfectant spray that he applied on a cotton swab.

“This’ll probably sting,” he warned, before he carefully began to dab the area around the cuts on your face. You winced because you couldn’t help it, it really did sting.

“Sorry,” he mumbled but you shook your head.

“It’s not your fault.”

He was silent again, after you had spoken, and neither of you could deny the tension in your words. You suddenly felt the need to talk about it.

“Thank you for stepping in,” you said. He was avoiding your eyes, but you couldn’t keep yours off of him. Up close, he was even more beautiful, although his face was unreadable. The useless, almost frowning expression told you nothing except that he was probably concentrating. You didn’t know him well enough to place his behavior. But for some reason, and you found yourself scared of the answer, you weren’t scared of him. “He always threatens me,” you continued, “but this time I really thought he was going to kill me.” It was the truth. Last night had not been the first time Dylan had cornered you like this, and it hadn’t been the only time you had needed to be saved. Only the first time someone had actually intervened.

“This is going to bruise,” the man in front of you informed you, and you scoffed bitterly.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

His frown deepened. “Why would anyone hurt you?”

That made you laugh. “Isn’t it obvious?” you asked, “that was my pimp. I’m a prostitute.”

He was taken aback, putting down the cotton swab. He knew about prostitutes. It wasn’t some new twenty-first century invention, but he had never met one. Not that he knew of. “Oh,” he said.

“You seriously didn’t realize?”

He shook his head, and suddenly, he looked so innocent. When he had first seen you, you had been wearing nothing but a thin negligée, panties, and heels, and that in mid-November air. Now, the only difference was the lack of heels that he had probably taken off for you and the additional sweater. This man was a puzzle to you.

“Do you like what you do?” he asked then, and instantly realized what he had said. “No, sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

You smiled. “It’s no big deal,” you assured him, “I did at first. It felt so empowering. But the years went by and this guy – the one in the alley – took me under his wing and he turned out to be real asshole.”

The man nodded, clearly deeply in thought at your words, but you didn’t want the pity.

“What’s your name?” you asked to change the subject but it didn’t seem to be the right one.

His eyes widened just barely, mouth open like a fish. “I’m not sure,” he confessed, and you were about to ask what the hell that meant, when he added, somewhat unsurely, “Bucky.”

That certainly had been weird but you weren’t perfect either. “I’m Y/N,” you replied, and it felt odd to have your real name on your tongue for once. These days, you only ever introduced yourself by your stage name.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” It was a simple line to portray politeness and it felt a little forced but with good intentions nonetheless. “Does anything else hurt?”

It did. Your whole body ached, in fact, but his little first aid kit wouldn’t be able to help with that. So you shook your head.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, briefly scanning your body. “Your foot,” he said, “and I’m guessing you might have a bruised rib or two.”

You gasped just barely, suddenly found out. No one had ever been this observant.

He shrugged. “I saw the foot thing in the alley and you’re taking really shallow breaths.”

You hadn’t even noticed.

“I can take a look to make sure nothing is broken, if you want.” He said it carefully, making sure he didn’t seem like a pervert. “Your foot.”

It hadn’t been the first time you’d had to lick your own wounds but you had no medical experience, he probably knew more than you. “Sure.” You pushed the thin blanket off your legs and held out your right foot. Brows knitted in concentration, he gently ran his hands across your calf down to your toes, stopping to apply pressure at certain points, waiting for you to wince or whimper. He placed his hand on the back of your heel, the other against the ball of your foot, rotating your ankle slightly. On instinct, because that really fucking hurt, your tried to pull your leg from his grasp and he let you.

“Sprain,” he deduced, before carding through the first aid kit again. He dug out a bandage of some sort and looked at you questioningly, silently asking for permission to touch you again.

You extended your leg toward him once more, and felt something weird swell in your chest that wasn’t the pain coming from your ribs. This man respected you. You observed as he began to bind your foot starting at your toes, the stretchy fabric putting a relieving pressure against the pain.

“Too tight?” he asked and you shook your head. Bucky snapped off the band with his teeth before tugging the end under the wraps.

“Thank you.”

He gave you a curt nod, standing up. From your low vantage point, you watched as he moved around the room, gathering some books and a few shirts from the neat pile. Wordlessly, he arranged them in a tower beside the mattress, and you were confused until he carefully lifted your leg and placed it on top.

You couldn’t help but feel bad for him. This man was so… kind. Each movement deliberately thought through, each word chosen with care, you found yourself wondering why he was alone. It was obvious that he didn’t spend much time with other people, even though you thought he deserved to. What had happened to him?

“Would you like to take a shower?”

The question surprised you. A shower hadn’t really crossed your mind, but now that he had mentioned it, you started yearning for one.

“Only if it’s not too much,” you said and Bucky’s eye twitched.

But he walked over and stretched out his arms, offering you help. You took them gladly, your small hands almost getting lost in the large leather gloves as he pulled you to your feet. Instantly, you shifted your weight onto your good foot.

“Can you walk?”

You didn’t like the thought of him carrying you again, so you proceeded an awkward wobbling dance towards the bathroom, leaning on Bucky’s forearm for support. It must have looked ridiculous but luckily, his apartment was tiny, so it didn’t take you too long to get there. Bucky leaned you against the wall like a broomstick, briefly gesturing for you stay put, before he disappeared into the living room and reemerged with a plastic stool.

You were ready to cry at the thoughtfulness, the small gesture bigger to you than anything that had happened in your life before last night. Unbelievable, how people like this actually still existed. To you, it seemed like that generation had lived a hundred years ago.

“Clever,” you admitted, “thanks.”

Giving you a quick run-down of the shower settings, offering you everything in his supply of cleaning products, which literally only was a bar of soap, but you’d make do, he handed you a rather rugged towel that you gratefully accepted. Why he was being so nice to you, you couldn’t wrap your head around.

He left you to your own devices, then, softly closing the bathroom door behind himself. You, in turn, fumbled around with the settings on the shower until you liked the temperature enough. Eager to get under the stream, your clothes were shed in a hurry, though only as quickly as possible with your injuries. You were glad that Bucky didn’t appear to have a mirror anywhere in the apartment, meaning you didn’t have to look at yourself. The extend of the bruises, you imagined, wasn’t something you wanted on your mind. You hoped Bucky wouldn’t see.

The hot water loosened your tense muscles instantly. A blissful sigh left your lips like it had been aching to for ages, and you relaxed against the back of the chair. You had needed this desperately. You couldn’t remember the last time you had taken a hot shower. This was a luxury you didn’t feel like you deserved.

Forcing yourself to keep the whole ordeal as short possible – you didn’t want to strain your gifted resourced by any means – you went through a quick cleaning routine. The truth was, you were dreading the moment you’d have to leave this place. Yes, it was cluttered, undecorated, and frankly a little dusty, but the company was nice and you didn’t expect any respect relative to the one you were receiving now to be there once you said goodbye to Bucky. You lathered yourself up with the soap quickly, mindful of the bruises and keeping your injured foot away from the water. It was a difficult task but you didn’t want Bucky to have to patch you up again. Once was definitely too much already. The soap didn’t do a lot for your hair, but clean was clean.

After you had dried yourself off with the towel, you realized that you would have to put your old clothes back on. Or maybe you didn’t.

With a soft knock, Bucky squeezed a set of folded somethings through a tiny crack in the door. You took it, thanking him. Unfolding the garments, you discovered he had brought an arrangement of sweatpants, shirts, and boxer briefs. Grateful for not needing to wear your panties again, you chose the pair of underwear that looked the smallest, otherwise opting for a set of plain sweatpants and a sweatshirt. All of it was comically large on you, but so very comfortable. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this at ease. It was a stark difference to your work uniform.

Bare-footed, you tiptoed – ignoring the pain in your ankle – back to the rest of the apartment, finding Bucky by the sink.

Without facing you, he asked, “okay?”

You nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see you. “I really needed that, thank you.”

He didn’t respond further, busy cleaning the dishes. Oddly enough, he still wore the gloves and that was weird enough for you to ask.

“What’s with the gloves?”

Bucky tensed barely, but you noticed. He shrugged.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it?” you asked. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

And Bucky relaxed. So it was a touchy subject. That was fine. He hadn’t pushed the topic of your profession once he’d realized you were uncomfortable with it. It was only respectful to treat him the same. Besides, it really was none of your business.

“Hungry?” he asked, this time, turning around. He had put the last plate on a folded dish towel next to the sink, letting it dry.

You were about to decline once more, but your growling stomach stole the show. Both of you breathed out a shy laugh. Most of the tension caused by the foreign nature of your relationship dissipated then, and something else, something slight and easy settled in its place.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bucky teased, though somewhat still careful that any word of his was in danger of being the wrong one. You wondered whether he had always been this way, or if someone had hurt him. He opened the fridge. “I have bread and, uh, eggs. Those should still be good.” The inside of this fridge resembled the décor in his apartment. Scarce and only the bare necessities.

“Wait,” he said, taking in your appearance, and suddenly gasped, “why are you standing?” He took one large step and was directly in front of you. “May I?” he asked, and even though you didn’t know what he was talking about, you nodded.

Bucky, then, wiped his hands on his worn jeans and sneaked them under your armpit, lifting you gently but efficiently so you were sat on the counter top. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and brought his attention to the stove to make scrambled eggs.

You watched every move. The way he broke the eggshells with a single tap against the side of the small pan, how he placed the spatula so it was exactly parallel with the edge of the stove, and how he stared down at the cooking meal, as if that would make it go faster.

He stuffed two untoasted slices of bread with the scrambled eggs before handing you the plate. Bucky didn’t have a dining table, so he stood opposite you as you both ate right there in the middle of the kitchen area, your legs dangling off the counter top. It felt strangely intimate, like you had been doing this for years, eating in a comfortable silence. To your surprise, the sandwich was quite delicious, too, given his limited resources. When you told him so, Bucky beamed a shy smile that warmed your heart.

“It’s not much, I know,” he said but you had to disagree. The gesture alone was worth more than any fancy meal you had ever eaten.

Once you were finished and Bucky had taken the empty plate from you, he spoke again. “Your phone rang while you were in the shower.” He was avoiding your eyes.

“Oh, thanks. I should probably check that.” But you were kind of stuck on the counter. “Could you, um…” You trailed off, hoping he would get what you meant.

Your idea had been for him to get your phone from the bed, but you let out a surprised shriek when Bucky sneaked his arm under your legs, the other around your back and carried you over there. Scared he would drop you, you clutched his shoulders, but he walked as if you weighed nothing.

He went down on one knee, setting you onto the mattress carefully, before he stood up. “I’ll, uh, I’ll give you some privacy,” he said, awkwardly looking around the apartment for a place where he’d be out of earshot. When you saw him glance toward the bathroom, you put an end to it.

“Wanna sit with me?” you asked, patting the space on your right.

Not hesitating, and you decided to jot that down as some sort of progress between the two of you, he pushed the scrunched-up blanket away, plopping down. You bounced slightly from the force of it, and found yourself giggling.

“Okay,” you said, “give me a sec.” One look at your phone, however, dampened your improved mood drastically. The cracked screen was littered with dozens of missed calls, hundreds of furious text messages. You were in big trouble. Sighing deeply, you gathered enough courage to call Dylan back.

“Were the fuck are you?” came his voice screaming through the speaker right after the first ring, “you have clients waiting for you! If you’re brave enough to come back, you better have your affairs in order because I am going to fucking kill you! You little bitch! I should have kicked your head in yesterday when I had the chance!” After that, you toned out his words. You’d heard them before countless of times. But still, because you really were weak like he always told you, there were tears in the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall any second. What if this time, he’d be true to his word?

You’d completely forgotten about Bucky, who still sat next to you, able to hear everything Dylan yelled at the other end of the line. But he reminded you when he reached out to pull your phone from your grasp. Your breath hitched, suddenly looking at him, and from the force of the movement, a tear quickly rolled down your cheek.

“You can’t go back there,” he said, and his voice held something foreign that you couldn’t name.

You shook your head. He was right, but if there was any other way, you didn’t know it.

“He’ll hurt you again.”

You bit your lip, nodding. But if this was to be your fate, then so be it.

“Stay.”

There was a tiny gasp and it took you a second before you realized it had come from your own throat. “I couldn’t–“

“Please, don’t say no right away. Hear me out,” Bucky insisted, “I know this shitty apartment isn’t what you deserve, but I can make it better. I could get another chair or something. And I’m out most of the time anyway.” He paused. “But he hurt you. He’ll do it again and I–I can’t let that happen.”

“If I don’t go back, I won’t have any money.” This was ridiculous. You didn’t know each other and he was asking you to move in?

“Let’s make a deal,” Bucky said and he was the most energetic you’d ever seen him. Granted, he still was quiet and reserved, but he seemed genuinely determined. “You cook and maybe help me make this place livable and I let you stay and get us food and everything.”

“I can’t.” But Bucky, in a moment of bravery and probably desperation, grasped your hands.

“Y/N.” The word held everything from a plea to a promise, and something in his eyes told you he was trustworthy. So you yielded.

“Only until I can get something on my own,” you said pointedly, and Bucky nodded. Satisfied, he was back to his shy self and you wondered whether you’d get him to come out of his shell one day, whether you’d tear his walls down at some point.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes #Avengers #avengers fanfic #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine

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thedarkplume · 3 years

Note

Throwback Thursday

Dust off those browsers, friends. We’re gonna travel back in time to the stories that brought us into the fandom or the ones that have stuck with you through the years.

Share your super old faves and reblog them, showing the authors their classics are not forgotten. Leave them a love note showing them how much it means to you.

Then reblog the first story you wrote for your current fandom or even the first one you wrote for each fandom you belong to. The world is our oyster. Let’s rediscover some pearls.

I'm not going to lie. This Ask made me a little bit sad. There have been some really great writers on this site that have left us for unspecified reasons, and some for the childish bullying that seems to be a daily thing.

One of my favorite blogs was @chocolatecherubs. They were a blog that was written specifically for black female characters in the Marvel Universe, with Steve and Bucky as the central love interests, particularly during the 1940s.

However, all is not lost! There are still plenty of blogs that I follow and love and can always count on to provide the most entertainment you can achieve without picking up an actual book. One of the blogs who always delivers on this front regardless of the subject matter is the beautiful and talented @avintagekiss24 . I've been following her for a year and it has been a nonstop rollercoaster of fun, excitement, surprise, and even a little bit of heartbreak.

@avintagekiss24 has so many stories that I reread over and over again, it's nearly impossible to pick just one. But...if I did have to choose a classic in a split-second decision it would be Night Shift. This was my first time ever reading a story about Andy Barber and since then I have not stopped!

As for my own forays into fanfiction, I've written for Twilight, Harry Potter, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Cruel Intentions, a few WIPs for We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Knives Out, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and that's not counting all of the stories knocking around in my head vying for attention!

Here is a VERY old Buffy the Vampire Slayer story I wrote.

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Pairing: Buffy/Angelus

Setting: 1700s, New Colonies

A/N: This story is a little different from the others I’ve written. This story is set in the days of Angelus’ life when Drusilla had just turned Spike. Bear with me if everything is not exactly up to par historically – I am not a history buff! NSFW 18+ Warnings for offensive language, subject matter, violence, blood, gore, and sexual abuse.

His features could not be termed uninteresting—there lay in them something bold and daring—but the expression on the whole anything but benevolent. There were contempt and sarcasm in the cold dark eyes, whose glance, however, was at times so piercing that no one could endure it long.

from The Mysterious Stranger (1860) – Anonymous

What is obsession? Is it the madness that consumes a man when he’s confronted with the one thing he knows he is not supposed to have? Is it the burning desire to possess the aforementioned object, ensuring that she will only think of him as he only thinks of her? Angelus paced back and forth in his chosen room of the mansion. Darla was still off reconnecting with Dracula and giving Angelus some much-needed breathing room. While she was off having her own adventures, he moved his childe and grandchilde to the American Colonies. They were in the colony named New York. Angelus loved the New Colonies. The women were not as sexually repressed, and the humans as a whole were more trusting. Since their arrival, government officials, writers, artists, scholars – everyone who held wealth and power had invited Angelus, his “sister” Drusilla and her husband William, to parties. There was nothing Angelus enjoyed more than drunk socialites.

And it was at one of these parties that he saw her. The object of his obsession. Elizabeth Anne Summers. Buffy, to those who knew her intimately. She had long, golden blonde hair, not unlike Darla’s, but hers had more of a silky texture. Her eyes were large and hazel, brimming with innocence. She had sun-kissed skin that seemed to glow underneath the moonlight.

Angelus wanted her. He wanted to bury his fangs and his cock inside her. Her scent proved that she was untried, but that would only last so long. Angelus found out everything he could about her. She was promised to the governor’s son. She lived with her parents Hank and Joyce Summers. She had a baby sister – Dawn – who caught pneumonia and died at the age of six. Her father worked as a developer for the colony and his wife owned a prominent boutique. She had two best friends, Willow Osbourne née Rosenberg and Alexander Harris, husband to the beautiful and licentious Cordelia Harris née Chase.

The first time Angelus spoke to her was at a party that was thrown by an oil barren. Angelus, as usual, found himself surrounded by three potential meals. Drusilla stood by William’s side, smiling proudly as he recited poetry. It was terrible, but the women thought it was the most beautiful thing they had ever heard.

“Do you hunt, Mr. McConroy?” one of the women – Mrs. O’Hara or something or another – said, pulling him from his thoughts.

Angelus flashed an enticing smile. “Why yes, Mrs. O’Hara. ‘Tis one of my many pleasures.”

She wet her lips and fluttered her eyes in what he was sure was meant to be attractive. “Well, in that case, you should come to my husband’s estate in the country. You two can hunt and later you could tell me more about your pleasures.”

“How can a man of sound mind resist such an enticing offer?” he said, kissing the back of her hand.

The woman continued to place unnecessary hints concerning secret rendezvous and Angelus almost lost control and snapped her neck on the spot until one of the younger women spoke up.

“There’s that Elizabeth Summers.”

Angelus’ attention immediately shifted, seeking out his dark obsession. She came in with her parents. Her large hazel eyes seemed sad, and Angelus suddenly wanted to seek out that which had caused her misery and destroy it. He wanted to be the sole source of any pain she felt. But he could not gaze upon his obsession in peace as one of the three women continued her verbal assault.

“How a strange girl like that was lucky enough to have a contract with Governor Finn’s son is baffling.”

“She is a strange one, Harmony,” Cordelia Harris vehemently agreed. “My husband says that she spends all of her time reading. Reading! Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“Well, I hear that she wishes to become a writer! As if any respectable man would want anything written by a woman! A proper lady should spend her time learning to attend a household and concern herself with pleasing her husband.”

“Yes, well, we all know that Buffy,” she sneered the name. “Is as far from a lady as one can be. It baffles me why Alexander enjoys her company so. It’s embarrassing!” she glared as said husband made his way over to Buffy.

“I see nothing wrong with a properly educated woman, Mrs. Harris,” Angelus said, drawing their attention away from Buffy. “It would be refreshing to hear a woman contribute something to the conversation beyond how pretty the dresses are overseas.”

Cordelia Harris’ expression darkened so that if Angelus had been human, he might have been afraid. “Well,” she sniffed, highly offended. “It is upon the hour, and I believe I shall take my leave.” She stood and scowled at Angelus when he broke societal conventions and refused to stand when she did. “I bid you goodnight, Mrs. O’Hara, Harmony, Mr. McConroy.”

“Mrs. Harris,” his flourishing bow was meant and taken in all its mockery. He smirked as she huffed and stomped away. He watched her approach Buffy and Alexander, and used his enhanced hearing to listen in.

“…husband and I must be going,” she said in a clipped tone.

Buffy knew that her friend’s wife didn’t like her, but for Xander’s sake, she at least made an effort. “I am sorry that you must be leaving so soon. I hope you will feel well, Cordy.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, how many times must I remind you to call me Mrs. Harris?” she said tightly.

“Of course. I apologize.”

“Alexander.”

The dark-haired young man looked between his wife and his friend, wishing he could stay, but knowing he would never hear the last of it if he did. “Of course, dear. See you soon, Buffy.”

Her other friend, Willow, who had watched the scene from across the room, performed her usual damage control ritual. “You know I think one of these days he shall divorce her.”

“Willow!” she whispered, linking their arms. “You should not say such things.”

“Well, he should! I’m fairly certain the only reason he puts up with her is for the sex and we both know the pregnancy scare was the incentive for the marriage to start with…”

Angelus watched the two young women disappear out onto the gardens. “Ladies, if you will excuse me.” He left the woman at the table and sought out William. He didn’t have the same mental link with him as he did with Drusilla, but William could feel when his grandsire called him.

“You called?” he said, appearing moments later.

“Yes, I’m stepping out for a moment. Make sure no one sees Dru nibbling on the livestock.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what’s so special about this bird? I mean, she’s a cutie and all, but is she really worth our queen mother handing you your own arse?”

“What Darla doesn’t know won’t kill me.” Angelus knew William had a point. Darla was extremely jealous and possessive of him, but he was still sore around the edges where she was concerned, considering that she left him to die in a burning barn. Darla was his sire and that was a bond not easily broken, but nothing could reestablish the trust he lost for her. He glanced at Drusilla to see if she was keeping out of trouble and caught her thralling Harmony. “If you want the blonde as a party favor you should take her out of here. She’s as dumb as a post but has a pleasant peach scent to her.”

Angelus left his grandchilde to attend to Dru and followed Buffy’s scent through the large garden maze. She and her friend, Willow sat on a bench in front of a pond talking quietly.

“…says?”

“You mean when she’s not nursing a bottle? She blames me. She says even whores aren’t low enough to chase their own fathers,” she sniffled.

“Oh, Buffy, have you thought about telling Riley?”

“No, I can’t tell him, Will. If he thought for a moment that it’s gone further than a drunken fumbling, he’ll never speak to me again.”

“And right now, he’s your only way out,” Willow sighed in sympathy to her friend’s plight. “You know Oz and I will let you move in with us.”

“People will talk.”

“They’re already talking. One of New York’s most beloved sons married to a kike?”

“Willow!” Buffy admonished. “Don’t ever call yourself that.”

The redhead shrugged carelessly. “I have been called much worse. I am just telling you that Oz and I do not care what anyone else says about us.”

“I appreciate it. And if the wedding was happening later than next month I would say yes.”

“But what if he goes too far before Riley can save you?”

The unanswered question hung heavy in the air. Angelus seethed. He barely restrained himself from going back inside, grabbing Hank Summers and tearing off his worthless cock with his bare hands. It didn’t anger Angelus that the man was taking liberties with his daughter. It bothered him that his touch would not be the first she had known from a man.

“I should get back inside before Oz starts looking for me. Come with?”

“In a little while. I just want a little more time away from the noise.”

“Don’t take too long. Your parents,” she mumbled.

Angelus watched the Osbourne woman return to the party from his place in the shadows. He turned his attention back to Buffy realizing that they were finally alone. She leaned back, her hands flat on the bench and her face turned up towards the starlit sky. Her eyes were closed, and the subtle breeze disturbed the tendrils of silky tresses framing her face. Angelus had the perfect view of the golden skin of her smooth throat. His face shifted as he imagined sinking his fangs into her throat as her naked body writhed helplessly underneath his.

Buffy’s eyes suddenly snapped open. She stood and she looked around her as if sensing she was not alone. “Is someone there?” she called.

Angelus contained his excitement and returned to his human visage. “Just me,” he said, pretending as though he was simply out for a stroll through the garden’s maze. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Buffy stared at the man before her. She was certain that she had never seen him around before. He was tall, very tall. He had long dark hair that was bound behind his head. He had a wide mustache and she wondered if it was as soft as his hair looked. He had dark eyes. Eyes that were mischievous and secretive. She started to believe she was dreaming. She always thought Riley was cute in a boyish way, but this man before her with the long brown hair, his piercing dark eyes and his enticing smirk was…beautiful. His smirk seemed to widen, and Buffy realized with startling clarity that she was rather rudely staring at him.

“No, you did not frighten me, sir,” she recovered.

“You are Elizabeth Summers, correct?”

“Yes, but everyone calls me Buffy.”

He took her hand – it seemed tiny and engulfed by his – and pressed a small kiss to it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Buffy. I am Angelus McConroy.”

Recognition flashed in her large hazel eyes. “Of course, Mr. McConroy! You live in the Crawford’s old mansion. Your brother-in-law, William, is it? He ordered a gown from my mother’s boutique for your sister.”

Angelus suppressed another smirk. He had sent William on that particular mission to scout out the boutique and Buffy’s work hours, and to spread the word to the local undead community that she, her family and friends, were off limits.

“Yes, my family and I moved there a few months ago.”

Buffy fidgeted with her dress before resuming her place on the bench. “Would you…would you care to sit?” she offered timidly.

He flashed a dazzling smile and took his place beside her. “Now what is a lovely girl such as yourself doing out here all alone? It’s really not safe,” said the wolf to the rabbit.

Buffy glanced up at him and flushed as he stared down at her unblinkingly. “Oh, well, I just stepped out for a moment. Just for some air,” she shrugged.

“You don’t truly enjoy parties, do you?”

“They are…acceptable.”

“Ah, but a lass such as yourself would much rather be at home in front of the fire with a book. You prefer the silence and solitude to the noise and excitement.”

She flushed an attractive pink and looked up at him from under her lashes. “I realize that those are not exactly the qualities one looks for in a woman, but…”

“But you are far from a woman, lass. You’re still a wee child.” He watched appreciatively as her skin flushed a darker red.

“Sir, I will have you know that I am of sixteen years and will soon be a wife,” she said, not really succeeding in sounding offended.

“Yes, to Governor Finn’s lad no less. I find it difficult to see what it is the boy could have done to deserve the hand of such a fair lass.”

Her hazel eyes met his and she wore a smile befitting that of the most experienced of coquettes. “Do you tell all your ladies that, Mr. McConroy?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he smirked and wiggled his eyebrows.

She started laughing and Angelus thought it was the most enticing sound he had ever heard. “You are indeed a charmer, Mr. McConroy. If I may be so bold…?”

“You may.”

“Why is there not a Mrs. McConroy? A gentleman such as yourself should have amassed quite the number of prospects from the fairer sex.”

Angelus, seeing his opportunity, angled his body towards hers. “Perhaps it is because a man can only have ale for so long before he starts to long for a fine wine.”

He could hear her heart pounding in fear and excitement as their seemingly innocent conversation began to take a different turn. “But what if you’re not supposed to have the wine?” she breathed.

“That’s when it’s the sweetest.” His hand cupped her cheek and her eyes fluttered from the contact. “Look at me, Buff,” he commanded. “Look into my eyes.” Angelus knew he could have waited rather than jumping at the first opportunity to thrall her, but he was anxious to have her in his bed.

“You have pretty eyes.”

Angelus felt his eyebrows rise. You have pretty eyes? Angelus concentrated harder and Buffy flinched as he suddenly seemed to be scowling at her.

“What? Men can have pretty eyes,” she pouted slightly, thinking he was offended.

Angelus blinked. He surveyed her carefully, playing close attention not to let himself linger on her pouting pink lips. He didn’t understand how it was possible for her to resist his thrall. No one had ever resisted! The girl was obviously human. She smelled human. She had a heartbeat. What had gone wrong? His eyebrows knitted together as he ran through any and all explanations as to why his gift had failed him. He felt her warm hand press against his own.

“Angelus? Is something wrong?”

He recovered, wearing his signature smirk. “You think my eyes are pretty, do ye?”

Buffy fiddled with the sleeves of her dress looking anywhere but at him. “Yes, they resemble little pools of chocolate.” She felt his fingers lace through hers and looked down. She liked the way their hands fit.

“Now which one of us is the charmer here, Buff?” he watched her shiver as his fingers idly stroked hers.

“There you are!”

Buffy stood, withdrawing her hand from Angelus, completely missing his darkened expression. “Riley,” she said, her heart pounding heavily as though she’d been caught doing something terribly wicked.

“I have been searching all over for you, Bethie.”

He took her hand in his own, missing her subtle wince at the nickname she loathed. “Forgive me if I have caused distress. I only stepped out for a moment.”

“Your mother and father are looking for you. They –.” Riley stopped short when he saw movement behind Buffy. “Hello,” he said to the man who sat on the bench watching them unabashedly. “I do not believe we have met. I am Riley Finn, Elizabeth’s husband-to-be.”

“Oh, yes, the governor’s boy,” Angelus said, taking in the blue-eyed baby-faced boy with mocking eyes.

Although the sarcasm went completely over the boy’s head as he puffed out his chest and stood a little taller, Angelus smirk only grew when Buffy gave him a warning glare.

“Yes, yes, I am,” he said proudly.

“Riley, this is Mr. McConroy.”

Riley tensed slightly, something neither Angelus nor Buffy missed. “McConroy. You purchased the old Crawford Mansion.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his eyes glinting slightly.

“Well, it was nice making your acquaintance, Mr. McConroy, but Elizabeth and I must be going.”

“Of course. Nice meeting you, Finn.” He turned his penetrating eyes to Buffy. He picked up her hand and gave her a lingering kiss that left her near breathless. “T’was a pleasure makin’ your acquaintance, Buffy.”

“Mr. McConroy,” she blushed.

Riley’s jaw clenched as he led Buffy away. But his annoyance over what he saw as a threat to his future wife was nothing compared to Angelus’ fury over Finn impeding the progress he had made.

“I do not trust that McConroy fellow,” he confided when they were of a safe distance away from him. Or so he thought. “He worries me.”

“Riley,” Buffy sighed. “Mr. McConroy is a nice man.”

“You know him well, then?”

“No. We only made acquaintance tonight.”

“Yet he already calls you Buffy.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Riley Finn, I do believe you are jealous.”

“Perhaps I am,” he admitted. “Do you find him attractive?”

Buffy blushed and lowered her eyes. “He is…agreeable. But it is you who will become my husband. Your name I will carry and your children I shall bear. Tell me once more why you are jealous?”

With a few well-executed words, Angelus could see Finn’s worries and inferiorities fade away. He leaned down and kissed her lips as carefully as if she were made of glass.

“Bethie?” he whispered, still holding her close.

“Yes?”

“If I asked you to do something, as your future husband, would you do it?”

Buffy tensed. Her small hands fisted the sides of his shirt as her mind twisted and turned over in itself. As her future husband, he could ask almost anything of her, and she was duty bound to obey. She trembled against him and swallowed the bile suddenly flooding her mouth. “Yes.”

“I wish for you to have no further contact with Mr. McConroy or any of his family.”

Buffy stepped back from him so that she could see into his eyes. “Riley, I have already told you that Mr. McConroy bears no threat to us.”

“But he does,” he argued. “Have you noticed the strange occurrences in our town?”

“Are you referring to Madeleine Archer?” Maddie Archer was two years younger than Buffy and had gone missing from her bed in the dead of night.

“Yes, as well as Rebekah Harte, Joshua Black, Edward Morton, Christine Adams, and countless others.”

“Riley, how do these unfortunate people pertain to you desiring distance between Mr. McConroy and myself?”

“They all vanished or perished inexplicably after McConroy, and his family took residence in the Crawford Mansion.”

“You are not suggesting…?” she gasped.

“There is something amiss about them. His sister is said to be touched in the mind, but there is more. She speaks in prophecies. Her husband, William, the poet, who may I say is not very good, he was seen with Rebekah Harte before she went missing. Then there is your new acquaintance. He never leaves the mansion during the day. He does not work and yet he attends every party and somehow amasses enough wealth to support his family. They have no servants or cooks. Their skin is unnaturally porcelain – must I go on?”

“Are you suggesting to me that Mr. McConroy, his sister and her husband may be…nefarious individuals?”

Riley smiled humorlessly. “Why does it frighten you to speak the word, Bethie? You once told me that what most would believe to be a monster, you see as a beast maintaining his nature.”

“I was referring to the work of Bram Stoker, Riley. Beasts exist, yes, but not of that sort, and certainly not amongst Mr. McConroy and his family.”

“You have always had faith in the most undeserving of creatures, Bethie.” He reached inside his trouser pocket and withdrew a silver cross on a chain.

“It’s beautiful.”

“I wish you to wear it whenever you leave the mansion.”

“Even in the sunlight?” she quipped.

“Even in the sunlight,” he answered, unaffected by her glibness. “All of the victims’ blood was drained through small punctures to the throat.”

Buffy paled as she gasped. “What? But you never said anything!”

“My father thought it was best that the families were not informed of this. It would lead to panic and at this time, the authorities have declared it a beast. Wear it. For me.”

“Okay,” she whispered, still struggling with the concept of the creatures she learned of as a child could truly exist beyond the pages of a novel.

Riley secured the cross around Buffy’s neck and exhaled in relief. “Now I believe we should find your parents. They can hardly fault a man for enjoying the company of his love.”

The couple left the garden arm in arm, completely oblivious to the heavy stare on their backs.

Angelus was beside himself with fury when the Finn’s and the Summers left the Hardy Mansion. He had covered his tracks and the tracks of his childe and grandchilde carefully. Yet, the Finn boy seemed to have linked all of their victims back to them. Although he tried his best to come across as noble and caring in Buffy’s eyes, the boy was far more concerned with her affections rather than her safety. The thought in itself caused a malicious smirk to befall his angelic features. They would have to be careful. Meticulous. One mistake and all would be lost. Nevertheless, Angelus would have Buffy Summers…even if he had to eviscerate every townsman to get her.

Angelus itched to relieve his fury and he knew just how to do it.

“Margaret, is it?” she was nothing. An aide in the Hardy household with the burden of a fatherless son. She was not remotely attractive, and her blood was not in the slightest appealing. But her polite smile and cautious eyes appeased him.

“Yes, sir.”

“I regret to bother you as I can see you are terribly busy, but I am afraid I require your assistance.”

“In what way, sir?” still so trusting.

“Come with me, please.”

Ah. There is the hesitation. “Very well, sir.”

He led her to a dark corner underneath the stairs hidden from the rest of the intoxicated socialites. “Ah, that’s better, isn’t it? Not complete privacy, but it should do for what I have in mind,” he said, letting his eyes drift over her, hoping to discomfort her. She predictably squirmed under his gaze, unaware that her used and aged body held no appeal for him.

“Sir, I…I should get back,” she stuttered, her heart pounding beautifully, forcing her blood to flow quicker through her arteries.

“Why not stay a while? After all, you did say you would help a fellow with his problem,” he purred, moving even closer to the frightful maid.

*“Sir, please, I should return to the party.”

*“Margaret, Margaret, there’s no hurry.”

She tried to pull away from him, hoping that someone might see. *“Mistress will be wondering…”

*“Sshh,” he cooed. “Mistress will be wondering how to get the good Reverend Chalmers into bed and will not notice the absence of canapé.” He stroked her chin for good measure, and she shuddered in spite of her fear. “Stay with me,” he urged.

Angelus could tell by her eyes that she was considering it. How could she not? A lowly maid, past her prime, receiving the attentions of the young and wealthy Mr. McConroy, a man that all women, be they married, betrothed, or divine worshippers, have attempted to lure into their beds.

*“Sir, people might talk,” she weakly protested. “I’ll be put out on the streets. My little boy would…I can’t lose this job,” she said, forgoing any thoughts she might have had about taking a chance with the beautiful Angelus McConroy.

Angelus, sensing her resolve, lost his temper. He grabbed her arms. *“Then you must keep quiet.”

*“You’re hurting me!” she said, speaking a little louder than she intended.

*“Ah! Cry out. Call for help. I’m sure Mistress will believe your behavior beyond reproach,” he sneered.

*“Please!” she gasped, wriggling in his embrace.

Angelus shook her roughly. *“Come, make a scene, huh?” he taunted. “Shall I?”

Margaret hesitated. *“No,” she whispered.

*“No, no. We’ll be as quiet as mice.”

Margaret lowered her head. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. If she closed her eyes and didn’t put up a fight, maybe it would be over soon. No one would believe her if she said their familiarity was forced.

Angelus could almost taste her defeat. His face shifted and when she looked back up at him, her fear and terror flooded his senses. *“No matter what.”

*“Sir!” she trembled, tears welling in her eyes. “My son!”

Good, he had almost forgotten. *“Oh, he’ll make a fine dessert, huh?”

He grabbed her, sinking his fangs into her throat before she could scream. He drained her quickly. She was unsatisfying and not at all fulfilling. He released her, letting her body fall carelessly to the floor. He tucked her away in the corner, knowing one of the other servants or perhaps her Mistress herself would find her. Angelus maneuvered around the intoxicated guests, following Margaret’s scent to the servant’s quarters. He found Margaret’s whelp sleeping in his bed. He was a boy of no more than seven years. His hair was curly like his mother's and a brighter shade of blonde. Margaret’s pallet lay positioned beside the boy’s bed. The boy clutched a worn brown bear that was missing its left eye. He was a beautiful child, clearly taking after his father. The boy opened his eyes and startling emerald green eyes met his own.

“Are you an angel?” he whispered.

His lips twitched as he fought the smirk that threatened to reveal itself. “An angel?”

“Mum says when it’s time an angel will come and take me to see my Da. Will you take me?”

He arranged the boy’s body in his bed and retrieved his mother, placing her on top of her pallet. From a distance, it would look as If they were merely sleeping. He returned to his mansion an hour before sunrise.

“Daddy, we saved her for you!” Drusilla called over the screams.

He strolled down to the “playroom” in the cellar. The room smelled of sex, blood, and fear. The young woman from the party, Harmony, was naked and railroad spikes had been driven through her hands and ankles, courtesy of William. Her legs and stomach were flayed, and Drusilla greedily lapped up her flowing blood.

William leaned against the wall, a pipe in his hand. “How did it go with the bird?”

Before he could answer, Harmony turned towards Angelus. Her face had been clawed, most likely by Drusilla, and her right eye hung out of its socket and lay limply against her cheek. “Mr. McConroy, help! Please help me!” she whimpered.

A cold smirk drifted on his lips as he played with her blood-soaked hair. “I could help you, Harmony, but you would have to do something for me first,” he taunted.

“Anything, anything.”

“Open your mouth.” A single tear fell from her good eye. She opened her mouth without hesitation. Angelus released his semi-hard cock and shoved it into her mouth. She choked and gagged as his hand knotted in her hair. “She resisted my thrall.”

William pushed off from his relaxed stance against the wall. “Resisted? How the bloody hell did she do that?”

“Gee, William, I have no idea. I’ll be sure to ask her next time,” he growled, shoving his entire length down Harmony’s throat.

“She’s not like the others,” Drusilla whispered. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. She was having a vision.

“What do you see, pet?”

Just as Harmony’s heart stopped beating, Angelus felt his seed spurt into her mouth. He pulled out, using her hair to clean himself off, smiling lightly as his seed and her blood dripped from her mouth.

“She was almost Called.”

“Called?”

“As in…?” Angelus had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“But the Powers…she was unworthy…innocent blood on her hands…now she is just a human.”

Angelus ran a hand through his hair, attempting to process what they had just learned. Buffy was meant to take the Calling. She was to be a Slayer, but she killed someone. The Powers deemed her unworthy and now she will never be a Slayer. But even though she didn’t have the Call, she was still equipped with the typical Slayer attributes. A mental block to resist the thrall. Possibly strength to fight against any demonic creature.

“Darla is going to kill you,” William snickered.

“Darla is too busy fucking Dracula to care what I do!”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

Drusilla hunched over, moaning and hugging her stomach. William’s good mood faded quickly as he and Angelus flocked to her side protectively. “What do you see, Dru?”

“Bad man…bad man…bad man…”

“What bad man? What is he doing?” Angelus questioned her as she leaned against William.

“Touching…bad touch…bad touch…wants to keep her…wants to hurt her…!” she moaned.

Angelus growled deeply, startling his childe and grandchilde. “Hank Summers is a dead man. William, at first dark, I need you to do something for me.”

#writer appreciation #favorite blog and stories #my writing #asks #ask answered

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overdrivels · 4 years

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Shimada dragons theory

Michael Chu once said in an interview that the Shimada dragons aren't magic.

If the dragons aren't magic, then they must be technology.

I was inspired to look deeper into this by one of Arthur B. Clarke's adages: "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." I started a WIP on this premise, but wanted to lay it out because there are some delicate topics that pop up that I can’t be sure I will be able to respectfully convey in story form.

What sort of technology can appear and disappear in Overwatch? Vishkar's (Lucio's dad's) hardlight technology. I'm sure this theory has been brought up several times in passing through the fandom.

If this is true, this presents several issues. If hardlight technology only came into existence in the last 30 years, how did the Shimadas get that technology? It must mean the legend is either:

1) Younger than first expected, or 2) The legend is old, but the dragons manifesting themselves is a new phenomena.

In the case of the 2nd hypothesis, it's not particularly interesting in that it's possible the hardlight tech was 'acquired' by the Shimada clan before it was fully developed and researched separately, leading to the creation of the Shimada dragon tech. So our last option is:

3) Hardlight technology is not a new thing, but a 'rediscovered' technology almost as old as the Dragons legend.

For that to work, we have to make several assumptions.

The history of our current world is the background for Overwatch's world. Our world's history is also Overwatch's history.

The legend of the Shimada dragons is legitimately old. Several generations old and not the recent 21st century creation of the clan’s to retcon why fucking dragons appear. Since Hanamura doesn't actually exist IRL, we have to guess the age of the story. We'll say the legend probably dates back to the 1700's, if not, earlier. (I'd go into the clothing choice in the Dragons trailer to get a more accurate date and the like, but I don't think the creators took that into very deep consideration.) So let’s just say the legend came out in the 18th century.

Hardlight tech was developed and recognized within a twenty-six year time frame before 2076. Why? Lucio's father developed it. Lucio is 26. Had to have been alive when his father invented it.

The dragons are 'real' in that the Shimada clan has always been able to 'summon' dragons in a rudimentary or similar fashion in the way Hanzo and Genji do it now.

The ability to summon dragons is intrinsically connected to having the tattoos.

We also have to make another assumption about the dragons. Since they're technology, what do the tattoos have to do with anything?

My theory is this:

The Shimada clan or a vassal of the Shimada clan had known about a more primitive version of hard light technology. Metalwork and the like is a common skill that dates back to the beginning of civilization. It wouldn't be unusual for someone to figure out the benefits of laying delicate metal wires together to form circuitry.

What if the Shimada clan had surgeons who were able to manipulate metal circuitry into their bodies, linking it to their central nervous systems to be able to project and "summon" dragons? That would make the human body a giant battery for this technology. The circuitry laid out by these metal filaments would be covered up by tattoos and the legend would be preserved as a legitimate claim to power.

Assuming this pseudo-science is even feasible, this theory presents several issues. If we go by the assumptions laid out in the beginning, we run into some troubling questions.

1. Knowledge of circuitry and electricity. Electricity as we know it today wasn’t used widely until sometime in the 1800′s or so. The idea of electric currents and the like existed on a small scale since before then but has never been harness to be constantly flowing. There are theories that ancient civilizations had been using rudimentary batteries or electric light sources, though that has yet to be proven. Though if you think about the experiments with a piece of copper and a fruit to light up filaments or something, it’s rudimentary enough that anyone could’ve done it in the old days. This doesn’t dismiss the possibility that someone way back when understood the basics of circuits and electricity. But for someone to understand that the human body is basically a giant battery (Matrix), then they’d have to not only understand circuitry, but also human anatomy, which brings us to our next issue.

2. Knowledge of anatomy. Connecting metal and the like to the central nervous system and doing this sort of surgery requires extensive knowledge of the human anatomy. In order to know human anatomy, one has to study human bodies. Historically speaking, human dissections were not allowed in Japan until the late 1700's because of Confucianism and Chinese beliefs that were still carried over, and the first translation of an anatomy book in Japan was completed in the late 1700′s. So either the legend is younger than we first surmised or someone has been defying the law since before then. I’m going with the latter for the sake of the theory.

3. Executors of the surgery. Perhaps the most diciest thing in this whole theory. If most of Japan followed Confucian beliefs (or that the norms were rooted in Confucian principles), who would be available to (or forced to) violate those principles?

In Japan, there are a group of people known as the ‘burakumin’, the lowest caste in the Edo period or Tokugawa era, however you want to call it (1603 - 1868) though they existed way before then. They were general occupations such as butchers, leather workers, undertakers--anything to do with death or the ‘unclean’. It’s very similar to India’s ‘untouchables’. They are still discriminated against to this day. I won't discuss the burakumin in much detail here because my knowledge on the matter is limited. But it deserves acknowledgment that their treatment is pretty fucking terrible.

If there was anyone available who dealt with death and bodies, it would be burakumin. They would have the most knowledge about anatomy and potentially be able to do this surgery to inlay metal into people’s skin, essentially creating a rudimentary form of the Dragons. But then what does the burakumin have to do with a crime syndicate family like the Shimadas? Wouldn’t the Shimadas also follow the social norm of distancing themselves from society’s outcasts?

4. Formation of yakuza. Burakumin actually make up a surprising amount of yakuza members. Outcasts and outliers in society with nowhere else to go, yakuza gangs and similar organizations formed in the Edo era, right around the time we place our theory. So it wouldn’t be unusual for them to be associated. As many people know, a very telling identifier of yakuza are their tattoos. It could very well be that the tattoos exist to cover up the scars from the surgeries.

In conclusion, there could be a potentially deep backstory behind the dragons and the legends. Likely dating back to the beginning of the Edo period, it wouldn’t be strange if the legend came up around then to explain away any electrical discharge and cover it up with dragon tattoos to give legitimacy to the legends. Over time as people kept practicing it, they were able to refine the technology in such a way that it evolved to produce actual dragon-shaped discharges.

I had another thing where the Shimadas were assassins not because it was profitable or anything, but because they had to train their bodies to withstand the circuits sucking out all their energy that they thought they may as well make a cover story and stick with it, hence becoming assassins and ninjas. In other words, they’re training their bodies not because they’re assassins, but because their bodies won’t be able to handle the discharge otherwise.

TL;DR: Dragons are not magic, they’re electric circuits placed beneath the skin, using the human body as a giant battery that got refined over time. Legend probably dates back to 1600′s-1700′s. Surgery was completed by burakumin (basically Japan’s “untouchables”) who made up a majority of yakuza, and tattoos were used to cover up the scars from the surgery.

Or this could all be bullshit and I’m just talking out of my ass.

#drivels drivels #more dumbass analysis with actual history #it's like playing tetris with history and lore and that's fun

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dragonnan · 3 years

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Author Interview Tag

Tagged by @aelaer a week or two ago, thank you!

Name: Tanya (among family I'm Nan or Auntie Nanny)

Fandoms: Sherlock, MCU, Psych, Prodigal Son, and a goodly collection of others

Where you post: For a number of years I posted on FFN but between the really shitty reviews and extremely cumbersome posting process I finally quit. I posed on Psychfic while still an active part of that fandom but that, too, has pretty much ended. I put a few stories on Wattpad but found it to be pretty meh. I now post exclusively to AO3.

Most popular multi-chapter fic: It's a tossup between “Fury” on Psychfic and “All Nighter” on AO3 – one based on comments and the other on Kudos. Frankly “popularity” is really subjective because there's also stuff like read count and with comments, at least nearly half are replies from me and read count also includes re-reads as well as every time I clicked on the damn thing to edit so....

You know I'm just really not sure how to properly answer this??

Favorite story you’ve written so far: Like others have stated you can ask me this on three different days and get three different answers and there will be more than 1 fic mentioned every time so.... Because I write in different fandoms I just absolutely can't list a single fic. The best I can narrow it would a fic from my top 3 fandoms.

Psych: Paint it Black. I had read a fic where Shawn was gradually going blind and had really been enjoying it and the challenges it presented. Sadly it was never completed. As has happened before I decided I would write my own damn fic if I couldn't get a completed story so that was the primary motivation to start this. What I most love about this is writing from Shawn's perspective as he navigates being blind and not knowing whether or not his condition is permanent. I did my best to honor the experience of blind and partially blind people and tried to look beyond the cliché.

MCU: I have so much fun writing these stories! In spite of the dumpster fire the film canon became I do so love this sandbox and employing various forms of unfucking it. So I'm gonna cheat a little and pick two for my faves here since one is a WIP. Sed Diabolus. I don't need to have completed it yet to know this will be my all-time favorite. This is the first fic that has been entirely plotted out and OMG I'm so excited for iiiit!! The second is Simple Math which seems like an odd choice given there's zero action – mostly just one character – hell, not even any whump. But there is something about that deep dive into Tony's mindset that keeps this as a fave even though it was the first thing I ever wrote for the MCU. I learned about Tony as I wrote this and I also worked my way through those motivations that bothered me regarding Stane. Even years later I still mentally go back to this fic whenever I write Tony because I feel encapsulates the essence of how I see him as a character.

Sherlock: Compared to other fandoms I'm still quite new to this fandom so I don't have nearly as many fics. But I still have a favorite! And, like with the MCU, it's the first story I ever wrote for this fandom; The Tiger and the Shark. Returning to a plot device I've employed in other fics, this one is built around a sexual assault and taking the character on a journey from that terrible event to the point where they rediscover themselves. PTSD ever being my favorite form of whump I employ that fairly a lot in this story and employ some kinda radical methods for coping with those memories.

Fic you were nervous to post: I mean until I start getting comments I'm a world of anxiety with every story I post. But grabbing a specific fic that hit my nerves – that Sherlock fic I'd said was my fave certainly qualified. Not only was it my first Sherlock fic – it also was charging out of the gate with a very heavy topic so yeah – I wasn't sure if people would absolutely hate it or find my characterizations totally off or what.

How you choose your titles: It varies a bit. In some stories, like Sed Diabolus, I actually consult friends on various ideas. Other times I'll consider songs or lyrics and my favorite thing is if I can alter the known title just a bit to make it more relevant to the fic (I did that a LOT with Psych fics which was the method the show also employed for its episode titles). One of my favorite Psych titles is “The Wizard Was the Wicked Witch and the Scarecrow Lost His Courage”.

Do you outline: Almost never – not until “Sed Diabolus”. That story, though, is so astoundingly complex that without an outline I'd be hopelessly lost. I am, though, trying to make a practice of outlining more because it helps SO much!

Complete: If we count every one-shot collection and challenge collection it likely is over 200 stories. Of course a lot of those are one-shots. My total completed chaptered fics number maybe around 34?

In progress: 16 – between Psychfic and AO3. All Psych stories are on long-term hiatus for the foreseeable future (some, honestly, I will never finish as they are many many years old and I've lost the inspiration for the plot). Several MCU stories are also on the back-burner while I focus on “Sed Diabolus”. I admit I get LOTS of story ideas and staying focused on a single fic is not something I've ever been greatly successful with.

Coming soon/not yet started: I meaaaan.... lots?? I have probably several hundred ideas and partially started fics across many fandoms. As to “imminently coming soon...” I don't think I currently have an active story that I haven't already posted at least a first chapter. Sadly I have zero patience for developing something for months before posting which is why I have so many WIPs. That said I DO have a Sherlock au that has been poking at me now and then involving the witch trials that started in Denmark and, eventually, made their way to Salem. The idea would be that Molly Hooper is accused of being a witch. She, of course, is innocent but cause this unfortunate attention due to her “uncanny” ability to heal the sick and injured (not so much uncanny as opposed to employing methods that aren't so reliant on superstition and folklore).

She is scheduled to be tortured and executed but is saved by Sherlock – a strange recluse primarily ignored and given a pass as he solves mysteries for people. He and his friend John save Molly from this awful fate. The twist is that Sherlock is a sorcerer (bit of marvel crossover-ish) and able to transport them to safety.

Do you accept prompts: I wish I could cause I love ideas but I don't have the time/energy to always work on what I already have and I'm awful at follow thru. Like I will never turn away an Ask wanting to share ideas but I can't promise that I can actually write anything.

Upcoming story you are most excited to write: As was the reply to a previous query – I have lots that are ideas that will linger in partial stages for sometimes years. If it's “upcoming” I've already posted the first chapter lol! But, again, I have several story ideas that whenever I poke through my folders I get excited about someday actually writing them. Here is a teaser for an MCU fic involving Tony Stark and Obie (I still feel this was never explored enough – certainly not in fic):

They were doing a retrospective, ten year anniversary kinda... whatever. Unofficial, of course. Certainly nothing Pepper would have dreamed up even at her most drunk (which, honestly, was never her scene. Tony had sorta owned that space well beyond the time it had started owning him). Whose idea it ultimately had been? Frankly Tony couldn't give a fuck. That he was asked to be one of the speakers was slightly more... awkward. Awkward was the right word, yeah? Nauseating was certainly another and possibly a bit more accurate.

Dead for a decade and Obadiah Stane still managed to fuck with his life.

But... it hadn't always been that way. At least, not as he'd believed back when the Walkman had been on every kid's Christmas list.

He'd thought it was bonding; at the time. His dad had never been one for just hanging out; shooting the shit; telling tales out of school. No, Pops, when he bothered to interact, led with questions. “You keeping your grades up?” “You still seeing that floozy?” “When are you going to pull your head out of your ass and grow the hell up?” “You do realize it's my name you're disgracing every time you go on a bender?”

With Obie it was just, easy. Obie might ask about school but it was always with approval and pride. He would discuss Tony's conquests as though Tony had climbed Kilimanjaro wearing nothing but underwear and a cape.

Obie was there when his father wasn't. Which meant that Obie was always there. The first time he got astoundingly drunk on his father's scotch, Obie was the one to help him hunch over the toilet and vomit expensive, aged booze into the toilet. Obie was also the one to replace the depleted bottle to keep Howard in the dark. For a fourteen year old kid still trying to gain his dad's favor, that had meant everything.

He saw his first porn with Obie; sex education ala Traci Lords, three months shy of his fifteenth birthday. That was the same time he was introduced to weed. Obie had cautioned him to use it sparingly; didn't want to fry that genius brain, he'd say, and ruffle his hair. The porn had made him uncomfortable. Obie had turned it off and told him they could watch whatever Tony wanted. They'd ended up changing the station to Knight Rider; smoking and munching Cheetos and laughing over their orange fingers.

It was Obie who was there, arm around his shoulders, after his parents died. He desperately didn't want to sob in front of the man. Things were so complicated with his dad that all he felt was blinding guilt... as though some part of him had caused this. But Obie had filled him with bourbon until the emotions got soft around the edges and he'd sat beside the older man, head tipping gradually to the right until he was held up by Obie's shoulder. Obie had just slung an arm around him and let Tony pass out while he rubbed a broad hand up and down his bicep.

It was strange, now, looking back with adult perspective. A perspective that included Afghanistan and his intended execution while Obie talked about legacy and responsibility while Tony's lungs slowly seized. He'd taken the time to sit there – arm around Tony's shoulders while one broad hand traveled up and down Tony's bicep – just like when he was a kid and Obie was the whole world.

He'd tried to remember if it had felt so... tainted... at the time. Or if he'd always believed it was love.

Obie had never quite crossed that line. Though hindsight offered a peek into that possibility with enough clarity Tony had fought with his cramping gut for nearly thirty minutes. He'd staved off vomiting though he was fairly certain his dignity had still been in tatters what with Bruce wandering in on his misery.

Upcoming story you are most excited about (this is basically a repeat of the above question so I decided to change it. Do you have a future story idea you'd like to write that is not yet beyond the vague idea stage? I love stories that put Molly in some sort of jeporady and I have a barely formed idea to someday write a “stalker fic” of some sort and not I don't care that this trope had been done on repeat – I still love it lol! I have a smidge of writing for it:

“I need your help.”

As afternoons at Baker Street went, this was a mundane request heard so often that Sherlock's typical reply, “Obviously, or you wouldn't be here”, could have been printed on flash cards. The detective had actually made the suggestion after a particularly full day at the flat and having heard the statement no less than twenty times.

Today, however, Sherlock merely blinked for a moment. Then, with an awkwardness rare to a man with a lethal sort of grace in his movements, Sherlock gestured to John's chair, JOHN'S CHAIR, before taking his usual seat.

Molly didn't exactly smile but her lips edged up a bit before she sat.

John cleared his throat before pointing a vague hand towards the kitchen. “I'll just go make some tea, shall I?”

“No, please, I...” The stammer in her speech was not uncommon; though John couldn't recall such obvious fear. Forgoing the kitchen he, instead, took the hard wooden chair facing the other two.

“Molly, what's wrong?”

Tagging: @kitcat992 @mizjoely @sgam76 @ariaadagio @hanuko @ceruleanmindpalace

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