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dwobbitfromtheshire · 9 months

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Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Nancy scribbled furiously in her diary as she wrote about the last few days. She talked about Eddie and Steve. . .Steve’s family. She felt so guilty about not really noticing or paying attention to his home life. She couldn't believe that his parents couldn't find any room in their heart to love him. She also discussed the goings-on at work. She had filled several pages already. The word pansexual stared up at her from the page with several question marks behind the word, and she glanced at the picture of Barb at her desk.

Nancy couldn't help but think about what she told Eddie and Steve. She really didn't think about dating anyone before Steve came along. As she thought about it, her attraction to Jonathan grew as she looked hard at the person he was trying to be for her, someone who was willing to break the rules for her. . . For her friend Barb. She had wanted to believe that he was doing it for Barb, and he had gone to great lengths to protect his brother. It was why she was willing to ignore everything else. She also realized she was attracted to Eddie because of the way he interacted with Holly. The first time that she had interacted with Steve. . .

Nancy was walking in the hallway when she saw someone rush past Steve and Tommy H. The person, not seeing where they were going, knocked all of the books out his hands and Steve's.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you. I'm late for class," the fluffy haired boy said.

"I think Steve deserves better than that. I mean, you could have seriously hurt him. Kiss his feet, I think that would be hilarious, don't you think, Stevie boy?" Tommy laughed.

"Knock it off, Tommy," Steve glared at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"I really am sorry," the boy said.

"It's fine. No harm done," Steve said as he helped pick up his books.

"I'm just messing with the boy, Steve," Tommy giggled as he squeezed the boy's shoulder tightly. "Just trying to keep things. . . Orderly. . .isn't that right, freshman?"

Steve scowled and peeled his fingers off the freshman, shoving Tommy.

"Stop it, Tommy, this isn't like you. Stop trying to be like those asshole basketball players. Just because we're on the team. . . ," Steve muttered and turned to the boy. "Go on to class, you did nothing wrong."

The boy scurried off while Tommy laughed at him.

"Shoving me. . .does someone want to play rough?" Tommy asked, and then he rolled his eyes.

"I didn't join the team to become a bully, Tommy," Steve said. "It was one thing when you bitch about someone behind their back. This just makes you look like an asshole."

"Don't be such a baby, Harrington. I was just joking," Tommy said. "Don't be such a coward."

"Right," Steve said and watched him walk off.

It was one thing to stand up to a bully, but it was another thing to stand up to your friend when he's acting like one. He had been so nice and understanding to the freshman. . . She had never seen it before, but she finally understood what everyone was talking about when Steve Harrington was so handsome. She could see it now. Maybe that's why she had been so shocked when he broke his camera because at first she had seen it as something a bully would do. Her attraction to people clearly weren't looks, but their actions. The more she thought about it, the more she thought about Barb.

"This isn't you, Nance."

She always knew about Barb from the beginning. She had been a lesbian, boys hadn't held her interest at all, and maybe because Nancy hadn't shown any interest at all at first, maybe she thought Nancy was like her. She wondered if Barb had been trying to protect her character or her sexuality. It was probably both. She knew about Barb's own fears of being forced into a heterosexual relationship, and it had been the reason why Barb hadn't told her parents. Barb would never know if her parents would accept her or not.

"Nancy?" Her mother's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

Nancy jolted. She hadn't even noticed that the door had opened and her mother's head had appeared in the doorway.

"Hey," Nancy said softly.

"I thought you would be in bed by now. I just came to check on you," Karen said. "Is everything okay?"

"You'd love me no matter what, right?" Nancy asked.

"Of course," Karen asked. "What's brought this on?"

"Mommy, would you still love me if I fell in love with a woman?" Nancy asked.

Karen looked at her in surprise before smiling and cupping her face.

"Of course, I would," she replied and paused. "Are you in love with a woman?"

"Well, no. I think I just realized that it doesn't really matter what someone's gender is, I think I'm open to the idea of falling in love with a woman," Nancy said. "I could definitely see myself with a woman, but right now. . .no."

"Well, you've always fought for what you wanted, and I always admired that about you," Karen said. "I'll always support you."

"What if I wanted to rob banks for a living?" Nancy asked.

"It depends on what you wanted to do with the money," Karen said, and they both laughed.

"What if dad has a problem with it?" Nancy asked.

"Then I'd shoot him," Karen said, and Nancy laughed. "Thank you for talking to me about it. I'm here if you need to talk about it some more."

"I think I'm ready for bed now," Nancy said. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Karen said and hugged her tightly.

Nancy went to sleep that night, loving her mother more than ever. She had some flaws, but loving her children unconditionally wasn't one of them. As she drifted off to sleep, she realized the fluffy haired boy who Tommy had tried to force to kiss Steve’s feet had been Eddie's friend, Gareth. She eventually fell into dreamland, where she dreamed of Eddie and Steve chasing after a gaggle of children surrounded by trees and woodland creatures. The kids ran toward Otis, Steven, and Irene. Otis and Steve were wearing their uniforms. Irene was in a lovely blue dress with her red hair all pinned up. Suddenly, it changed. Nancy was the one in the blue dress, except there was a fedora on her pinned up hair, and she was typing away on her typewriter while the kids danced around her, blowing her kisses. Steve and Eddie were dancing in each other's arms in their uniforms, kissing each other deeply with each dip. They pulled Nancy into their arms and kissed her. Of course, the dream ended with Nancy trying to stop Eddie from making their new baby his new drummer.

Nancy woke up with a smile on her face, but she wasn't sure why because the dream had been really weird. She blushed as she got ready for the day, thinking aboutthe dream. It wouldn't be like Otis, Irene, and Steve because if all three of them were together, Nancy wanted all three of them to be. . . Well, not platonic, that's for sure. She looked at the clock and saw that she had gotten up early. Nancy headed downstairs and saw Mike helping his mother make breakfast in the kitchen.

"I knew it! I knew you liked helping mom in the kitchen," Nancy said teasingly.

"Nancy!" Mike exclaimed.

"You're going to scare him away," Karen said playfully. "It's all thanks to Steve that Mike realized it's not just a woman's job."

"And thanks to dad passing on his genes to me, being a terrible cook, isn't just a man's job," Nancy grinned.

"Hey," Ted said, walking into the kitchen with Holly. "We can make coffee and toast. That's something."

Nancy giggled.

"Speaking of Steve, you've been spending a lot of time with him lately," Karen said, looking at her knowingly.

"Oh, man, are you guys getting back together?" Mike asked, scrunching up his nose.

"Stop acting like you hate Steve. We all know how much you love him," Nancy said teasingly. "And no, we're just friends."

"I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing if you guys got back together," Mike rolled his eyes.

"Was that hard? It's okay. You can go back to being an angsty teenager," Nancy said and Mike huffed.

"Heard Steve was thinking about reopening his grandfather's salon," Ted said. "Otis was a good man. It would be nice to see that up and running again."

"Hmm, yeah. I helped him go through his grandfather's things the other day. It certainly sounds like he's a much better man than Steve’s father," Nancy said.

"Steve is lucky that he takes after Otis rather than John," Ted said.

"Steve would love to hear you say that," Nancy said.

"Is Steve’s daddy an asshole?" Holly asked and Mike snorted.

"Holly!" Karen and Nancy exclaimed.

"Yes, but also, don't say that," Ted said.

"Anyway," Nancy said, struggling not to laugh. "Steve offered to take me to work today. He doesn't have to go in until later."

"Oh, maybe you can call him, and he can be here early to have breakfast with us," Karen said.

"That would be awesome," Mike said, and then he scowled. "Whatever, I don't care."

Nancy laughed and used the kitchen phone to call him.

"Hello?"

"You've been requested by my mother and Mike to come here early to eat breakfast with us," Nancy said.

"And Holly! Holly wants Steve here too!" She shouted.

"And Holly, too," Nancy laughed.

"Alright, let me finish getting ready, and I'll be there," Steve said.

Holly was the first one to greet him as soon as he walked through the door and threw herself into his arms.

"Steve!"

"Steve, it's good to see you," Ted said, holding out his hand.

"Ted, man, it's great to see you," Steve said, shaking his hand. "Quick, say something funny!"

Ted laughed and wacked him on the head with his newspaper. Steve handed Mike a comic book after greeting Karen with a hug.

"Finished reading up on our favorite comic book hero!" Steve exclaimed and Mike beamed.

"And? What did you think?" Mike asked.

"Hm, little disappointed with the ending, but I can't wait for the next issue," Steve said.

"Yeah, me too," Mike said.

Having Steve join them for breakfast made Nancy happier than when Steve joined them in the past. Maybe it was because she was more aware of how great it was to have him around. Steve insisted on helping clean up after breakfast, and Nancy insisted on helping him. They worked in comfortable silence with them occasionally flicking water at each other while hip bumping each other, breaking the silence with their giggles. Once they were done, Steve and Nancy said their goodbyes before heading towards the door. Steve was stopped by Holly.

"Are we going to see you more, Steve?" Holly asked.

"I hope so," Steve replied.

"Definitely," Nancy said, grinning at him.

"Good, cause I missed you," Holly said.

"I missed you too," Steve said and shared a soft smile with Nancy as Holly hugged him.

They pulled away in Steve's car, singing along to Madonna. After a couple of songs, Nancy looked over at Steve.

"Thanks for driving me to work," Nancy said.

"It's not a problem, happy to do it," Steve grinned.

"You know, my parents are thinking about getting me a car for my birthday," Nancy said.

"And how do you know that?" Steve asked.

"I might have overheard a private conversation," Nancy said.

"Nancy Wheeler, you sneek!" Steve laughed.

"What? I need to practice my sleuthing skills," Nancy said, rolling her eyes. "It was a complete accident."

"Right," Steve grinned. "Oh, looks like we're here. Uh, I hope you have a good day and that those assholes don't get to you."

"Not even they could get to me today," Nancy said.

"Yeah. Are you having a good morning?" Steve grinned.

"Definitely," Nancy said.

"Oh! Eddie called earlier. He wants us to check out his band tonight. Are you interested?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, that sounds like fun. So, are things going well then?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah," Steve replied.

"I'm happy," Nancy said softly.

"Me too," Steve said.

Nancy leaned over and hugged him tightly. She breathed in his scent for a moment, breathing in the smell of his hair. She could tell that Steve was doing the same, and she smiled. She climbed out of Steve’s car and started walking towards the front door when she saw Jonathan sitting in his car staring at Steve's pulling out of the lot. He looked so sad and for a moment she felt sad for him but then it was gone. She walked into the building, putting Jonathan out of her mind.

Later that evening, Nancy ate a quick dinner with her family and then waited patiently for Steve to pick her up. She spent a lot of time trying to decide on her outfit, but she figured Eddie might want them to come as they are. She settled on a nice pair of jeans and a ruffled blue shirt. When they left, Nancy and Steve made sure to say goodbye to everyone, including Holly, who was pouting about not getting to see Eddie play.

"The Hideout is exactly what I pictured," Steve said when they walked in.

It was small with not a whole lot of customers, but Nancy thought it had character even with the rickety looking stage in the back. . .if you could even call it a stage. They saw Eddie sitting at a table with Jeff and Gareth as well as another person she didn't recognize. Nancy and Steve made a beeline for him. Eddie whooped at the sight of them, pulling both of them into a hug.

"So, glad you guys could make it," Eddie said. "You're in for a hell of a treat. Nancy, you've already met Jeff and Gareth. Steve, you haven't. This is Frank. Say hi, Frank."

"Hi, Frank," he said with a laugh.

"No, that's not what I - ugh, whatever. I'm really glad you guys are here," Eddie said.

"Glad to be here, it's a nice place," Steve said.

"Oh my God, you really mean that. Do you need your eyes checked, man?" Jeff asked.

"Probably," Steve said casually.

"Why - ," Gareth started to ask.

"You know what, let's get set up," Eddie said in amusement.

"But he - " Gareth started to say.

"Hey, I know you!" Steve exclaimed, snapping his fingers at him.

"Jesus, you remember that. I ran into you once," Gareth said.

"Yeah, well, Tommy was an asshole. Sorry about that, by the way," Steve said.

"It's fine, you dropped his sorry ass so, it makes you cool in my books," Gareth said. "You can't apologize for anyone's shitty behavior, only your own, and you were never a shitty person."

Eddie and Nancy smiled at Steve before Eddie walked off with his band. Nancy continued to smile at him.

"What?"

"Nothing," Nancy said softly.

They found a table close to the stage. Steve and Nancy settled on ordering a couple of cokes, wanting to stay clear-headed for Eddie's performance. They were both surprised when they started playing Queen, Steve’s favorite band. Nancy thought it was really sweet that Eddie was serenading Steve, especially when he was beaming at him as they played "Bohemian Rhapsody" and then "I Want To Break Free." Eddie played "Toto" by Africa, which caused Steve’s eyes to light up. The last song they played was "Love is a Battlefield." Nancy enjoyed the way Eddie played so passionately. They all did, but it felt like Eddie was pouring his entire soul into the music. Nancy's cheeks flushed, and her heart raced at the sight of him.

"Hot," Steve and Nancy said.

"Really? You think so?" Steve asked.

"I have eyes, don't I?" Nancy asked.

When Eddie hopped off the stage, they immediately pulled him into a hug and beamed with pride.

"You were all so good," Nancy said.

"Definitely, I figured you would play heavy metal," Steve said.

"Well, that is our genre, but we respect all music in this band, and Queen always rules," Eddie said.

"You were really good on the drums, Gareth," Nancy said. "Definitely better than a newborn baby."

"What the fuck kind of compliment is that?" Gareth asked.

"Oh, I dreamed last night that Eddie replaced his drummer with a newborn baby," Nancy said.

"You replaced me with a newborn baby, Munson?" Gareth asked in mock offense.

"I can't control what I do in someone else's dreams, Emerson!" Eddie exclaimed.

"Well, you could try," Gareth said sternly.

Gareth then poked him with his drum stick and wiggled his eyebrows at Eddie, who scowled.

"Let me get you a drink," Eddie said.

He pulled Steve and Nancy into a booth before ordering them more coke.

"So, you ever think of making it big?" Steve asked. "Because you totally could."

"Nah, I tried that before but I fucked it all up trying to work a job with my dad but turns out he was just conning me and the girl who was going to help me, well, she only managed to get me an audition for a record label and not the rest of the band. I'm not sure if I want to do without the boys, honestly, and now I think I just want to make music. Nothing else matters," Eddie said. "It's whatever, though. My dad's officially out of my life and even though I fucked it up with Paige, I still get to play my music."

"That sucks about your dad, man," Steve said. "He's missing out on a great son. It's his fucking loss."

"Thanks, man," Eddie said.

"Well, all of you are talented," Nancy said, touching his hand. "So, you guys play here every Tuesday?"

"Every Tuesday," Eddie replied.

"Well, I think you got two more audience members," Steve said.

"That's fucking great!" Eddie laughed and slapped the table. "Are you guys going to the fourth of July fair?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," Steve said.

"Me neither," Nancy said.

"You guys want to go with me?" Eddie asked. "You guys could meet me there. It could be fun."

"I would like that," Nancy said. "I'm pretty sure that Holly wants to go with mom and dad anyway. By the way, Holly is very disappointed they she didn't get to see her Teddy play. So, you might have to give her a private concert."

"I would love to give the princess a concert. We usually play Saturday at Gareth's in his garage," Eddie said. "Bring the little lady on by."

They talked for a long time until Nancy started to get sleepy, and she pulled Eddie into a tight hug. She couldn't wait until they saw each other again.

Chapter Nine

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theresawritesstuff · 8 months

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“Oh no, there is only one bed, what will we do now?”

I've been trying to get this one right for a long time. I feel like I wrote the start of at least five different versions before this one... Thanks for being patient 😘

Denver, 1965

“That…” Lenny managed finally. “That is quite the bed.”

The pair of them had been standing at the end of the king sized, pillow laden beast of a mattress for God only knows how long.

Just staring, bags in hand like a couple of idiots.

“Yes it is,” Midge agreed, equally dumbstruck.

“The uh…” She cleared her throat. “The bookings were part of the tour deal. I guess they thought you were Mister Maisel.”

He nodded absently. “Happens.”

“They probably overbooked. Thought they were doing us a favor with the upgrade,” she reasoned.

“Probably…”

They'd been on tour together for about a week with Lenny as her opener. She still couldn't quite believe it but she was now the bigger name out of the two of them.

She understood the how and why. It was just a little hard to reconcile. It didn't feel like it should be real.

Not like this at least…

Then again nothing had truly felt real since that night in San Francisco.

One minute she's chain smoking in the alley, fighting for her life against a panic attack, the next her manager is marching back into that hell hole of a club only to drag Lenny out by his ear to check him into rehab.

But even after he got out and Susie managed to clean up some of his legal messes the clubs still wouldn't touch him on his own merits.

Which is where she came in.

She'd hoped it could be a way for her to repay some of the favors he'd done for her when she’d hit a career low. To show him he still had her support. That she still cared about him, deeply.

She'd never once stopped caring about him. Never would.

She would always love him.

But they'd barely spoken. At least not anything of consequence.

He didn't seem to think they had much left to say…

“I’ll um… You should take it. I can sleep on the couch,” he offered, breaking himself away from the bed to set his suitcase by the dresser.

Before he got any ideas…

They'd had their share of falling into bed with each other over the years but with them working together now he didn't feel like he was in any position to assume.

She'd always been very clear about her feelings on mixing business with pleasure.

And they hadn't exactly been together anytime recently. Things change. She might not want him anymore. He wouldn't blame her.

Certainly not after she and Susie had basically dragged him out of the gutter.

He'd never wanted her to see him like that. To see that he was so far gone. That all was very much not well.

Living on opposite coasts had made it easier to hide.

They'd written a few letters. Shared a couple of phone calls, but he'd never let on just how bad off he was. He could barely admit it to himself.

He didn't want her help.

She gave it to him anyway.

Thank god she was just as stubborn as he was.

“What couch?” Midge wondered.

He looked up, glancing around the room.

Mountain view.

Bathroom.

Absurdly inviting bed…

Coffee table.

Two chairs.

No couch.

“Oh…” he blinked. “Well there were a few promising options in the lobby.”

She looked at him skeptically. “You're kidding.”

“No, they really did look quite comfortable. Nice plush upholstery.”

Midge rolled her eyes, setting her bag down. “I know Susie had to bail on this stop to take care of business in New York, but if she hears you slept in the lobby you and I both will never hear the end of it.”

He let out a sigh, deflating. “You're probably right.”

“You know I'm right.”

He nodded tiredly, swiping a thoughtful hand over his mouth.

Her manager had put in a lot of effort trying to turn his image around.

Their manager, he corrected himself mentally.

He was still having a hard time coming to terms with that one.

He wasn't used to representation that didn't hound him for payment at every turn.

Lenny looked around the room pensively, snapping his fingers towards the sitting area.

“Chair. Chair looks good.”

He sat down, curling his long frame up onto the seat, testing the theory.

Midge sat down on the edge of the bed across from him, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “The chiropractor Susie hired to follow you around is gonna love that.”

“I've had worse,” he replied through a grimace he tried to pass off as a smirk.

A scoff of a laugh escaped her lips as she looked out the window at the storm brewing outside.

“This feels familiar…”

“How so?” he wondered, adjusting his position.

“The snow.” She gestured to the space between them. “You keeping a respectable distance.”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “Seemed like the safe option.”

“Is it because I talk to my shoes? I don't do that in front of just anyone you know,” she quipped.

“Lucky me. Some guys would pay good money for that.”

The chair reclined unexpectedly with a cartoonish clank of metal and springs beneath the seat, becoming even less comfortable than before.

“Lenny…”

“Hm?” he replied, attempting nonchalance.

“You've been avoiding me,” she informed him softly. “Care to tell me why?”

“I would not call going on tour together avoiding you,” he batted back lightly.

She waited patiently for his answer.

He huffed out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

“I've been trying to work out why it is that I'm here,” he admitted.

“Here as in the tour or more in a grand existential sense?”

To his noncommittal wave of a hand she replied “I needed an opener, you needed a job.”

“You felt compelled to fix my mess,” he corrected.

Midge blinked, her brow furrowing. “That's not–”

“I'm not angry,” he assured her, sitting up slowly. “I was for a little while, but that was more with myself than anything else. For giving you no other choice but to either turn your back or step in and try to put Humpty Dumpty back together.”

She shook her head, perplexed. “You needed help. We help each other. That's how we've always been.”

He smirked ruefully at the assertion. “I haven't been any help to you in a long time.”

Midge blinked.

She didn't have a comeback for that one.

“It's late,” he reminded her gently, stealing a decorative pillow from the other chair for his head. “You should try to get some rest.”

Her mouth set firmly as she looked back out the window, finding herself uncharacteristically speechless

She wanted to argue. To remind him of everything they'd been through. To tell him exactly what seeing him at his lowest had done to her. What the thought of losing him had done…

But the words just wouldn't come.

Instead she got up from the bed, grabbing her night things from her suitcase to head for the bathroom to get changed.

Once she was alone she exhaled a shaky breath, gripping the sink tiredly.

She never asked Susie what it was she'd said to Lenny that night.

Now she was starting to wish she had…

After a moment, she straightened up to get ready for bed, removing her earrings quickly then reaching around to unclasp her necklace.

Only it wouldn't budge.

She turned to look over her shoulder in the mirror, her fingers fumbling as the metal caught in the lace overlay of her dress.

The more she tried, the more tangled it became.

She begrudgingly turned to look at the door, weighing her options.

Fuck it.

Pride hasn't done either of them any favors lately anyway.

“...Lenny?” she called out sheepishly.

“What?”

She swallowed.

“I need your help.”

He appeared in the doorway a moment later, his tie and jacket removed.

She gestured helplessly, giving it one more attempt on her own. “It's stuck.”

“Yes I can see that…” he chuckled.

She shot him a look.

“Alright, hang on,” he assured her, holding up his hands in a truce.

He came up behind her slowly, standing close so that he could see what he was doing.

Midge stayed quiet, attempting to hold her hair out of his way, the gravity of his presence all too familiar a temptation.

“Need your reading glasses?” she teased, fighting to ignore the butterflies she felt as his fingers brushed incidentally along her neck.

Lenny smirked. “I'll manage, thank you. Your various clasps haven't beaten me yet.”

Like she needed the reminder…

“There,” he said in triumph after a moment, reaching around her to set the necklace on the edge of the sink.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

They stood frozen, neither one wanting to be the first to pull away.

“You, uh,” Lenny hesitated, wetting his lips. “You want help with the zipper too?”

Midge nodded, glancing over her shoulder up at him. “If you don't mind…”

He nodded in the mirror in lieu of reply.

His hand settled tentatively against her dress, one warm and steadying as the other slowly skimmed it's way down, sending a thrilling shiver along her spine.

“This was never about fixing you, you know,” she murmured quietly before he pulled away. “I don't… You're not broken. Not to me.”

“I'm a little broken, hate to break it to you,” he chuckled self-deprecatingly.

She took the hand still resting against her hip in her own, holding it fast.

“No more than I am.”

His eyes grew soft as he looked down at their entwined fingers.

“Can I ask you something?”

She nodded, turning to face him.

“Why did Susie really take me on?”

To her furrowed brow, he reasoned, “Don't get me wrong. The comedy comeback story is good, but if that had been the real reason she would have reached out way before San Francisco.”

Midge looked down at the floor between them, running her thumb softly along his.

“Because I needed her to,” she whispered.

“Why–”

“I couldn't live with the idea of a world without you in it,” she cut off, her voice hoarse with the threat of tears. “You don't love someone for half a decade and then just shrug and throw in the towel while they slowly kill themselves in front of you. And don't try to say that wasn't what was happening because you and I both know that–”

He reached out then, pulling her close as his lips collided with hers in a tender, searing kiss.

Her hands fisted in his shirt as he caressed her jaw, clinging to him, desperate to feel that it was real.

That he was still there, whole and steady, heart still beating beneath her fingertips, and not just a cherished memory.

He pulled away slowly, resting his forehead to hers.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the moisture from the corner of her eye. “Thank you for never giving up on me. You had every right to.”

“And a few very good reasons not to,” she reminded him.

He smiled softly, pulling back just enough to look at her. “So five years, hm?”

She bit back a laugh. “Give or take.”

He smirked. “I think I've got you beat.”

“Oh yeah?” she wondered. “By how much?”

He shrugged. “A bit.”

“Hm.” She nodded, biting her lip thoughtfully. “What do you propose we do about it?”

“Well, you did basically save my life by intervening in it. I suppose we can call it even,” he chuckled, arching a playful brow. “Why, did you have some other ideas?”

She took his hand in hers, pulling him gently towards the bedroom. “We can figure it out in the morning. Until then…Think you can still manage my show corset?”

He grinned, letting her lead. “One way to find out.”

She smiled as her dress slipped to the floor, taking his breath away before coming to reclaim his lips.

He wrapped her in his arms, savoring every inch of her as they stumbled to bed where she reminded him what it feels like to be truly alive.

And just how grateful they both were for it.

#Midgelenny #midge x lenny #Tmmm fic #Fix it ficlet #This was one of those prompt ideas that could have easily turned into a whole multi chapter story #Alas I don't possess the time

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myheartalivewrites · 5 months

Text

20 questions for fic writers

Hey @cha-melodius thanks for tagging me in this!

How many works do you have on ao3?

What's your total ao3 word count?

329,905

What fandoms do you write for?

RWRB and A Marvellous Light (The Last Binding trilogy). I've been thinking about writing for We Could be So Good by Cat Sebastian since I read it last week. I loved it so much I binge read 3 other books by the same author straight after, and then turned right back to WCBSG. Book rec for everyone who's not read it!

Top five fics by kudos:

Deep Blue

Just Like That.

Oxford Days

In His Wildest Dreams

A tie for fifth! Have One (On Me) and Tumbled Down and Tangled Up

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Unless they're a bit dodge lol

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This is the question that reminds me I've done this game before hehe. I'm only interested in happy endings so this is hard to choose, but Don't Wanna Be A Fool For You is quite angsty and ends just as they're getting over the angst, so I have to go with that.

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

I always write happy endings, BUT, if I must choose, I'm gonna go with a non-RWRB fic here. in your room, like a temple is an epilogue of sorts to A Marvellous Light, and it makes me SO HAPPY to have written this settled future for Robin and Edwin.

Do you get hate on fics?

Not usually, though I did get a couple of annoying comments on my first threesome fic from people who thought their own vision of monogamy for Alex and Henry was something they had to come and tell me about 🙄

Do you write smut?

hahahahhaaaaaaaa yes

Craziest crossover:

Never done one

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No! Someone did ask me about translating Deep Blue but I don't think they've followed through with it. I'd love it though

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

All time favorite ship?

Alex and Henry

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

Oooh, I don't have any WIPs on ao3 to feel guilty about. What sits on my hard drive is between me and my atheist god (also me)

What are your writing strengths?

Yikes, ok! Here are things I like about my writing: I like the way I write smut that's super emotional AND super hot, and all the different ways I've come up to make smut scenes different from each other (because writing them can sometimes feel repetitive from my perspective). I like the way I play with rhythm in sentences and build tension in scenes. I like the way I build emotional and sexual tension in a piece overall. Please no one drop into the notes to tell me they disagree 😂

What are your writing weaknesses?

I CANNOT come up with external obstacles! Whenever I'm trying to plot something out and I'm trying to come up with BIG PLOT REASONS to keep people apart, my brain just freezes. I love internal obstacles, the emotional reasons why people choose to do the things they do, but as for external things to move the plot along (think Jeffrey Richard leaking emails, Queen Mary telling Henry how to live his life) I'm just... ultimately uninterested in them. Which is fine if it's a choice, and I love a lot of writing just like that, but I wish my brain could at least TRY.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

Like it.

First fandom you wrote in?

RWRB

Favorite fic you've written?

Haha good one. Changes all the time. Current fave: Paper Chains, I think (a personal stab to my heart how much it's underrated). I tried something new for me with the structure, and I think the emotional punches hit so hard, I'm so proud of it. Or maybe the new one for RBB, called Foxden Park. Coming soon!

No pressure tags (and sorry if you've already done this and I've missed it!): @thesleepyskipper @firenati0n @welcometololaland @inexplicablymine @sparklepocalypse

@onetwistedmiracle @tintagel-or-cockleshells @historicallysam @cultofsappho @14carrotghoul

@suseagull04 @magicandarchery @itsmaybitheway @porcelainmortal @anincompletelist and anyone who fancies joining in! 😘

#about me #tag games #my writing #rwrb fanfic

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musewritingsforyou · 1 year

Text

A Normal? Day

Summary: A normal day in the life of Beacon Hills Favorite Couple

Warnings: unbearable Fluff, plot points that wont make sense just yet

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: I realized I dont have any of my Stiles work updated yet! This is just a short little oneshot to show people what my stiles writing will kind of be like. I wrote it to be included in a season rewrite that I am doing but It didnt fit great so now im just giving it to you for fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*somethings that wont make sense to you will be explained if you go read my series rewrite in the next few weeks!*

A normal day in a supernatural world.

Step one, wake up.

Waking up is a long process for me. My lovely hyperactive boyfriend did what he always does for me each morning, wake up about thirty minutes before me, sit there as still as he can (which is not very still) to let me sleep in, give up after ten minutes and then get out of bed. Stiles woke up at six this morning, playing with my hair as I slept before he finally got out of bed. Like every morning since we started doing this, he placed his pillow and a spare flannel in my arms so I wouldn't ‘get cold and lonely’, and then went to get himself ready for school. This was a relatively short process, throw on some pants, decide between a sweatshirt or a flannel, find the backpack and then he's pretty much done. For me on the other hand, it's a little different.

“y/n/n, I gave you five extra minutes. You gotta get up.” I groaned and moved the pillow that was in my arms to cover my face. To my disappointment Stiles took it off and started peppering me with kisses until I opened my eyes with a scowl on my face.

“I love you but I really hate you.” He gave me a classic Stiles grin as he moved backwards off of the bed.

“I know, you make sure to tell me that every time I wake you up.”

After walking out the door, and then back to it within seconds to make sure I was actually getting up, Stiles went downstairs to make some coffee and left me to get ready. I was running late, per usual, but by the time I made it to the car all of my things were there waiting for me, along with Stiles who held out a travel cup of coffee just the way I like it and forcibly handed me a banana.

“Eat.” I shook my head and motioned for him to drive.

“Too early, If I eat right now I'll actually puke all over your car.” He started the car and drove with one hand as he kept the banana extended.

“Babe, we do this every morning and every morning I remind you that-” I snatched the fruit from his hand as I finished his sentence.

“Breakfast is important and if you don't eat it in three hours you're going to come to me during class with a panicked look on your face telling me you think you're about to pass out. I know, I remember.”

I sound sarcastic like this every morning, but even through the snide remarks and the occasional unnecessary and undeserved insult, Stiles still looks at me like I'm the answer to the universe.

Step two, school. For this one I recommend that you don’t do what I manage to do every year, fill your schedule with all honors and AP classes, zero breaks or study halls, and more than three extra-curriculars.

I won't bore you with the rather slow details of a highschool senior. I will however give you this, classes are hard, I don't think I will ever be able to use a red pen in my entire life, and with each passing day somehow I find a way to be even more stressed than the day before.

The day ended with me sitting on a bench with Lydia and Malia, watching our boys play lacrosse from across the field and inevitably laughing our asses off whenever either of them would look over to make a face at us and get tackled or hit with something from the field. Ah the simple pleasures, you know? As we both waited for Stiles and Scott, Lydia and I spread our various school textbooks out on the bench in front of us, in all about sixteen heavy books set open as we studied. When Coach finally blew his whistle with one ear shattering blow after another the boys ran to us, practically dripping in sweat. Stiles bound up the bleachers, skipping some of the steps and leaned down in front of me, waiting for a kiss. I didn't look up from my textbook, and neither did Lydia as she responded to the boys while hovering over her calculus homework.

“Nice try boys, but before you even think about going anywhere but a dog kennel, you need to take showers.” There were a few mumbled protests but again without looking up she shooed them with her hands.

“Come on, off you go.” I giggled a little as they marched away in defeat, their cleats making a crunching sound when they reached the grass.

Step three, finally to get home, only to have to go to a pack meeting.

Like every other Friday the pack all met in Scotts living room, this time all agreeing to stay away from anything breakable. I promised Melissa I wouldn't let them destroy the house while she was out, and I keep my promises. At the moment there were no big problems. Though I still wince a little when I say it, it seems like everything in Beacon Hills is… normal. As weird as that sounds. But we still meet once a week, every week it becomes more of a group study/hangout than a real meeting, but spending time with our friends was more valuable than any solution we had come up with before. The only issue to discuss at this meeting was me. I wouldn't call it an issue exactly, but after finding out about my… species? People? Clan? I don't know what to call it, but after finding out about what I am, we still have almost no information about what that really means, for me or for them.

“Liam, as much as I appreciate the input, I don’t think being a truth seeker literally means that I can cheat on multiple choice tests. Even if it did, morally I will tell you again, cheating is a bad thing, and also none of my classes use multiple choice.”

They all tried their best to put Stiles and I at ease, telling us that in time we would figure it all out. But that was the thing, we didn't have time. We’re seniors just a few months from leaving this town for college, and once I leave I don't see myself flying across the country once a week just so that I can make sure I know the “truth” of Beacon Hills. The sun finally set and Stiles and I said our goodbyes, walking hand in hand out the jeep before heading to his house for the night.

Step four, stay up until three in the morning looking for answers about what supernatural powers you have. yeah , I know, that one's a kicker.

As soon as Stiles and I stepped foot in the door of his room we threw off our bags and changed into sweatpants. I took the flannel he gave to me this morning and placed it over my tank top as we stood in front of his clear board as if waiting for an idea to come to us by itself. The board was still blank, nothing there but a picture of me and Stiles together at the lookout in the woods. A little reminder that no matter what crazy ideas are thrown onto this board, we always have each other. We settled into our usual spots, Stiles standing and pacing in the middle of the room while I spread books and papers out over his bed, laying on my stomach and staring into the pages.

Finally, Step five, wait for the full frustration to kick in, and then once it's there, find a cute boy to calm you down.

I was laying flat on my stomach with four books in front of me, two from school, two from Lydia on the supernatural. I was hoping that in between my AP calculus homework and my college physics textbook I could figure out something new about my identity. News flash, it wasn't working. I groaned at the words in front of me, frustrated that for some reason the letters were swimming in and out. I took the books (all four of them) and slammed them shut before throwing them aggressively onto the ground in front of Stile’s bed and then taking the papers and just tossing them onto the air without any thought of aim or purpose. Stiles stopped pacing and stood still in front of his board, which now had a few red squiggles here and there along with the photo and a horrible attempt at drawing a wolf. He turned slowly to me with a marker in his hands.

“You good?”

“Not really.” He nodded and walked over, sitting beside me on the edge of the bed and putting the marker down. While I was still lying on my stomach he placed a hand on my back and rubbed it slowly.

“baby, do you know what time it is right now?” I placed my head in my hands and responded.

“No. Do I want to?”

“No, but I'm going to tell you anyway. It's three in the morning.” I said nothing and just signed into my hands. Stiles ignored my angry sighs and continued.

“Babe do you know what that means?” I shook my head.

“Well first of all it means that you are probably exhausted, which is why you're getting so frustrated with yourself, but more importantly it means that we have two hours before that night time diner downtown closes.” I looked up fast.

“Are you talking about the one with the pie, and the fries and the shakes.” He looked at me very seriously and nodded. Without another word I popped up on the bed and threw on a pair of crocs.

“Stiles, no matter what I say in the mornings when you wake me up, I love you so much I think you might even be higher on my list than eating pie at three in the morning.” He gave me a broad smile and kissed me on the cheek.

“Say no more, love.”

#teen wolf #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles #stiles stilinski #oneshot #dylan o'brien #reader insert

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trollprincess · 9 months

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Okay, so some of you might not know this because I did this before I returned to Tumblr from the bird site, BUT. Last year I dictated almost two entire books to my phone.

Let me explain. One of my jobs is a twelve-hour weekend night shift. Six PM to six AM Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, so thirty-six hours with the other four hours paid just as long as we do the entire weekend. I first took it so I could have the rest of the week off, and then proceeded to go back to work at dog camp those days. For the most part, over the last five years, I have only have Mondays completely off solely because that’s when my therapy sessions are.

Anyway, my weekend job is full-time, dog camp is part-time. The weekend job is factory work, making helmets, a lot of which are for the military. (Which, as a pacifist, I manage to stomach because hey, it’s just protective gear.) The thing is, like a lot of manufacturing work, it’s boring and repetitive. Think about how bored you are after five or so hours of an eight-hour shift. Now imagine it’s one o’clock in the morning, you still have five hours to work, and you would literally rather shove nails in your eyes than work. It sucks.

Meanwhile, my free time is spent trying to work at my third job (making @disasterarea-podcast) and attempting to work on getting published. I had all these grand ideas about getting traditionally published back in my twenties, and now I’m 46 and I’m struggling just to come up with any ideas at all a lot of the time. Three jobs doesn’t help. Depression and anxiety don’t help. So for a while there, I had terrible writer’s block when it came to my novels.

So last year, I decided to try something. I have these massive baby-pink noise-canceling Bluetooth gaming headphones with a mic which I wear to work. Why not try dictating a first draft to my phone? Obviously it wouldn’t be exact, since voice-to-text dictation isn’t perfect under the best of situations, and certainly not with loud factory noises around you. But I tried it on dictating notes for my podcast a few times and it worked pretty well, all things considered. And a bad first draft is still a first draft.

So I figured, fuck it, and one night I just started dictating a story off the top of my head. No preparation, no outlining, no worldbuilding - just pantsing HARD with nothing but an annoyance following a Teen Wolf rewatch and a resolution not to edit until after I churned out a first draft.

It took fifty-one days.

Eighty thousand words or so later, I had a dreadful first draft which needed an absolute fuckton of editing and continuity correction and character work. BUT I had a finished first draft of a novel. Which is something I hadn’t had in a good long while.

So I tried it again for NaNoWriMo. I got up to 65k words. So I won NaNoWriMo, but I put the story aside because I hit a bit of a wall. Still! That’s almost two full fiction manuscripts in one year, AND the nonfiction memoir I wrote about my road trip to disaster sites during the pandemic. 2022 was a good writing year.

So I did what I do with first drafts and put them aside for a while. I knew they were awful. I knew they needed a ton of work. And maybe that was a tad intimidating, which is why I only JUST picked up the NaNoWriMo first draft to work on it and finish it off. It’s queer, it’s got time travel, it’s got disasters. It is right up my fucking alley. I may be just a tiny bit obsessed with that story.

Unsurprisingly, going through it now is taking more than a little while. I sit down, I spend an hour working on it, I maaaaaaybe get two paragraphs polished. If that.

But the fact that I’m working on ANY fiction is kind of remarkable. And fingers crossed, maybe I can get this damn thing, and the other manuscript, AND my road trip book, finished and polished over the next year so I can submit the fuck out of them.

NOW. Someone send me a twenty-pound bag of rooibos vanilla chai and ten pounds of red licorice laces. Mama’s gonna need it. *cracks knuckles*

#writing

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pricemarshfield · 3 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

thank you for the ask, neutral!! time to show my deeply multifandom roots and not have any of these share the same fandom 🫡 below the cut because i’m chatty as hell

number one on the list is a recent one but absolutely my all-time favorite thing i’ve ever written: talk, a bg3/raphtav-and-also-haarlep-is-there smut oneshot

i don’t use this tweet here because it’s smut, but because no fic has EVER gripped me by the brain and haunted me for months until i wrote it like this one did and also because the devil’s hot. i laid awake at night in a cold sweat thinking about this even before i’d finished house of hope for the first time. i’m not even being hyperbolic here, this fic GOT me. also this fic converted me from haarlep-neutral to haarlep’s personal cheerleader. they’re so fun

my beloved darling tav already had a very strong characterization to me but i still feel like i Learned her through writing this, and certainly learned a lot about her dynamics with raphael and haarlep. enough that i’m braving actually writing a longfic for them, and feel free to hold me to this because otherwise it’ll languish in my drafts for another six months. but i’m actually formatting the first chapter for ao3, it’s Genuinely almost done !! promise

fun story about this is i cheerfully told my mom i’d finished writing something after i posted this and she asked to read it. i was like haha. well i’ll do that after work! and then i didn’t ♥️

number two on the list is what i’d have confidently said was the best thing i’ve ever writtennbefore talk, and that’s one of my dimension 20 big bang 2021 fics: plant a garden in the yard, then, a fantasy high/aelwyn & ayda friendship fic where they explore the deeply haunted tunnels beneath aelwyn’s deeply haunted house

it’s hard to overstate how personal this fic ended up being to me, enough that i hold it as close to my heart as my other d21bb fic which i wrote about grief while Actively grieving. both fics for that event ended up being a good deal more melancholic and introspective than i thought they would at the start, but this one Feels more intimate (for lack of a better word)

aelwyn & ayda are both characters that mean a lot to me on their own, and figuring out their friendship—prickly and uncomfortable as it starts—was honestly healing. there’s something really cathartic about writing a character who’s gone through such extraordinary circumstances in their canon finding a path Towards genuine connection and happiness, even if they don’t find it and Especially if things still aren’t perfect.

also the only time i’ve ever actually hit ao3’s comment length limit was on a reply to an absolutely lovely comment my friend shark left on it so :) the response to this fic was also really nice!

number three on the list is my queen b magnum opus even though i have one that’s like 8 times longer than it: teeth, the book 1 mc/poppy romance i craved/theoretically a smut oneshot that became something more.

this is a remix of another fic i wrote, so it feels weird to prop it up higher than the original, but i’m just so fond of this one. queen b is a very silly game and poppy min-sinclair can be a VERY silly character but my bea for this fic is another oc i grew deeply attached to, and i think the sheer self-indulgence of the fic shines through, in a good way.

also, i think the characterization in this is strong enough that i’ve been able to recommend it to friends with better taste who haven’t played queen b, and they’ve still enjoyed it! which is just IMMENSELY validating as a writer :’)

number four and five on the list are my niche oneshots which i wrote for a target audience of me, myself, and i, and i think that’s part of why they work as well as they do!

four is a session with dr. martin whitly, a prodigal son fic which focused on ainsley & martin, namely ainsley relying really heavily on her father, despite the fact he’s a serial killer that she Knows he’s manipulative and terrible.

the fact that i wrote this before the season 1 finale is astounding to me. i have never called characterization beats harder than this, and i feel comfortable saying that even though the actual plot points are quite different, and also even though ainsley isn’t canonically gay. that’s okay because i know and perceive the truth <3

prodigal son’s cancellation is something i’m hard-pressed to say i’m Upset about this far out, but i wish every day that the episode where some ainsley issues got addressed had lived to see the light of day.

this fic i Cannot recommend to people who haven’t watched prodigal son because it’s me extrapolating and picking at lines of dialogue that Suggest a lot without confirming much, but that’s also really fun, in its own way. some of the best fics i’ve ever read are enjoyable specifically as transformative media.

five is walk with the devil, a the martian/ares3some noir au which was honestly 90% a style experiment but like i fucking nailed it?? there was a stretch of a couple years where some of my best work were from smashing together whatever pairing i wanted to write with a bunch of prompts and seeing what i could make from it (werewolf au caitvi was also one, and a runner-up on this list)

this fic has a lot of hallmarks that i know people aren’t usually a fan of, but i love it. non-linear narrative. major character death but also maybe not, you won’t get closure and neither will the characters. actively avoiding concrete details in favor of a strong, hopeless tone. bringing in a ton of the cast for no reason. LOTS of 1940s slang. and because of that it’s my baby. weirdly i feel like my johanssen characterization is better in this than in either of my two canonverse fics?

i don’t know that i’d write fic for the martian like this again—a lot of what i like about it is really different from the more transformative fandom approach for the things that compel me to write—but i’m glad i did, because this fic is my darling. more people should be experimental in their fics because some of the weirdest stuff will almost always be some of the best !!!

anyway answering this made me so very hyped to write more once i’m off work !!!

#a-true-neutral #ask #this is also really fun because like. None of these are my top fic or fandom by kudos/hits/comments/anything. but they’re my Favorites #runner ups: queen of candia; nothing wrong with being a seed guy; my funny valentine; famous last words; all my wips #i’ve almost been on ao3 for more than 8 years now that’s crazy. like actually Writing. though i deleted the early ones due to discourse #alas. they weren’t very good but it would’ve been neat to see. still though i’m set with the myriad bg3 fics i have cooking #raphtav? of course. weird femslash ships no one’s ever considered? for sure. incredibly self-indulgent stuff for my own tavs? always!!!#hi thanks for reading my tag essay. i love to Chat

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blueberrygiggles · 1 year

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oh what boredom does

fandom: the umbrella academt

lee!five, ler!lila

day six (tickletober): chase

ao3 mirror: XX

a/n: OKAY. i wrote this just this morning in between breaks. it might be a bit unedited so sorry about that lol. normally i might just say "oh well guess im not posting today" but i REALLY wanted to write some lila and five bonding. SO. ENJOY!!

Lila got bored easily, she always wanted to be moving, killing, cleaning, doing something. She assumed it was a habit she learned from her mother, which at times left her with a strange taste in her mouth, but she tried to ignore that part of her brain.

Traveling with Diego and his family kept her busy, they were always doing something either incredibly fucking stupid or very fun. Most times it was both. Lila liked the arrangement they had, being with the Hargreeves family in the manor, but sometimes things got quiet. Allison took her daughter out for the day, Luther would go out with Sloane, Klaus went off to… wherever he goes… He was still a bit of a mystery to Lila.

So, today was quiet, and that was fine! No time traveling murderers coming after her was most definitely a good thing!

She was just so bored.

Therefore, the only option to entertain herself was… Well.

“I am going to fucking kill you!”

Five blinked in front of her with his hands reaching out to take the book back from her. She made a quick right around a corner and jumped over the table in the main room. She threw herself behind the couch and landed hard with a small yelp; she clutched the book to her chest and froze.

Five was behind the couch across from her, he watched both sides of her to see where she planned to run so he could lunge at her. She faked a lunge to the right and watched as Five flinched forward in the same direction.

“What are you, twelve?” She looked him up and down and realized her choice of words, she huffed a laugh, “Well, I guess you kind of are.”

Five’s face contorted into one of pure annoyance, it was hysterical, “I’m older than you, you little brat!”

With his last words, Five lunged at her left, Lila sprinted out the door to her left and ran into the kitchen. She, admittedly a bit stupidly, looked behind to see where he was, when she looked in front of her, Five blinked inches from her. She tried to run backwards and out of the kitchen when Five grabbed her arm, if she hadn’t whipped around when she did, she would’ve missed the smile on his face. It left his face as soon as he saw her looking at him.

“Book. Now.”

Lila looked up and tapped her chin as if in thought, “What’s the magic word?”

Five glared at her with squinted eyes and in a flash, he was on the ground, and he kicked out his legs from under her. She landed on her ass, he stood so she was eye level with Five’s knees, he reached down and grabbed the top of the book. Lila reacted in a split second and squeezed at Five’s knees.

He immediately hit the ground and screeched in a more than undignified way. She snorted and threw his book towards the wall.

“Little ticklish, old man?”

Five tried to scramble away from her, a smile still on his face, “Fuck off.”

She, most certainly, was not going to fuck off.

Lila went after him and grabbed at his knees again, he hit her at her hands with a surprising amount of strength, but it wasn’t enough to drive her away.

“FUHUHUCK YOHOHU!”

Lila scoffed, “Well, that’s not very nice, especially coming from someone in your position.”

She moved her hands up just a bit above his knee and she laughed victoriously as Five snorted and tried to pull away from her hands. She could feel his hitting get weaker the longer she went on, she opened her mouth to tease him about it when his hand finally successfully grabbed her wrist. Before she could react, his hands were on his hips, and he managed to throw her off him. He sat against the couch and breathed heavy.

Five held up three fingers and looked at her with a glare, “You get three seconds.”

Lila cursed and backed out of the room to sprint up the stairs.

Well, at least this isn’t boring.

#blues writing #tua tickling #the umbrella academy tickling #augtickletober2023 #.fic #tickle fic

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 6 months

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I’m about halfway through the audiobook of The Holy Vible, the book that Elis James and John Robins published in 2018. It’s really varied, with each chapter being on an entirely different subject (they went with one chapter for each letter of the alphabet, which was a gimmick I thought I’d find annoying, but in fact find myself looking forward to seeing what they get into next every time they finish one). John wrote some of the chapters and Elis wrote others, but they both jump in on each other's chapters with little commentary.

A lot of it is, to be honest, not objectively great literature. Listening to Elis spend an entire chapter talk about how great his favourite band is is only interesting if you’ve listened to a lot of Elis James already, and you happen to really really enjoying hearing people tell you why they like their favourite thing so much. Luckily both those things are true of me so I’ve enjoyed this. I probably wouldn’t recommend it to anyone who’s not already really invested in their radio show.

Anyway, I’ve managed to hold off for a while on doing another post about how listening to John Robins is bringing up mental health-related stuff for me, but then I got to chapter L in this book, which they have rather convolutedly titled “Living – Grief Is” (because they couldn’t make “Grief Is Living” Chapter G, as they had to use G for Elis’ favourite band, Gorky's Zygotic Mynci). It’s a reference to episode 191 of their Radio X show, the time in October 2017 when John Robins came on the radio to explain how the night before, he got drunk alone in his house, ate ten bags of something called Space Raiders (I’ve Googled them, they’re like chips – crisps – I think), and decided he’d do some writing, but due to being too drunk just wrote the words “Grief is living” in a notebook and then found it in the morning next to the chips wrappers. This story caught on with listeners and led to a bunch of people emailing in with their stories of vaguely harrowing shit they’d done in the middle of the night after drinking too much.

I liked how many people connected with the story, because that’s pretty high up on my list of experiences I’ve had frequently but never tell anyone about (or wouldn’t have – now that I’m making an actual effort to stop drinking, I feel like I don’t have to try as hard to minimize how much I was drinking, and being freed of those mental gymnastics is one of the few upsides to what’s been a mostly shitty process so far). When I’m drinking I’ll hit a point where I’ll start feeling things more and think I need to share this, but also be conscious of how much I will fucking hate myself if I start sending anyone drunk messages (not that I never have done the drunk messaging thing – I used to do it a lot when I was young enough for it to be almost acceptable, like early twenties – but especially in the last five years or so, I’ve started getting so paralyzingly mortified at realizing that anyone could ever hear or read my drunk thoughts that I’ve started avoiding getting too drunk around other people and definitely avoiding sending any messages while drunk), so I’ll open a Word document and just type out whatever I’m thinking. And figure that if any of it makes sense in the morning, I can do something with it.

I also have the quite common habit of eating terrible food in the middle of the night while drunk, so that image – of waking up and finding wrappers from the shitty food you ate and something you wrote that’s harrowingly depressing but also cringe-inducingly stupid – is an experience I’ve had many times, leading me to immediately delete everything and throw everything in the garbage and try to forget I ever did that because I hate the person who did that. Somehow, waking up to find something I wrote in a Word doc about something that was making me sad – I somehow find that almost as mortifying as waking up to find I’d sent those thoughts to someone in a message, even though obviously writing stuff in a Word doc that I don’t send anywhere should be no big deal. But it’s always something I wrote about some emotional thing that’s there when I’m sober and that I try to be an adult and ignore, and then I see how horribly I laid it out when drunk, and I can’t stand to look at it. And obviously I also feel guilty for ordering Subway at 1 AM or whatever I did.

Like I said, pretty high on the list of things I have done regularly but don’t even let myself think about, much less share with anyone else. And it was kind of cool to hear John Robins recount a similar story, and then get all those other people writing in to say “Oh yeah I do that too.” I mean, obviously it’s a bad thing to do and all of those people should stop, and John Robins has stopped, and that’s good. But it is nice to hear it’s not just me. It’s up there with that one chapter from Michael Legge’s book, which described the specifics of a post-drinking morning in harrowing detail – for the most painfully accurate description of this that I’ve heard in comedy. And what do we look for in comedy, if not painfully accurate descriptions of substance abuse problems?

Anyway, John Robins named The Mental Health Chapter in his and Elis’ book Grief Is Living, because he explained that that story resonating with other people is an example of why it is worth sharing these things. I got to this chapter while on a break at work, listened to the first five minutes or so, quickly realized that this was far too emotionally heavy a thing to listen to while being at work, but by the time I worked that out it was too late, it had made me feel too many things. I did even really feel in a place to put on some other more lighthearted podcast, so I tried music instead, played the Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy album that was referenced in the chapter, which was a terrible way to try to make myself feel less emotional and more ready to work. The last session I had to run that day was a rather tough.

John Robins acknowledges early in the chapter that he feels awkward and a bit cringe-worthy doing a “Mental Health Chapter”, and I feel similarly about picking out “The Mental Health Chapter” as the one to make a Tumblr post about. Feels like it’s saying “This chapter is the really significant one in the book, because they Talk About Mental Health”, and I feel weird saying that. If it helps at all, this isn’t the first post I’ve written about that book. I actually wrote a really quite long post rebutting all of Elis’ points in Chapter F – Football, because he spends so long explaining why football is better than other sports and all he does is list things that can apply to any sport, football is not special because it has drama and excitement, that’s just what sports are, and listening to him explain the justification for Popular Team Sport Playing With a Ball And a Net Supremacy did make me feel a bit like I was back in high school having my objectively much bigger athletic accomplishments in a much less popular sport superseded on the announcements for the junior boys basketball team making the regional semi-finals or whatever. I wrote a long and detailed post explaining point-by-point why Elis’ argument is not specific to football and actually lots of other sports do that better, and then I looked at it, said “This is overly defensive high school bullshit”, and deleted it all without posting it.

So here’s my second post about the audiobook I’m listening to, and it is on The Mental Health Chapter, though I’m going to touch on the couple of chapters around it as well, because honestly the best cure for listening to something that makes you feel too many things is to write them down and say them into a void and then they’re gone and you can move on with your life.

When I got home from work, I re-listened to the first few minutes of that chapter, and I started transcribing as I listened because I thought I'd include some of it in this post. I didn't go in with a plan for how much to transcribe, and ended just continuing to write until I'd covered the whole introduction. So here's that:

When Elis and I began broadcasting together, it never occurred to me to be anything other than as honest with him on air as I was in person. If he asked me how I was, and I was sad, I would say so. If he asked me, “How was your week, John?” and I’d had a tough time, I might exclaim, “Awful!” before playing Green Day. It soon became clear that this wasn’t very common in the world of commercial radio. And, as a result, over the years, our Radio X show has contained many references to, stories about, correspondence concerning, all kinds of things one might place under the broad heading of mental health.

I must admit I’m even slightly uneasy using terms like “mental health”, or depression, maybe because I worry that other people – whether rightly or wrongly – might cringe, or tense up, or think, “Oh, this isn’t about me,” or, “I don’t want to hear someone being all open about stuff.” So thank the Lord for our old friend Elis James, who, with a common touch like no other, coined the term “the darkness of Robins”. Little did that man on the street know that not only was he predicting the title of the 2017 Perrier Award-winning show (sorry Fosters, if.com, lastminute.com – that’s what I’m calling it) – and, by extension, predicting that one day I would be crowned the funniest comedian on Earth (plus Australian support) – but he had found the only word I felt totally comfortable using to describe my vibe. (Note to self: potential game show title. Get Elis to pitch it to one of his TV friends?)

I was reluctant to write about darkness. I’m far more comfortable describing how it manifests itself, and then having a laugh about it. I would never want to suggest that my experience was in any way unique, or that my take on it was in any way authoritative. I think perhaps, what I feel most acutely is a fear that anyone suffering from any form of mental health problem may read what I write and think, “That’s not my experience. Maybe I’m even more unusual or alone or weird than I thought.” What I have learned is that the more subjectively one talks about such things – eg. “I ate ten bags of Space Raiders before writing ‘grief is living’ in a notebook” – the more people can see themselves in those stories. Yet, when you try to speak generally – eg. “Depression is like running up a hill through treacle” – you immediately exclude most people. Because our experience of mental health is as varied and individual as our experience of physical health. Just because I get pains in my left hamstring after long drives doesn’t mean your eczema isn’t real. (The sole downside of being one of the world’s most accomplished clutch balancers.)

I wouldn’t say I’m depressed, or suffer from depression – I don’t think I do. However, I do feel dark at times, and my general outlook and baseline mood is often one of darkness. I felt a connection to the word when I first heard Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s masterpiece: I See a Darkness. It’s a flawless album, and the title track speaks to me very personally, as I’m sure it does to everyone who has heard it. Have a listen, and then a read of the lyrics. It’s not as bleak as it first sounds. It’s a song of honesty, friendship, and hope. But it’s still sad, mournful, and dark. I love that balance. There is light in the darkness, but also darkness in the light.

There’s an interview with Will Oldham – aka Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy – on music website Pitchfork. It’s a characteristically stupid interview, where, hilariously, the interviewer begins by asking why Will Oldham doesn’t like interviews. And, having heard his reasons – nuance impossible, detail glossed over, interesting topics rushed or edited, complex topics not pursed – he then spends the rest of the interview proving Will’s point. There’s a great bit where he asks if Will Oldham has had much experience of karma. He answers, “Tons and tons.” To which the interviewer simply responds, “Johnny Cash played I See a Darkness on his last album. What was that like?” I mean, come on! Maybe dig a little deeper into the interesting thing he just said. It’s like that bit in Knowing Me, Knowing You where Alan Partridge asks the racing driver if he gets bored of the same old questions, before asking, “When did you first want to be a racing driver?” Anyway. If you don’t want to be annoyed, don’t go on Pitchfork.

But there’s one really cool thing Will Oldham says in the interview. He’s asked, “Do you think that you’re more depressed than most people?” Which, speaking as someone who has given a few interviews over the last year, is a really horrid question – and I’ve had some stinkers. (No, it’s not about her and she’s not seen the show and yes, we do speak.) There’s no way out of that question without A) your answer becoming the story – eg. “Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy has depression!”, or “Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s melancholic persona all a lie” – or, B) sounding self-important. Answering either yes or no would make him sound like he thinks he’s somehow special, and separates him from his audience. If you fudge it, it sounds like you don’t want to engage with depression or mental health. And, in fact, it’s impossible to answer, because how do you know how everyone else feels? Such a dumb, unanswerable question.

However, somehow, the brilliant Will Oldham finds the perfect answer: “Not today.” I absolutely love that answer. I love it so God damn much. Because in one exchange, something of the experience of mental health is captured, without anyone claiming ownership of what that experience is like. Everyone has mental health – both positive and negative experiences of it. And everyone’s experience is not only different, but different day to day. In that answer, we have a world where everyone is depressed and not depressed. We’re all experiencing emotions in different ways, at different times.

First of all, I need to acknowledge that in the first part of that, John Robins says much more clearly and precisely something I took way too long to try to explain in a post I made last month, after I listened to him and Elis on the Comedian’s Comedian podcast, about why I like their term “darkness” so much. I like that they don’t set out to explicitly “talk about mental health”; they just tell stories about their lives, and those stories often (this mainly applies to John) involve things that indicate deviation from the platonic ideal of a psychologically healthy person. In 2014, Elis James made an offhanded comment about how John should someday write a show called The Darkness of Robins, cataloguing all these deviations because clearly they resonate with people.

The term grew from there, John started referring to his issues with the vague term “darkness” (ie. “Pretty tired this morning because I couldn’t sleep last night, woke up at 2 AM with a case of the darkness”), listeners started writing in to say this show has helped them with “the darkness”, and nobody has to actually say the words “mental health”. And as John acknowledges in that chapter, that can be a good and a bad thing – maybe in some ways bad because properly naming mental health issues can be important, in some circumstances. But I don’t think a commercial digital indie radio show has to be one of those circumstances where that’s required. “Darkness” is a word that makes it so much easier. It’s a word that can be used to include people who have a whole range of different mental health diagnoses, or multiple diagnoses, and who don’t want to get into all the specifics but do want to be included. And it includes people who are undiagnosed, and people who wouldn’t be diagnosed because their issues don’t meet clinical diagnostic criteria, but they still lay awake feeling terrible and would like a word to describe that.

It’s also a word that strikes the perfect tone. Obviously naming a show “The Darkness of Robins” is ironically grandiose, and there’s something just slightly ironic about it every time they use that word. Obviously they’re being a bit intentionally silly by calling day-to-day psychological struggles something as dramatic as “darkness”. But it’s only a very small touch of irony – just enough irony to take the edge off and make you feel like you’re not formally Talking About Mental Health, but not so much irony that it starts mocking or minimizing the struggles.

I said basically all of that in a post I made last month, and now I’ve said it all again here, and I enjoyed listening to John Robins say pretty much the same thing, but say it much better than I have, and confirm that I was reading it right. They really did hit on a good thing with that word.

I also find that last bit of the above quote really interesting, about the impossible interview question. I’m pretty sure a really difficult part of life is figuring out what bits of your experience are normal and what you should assume is an exception. I’ve gone through phases where I was convinced that everyone’s basically depressed, I don’t think anyone identifies as being “normal” or “happy”. And I’ve gone through other phases where I’ve thought everyone except me is basically normal and I have nothing in common with anyone.

I think during most of my twenties, I leaned more toward the former way of thinking, possibly because I spent most of my time around people who all had something so wrong with them that they felt best when doing a sport where they could literally throw themselves at other people and either physically overpower them or be physically overpowered and being able to do this five or so times a week is all that kept them functioning. If you spend all your time around people like that, you start to think any issues you have are probably normal, everyone has issues, I’m no more messed up than anyone else. On the other hand, last year I started an in-person job for the first time in ages, and either my coworkers are a lot better than I am at being normal and functioning humans, or they’re a lot better than I am at pretending to be normal and functioning humans. I suspect it’s a bit of both.

One time in 2019, my best friend and I had been in an argument for a while about something that does not matter now, and I went over to his house and we ended up getting into it again. He told me this was upsetting, and if I hadn’t come over we’d have avoided all this and would have both have enjoyed our evenings much more, so there was no point to doing this. I said that as shitty as this was, if I’d stayed home, I’d have just spent all evening feeling bad about how we were fighting and worrying about the issue at hand, so for me, this was an improvement on if I’d just stayed home. And he told me “Well that’s the different between us, because my default state isn’t sad. If we didn’t have this argument, I’d have spent the evening feeling fine, because I don’t just feel bad all the time the way you do.” We resolved that fairly unimportant argument pretty quickly, but that sentiment’s stayed with me. Most people’s default state is not sad. It’s possible that I am, in fact, more depressed than most people. Most days.

Not knowing whether you’re “normal” compared to other people isn’t just an issue when it comes to issues of darkness, either. I’m in that cycle of “I’m pretty sure no one is like me” and “I’m pretty sure no one is special and everyone is pretty much the same” with everything. Like people who identify as being really nerdy – we joke about that, but surely we know everyone jokes about how very nerdy they are, so no one is really more nerdy than anyone else, right? Everyone has the thing that they’re a big nerd about, and they think it makes them different from other people, but it doesn’t, because everyone else also has a thing. I mostly thought that, but in fall 2022, I got stuck in a meeting at work where they had an “icebreaker game” of saying your name and a topic on which you could easily give a 30-minute speech. You didn’t have to give the speech or anything, you just had to say what topic you could easily do. There were eight people besides me in that meeting, and seven of them said this was a really difficult question and they struggled to think of anything. One person said Taylor Swift, and that is fine because I am a very non-judgemental person who has no opinion on that (the last clause of this sentence was of course sarcasm, though to be honest, I do genuinely have more respect for someone who could take for 30 minutes about a subject I think is stupid than I do for the people who didn’t have that strong an interest in anything). Maybe that’s a sign that my level of nerdiness does significantly set me apart from most people. Or maybe all those other people were just doing the same thing I was, which is going through the massive list in their minds of subjects they could explain for half and hour, and trying to find one that wouldn’t sound too weird or niche, and not coming up with anything. I hope it was the latter.

I’m thinking of that Daniel Kitson bit where he said you assume other people’s mentalities are basically the same as yours, but then you remember that some people hang their coats up on a train, and the illusion of shared experience shattered. I really like that one because it’s such a specific thing, but he did nail it. I cannot imagine hanging my coat up on a train. It’s such a small, insignificant thing, it’s not against my moral principles or anything – it’s just something it would never occur to me to do. And yet, I have been on trains and seen coats hung up on those little hooks. Some people just go through the world differently from me.

I think the smallest, least important thing in my life that gives me that feeling Kitson was describing – that “Oh shit, the baseline assumption I made that we approach life in basically the same way is incorrect” – is when someone recommends some media to me, and then lets me know what paid streaming site it’s on, as though that will have any bearing on how I watch and/or listen to it. I think the biggest, most important thing that gives me that feeling is that some people have children on purpose. Some people out there think “I find getting out of bed in the morning and tending to my responsibilities so easy that I could probably still do it even if you added a lot more noise and stress, as well as a huge number of additional responsibilities, and raised the stakes to the point where an innocent child's life depends on me getting it right every single day for many years, even at this higher level of difficulty.” They don't just think they're mentally and physically functional and will likely stay that way for the next eighteen years - they're so sure of this that they think it would be fine for a child's life to depend on it. The massive gulf between my mentality and the mentality of a person who could do that – the deep fundamental level on which that gulf exists – makes me sometimes think I don’t have any common experience with almost anyone. And then I listen to a story about someone getting drunk alone and writing something stupid like “Grief is living” in a notebook, and I say “Okay, there are some common experiences.”

The chapter before “L: Living – Grief Is” is “K: Keeping it Session”. This is John Robins’ expression that means sticking to session ales when drinking, which means under 4.5% (basically, weak beer). He goes into great detail about how this improves both the experience of drinking, and your life in general. It’s another thing I’ve described before on this blog, which is that it’s a sneaky thing that seems like it promotes responsible drinking, but actually it’s just a sign of a drinking problem, someone who loves the act of drinking alcohol so much that he’s found a way to make it last longer, because if each drink is weaker then you can have more of it, all else equal. That chapter made so much sense as I listened to it, and I was thinking, once again, that maybe I could try this as a way to satisfy alcohol cravings. Until I got to the very end of the chapter, which I’ve also transcribed:

Having banned spirits in my house from April 2017 – due to factors – the power of my moral hangovers has lessened. Yes, I still have the odd cloudy day that I have to write off, and spend ignoring the self-doubt and seeking emergency crying nooks in central London. (Unused studios at Radio X HQ are an absolute Godsend for any tearful digital DJ caught short welling up in public – for example, after watching the film Arrival at a central London cinema in Jan. 2017). But these days are rare. I have had to admit that spirits, rum especially, had a large part to play in the end of every relationship I’ve ever been in, numerous shame wells, and all my major career failures/plateaus, 2007-14. But I’ve now reached a happy medium where, by sticking to session ale and having the odd day off booze, marked in red Sharpie on my official Queen calendar, I’m genuinely able to enjoy my drinking and my life. So, go forth, dear friends. Spread your alcohol over longer nights, extended chats, and deeper nooks. Forgo wasteful units, erase shame from your mornings, and keep it session.

That bit reminded me that – oh right, this is all bullshit. That is a man who, since writing that, has admitted he had a significant alcohol addiction that was not, in fact, resolved in 2018. That man just explained to me, in 2018, that he has now figured out his drinking habits and is able to do it in a healthy and responsible way and it’s all fine. That’s just lying, I’ve done it too. I don’t know how many years in a row I’ve said “I think my drinking was reached problem levels last year, I’m glad I have it under control now.” Don’t take alcohol advice from people who are lying. (I mean, obviously cutting back is better than not cutting back and drinking weaker alcohol is better than drinking stronger alcohol. I just mean, if you’re having ten drinks in a night on a regular basis, there isn’t a way to make that a good idea, no matter how much I – and apparently John Robins – would like there to be. And if an alcoholic tells you there is a good way to do that, they're probably lying.)

Later in the Grief Is Living chapter, John Robins gets more into discussing how mental health problems manifest and what he’s learned about how to deal with them. To his credit he is very careful about this, he keeps saying he’s not an expert, his experiences will not necessarily apply to anyone else, and the vast majority of his actual advice consisted of referring people to experts, or relaying things he’s learned from experts.

He breaks down lifestyle things into categories that he tries to take care of for the sake of mental health – food, sleep, drink, exercise. And then goes into detail on each one, acknowledging that sometimes you can’t get it all right and sometimes people aren’t capable of following advice on this and sometimes it’s not enough, but it tends to help. He then added that while this doesn’t apply to him, the other big everyday lifestyle factor in mental health for half the population is menstruation, as a huge number of people find their mental health fluctuates significantly with that cycle. And then he talks about how many women he’s known who suffer horribly from this and how they try to manage it, and gives some advice about taking it to a doctor if it’s bad and demanding to see a specialist if you get brushed off or told there’s nothing they can do because it’s not right that women are expected to just “live with it” when there are medical treatments that can help with that.

This of course made me think of the routine in his 2014 Edinburgh show, about his girlfriend’s PMS/PMT. I wrote about this before too, how I do see where he was going with that. The routine is less bad than any one-sentence summary (like the one I just wrote) could make it sound, because he was clearly trying to be more nuanced than just “women be crazy on their periods”. He was approaching it with sympathy for how frustrating those feelings are for the woman experiencing them – but at the same time, he was also making a joke about how those symptoms look odd from the outside. Sara Pascoe did almost the same thing in her show LadsLadsLads – said she suffers from clinically bad PMT and then told some stories about times that led to getting emotional in ways that were amusingly disproportionate and that looks odd.

Obviously, the giant, glaring difference between the two situations is she gets to make that joke because it’s her experience. I guess it’s a double standard, but it seems fair enough given the trade-off of who has to actually live with it, that people who get periods are allowed to make the joke and people who don’t should be very, very careful if they try doing the same thing. John Robins was more careful than most cis men throughout the history of stand-up have been, when it comes to writing a “women be crazy on their periods” routine. But still, not careful enough. That routine is the bit of Robins stand-up that I think is least defensible (aside from that other bit about Sara Pascoe at the end of Darkness of Robins – it’s fine, she hasn’t seen the show and they do speak, it’s hopefully fine and he hopefully ran it past her), I cringed through it when I re-listened to his 2014 show recently and I think including it was a bad call. However, I do like that hearing this bit in the book confirmed the way I read that routine, which is that he doesn’t actually think the primary victims of people suffering from PMT are their male partners. That he was trying to talk about how it’s a genuine issue that people suffer from and that sucks for them, but also, we can make lighthearted fun about it! He just… didn’t do it nearly well enough to justify touching a subject that has such a terrible history of cis male stand-up comedians being dicks about that.

Anyway, I don’t want to get into detail here (or anywhere, talking about it makes me extremely uncomfortable and that sort of thing is why destigmatizing and normalizing discussions about it are good, ie. a cis man including it on a list of lifestyle factors that affect mental health because it’s a huge one even though it doesn’t apply to him – normalizing it through jokes in stand-up sets is also good, but probably best to leave that to the people who experience it), but the fact that I have this cycle every month has a significant detrimental effect on my mental and sometimes physical health, as well as in some ways my overall quality of life, and I appreciate hearing it mentioned so casually. To be honest, that’s another situation where I used to think I’m worse off than most people, but now think I’m not. Every person I’ve ever known well enough for them to have told me about their experience with that cycle has had horror stories that should not be normal, but given how common they are, I think that is normal. My ex-girlfriend had that issue described in the book, of doctors brushing off her terrible, abnormal symptoms because this is just what women are expected to go through. My mother had an emergency hysterectomy at age 48 after experiencing so much blood loss over so many years that it gave her permanent disability issues, and it took until that point for anything to get done because women bleeding a lot is assumed to be normal. It is a good thing to talk about and differentiate between common and normal, I think. Sorry about the tangent, I just figured I’ll package all my oversharing in this one post and then we can move on.

I need to get into another part from later in the Grief Is Living chapter of the book, when John Robins talks about the gambling addiction he used to have, and relays some things he learned from the Gambler’s Anonymous meetings he attended for a while. He explained: “I haven’t gambled since the sixth of December 2002. If you’d told me, on the fifth of December, 2002, that I would go sixteen years without gambling, I would have thrown up at the horror of that idea. Slash burst into tears, slash started gambling.” I wrote out that quote just because I found it helpful. Thinking about giving something up forever is overwhelming and impossible and will immediately make you turn to that thing just to cope with the thought of living without it forever. But you can do it a little at a time and someday it’ll add up.

I’m going transcribe one more quote from that chapter:

My point here is this: You are enough. You did something. Too often, we feel like we aren’t in control, aren’t capable of things. And it doesn’t matter whether it was writing a symphony or emptying the dishwasher, you did it. And hold onto that for dear life, because when it’s all you can do not to bang your had against the wall, or stay in bed all day, or drink into oblivion, emptying the dishwasher is a symphony. And it’s with these small, seemingly insignificant handholds that we can begin to pull ourselves out of the swamp.

I included that because it made me think of that blog he wrote for Chortle (which John and Elis' book described as "comedy's Bible/menu/tabloid", which I found quite funny), during the 2007 Edinburgh Festival, that I wrote about a couple of weeks ago. I made fun of one particular entry in it, which I mostly stand by, because it was so fucking pointlessly intense in such a Classic Robins way. Firstly, he writes glowingly about a Phil Kay show he saw:

It does begin, however, with some of the most beautiful prose I’ve heard in a comedy show. So much so that I have to take out my notebook to write down the statement “the law of love says ‘you are enough’”. Unfortunately Phil sees me do this and takes me for a reviewer. “He might be a journalist” I look up “bang, you’ve missed a bit of the show” he says. I’m wearing headphones round my neck and he riffs on that for a while then moves on. But by now my face is burning and I become his point of focus after delivering set pieces. I feel terrible for the pressure he now seems to think he’s under when there is no need, “I’m not a reviewer Phil! I’m a fan! I’m a worshipper!” but I stay quiet, sit back, and enjoy his remarkable talent. I was going to give him a review, just for neatness, but I don’t think you can really review his shows, just him. He walks a line of personal confession that any self proclaimed storyteller, myself included, is simply miles away from. Of course it’s an intensely personal thing, but for me, as nice as it is to make badges, this style of comedy is where i find hope for the new wave, or whatever you want to call it. The amazing thing is that Phil’s been doing it for nearly 20 years.

So adorable, so annoying, so pointlessly intense, so pretentious but earnest, so sweet – a 25-year-old inexperienced comedian taking out a physical notebook during a show because he was so moved by the line “The law of love says you are enough” that he just had to write it down. But then, he writes about how the night unfolded later on:

After the Zone, which pretty much sold out and was really good, (a high point was Carl telling a woman with an annoying laugh ‘it’s like being heckled by the Lilt ladies’), we went to the Brooke’s Bar. It was rammed and hot. I met a person I’ve not met before, and it was he who made me realise that Phil Kay is not the only one off up here this year. I won’t mention his name because of what transpires later, but he’s like a cross between Chris Morris and Peter Cook circa ‘Derek and Clive get the horn’, drunk, breakdown era, vitriolic Peter Cook. He’s bounding about the bar vomiting all forms of obscenity out onto an unexpecting audience, save those who know him, who reliably inform me that this is normal behaviour. It’s ‘what’s the worst thing you can say to a stranger’ stuff, captivating as much as it is abhorrent. When it crosses the line into straightforward assault I keep my distance. But he reminds me of me, in a way. Not the assault, but the tractor beam of desperation to perform that throws you round a room of strangers and leads you to ruin their evening.

First of all, I need to acknowledge that this does not sound anything like Chris Morris. And I know Peter Cook had issues, but surely there’s a less dramatic simile than that, that John could have used to explain that some comedian was being a dick in a bar. Anyway, the story escalates very fast after that. Weirdly fast. The guy who is not Chris Morris or Peter Cook leaves, and then John and his friends leave, and they find the guy again in a chip show, where he's shouted verbal abuse at some locals and picked a fight with them.

He is chased out by 6 or 7 very rightly angry men, they knock him to the ground and begin to beat him. It’s the kind of thing you only imagine doing when you’re brain won’t sit still at night; “God, imagine if I shouted ‘Fuck you all’ at a funeral, or went to a Millwall game and called them all fags”. It’s not just social suicide, but increasingly physical suicide that I am watching. As the punches and kicks are thrown we wade in to stop the trouble, in the slightly awkward position of being totally sympathetic with the people who are kicking the shit out of him. One minute they were buying chips, the next being called “foreign cunts” and being told to “speak English” in their own country. He didn’t mean these things, but says them to achieve the desired effect: self destruction. As Burgess said, and never truer than now, “destruction’s our ode to joy”.

As we break it up, and shelter our colleague away from the gathering crowd, tears fall from his battered face, and now I properly see myself in his little boy lost eyes. I know that burning need to feel something, anything, other than what you’re feeling inside. In a former life I’d have put my fist through a door, or smashed a bottle or jumped through a shop window, something more controlled than letting half a dozen drunk Scots administer the punishment. “We need to get on top of this”, I say to him, and beating in my head is that statement, like a fucking beacon; “the law of love says ‘you are enough’” to be honest this guy is more than enough. But somehow I need to show him that like Phil suggests, he himself, is all he needs to do whatever he wants. That release, the blessed release that comes from being half killed by an angry mob can be found inside you, the law of love says so.

You definitely should not shout racist abuse at people who have graciously allowed thousands of annoying performers and tourists to take over their city for an entire month (though you also shouldn't beat people up in the street even if they deserve it, and if you see other people beating someone up in the street you should try to stop it if you can, even if they deserve it). And it's pretty fucking intense to quote the likes of Anthony Burgess to Phil Kay while describing the tear-stained face of a man who just picked a fight in a chip shop. I certainly wouldn't call it pointlessly intense this time - that situation got pretty fucking dramatic. But John Robins' narration also got pretty fucking dramatic, and I made of fun of that in another post a few weeks ago, and I mostly stand by that.

But I have to admit I did feel a bit bad after writing that, because of course I know exactly what he's talking about, I spent over ten years of my life unable to function unless I could go into a small room and physically throw myself against people until I knocked them down or they knocked me down and something hurt enough to stop me feeling anything else. And I realize that is also a pretty dramatic thing to write, it's the sort of thing I'd wake up to find written in a Word doc on my laptop next to a Subway wrapper and an almost empty whiskey bottle (which is, obviously, also a way to achieve that feeling of catharsis), but it is an experience I know well and is probably worth talking about. Maybe if more people wrote their feelings down in overly dramatic blog entries, fewer people would feel the need to go pick fights in the street.

And I thought of that old Chortle blog entry when I heard that line in The Mental Health Chapter of his audiobook written 11 years later: "My point here is this: You are enough." He remembered that line. Or he forgot it and it's a coincidence that he repeated it, that's probably more likely. But it did make me think I should be less of a dick about a twenty-five-year-old comedian contributing even more spelling errors to Chortle, while trying to express the way he connected to someone's emotional experience, in the hopes that it might turn out this one doesn't set him too far apart from other people. After all this, I really don't have grounds to make fun of someone else for doing that (although, in my defence, I at least keep my spelling errors/convoluted connections to an emotional experience on this website/gremlin network, and don't sully the highly respectable Bible/menu/tabloid of comedy with them).

Okay I'm done the dramatic parts now. The next chapter is "M: Mind Scenarios", which is much more lighthearted as it looks at the things he thinks about when trying to sleep, although that chapter does contain the line: "I find falling asleep sober so difficult that I’ve twice called NHS Direct because I thought I was having a heart attack," because it's John Robins, so even the fun little ones can get fairly dark. But that chapter is mainly not un-acknowledged alcoholism, it's mainly Sherlock Holmes fanfiction. That is not a joke, it's not something I'm taking out of context to make it sound weird. It's a very literal description of the chapter.

He explains to us that he likes to invent Sherlock Holmes mysteries while falling asleep, and then he spends quite a bit of time - a significant portion of the chapter - reading out an example. I kept waiting for there to be some twist or double meaning that would connect to other things from the book, but no, he just wanted to read us his Sherlock Holmes fanfiction. When he finished the Sherlock story, he didn't add any analysis or explanation of why he'd done that, he just immediately moved on to discussing the cognitive benefits of fantasizing about a nuclear apocalypse.

...Like I said, I'm enjoying the book, but I recommend it to people who are already on board with James and Robins and their whole thing, and I recommend it no one else. I'm having fun though. The vast majority of the book is much more fun than this post.

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luckyshotwrites · 8 months

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Ch. 97 // Reasons // XXX

Contents (Warnings): Drake and Alexander (Angst, slight blood warning, character and monster info as always). Read full chapter on A03

Wordcount: 3,800+

Song I correlate to this Chapter: Farewell Wanderlust - The Amazing Devil Karaoke

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

3 years and several months ago

Drake

How do I put it?

A noose of remorse wound around Drake's neck as he debated his words.

It had been a few months since the incident. He recovered, so did Alexander. They started talking and hanging out a bit more. However, he felt the need to right some wrongs, especially with him.

What could I say, sorry I tried to kill you?

He didn't treat Drake any different than the first day they met and onward. Nor did his heart hold any unsteady beats.

I don't get it. His fingers fiddled with the corner of his book. Despite reading his manga page ten times, Drake couldn't comprehend the images anymore or read the Japanese.

He set it down on the kotatsu table in his 'hidden' room and got off the floor. Since they didn't catch find or catch, Andras, he wasn't allowed to leave the house unsupervised.

He took out his laptop and searched the web for designs, apology cards he could print out. None of these look or sound good. He saw one that had a toilet paper roll that said, 'oh shit, I'm really sorry', the next with vacuums saying, 'I suck, I'm sorry', another with screws, 'sorry I screwed up'. All of them seemed to comical for this situation.

He groaned aloud and pushed his computer aside, I'll just write something.

He went to his notebook and flipped through his guilty pleasures, mostly fanfictions, those at which he'd never show a soul. He took his pen out from the rings and started to write.

He scribbled down what he felt, what he wanted to say, read it back and then tore it out. He did so for the next five, still unsatisfied with what wrote.

Why is this so hard to write! He knew what he wanted to apologize for and still couldn't articulate it.

He moved his pen in between his teeth in absentminded exasperation. His smaller, retracted fangs chewed the flimsy plastic as he pondered silently.

His mind felt like a cleared whiteboard before an apprehensive student afraid of answering the question wrong. Just write it already! He crunched through the upper half of the pen and it's ink—eager to be released—flooded his mouth.

He dropped the remaining pieces and broke into a coughing fit. He grabbed the basket near him with his failed notes and profusely spit into it.

"That's so gross!" He yelled with a few more attempts to clear his tongue.

Mostly anything besides flesh and blood tasted stale to him, specifically the blood and flesh of anything other than human. He unintentionally hit his first craving for sentient blood and attacked one after the whole thing with Andras.

Though, stronger flavors like the pens ink, had a taste, fainter but still effective.

He spit one last time and threw his head back. His hands plopped down on either side behind him. They held him from falling back completely. His bangs slipped from their place over his eyes. His red hue, met with the red LED's he had at the rooms edges, and then to the few over his cases of figurines from his favorite shows or manga's.

He shouted out, incoherently and threw himself up to get another pen. STOP BEING PATHETIC AND FUCKING WRITE THIS DAMN APOLOGY!

He went to his desk and to the pencil holder behind his right monitor. He pulled out a pen and when he twisted on his heels back to the surface, he heard the click of the door.

He scrambled toward it, pushing off the table, and he slid to fast in his socks across the wooden floor. He almost fell.

He grabbed the handle and yanked it toward himself to shut it. "HEY! HAVE YOU ever heARD OF KNOCKING!!" He shouted, his voices pitch dropped then rose, embarrassingly.

He didn't let go of the handle, even after the resistance stopped.

"Sorry."

The familiar, familial ring from beyond the wood replied quietly. The guilt, Drake felt too, controlled their sound.

"Why were you trying to open the door, Ulysses?" Drake asked, cracking it open enough to be heard easier. Not that either of their hearing would have been impaired by the door.

"Mom sent me up here. Her and Dad are with Pete's," they couldn't hear each other's heartbeats, though, his tone held something back. Drake didn't quite know what it was. "They told me to tell you what happened and to tell Wenna after she gets back from Viola's."

"Give me a second," Drake said.

He created an opening big enough for him to slip through, then closed the door to his 'secret' hideaway.

Drake peered up at his older brother. There was another conversation he needed to have with Ulysses too.

Drake's anxious smile dropped. He saw his brothers eyes were lined with a watery gleam and slightly red where there should be white.

He took a step closer, his hand reached out, shakily to grab Ulysses shoulder. "What happened?"

Ulysses lowered his head, "I know you weren't close to any of them, but they're both going to need us..." His brother put his hand on Drake's and with a struggled sigh, he finished. "Because Olcay is dead."

...

About 3 and a half years ago

It had been two months since he was told about Olcay.

Alexander no longer lived with his dad nor came to their house.

In his phone, Drake saw the first and only message he sent since last seeing Alexander. It asked him to join his dad's newly made pizzeria.

Alexander's dad found and disclosed his new address to them. However, Pete refused to overstepp his son's boundaries and go there himself.

Drake originally planned to do the same. Yet, there he was, knocking at Alexander's door.

This is stupid. Drake said in his head. The essay for an apology he wrote held the same weight as 50 pounds of lead in his pockets.

He waited until Alexander answered. Drake immediately scanned over the disheveled, weakened male. The hybrids, lifeless eyes with sunken bags, dropped to the floor. He didn't look at Drake.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Alexander's voice, though threatening, held as much push as a gentle breeze in the middle of a vast ocean.

Drake winced. He couldn't reply—his ears were consumed with the heaviest beats he'd ever heard. They sounded bottomless with thick, struggling thumps like his arteries were filled with tar.

Alexander repeated his question and got ready to shut the door.

Drake stuck his hand in his pocket, fumbling to take out his apology. Alexander leaned on the rim for support and waited.

His fingers traced the paper, and he paused. When I'm upset, what do I do to find comfort? He remembered every time they met, Alexander held a game system.

"Uh," Drake moved to the phone beside the notes in his pocket.

He lifted his phone out and tapped the screen. "I was thinking of starting one of those games you liked," He frantically searched for the game system on his phone and showed the first he found. "Since the console is so expensive online, I thought I'd just ask to borrow it with the game."

Alexander shrugged and moved aside. He left the door open for Drake to follow, and he did. "Which game?"

Drake tried to think of what he saw, "the one with that pink moving sphere in it."

"Battle Brothers Ultimate?" Alexander asked.

"Yeah, that one," there wasn't anything of value in Alexander's space besides a few pillows on the ground, a blanket, and a T.V. with game consoles attached to it. The bedroom looked empty, and the T.V. screen was the only light in the apartment.

Drake recognized it was the game he was playing at the moment. "Oh, you know...I kinda need to learn the controls. Can you teach me?"

"You can learn on your own. It's easy," Alexander said, about to pull it from its dock.

Drake sat down with his resolve. "I wanna learn from you so I can properly beat your ass at it." He chuckled. "Student becoming better than the teacher style."

He took a gamble saying that—he wanted to break the awkward tension.

Alexander stared at the screen in contemplation. He gave up and sat down, "okay."

Drake took the controller handed to him. He had never played with a controller, so the feeling was foreign.

Alexander explained the basic controls in a monotone manner. When the game started, Drake attempted to replicate the repeated combos Alexander lazily threw down.

The hell!? Drake grumbled. He accidentally threw himself off the platform for the second time.

"Are you good?"

Drake uttered back in dejection, "Fine, just making sure you have a fair chance against me."

Alexander stared back at the screen, and within the next few seconds, Drake lost. The same happened match after match. Alexander held no mercy.

"You don't have to keep jumping off the platform to make it 'fair.'" Alexander cracked a smile. It was the first Drake seen in the last hour.

Drake nudged him with his shoulder, "When I can play this game properly, you're finished!"

From then on, Drake played every so often with Alexander at his apartment, and eventually, he even got him to join the pizzeria, too.

Though, Drake never gave a proper apology nor had the chance to talk to Alexander about everything that happened. Anytime it was brought up, Alexander shot him down just like he did the rest of their family.

...

(Present)

Drake

Zetsu escorted them outside their cell when Drake finished saying his shame aloud. And unfortunately for the tall and skinny lad, he didn't shove them both inside when he had the chance.

He didn't tell me to be quiet or exert his power over me. He's naive and scared; I can hear it.

Lynette's tempting heart hummed sympathetically. Drake would have to make it seem like he wasn't coherent enough to attack. Sorry, Lynette, I know you'll unknowingly play along.

"I hope that doesn't make you hate me," he said.

"No," Lynette answered sharply. "You wanted to make it right."

"Of course I did." Drake hadn't expected her to respond so fast and to be honest about it. This makes me feel worse for fake fishing for your pity. When his ears caught Zetsu's rhythm, wanting to reach out to him, he realized Zetsu also held an abundance of shame.

"I was a spoiled brat who never got punished for anything," Drake said, his eyes drifted to Zetsu. "You look like a selfish brat as well." He mocked.

Zetsu timidly denied the claim, "I-."

"Then why are you guilty," Drake flipped toward him and lowered his head enough to slam into Zetsu's chest. He got the both of them on the stone ground.

"Drake!" Lynette called.

Drake got on top of him, bringing his head down as hard as he could into Zetsu's skull. It didn't crack; it simply disoriented the twig enough for Drake, with his hands bound, to open his mouth and lunge in for a bite.

Zetsu barely shielded himself, his arm being bit into instead of his neck. Zetsu howled.

Fuck, he'll just heal it.

Zetsu barely pushed Drake off and held his bleeding arm. He dragged himself back into the bars of their cage. He looked as full of fear as the several eyes that had soundlessly watched them walk the halls of this dark, musty, and old cement basement.

He's weak.

Drake had found the perfect person to exploit. Their chance to kill him and run.

Lynette intervened, "Stop!"

"Get out of the way." Drake moved around Lynette. She then wrapped her arms around him and over his chest. "Lynette, stop it; go back to the elevator."

She couldn't stop Drake from walking toward Zetsu. Why isn't he healing himself?

"He's innocent! He's not a danger to us."

Drake's vocals spewed with annoyance, "Are you serious! HE'S WORKING FOR ANDRAS!"

Zetsu whimpered, his body slumped, "n-not, my c-ch-ch."

Lynette spoke for him, still trying to keep Drake from getting close and failing. "He's not doing it because he wants to. He's friends with Wicks and works at the C.P.P.A. Andras forced him to work after he killed his brother."

Drake stood over his prey that slowly fell victim to his paralyzing venom. "Doesn't mean shit, Lynette. If he's working for Andras, he's evil."

"You worked for Andras."

"That's-" Drake looked back at Zetsu and then wormed his way out of her grip. "Fuck, Lynette, then what do you want to do? Let him lock us up and leave while Andras kills my fucking brother?!"

The desperation reflected back at him from Lynette's orbs. He didn't realize he was on the verge of tears.

Lynette receded. "N-no. I-I think we can work with him to escape." She turned to Zetsu, "r-right?"

She awaited his answer, and Drake thought. It won't work. He'll betray us. For some reason, Zetsu hadn't tried to heal himself. It was almost like he couldn't. He didn't even try to fight me. I can't use magic or my vampire beast form, so why wouldn't he?

Drake sometimes disliked hearing their lies, feelings, and truths. Zetsu was terrified, fearing for his life, and Lynette wholeheartedly believed he was worth helping. That they could all work together.

He figured she planned this before Drake babbled on earlier.

"Zetsu?" Lynette dropped down to his level and pushed at his shoulder. He twitched in response. His eyes pleadingly looked at her.

Drake grit his teeth, turned his head away, and groaned. "He's paralyzed, Lynette. He can't talk." He moved his shoulders back and forth like he could free his hands from the binds at his forearms, "when it wears off, I'll consider what you said."

Drake dropped low, and his piercing gaze locked onto Zetsu, "However, I'll be asking the questions, and if you lie to me, I'll tear out your neck."

...

Alexander

It took a lot out of him to find the place dipped within a valley surrounded by mountains. He followed the tether that the seal on the car provided then pursued it. I would have been here earlier if I had been better with spatial magic.

He stumbled down the side of the smaller mountains until he reached its base. To a human, they'd only see a clear, undisturbed valley—to monsters or magus's like Alexander, the golden barrier was clear as day. It shimmered, a repellant for any humans who neared and a warning to any monsters entering its range without clearance.

With his eyes aglow, he traced the outside of the barrier. He touched it, knowing it'd alert the creator—he didn't care. He had to study and understand its creation and flaws to enter it without hurting himself.

Alexander lacked the power to break it outright.

He walked around the edge and finally found the spot he was looking for. The weakest point was always where it was created.

His hand pressed it, and he slid through it like mail through a mail slot. He was grateful he only received a light sting of rejection. It could have been worse, becoming temporarily paralyzed for the next three days.

He only had a moment to adjust to the sparse forest line ahead because his senses blared when he took his second step.

He launched forward, landed on his hands, and flipped off them. The back of his tank top brushed with the incredible blaze but luckily didn't light.

Alexander delineated the direction of the clawed flamed hand. It held delicate features, slender and sharp, even as a wild inferno of red.

"Damn, I missed."

It wasn't Andras.

Alexander's eyes dipped to her exposed chest first, then back to her face. She held a soured purse to her lips. The hand receded back and formed her normal human-looking one.

The trees and ground roasted quietly where Alexander once stood.

"You're faster than I-"

Alexander didn't wait; he wasn't here for idle chitchat or 'compliments.' The slits of black in her eyes narrowed in.

As he closed the distance, the air increased in heat, and fiery red arrow-like feathers surrounded him. It didn't stop his approach—he deflected those in front with gray barriers. The feathers smashed against them and erupted into flowery bursts.

While those behind him hadn't caught him aflame enough, his cloak protected him. He grabbed the front of her neck and, without hesitation, slammed her into the bark of a tree.

He held her there and put a barrier over her eyes. Most magic used sight.

"Wow." She said, unimpressed.

His fingertips curled tighter. She had much more resistance than he anticipated, so he figured she was a much bigger and denser monster. "Where's Drake and Lynette."

"You'll see em' soon," she replied.

He saw her attempt to break her human case. He sealed it faster than she could fully break out. The red scales along her face faded as fast as they appeared.

"Oh, that's annoying." She inhaled aloud, and Alexander's instincts warned him once more.

He let her go when his hands burned. Her skin smoldered with heat. He couldn't push away in time. His short sweats and compression pants underneath were set aflame. The flesh around them blistered and burned.

He held his tongue, used reversal magic as fast as he could, and recovered them. It helped for now.

She threw her body up and her arm forward. It flurried out in fire, a giant hand mimicking her monster form.

The base of its flaming palm struck his upper body; his cloak couldn't stop it. It crushed him back through not one but three trees. The third, his back was splinted into. She had the hand pull him from the tinder and squeeze. He suffocated in the burn that threatened to cremate his body.

She then threw him to the side like an unwanted toy.

Alexander's orientation metaphorically went out the window. He hit the ground with his back, his knees, ass, and head. The force wasn't enough to kill him, at least. His glasses barely stayed on, though their frames melted.

He didn't breathe. He didn't want to smell any more of his burning, putrid flesh.

He shook, trying to get up even after he had healed his body, clothes, and glasses. She's a dragon. It took him until now, but he recognized what kind. Those that they referred to on Earth as a Phoenix. What Lev's supposed to be.

Alexander had never fought Lev in a battle of magic—he almost regretted it. She seemed in control enough to replicate her dragon body through flames.

"Good, you're not dead." She said. She crouched in front of him, fearlessly.

"Isn't your point to kill me." Alexander had created another cloak over himself.

The woman swayed, "How much I'd love to, one, you're not worth eating. And most importantly, Andras ordered me otherwise." She pulled her arm back, "so are you giving up? Or do I have to keep burning you?"

Dragons excel in their element. He reminded himself, I can't outdo her using water, Earth to smother the flames, nor wind to blow them out. She overwhelmed Alexander in that regard. I can't make a shield strong enough to counter her, either.

Comparatively, she had more energy than him at this time, too. He traveled to countries to get her; it took way too much out of him.

I can win if I seal her magic in her human case for a few minutes. He got ready to move. He sensed the roots underneath him and where they led. I'll need to touch her seal to do something that complex and pray I get everything right.

The ground rumbled, and she knew his choice.

Her hand launched, ready to slam down on him, but those roots sprouted from below, wrapped around his wrists, and yanked him out of the way. His soles were still lit. It flicked him onto his feet.

I can't be reckless. I have to conserve what I can.

The garden's green erupted into flames behind him, and he saw the circling spikes at his back. He threw up another barrier to prevent them from hitting him.

She used that time to send her other hand forward in flame. Alexander dropped to the floor, then rolled out of the way as she slammed it down. She almost crushed him like a bug.

A blazing trail lingered in the air across the stone path that led through the garden. The imitation of her real forms, hand covered in flame, swiped into him like a cat with a mouse. His cloak shattered as he was sent airborne.

He spiraled up and out of control. His glasses came off in the process. Everything mashed together, the green and brown with bits of red from below, and what he believed to be above, white and blue.

He did what he could to stop himself with a barrier, missing at first by putting one below himself, then finally in front.

He banged into it, at least stopping his acescent. Right before he started to fall, he saw the red ball spread out, and the heat hit him before she did.

She successfully wrapped her human-looking hand around his ankle and part of his calf. She pulled him higher by it, and his world began spinning again. This time faster as her burning grip melted groves into his flesh.

He couldn't stop her with the flames engulfing them both.

At this rate, he felt like the muscles and tissue helping hold his femur in the socket were being stretched thinner and thinner. He could almost feel it on the verge of popping out.

He assumed the velocity satisfied her, as there was one last spin before she sent him downward.

He preemptively healed himself, then felt the erupting pain shoot up his spine and along every other part of his back. He'd imagine if he didn't, he might have been crippled.

I have to end this.

His rattled mind echoed with the ringing of his ears in the background. His form didn't want to get up. He was on the verge of shifting into something ugly. I can't let them die.

His sight was shit, and he had to hope she didn't come down after him yet; she didn't. Because if she did, he might have teleported into her body when he used his spatial magic to close the distance.

He hadn't shown her that he could do this. Most Magus couldn't as young as him, not that he was impressive doing it. He was subpar at best; it took far too much for him to perform. He didn't excel in it like Wenna or Wicks.

Though blurry. Her flames made it easy to spot her. So, he used his magic to propel himself up, almost in a blink of minor teleportation that relied on 'sight'.

He could tell he surprised her, as she didn't instantly attack.

He threw his glowing hand out to touch the seal at her chest, but his fingertips barely touched her hot skin. He didn't go up high enough.

Shit.

The woman with the open dress shirt then brought her two flaming hands up and went to smash Alexander between their palms for his misjudgment.

...

Hey, you, thank you so much for reading. I'm glad I put out a story that people can enjoy! I hope you continue to enjoy it as WE have a LOT more to go! YOU BETTER KEEP PROSPERING! (Nonnegotiable, as always~).

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Catch up, see some maps/art, or check the latest release dates down below ↓ ↓ ↓

What I’d do for a Livable Income Part 2 (Synopsis/Chapter - List)

#vore story #widfali #vore writing #v.ore #soft vore #v.0re #v/ore #v/0re #extreme cuddling #nonsexual vore #slight blood mention

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stevie-petey · 1 month

Note

Hello! I just wanted to start off by saying I LOVE your Come Home series and your writing with it. It has inspired me in so many ways, and in all honesty, I’ve enjoyed it more than I have actually watching Stranger Things! I cannot wait to see where you take the book, and how you navigate whatever comes with season 5!!!!

I was also wondering, how have you found so much success with this series on Tumblr, and do you have any tips for growing fics in general? It has gained so much popularity and I am so happy to see it because you totally deserve it, your hard work is paying off so good!

Have a great day or night,

Anon 🦋

hi dear !! first of all, thank you so much <333 i appreciate the kind words so much and i adore you for being so supportive :’)

long post ahead !!

as for how come home managed to become what it is now: i truthfully cant really say. it still amazes me that its so popular now, but even then i dont necessarily consider it “popular” in my head lmao shes just my lil story !!

i want to start off by saying i never intended for come home to become such a well loved fic. i uploaded the first chapter simply because i wanted to, i liked what i wrote and hoped someone would like it as well. never did i think “cool ok this fic will def become an overnight sensation”.

honestly, one day i was averaging maybe 60 notes per chapter and then the next day i was suddenly averaging 300-400. the fic quickly took off before i could even really process it, and i want to emphasize that this is rare !! so so so incredibly rare. i got lucky, thats all there really is to it :/ sometimes amazing stories dont get the recognition they deserve and sometimes they do. i have personally written fanfiction for 10 years now and i never once had a fic “blow up” how come home did.

i also want to say how fucking grateful that my story managed to find its own community and become this amazing thing. every day i cannot believe any of it is real and i genuinely love and adore each and every person who reblogs and recommends the fic.

what i CAN say is that tags help !! ive noticed some new authors dont know how to tag their fics, which can really diminish their reach. for tumblr, the first five tags are the most important. these are the ones that show up on dashboards !!! i think what also helped me was having a very clear and concise story structure with pretty frequent updates. im fortunate to be able to write and upload a lot faster than i probably should (it concerns many but i find it funny).

and lastly i also just think its super important to interact with everyone !! answer all the asks, reblog all the responses, reply to every comment. i firmly believe its the least i can do if someone has taken the time to read my story and found time to say a quick praise or simply tell me they laughed :)

at the end of the day, its a game of luck and perseverance if anything else, but the general creator rule of thumb is that you should never create something just for the notes/reblogs/praise. create for yourself, create because you WANT to !!! its a slippery slope keeping track of clicks and hit and whatever. i stopped keeping track of come homes own traction because i simply dont care enough to follow it. im happy where i am and i love how the story has grown :)

hope this helped a bit and that ya enjoyed my rambles <3

#ask #anon #m speaks #tldr: i got lucky and worked hard to maintain the luck

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morning-softness · 9 months

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20 questions for fic writers

Thanks to @crit20lesbian for the tag!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

Eighteen

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

166,316 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Magnus Archives

4. What are your top five fics by kudos

Netflix and Chill- (TMA, JonTim, 3k, Precanon) Tim and Jon watch Netflix and chill. They do not have sex.

Love, Or Whatever You Call It - (TMA, JonMartin, 20.5k, No Age of the Beholding AU) After Jonah's ritual fails, severing Jon's connection to the Beholding, Jon and Martin try to put the pieces of their lives back together. Adjusting to normal life again after everything is hard, and exploring their new relationship is even harder, especially as Martin realizes he might be aro-spec.

Archive Shenanigans - (TMA, Gen fic, 1k, Season 1) All the assistants are the hot assistant, or Tim says Hot Martin Rights and Hot Sasha Rights and even Hot Jon Rights.

Are You Calling Me ‘Darling’? - (TMA, JonMartin, 2.5k, No Age of the Beholding AU) Jon likes it when people call Martin his boyfriend. Martin…doesn’t.

Here Might You Bless Me - (TMA, JonMartin, 4k, Safehouse Era fic) Martin’s changed after Jon pulls him out of The Lonely, and he’s sure that Jon won’t want to stick around once he figures that out. After all, it turns out Jon has a lot of love to give, and who would want to waste their love on someone who can’t return it? Jon convinces him he’s not going anywhere.

Note: Most of these fics are in my top 6 for hits as well as kudos, but I was really surprised to see Archive Shenanigans make the list. It was the first TMA fic I published, 1k of pure unpolished fluff and comedy, but for whatever reason it has a much higher kudos to hits ratio compared to my more-read fic.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do my best to respond to them, because I want people to know that I read and treasure all of their comments. Sometimes it takes a while though, because I want to give a thoughtful response.

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

Can’t Have You, Even As An Enemy. It’s a fic where Jon and Tim share a hotel room on the eve of the Unknowing, and talk about (or mostly talk around) their issues. The angst is that it’s written with the intention of being canon compliant, which means that Tim will still die in the explosion, and the best that can be hoped for is that this conversation will give Jon a bit more closure.

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

I write mainly hurt/comfort, so most of my fic has a happy—or at least hopeful—ending. The happiest might be Can’t We Just Wait Together? (Or Five Times Jon and Tim Didn’t Have a First Date, and One Time They Did), since it’s a 5+1 fic where the final chapter is entirely fluff of Jon and Tim going on a date together.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No. I have comment moderation on just in case, though.

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

No. Not yet, anyway. Funnily enough, my fic with the highest number of kudos is about Jon and Tim not having sex.

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

No. The closest might be Listen to the Voice that Told Me where I borrowed the obedience curse mechanics from the book Ella Enchanted, but it’s not really a crossover of the world or characters.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I do have a few that were podficced, though.

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

No. I tried, but we only got one chapter in before life got in the way. Maybe someday…

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Jon and Martin, followed by Jon and Tim.

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

I have a Melanie-pov AU where she joins the Archives in Season 2 after she realizes something is wrong with Sasha. I wanted to write it as a choose-your-path style story, because I think it’s easy in hindsight to say decisions characters made were wrong, but a lot harder to decide what the right decision would have been, so I wanted to explore a lot of different ways the characters could have messed up with Melanie added to the mix (and maybe a few ways things could have worked out better). I don’t want to say it will never happen, but it’s a big and complicated project so it definitely won’t happen anytime soon.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’ve had several comments from readers attesting that I’m good at conveying emotion—particularly negative emotions—in a way that feels real and relatable. I’ve also been told that I do a good job portraying character dynamics.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My biggest problem is that since my writing is really emotions-based, once I’ve hit the emotional high points, it’s no longer interesting to me. Which means with longer fic it’s a struggle for me to actually continue through the falling action to the denouement instead of just stopping right after the climax. (I’ve had two getting-together fics now where I initially wanted to end right after the love-confession scene and had to be convinced by my Beta reader that readers would probably want to see at least a scene or two of the characters actually being together now.)

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

I usually don’t. I definitely think it can add another layer to characterization, so I’d like to where it makes sense for the characters, but I think it needs to be done carefully so that 1. The dialogue sounds natural for native speakers of the language and 2. People who don’t speak the language can grasp the overall meaning of the exchange through context.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Magnus Archives

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Since I’d like to think my writing skill is consistently improving, my favorite fic is always whichever I’ve most recently completed. That said, I have a soft spot for Here Might You Bless Me, which made the Top 5 Kudos list above. It’s a JonMartin safehouse fic I wrote back in December 2020, where Jon reassures Martin that he is loved even if he can’t return the feeling in the same way. (And Jon uses one of my favorite Edna St. Vincent Millay poems to do so, because I wrote this before I got to Episode 165 and found out that Jon apparently disliked poetry in general, and not just Keats.)

Tagging @three-magpies-in-a-trenchcoat, @rookfeatherrambles, @chrisis-averted, @wordsintimeandspace, @suttttton, if you’d like!

#ask game #writing asks #writing ask game

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wellntruly · 2 years

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Happy Day After Oscars Day. Honestly, pretty darn sweet & moving time, a lot of that!

Which was really nice for me, because honestly again, this was an odd year for me in movies. While I was going wild on things from 20-70 years ago, just so many of the 2022 releases I reacted to like, sure! A gentleman's 3 out of 5. I eventually petered out at 38 new releases, my lowest number in a few years.

But when I closed off the list yesterday right before the ceremony, fussing again one final time over the order, I found that I did actually care quite a bit about a few of these. There were some that really did reach me, ones that stuck. And so I want to share them with you.

My top ten list for 2022, new ones this time

(Title link is to my original Letterboxd log; apologies that some are basically mini essays and others are like, a line. Keeping it unpredictable!)

1 The Fabelmans, dir. Steven Spielberg

My curse to bear this season has been that all the marketing for The Fabelmans makes it look like the most saccharine celebration of ~the magic of movies~, when in fact it's like, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Disassociator. It's a depiction of movie-making that's ambiguous and complex and in many instances quite dark, if not even quite fucked up, and also it looks like a Steven Spielberg movie: glowy and perfect. And that itself becomes part of what is fucked up and complex and ambiguous in this context! Best scenes are all the ones where, to paraphrase Emily St. James again, you can feel Spielberg's screenwriter, bestie & off-book therapist Tony Kushner, going, huh, do you think we should maybe unpack this a little, Steve?, and Steve going oh, no thanks!, that's what making it a movie is for! This is one of the most legible filmmakers of all time, an incredible skill that often gets discounted as "populism" because he presents scenes and ideas and emotions just so understandably, here presenting scenes and ideas and emotions that sometimes he still doesn't understand, for which he has no answers, just knows that everything that was going on here was important. And that shimmering push & pull between his clarity as a filmmaker and the thorny, confused memory project he's engaged in, seems to either not land (many viewers, of those who even saw it), or land so fucking hard (the few, the brave, the Sammy Fabelman fans).

2 Aftersun, dir. Charlotte Wells

It has a tragic fragmentary dream ballet they keep returning to with incrementally building context like the Christmas party flashback in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, obviously I am heart-sore in love with this one.

3 Hit the Road (جاده خاکی), dir. Panah Panahi

Do you know about the Iranian family road trip movie? It's a jewel. Alive and inventive and funny and beautiful, and tragic, as while the rest of the family is hiding the purpose of their trip to the Turkish border from their irrepressible youngest, we understand all too well why they're taking his older brother there. Of the top five needle drops in film this year, three of them are in this movie. I love everything about the way this film constructs itself. Hit the Road!

4 Everything Everywhere All At Once, dir. Daniels

I ping-ponged between this and Nope for my fourth slot for ages, but finally I just kept thinking about how Dan Kwan accidentally wrote a line from the Nine Days song 'Absolutely (Story of a Girl)', and then decided to just do it a few more times and make it a ~motif~. There is simply such renegade joyousness in the creation of this movie, and it pours through in every earnest unhinged minute. I'm so proud of them!!!!!!

5 Nope, dir. Jordan Peele

I LOVED this. This year's best marriage of ideas and filmmaking, and also somehow about filmmaking without ever feeling too recursive, instead feels frankly--hi to number one--most of all like a '70s Spielberg horror movie. And not for nothing, also several of the best performances of the year. I actually wrote quite a lot on Letterboxd about this one, more there! (spoilers!)

6 Benediction, dir. Terence Davies

The film equivalent of the time someone sent me this message and I replied like this

I mean of course it was for me.

7 Marcel the Shell With Shoes On, dir. Dean Fleischer Camp

A remarkable and wonderful amount of depth packed into this movie about the tiny shell.

8 Decision To Leave (헤어질 결심), dir. Park Chan-wook

The Really Kept Growing On Me champion of the year? I just kept thinking about images and vibes from this movie! THE romantic drama of 2022, understanding that something that is so romance is a pair of sad weirdos surveilling each other.

9 TÁR, dir. Todd Field

And the Meme champion of the year, which is like, you know how at the start of a project it's good to define 'what would success look like for us?'

10 Catherine Called Birdy, dir. Lena Dunham

Do you know how hard it is to make a movie this watchable and winning?? Buoyant with talent and colorful textiles, I laughed, I cried, what a treat! Give it a watch! Give us something like this every year!

*****

And some assorted specific performances and crafts not part of the awards conversation that I'd like to single out too:

Cinematography: Gregory Oke, Aftersun, and Hoyte van Hoytema, Nope

The perspective in Aftersun, I've been talking about it everywhere. You are so rooted to this young girl, who sees a lot, and yet you are also piecing together things that are going on that you can tell she isn't quite seeing. Just gorgeous filmmaking.

And are you KIDDING me with what they pulled off in Nope! Depicting not looking at something immense, but still capturing the immensity of it--the finesse! Also that day-for-night, kiss.

Supporting Actors: Steven Yeun, Nope, and Andrew Scott, Catherine Called Birdy

The best supporting male performance of the year actually won and that's so fucking incredible, LOVE you Ke Huy Quan. But I also want to mention these two guys, who similarly do beauuutiful supporting work in each of their films, rich and dynamic and perfectly elevating the work as a whole at exactly the right moments, with exactly the right notes.

Lead Actor: Jack Lowden, Benediction

The best lead male performance of the year, astonishing, real ones know (my parasocial critic friends who also kept bringing him up)

Supporting Actress: Kristen Stewart, Crimes of the Future

Haha what the fuck <3

Lead Actress: Tang Wei, Decision To Leave

She's so key to the lingering quality this one had on me. A masterclass in rendering an enigmatic performance that somehow isn't opaque. Enchanting, in a magic trick kind of way.

Director: Dean Fleischer Camp, Marcel the Shell With Shoes On

This man deserves more credit for spending seven years carefully making a stop motion movie with his brilliant ex-wife and managing to find exactly this emotional balance of soft and spiky and grieving and hopeful. Lovely work.

Adapted Screenplay: Dan Trachtenberg and Patrick Aison, Prey

Tight, tight, tight action filmmaking. And love you, Amber Midthunder!

Costumes: Alex Bovaird, Nope, and Amela Bakšić, Murina

Two words: Keke Palmer, and those two swimsuits.

#Wellntruly's Watch Log #Oscars

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gracesshelves · 7 months

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First Blood by David Morrell

While I’ve heard the name “Rambo” in pop-culture references before, this was my first time interacting with the character. I have to say, I understand why First Blood by David Morrell was a big hit. The stakes were high, the characters were complex, and the writing style was so compelling. Multiple moments disturbed me, but I could not put the book down because I had to see where it was going. I would give this book a four out of five stars. I found the last hundred pages to be a little confusing, even if it was on purpose. However, the way Morrell established Rambo and Teasle as foils was expertly done, and I enjoyed the exploration of how the U.S. discards veterans after they return from war.

This novel follows Vietnam War veteran John Rambo, who is on the run following a deadly encounter with a group of cops from Madison, Kentucky. The conflict between Chief Wilfred Teasle and Rambo begins when Teasle drives Rambo to the city limits and tells him to get lost (Morrell 7). Rambo has been hitchhiking his way through Kentucky and is used to being told to leave, but Madison seems to be his final straw. Eventually, Teasle arrests Rambo and drives him into a PTSD flashback by ignoring multiple signs that Rambo is becoming agitated (Morrell 52-53). In a fit of panic, Rambo kills a couple of people on the force and steals a motorcycle to escape (Morrell 55). Over several days, Teasle and Rambo develop an intense obsession with one another that ultimately results in the deaths of many people, including themselves.

As far as thriller writing goes, I was locked in. Morrell’s visceral descriptions were incredible and hard to read. I felt sick to my stomach a couple of times, particularly when Rambo was sick in the caves before and after he hid in the mud. Language choice and sentence structure are vital to building tension. I found this easy to read, but it was enjoyable because it flowed well. Morell knows how to get you on the edge of your seat without a soundtrack. I think another aspect of what makes his writing so engaging is how deep we are in Teasle’s and Rambo’s heads. Their thoughts blend in with the regular prose, and their mental states affect how the prose is relayed. When Rambo is more of a sound mind at the beginning of the novel, everything makes sense and reads logically. However, at the end of the novel time and events flow together, mixed up. Teasle’s narration follows this same pattern. This choice is kind of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it’s a very clever way to relay the mental collapse of both characters without directly telling us. Furthermore, it also brings readers into the moment, because we can only see what these delirious people see. However, it can also negatively affect the reading experience by making it hard to follow what happens. Even though I could understand and appreciate why Morrell wrote the last few sections that way as a writer, it did make it less enjoyable for me as a reader.

The message of how veterans are treated impacted me personally. My dad is in the military and suffers from PTSD, but he is not really able to get the treatment he requires because of the stigma around mental health. To me, it’s crazy that we can send people to these places where they get traumatized and then offer them no support to handle that trauma when they get back. Many of them are unable to return to work and end up becoming homeless as a result. While I don’t necessarily back the US’s military-industrial complex, I do think that soldiers deserve extensive social benefits to aid in their rehabilitation to society. If Teasle had paid attention to Rambo’s reactions instead of clouding his judgment with his assumptions about who Rambo is because he’s on the streets, nobody would’ve lost their lives (which I know is the whole point of the book, but damn dude police need de-escalation training).

Works Cited

Morrell, David. First Blood. Grand Central Publishing, 2017.

#my reviews

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ladyjaneasherr · 1 year

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Jane Asher photographed for his new book cover, 1987.

Part 2, continued from previous post.

With over a million children every year attending casualty departments after preventable accidents, her book carries a serious political message. Apart from encouraging architects and designers to put child safety to the forefront, she calls on the Government to:

* Pass legislation to make curly cables on kettles compulsory to avoid scalding accidents.

* Make it compulsory for all cars to be fitted with rear seat belts. legislation is now before Parliament�� and provide-free car child setas for those in need.

* Ban horizontal bannisters which small children find easy to climb.

* Outlaw central pivoting windows which can swing open when leaned on by a child.

“This country’s very bad about caring for its children,” she says. "Carrying a child in a car without a safety harness is like placing it in the jaws of a shark. "Even new homes that are beautifully designed in every respect can have large gaps in their wrought iron balconies through which a toddler could easily squeeze. The daughter of a music teacher and a Harley Street psychiatrist, Jane grew up in London's Wimpole Street, where the Asher children's red hair earned them the nickname The Carrots of Wimpole Street. Her older brother, Peter, 43, was part of the Peter and Gordon pop duo, who topped the hit parade in 1964 with A World Without Love. Jane began her acting career in the movie Mandy, about a child who was born deaf. Now, at 41, she long ago made the transition from long haired child of the 60s to successful television and stage actress. Yet those with long memories still think of her first and foremost as Beatle Paul McCartney's one-time girlfriend, even though it's 20 years since their five year romance ended. It's a subject she still won't talk about on the grounds that it wouldn't be fair to Gerald. And she's also very protective about her children, refusing to allow them to be photographed, even for the cover of her book, where she's seen cuddling a beautiful baby who looks like an Asher child but isn't. Although she works so hard, she says firmly: “My family always comes first, followed by acting, with books almost a hobby. But because this new one means so much to me, there's a bit of me that feels guilty about doing something as silly as acting. I always thought that if I hadn't taken it up, I might have followed my father and gone into medicine. So deep down inside I think at last I'm doing something a bit more worthwhile.” Jane researched and wrote the book, in between everything else over a period of 18 months and she's proudest of the last section an A to Z of emergency treatment for which she did a first aid course. “ It's awful to realise that a child could choke to death in front of you and you wouldn't know what to do,” she says.

Friends told her horror stories about children fracturing their skulls after being accidentally dropped, being terribly burned when curtains near a cot caught fire and suffering eye injuries from dangerous toys. “These are the things that can happen in even the most loving, and caring of families,” she says. I would hate to put anyone off having children just because they need such tender care. How could anyone regret having children? Of course, there have been times when I've had to grit my teeth and turn down some really nice part because I knew it would conflict with their needs. But it would be hard to imagine life without them.

” I always wanted to have a family, but I was by no means soppy about babies. Motherhood is all so different to what you expect. But the most unexpected thing is the overwhelming love you feel. You become totaily besotted with your own child. When your baby smiles or takes those first steps it's just sensational.

“I thought I would never love another baby as much as I did the first, but the extraordinary thing is that it just expands limitlessly. Love really is extraordinary.

” I'm lucky as an actress because I can fit my work in around the children. It must be difficult for mothers who have to be in an office all day because they miss so much— and I think I'd mind terribly if my child didn't run to me when I walked in the door. As a trustee of the Child Accident Prevention Trust, Jane is currently helping to make a series of videos about safety measures. She's also finishing off a book on children's parties and has begun work on an anthology of children's poetry, with part of the proceeds earmarked for Friends of the Earth.

Then there's her work as trustee of the World Wildlife Fund, an Alan Ayckbourn play coming up in the West End in the autumn and another series of television's Wish Me Luck to be seen next year.

Up in his study, Gerald is heavily involved in research for a book of his political drawings over the last 21 years. Katie is in the middle of rehearsals for her part in the school play (Jane hopes she'll be sensible enough not to want to take up acting), and Alex and Rory need to be picked up and driven to a friend's house for tea. This evening after she's put the children to bed and cooked dinner for Gerald and Katie, Jane might even have time to watch a little television. And if there's any time left over, she'll just muddle through as usual.

Keep Your Baby Safe by Jane Asher is published by Penguin Books on August 4, price €3-99.

#jane asher #the beatles #beatles girls #actress #model #1987 #1980s #motherhood #book #ebay #article #lady jane asher #something about jane asher #redhead #red hair #explore page

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theresthesnitch · 2 years

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The Time Between

deleted scenes from one last time (never enough)

Below is a selection of the scenes I wrote but cut from the five years apart. These were mostly cut for space, but also because this wasn’t where I wanted the story to go. I wanted it to be a small glimpse into their lives in those years, and how they were struggling. As I mentioned in an ask response, I had a whole bunch of additional scenes I never wrote that could have honestly been a whole fic in and of itself.

twenty weeks after the end

Lily rolled out the dough into a thin, even layer. She pressed the biscuit cutter into the dough, leaving eight clean hearts behind. She carefully extracted each heart, placing it on the prepared baking sheet. Lily pinched a bit of the sugar crystals between her finger, rubbing them together to distribute the—

Oh. Lily's hand flew to her stomach. That was new. It felt, um, wrong? Like a little flutter. Was it supposed to feel like that?

Lily had never wished more for her mother to be close by than she did now. Her mother would surely be able to tell her if this was something to be concerned about. She had attended appointments at the muggle doctor, but they tried to otherwise limit their time in the village. They couldn't really be sure it was safe. An extra trip for a small flutter was hardly worth it.

Lily abandoned the biscuits half finished on the counter, retreating to the cool, dim quiet of the sitting room. She sat on the couch, hand pressed to her stomach, not sure if she was hoping to feel it again or not to. It didn’t return for a long, long time.

***

It turns out that the taskforce was a lot less action that James had anticipated and a lot more like studying for N.E.W.T.s—which made it particularly unfortunate that James and Sirius were strictly restricted from sharing any information about it with Remus. If anyone could have sorted through all of these books and notes and figured out just what the hell Voldemort was doing, it was Remus.

They didn’t understand until one Thursday afternoon when Remus came back from meeting with Dumbledore while James and Sirius were neck deep in musty copies of library books. Remus ignored them and went straight for the small bar they kept in the corner of their shared flat, pulling out a nearly full bottle of scotch and not even bothering to find a glass before he took a swig.

Sirius and James exchanged a look of raised eyebrows, followed by a glance at the clock. Two o’clock was awfully early to hit the bottle that hard.

“Tough meeting?”

Remus let out a hard laugh, humorless and full of exasperation. “You could say that. I know why he wouldn’t let me on the taskforce now.”

Sirius stood, taking a step toward Remus. “What did he say?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Remus took another swig, “but he has a project for me that only I can do. No one else has the appropriate skills, as it were, to blend in.”

The room went silent. James swallowed hard, biting back the fear rising in his belly at what Remus wasn’t saying.

Werewolves.

***

“Lily? Are you here?”

Lily was still on the couch, sitting in the near darkness of twilight. She didn’t answer, unsure if her voice could even be heard. A moment later, Mary walked into the sitting room, waving her wand to flick on the recessed lights, her magic spreading down the track to illuminate the room. Mary jumped when she saw Lily sitting in the room.

“Merlin, Lily. You scared me half to death! What are you doing in here? Did you not hear me call you?”

Lily looked up at her friend, the stiffness in her neck letting her know it was the first time that she had moved in—how long had she been here? Hours?—since she sat down. Lily worried her lip between her teeth, trying to find the words to tell Mary what had happened.

“Lily, what’s wrong?”

“I, uh—” Lily paused, and sighed heavily. “I felt—something earlier, and I’m not— I think something is wrong.”

Mary knelt in front of her, replacing Lily’s hand on her stomach. “Here? What did you feel?”

“Um,” Lily tried to clear her brain of the fog of worry that had settled in there. “A flutter, maybe. Or a bump?”

Mary smiled. “Like butterfly wings?”

Lily looked at her friend blankly. “Yeah, kind of, I guess.”

Mary’s smile widened. “I think the baby is moving, Lily.”

Lily’s hand was back on her stomach. “Really? You think the baby is moving? How do you know? Isn't it too early? Why hasn’t it moved again?”

“The doctor gave me a book to read. You didn’t seem ready for it, but I thought one of us should know.” Mary ran her hand over Lily’s belly again. “It’s supposed to be pretty sparse for the first few days, but eventually the baby will move all the time. The baby is just little now.”

Lily ran her hand along her stomach again, no longer afraid but now amazed at what the little bump could mean. Her baby was there—really there. This was real. This piece of her and of James growing inside of her and—

And Lily was once again wishing the war would end so that she could share moments like this with James.

***

“He can’t make you do that.” Sirius was now standing in front of Remus, practically yelling in his fear. “You can’t go.”

Remus stood his ground, facing down an emotional and flustered Sirius. “Do you think I want to go? Do you think that I would choose this? I don’t want to!”

“So don’t!”

James felt a bit like he was invading a private argument, as though he was not also friends with them and they were not having this fight in front of him. Which was crazy, because it shouldn’t feel like a private moment that would exclude him. They were all friends, equally, and James cared about Remus’s well being just as much as Sirius did.

“I don’t have a choice. He’s right. There’s no one else who can do this. It has to be me.” Remus began rubbing the still raised skin of the scar that showed just under his sleeve cuff.

“But you could get hurt!”

“If I don’t go, others will get hurt. I might be able to help.” Remus took a step toward Sirius, his hand outstretched slightly, palm up.

“You can’t go because I can’t lose you.”

A heavy quiet fell over the room, and it felt like the room was charged with electricity that had the potential to burn them all to the ground.

Before anything could happen, however, Sirius turned and walked straight out the front door to the flat.

“Sirius, wait.” Remus took a step to follow him, but Sirius closed the door behind him. Remus was left standing, watching the door as though it might open again if he just waited. It did not.

“Remus?”

His back was to James, so James didn’t even know that Remus was crying until he raised a hand and wiped his face. “It’s fine. He’s just worried. He’ll be back.”

“When do you have to go?”

Remus turned to face James, and neither of them addressed the redness in his eyes. “Tomorrow. I’ll be gone for two weeks.”

The full moon was a week away, so Remus would be gone a week before and a week after the moon. “Will you be able to let us know you are safe?”

Remus shook his head, and James could see him swallow before he spoke. “I don’t think it would be safe, but I’ll be fine. I’ll be back in two weeks.”

“Please be safe.” James looked toward the door again. “We’ll both miss you.”

Remus took another drink from the whiskey bottle in his hand. “Me too.”

He walked out of the room and back toward his bedroom, and James was left thinking about Remus and Sirius and the way James didn’t quite understand what just happened. And, for some inexplicable reason, James missed Lily deep in his bones.

This war needed to end soon.

***

seven months after the end

It wasn’t enough.

Lily had read the books and knew that this was a likely side effect of pregnancy. It was just something that people dealt with, though most people weren’t locked in a small cabin, away from their partner and anyone else who might be able to relieve this tension.

She should be able to take care of it herself. She had never had trouble with that before, but she felt so uncomfortable in her body with her growing stomach and the way her body was softening in other areas. She struggled to get the right angle and the right motion and the right feeling.

And now she was crying because she couldn’t bring herself to orgasm, and what the hell was she supposed to do now?

“Lily? Are you alright?”

Lily quickly covered herself with the blankets as Mary opened the door to her room and walked in. She sniffed, wiping her face. “I’m fine.”

Mary froze in the doorway, looking at Lily in the dim light from the hallway. Lily wondered what she looked like—could Mary see her red, tear-stained cheeks? Could she tell how upset Lily was?

“Lil, I can tell you’re not. Could you tell me what’s wrong?”

Lily shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

“If you’re crying, it’s not stupid.” Mary walked in and sat on the edge of her bed. “Tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Lily covered her face with her hands. “You’ll laugh at me.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“I can’t—come.”

Lily moved her hands from her face just in time to see Mary’s look of surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m so fucking horny because of this stupid fucking baby and the stupid fucking hormones, but I can’t get myself there. If we weren’t here, or if James was here, I could just get him to fuck me.” Lily threw her hands out in frustration, then grabbed the top of her blanket and pulled under her chin. “I’m fine. I’ll get over it. It’s not something you can help me with.”

Mary cocked her head to the side. “It’s not?”

Lily’s eyes snapped to Mary’s. “What?”

“I could help you.” Mary reached her hand up and grabbed Lily’s hand. “I could help you get off.”

“I—um.” Lily felt like her mind was reeling. What did this mean?

“Only if you want.” Mary shrugged. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just an orgasm.”

“You would want to?”

“Lily, we’ve been here for more than half a year, and there’s no telling how long we’ll be here. Other than you, the only people we’ve really seen are Dr. Johnson and Ms. Meyer at the grocers. I don’t know about you, but I’m not keen on either of them touching me.” Mary shivered, as though the thought was actually repulsive. “I would really like to touch and be touched again, if you want that to.”

Lily rubbed a hand across her forehead, considering what Mary was offering. “I don’t think— It wouldn’t—” Lily sighed, then started again. “I’m not sure that I could promise you anything, relationship wise. I still love James, and I want to see if we can make things work when the war is finally over. I couldn’t promise you anything more than— than—”

“An orgasm?” Mary was smiling widely now.

Lily felt a light blush color her cheeks, and she was suddenly very aware that she was naked and Mary was sitting on her bed. “Yeah. Or a few, maybe.”

Mary shrugged. “That’s all I want right now. If you do?”

Lily threw her head back. “Merlin, yes.”

Mary laughed. “Well, you first, I think.”

Lily watched as Mary’s hand slid across her arm and shoulder until she reached the edge of the blanket over her chest. She marveled at the way Mary’s dark skin looked against her pale skin in the soft light from the hallway, as the dim light added to the magic of the moment.

Mary leaned forward, connecting their lips in a gentle kiss as she slowly lowered the blanket, her hand brushing lightly over Lily’s breasts and bulging stomach, and Lily gasped as Mary’s fingers met Lily’s wetness.

She was so keyed up that it only took a few minutes of careful touches and caresses until Lily was coming by her friend’s hand. Lily was still trembling as Mary pressed gentle kisses on her cheeks and forehead. “Feel better?”

A bubble of surprised laughter escaped Lily’s lips. The release had brought so much clarity to Lily’s mind, but the look in Mary’s eye had her wanting more. “Much. Your turn now.”

***

For the last several months, James had watched Remus and Sirius carefully dance around each other. There was clearly something more between them than what either of them shared with James, though he was certain that they were trying to hide it from him. He wasn’t clear why. Surely, surely, they knew he would be happy for them. Surely, they knew he wouldn’t hate them or reject them simply because they loved each other?

James watched as Remus brushed a hand along Sirius’s shoulder as he walked to the kitchen with a cooling cup of tea, before going back to acting like they hadn’t touched at all. It was in this moment, as he watched his friends trying to keep their distance that James realized he had to say something.

James took a deep breath. With Peter out of the flat for work, it seemed like the perfect time. “I’m okay with it, you know.”

Sirius and Remus both turned to him, twin eyes of confusion pointed his way. “With what?” Sirius finally asked.

“The two of you. Whatever this is you’re doing. Dating or—or shagging or whatever.”

Remus began laughing from the kitchen, setting down his mug on the counter before holding himself up with a palm pressed into the counter. Sirius furrowed his brows. “Of course, you’re okay with it. Were we supposed to assume you wouldn’t be?”

James shrugged. “It seems like you’ve been trying to hide it.”

“Well, sure.” Remus had finally managed to control his laughter from the kitchen. “That’s not because we thought you’d have a problem with it, though.”

“You didn’t care when Marlene and Dorcas started dating.” Sirius pointed out. “Why would we assume it would be different for us?”

It was James’s turn to look between his friends in confusion. “Then why are you hiding it?”

Remus and Sirius exchanged a nervous glance at that. “Well, um,” Sirius tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, “because of Lily.”

James’s heart plummeted. It was the first time her name had been spoken aloud—at least to him—since she had left with Mary. “What does she have to do with it?”

Remus sighed. “You’ve been sad since she left, and you haven’t tried to see anyone else. We didn’t want to, I don’t know, rub it in your face that we were together and happy.”

Remus walked over and took Sirius’s hand, and as Sirius smiled up at him softly, James realized they had been hiding far more than he realized.

“You don’t have to do that.” James looked down at his hands, linking his fingers together. “I’m sorry you’ve felt the need to. I’m fine, really.”

“James, we haven’t minded.” Remus looked sincere as he said it. “We don’t want to make things harder for you. Not if we can prevent it.”

“Please don’t hide. There’s—” James felt his throat grow thick, and swallowed once to get past it “—there’s not enough happy in the world right now. We could all use a little more.”

That was it. From then on, Remus and Sirius didn’t make extra effort to hide from James. James, in turn, tried to ignore the pit in his stomach that wouldn’t go away.

#one last time (never enough)#deleted scenes #the time between

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