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Hey, OP here! I’m really glad you liked it :)The fic isn’t done, but the prologue chapter is posted here

I have the answers to all your questions, but I think I'll just share this, from my planning doc:

Buffy spent two seasons realizing she was bisexual and would be ok if Dru hit on her. Then season 3 started and she and Faith, who Literally just Showed Up, straight up U-Hauled it.

Here’s the thing. I’m not sure it was ever a like, Crush, that Buffy had on Drusilla. But she got very comfortable with that being an Option. The idea that she could be desired by Girls(Beastie Boys, 1986) and that it was fine. She came into season 3 expecting to be pursued. And then she Wasn’t. Then Faith showed up, and was a haunting memory that Kendra Died. And she was confident and mean and seemed so independent, seemed to do whatever she wanted, seemed to fall perfectly into that grey space with Drusilla. Dark and scary and sharp and abnormal and Gay in a way that Perky Preppy Normal Girl Buffy Summers never let herself be.

Like, obviously, Buffy is way traumatized, and Faith is way traumatized and that’s negatively affecting their ability to assess what is actually going on with all their uncanny similarities. But the actual effect of that is that Faith is seeing herself as an outsider and interloper and a worse Slayer Protector Person than Buffy could ever be. She’s clinging to Dru and how she stands with and apart from the Scoobies as well as providing support without Faith having to express the vulnerability to ask for it. And Buffy is seeing Faith Lez out with the girl type friend she always thought would be hers. And not even care about it. About what that Means. Abandoned and passed over for a newer cooler model.

Solving the Glory Problem

Souled!Drusilla AU snippet

It could have been a fight, or maybe should have been, to validate all the stress the A team was going through about it. Faith didn’t really care though. Fair fights aren’t the kind you survive. She’d known that before her Watcher died, and it tracked that that was the one thing that stayed the same after her world was upended. Faith was on lookout. So, mostly she was slouched against a dumpster behind Sunnydale General and hoping whatever it was coated in would wash off while she waited for Dru to work. She twirled a knife in her hand and watched the Hospital’s back entrance to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupted. She kept an ear on them while she scanned the open side of the back parking lot where it met the woods.

Nurse Ben had stopped struggling a while ago, not that he’d been able to put that much into it in the first place. At some point, he’d started to glow. Ben shuddered one last time and beams of searing white light shot out of his body. They played along the brick around them, and Faith shielded her eyes with her off hand to make sure that whatever attention that’d drawn hadn’t come running. Nothing happened. She didn’t know what she expected from Sunnydale. Yeah, it was the moon, it was a car, it was some kids playing with fireworks. Nobody’s killing gods within walking distance of a 7-11. Faith put her knife away and looked back at Drusilla in time to see her use her fangs to tear her own wrist open. Dru sat back on her heels and pulled Ben’s head into her lap. She made shushing noises as she pressed the wound against his slack mouth.

Faith pushed herself upright and took a couple steps closer to the scene. She hooked her thumbs into the front pockets of her pants and leaned over Dru’s shoulder to get a glimpse. It looked mostly standard, as far as vampire attacks went, except for the bit at the end.

“Hell of a light show. Hey Dru, you kill that guy?”

Drusilla hummed, too content to be anything but the cat that caught the canary. Blood had traced a line from her mouth down the side of her throat and pooled a little at the neckline before dripping down the planes of her skirt. “Temporary, Saint Slayer.” She started, and giggled.

Her giggle sounded exactly the same as usual, when she leaned back against Faith’s shins and tipped her head up to look at her with dazed yellow eyes. The warmth that seeped through the leather of her pants where they were pressed together was unusual though. Ben’s body heat in Dru’s body, and maybe she should have flinched at the thought. But instead she just looked down at where Dru was twining her fingers through his hair with her free hand, the other still dripping into his mouth.

“He’s a birdcage man. Built for holding things. Catch a demon much easier than a god, keep it tight in his breast, he will.” His head lolled when she pulled her hand back and tapped at his chest where his heart wasn’t beating.

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Get Turned, Idiot

~3k of VtM Mary's Origin story

Includes: Sexual Themes, Gore, Torture, Experimentation, Dream Sequences, Diablerie, and Hammer Murder :)

Hands slammed down on either side of her head. She jumped again and was harshly collared by the strap across her throat. The whimper stopped with a choked off squeak and she realized that she’d been the one making the noise. She barely avoided starting again as her Sire came into her eye line. She had leaned over from the blind spot above her head. She wasn’t wearing her sunglasses and the sight of her eyes, Mary felt, should not have been as intimidating as it was. They lacked even the affectation of humanity. Combined with a smile that didn’t reach the rest of her face, it reminded her sharply of when children pulled the legs off of spiders.

They were filming another terrible TV movie in the castle. She’d watched them make one when she’d first been hired but they weren’t any less terrible when she was in the room, manning craft services and watching C list actors deliver the same awful lines six times in a row. So this time she was back at her mobile home and taking a lukewarm shower to kick off her 2 week vacation with some mistakes.

Three hours and six drinks later in the closest thing to a queer bar the town had, she found one in a woman who was dressed too nice to be sitting on a peeling vinyl barstool. Her hair was so dark it was almost blue and expertly styled in tight finger waves that would read as vintage if the left side of her hair hadn’t been buzzed close to her head. Small round framed sunglasses perched on her nose. A smirk outlined in dark lipstick, one more hour and two more drinks left Mary’s arm wrapped around her waist and her teeth on her ear as they stumbled out into the night. Then they were in Mary’s slightly dusty trailer and well on their way to defiling the breakfast nook over stopping to assemble the bed when something happened. Something Mary could only reconstruct later from jagged memories and context clues while she waited for her sire to stop talking. She must have cut her at some point, while Mary was busy undressing her. If Mary thought about it now, an image of her sire, as she was that night, smiling, with much redder lips and blood on her teeth came to mind. But it had the hazy quality of a memory constructed out of other memories. There were, after all, many more carnivorous smiles over many more nights, with blood that wasn’t always hers. What she knew for sure is that her heart was beating very quickly, from arousal, and then fear, and then it stopped entirely. 

She had a dream then, she would insist to everyone that it was a dream if they ever asked, that she was walking around a clearing in a forest, if a forest could also be a cave and a hallway and nothing at all. The air was thick with the smell of decay. The buzzing of insects filled her ears and her skin crawled with phantom sensations. She rubbed at the goosebumps on her stiff limbs and discovered a dark red bruise along her whole back and the underside of her arms. The wet grass tickled at her feet and left dark red smears behind. Some kind of creature was in the not woods with her, she was sure of it. Even if she could only see it out of the corner of her eye, in confusing bits and pieces that didn’t add up to a whole. Its eyes glowed from the shadows, all eight— no two— of them. It wasn’t going to eat her, except it was. She and it were hunting each other simultaneously. Blood dripped from this Thing’s snout, its red painted lips pulled back to reveal a row of straight white teeth in their human face, which had always been human, hadn’t it? The fur along its back stood up along its spine down to its tail. The longer, less gelled pieces of its hair shifted and fell over its shoulders as it straightened from its deep bow. It stepped out from the shadows at the edge of nothingness on two legs and all its claws clattered on the floor, though there was no echo in the small space that couldn’t possibly exist. Its scales glittered in the low light from the doors along the hallway. She took a step back as it advanced, and tried to find her footing on the smooth wet tile. Its sequined dress flowed around its thighs and shiny heeled boots. Mary looked around the cave for anything to defend herself. Her uncanny double dove for her with a bird of prey’s screech and they both skidded across the uneven stone floor. Her hands found a way to its shoulders, her teeth to its throat. Her mouth filled with blood.

She woke up all at once, still tasting blood, and bolted upright, or tried to. Three inches off the table her neck hit a wide leather strap and her head bounced back into the tabletop with a bang. It left the back of her head and the front of her throat sore and smarting as she tried to regain her bearings. The pain faded too fast, her first clue towards what she’d become. The ceiling at least, was familiar. Its cracks and stains slotted into understanding and that context, that this was her ceiling and her trailer, triggered the rest of her memories of the woman who killed her. She’d spoken just a little oddly. Her skin had felt a shade too cool to the touch. Her excuses made no sense now that her charm had worn off. The thick leather straps across her neck, ankles, waist and upper arms came to sharp focus in her still foggy mind. She heard a whimper. She turned her head to see where it was coming from. Her eyes skated along her things, stopping at the occasional unfamiliar object. There was what looked like half a laboratory overwhelming her minuscule kitchen. The leather jacket she’d been wearing was draped over the back of a chair and she knew, she could tell what the cracked brown stains on the collar were. The whimpering got louder.

Hands slammed down on either side of her head. She jumped again and was harshly collared by the strap across her throat. The whimper stopped with a choked off squeak and she realized that she’d been the one making the noise. She barely avoided starting again as her Sire came into her eye line. She had leaned over from the blind spot above her head. She wasn’t wearing her sunglasses and the sight of her eyes, Mary felt, should not have been as intimidating as it was. They lacked even the affectation of humanity. Combined with a smile that didn’t reach the rest of her face, it reminded her sharply of when children pulled the legs off of spiders.

“Good evening, dear.” Her voice sounded the same as it had when she had been whispering profanity into her ear at the bar. The continuity made her seem somehow more threatening.

Her sire swept out of her field of view. Mary strained against her bonds to try and watch her captor as she moved around in her home like she owned it. Mary ran her tongue through her mouth to try and clear out the taste of blood. There was a rattle of glass on glass and She turned back toward Mary, holding a glass bottle with an old fashioned rubber hose running out of it. She sat in the dining chair and pulled it closer to the table. She patted Mary’s bare forearm. “Now, I want you to tell me how you’re feeling.”

Confused. Frightened. Angry. Dead? Mary kept her mouth shut. She watched as her sire cleaned the crook of her elbow with a cotton swab. She tried to jerk her arm away once she saw the needle. She didn’t make it anywhere before a hand clamped down punishingly tight on her upper arm and the needle slid into her vein. She’d had her blood taken before, a pint at a local blood drive, a test for her doctor when she first got insurance, none had felt like this. It was like her soul was draining out of her. Some force, some wild animal trapped under her skin howled and scratched her nerves raw. She thrashed as much as the straps holding her would allow and didn’t accomplish anything, not even filling that clear glass bottle faster. Over the screaming in her head and the too steady rhythm of her heartbeat, she heard her Sire cooing at her, telling her how adorable she was.

The torment didn’t end when the needle was pulled out. She watched as her sire grabbed her hand, and licked the spare couple of drops that glistened on her arm at the puncture site. Their fingers stayed interlaced as her sire turned her attention to other tools and materials.The only thing she could smell was her own blood, the only thing she could see was the way it sloshed as her sire moved the bottle. Mary closed her eyes. Her hand tightened around her sire’s. She was hungry, hungry in a way she’d never felt before. She itched for violence, for gore, for pain, in a way that she thought she’d gotten over. Her arms twitched against their bonds for something, some body to destroy. Her own would do. Her Sire’s would be better.

“You’ll be very helpful, you're exactly what I needed.” She pulled on the hand still caught in Mary’s grip, and used her other one to peel back Mary’s pinkie until it dislocated with a pop that rang around the small space. Mary gasped and her hand spasmed open. “Good Girl.” She placed one hand flat on Mary's forearm and pulled with the other until her finger shifted back into place and what was left of Mary’s blood boiled as her sire patted the back of her hand like he was a doll to be arranged to her liking. “I’m fixing something very important and you get to be part of it.” She spoke like she was addressing a middle school class and her teeth caught the light as she smiled. Mary imagined her hands closing around her neck. Her fingernails bent back against the table as she squirmed. Her sire crossed her legs while she labeled the bottle and continued, “When you make a copy of a copy. Details are lost. Less power, fewer friends.” She stood and the fabric of her skirt swished around her calves as she walked to the kitchen.

Mary watched her put the bottle on the counter, pause, then reach out and adjust it so the label would be straight. “We are at the end of a very long chain.” She dipped below Mary’s eyeline as she crouched to pull something out of a bulging cardboard box. She jiggled the large metal contraption until the box slipped off the bottom and hit the floor. She kicked it away and put the machine down where Mary’s toaster oven used to be. She turned back to Mary and her perfectly buffed nails gripped the counter behind her. “There’s only one way up the ladder.” She took a few steps forward and produced a wooden stake from somewhere Mary couldn’t see. The dining table creaked in protest as she climbed on top of Mary and straddled her hips. Her long skirt bunched up around her knees. She curved her spine and supported herself with a hand next to Mary’s head. Her other toyed with the stake. She placed it just off the center of Mary’s chest and pressed hard enough for it to be painful, even through the cotton wool feeling in Mary’s nerves that left her recently abused hand merely sore. “You stake someone stronger than you,” The tip pierced her skin as she put more weight on it and lowered her head to put her mouth next to Mary’s ear. “And eat them.”

Her sire was so close. Mary’s senses were overwhelmed with her. She’d blotted out the rest of her sight with her arm, with the side of her face, with the way the hollow under her ear transitioned to the smooth expanse of her neck, the flex of the muscles in her shoulder as she’d moved closer. The scent of her own blood had been replaced with the smell of her. Her weight on Mary’s hips, the pain in her chest where the stake drove into her flesh as the space narrowed between them. She wanted to Bite her. She felt an odd sensation in her upper jaw as her bones shifted. Like if pulling a nail out of your skin didn’t hurt. Two sharp points pressed against the inside of her lip. Now! She lunged. Her teeth hit skin at the same moment her throat hit the strap holding her down. She pushed against the leather and tried to close her jaw anyway. Her sire screamed. Flesh tore and blood burst onto her tongue. She felt her rib crack as the stake slipped deeper into her body. Her limbs grew heavy. Brilliant crimson flowed down her sire’s chest and dripped onto hers as her head lowered back onto the table against her will. She felt herself stop breathing. She watched out of half lidded eyes as her sire’s hand went to her shoulder and she sat back onto Mary’s thighs. Her head tipped up and she stared at the ceiling. Her sire took a deep breath and held it, she stayed like that for minutes, another drop of blood seeped out from between her index and middle finger and beaded up on her knuckles. She exhaled and wiped her hand against her skin as she released her shoulder. With the blood gone from Mary saw the angry pink marks where two bleeding gashes should have been. It was unfair. She looked back down at Mary’s prone form and licked her palm. It left a smear of red on her cheek to the side of her mouth. Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips curled into a smile. She tipped her head forward into better alignment with Mary’s unmoving eyes.

“That was rude.” She ran a thumb over Mary’s bottom lip to wipe away the blood as she said it. “I was just trying to have a conversation, kindred.” She climbed off of Mary and started making some kind of noise out of sight. “Biting the hand that feeds,” she tutted. “Please try to be better next time.” Something clicked on and a hum filled the room. She left Mary to stare at the shadow of her sire moving across the ceiling until she lost consciousness.

Waking up the second time was almost worse. The first time, she’d hoped it was a dream. She should have known better than to think she had that kind of luck. Now that she was aware enough to register the unsettling sensation of her body starting to function again. Her first breath made her aware of the deep and lingering ache in her sternum and the unpleasant taste of old blood in her mouth mingling with the cleansing wipes on her lips. She rolled her head on her stiff neck and let her eyes blink away their clouded sheen so she could see who was opening the squeaking cabinet door in her kitchen. It was her sire. It probably should have been obvious but some part of her had been hoping. Her sire was still there, impeccably dressed in a different ankle length gown as she glided through the makeshift lab she’d transformed Mary’s trailer into while she was�� she was. While she was gone.

Mary swallowed around the stale taste in her dry mouth as a smell hit her nose. She watched her finish pouring thick dark liquid into the glass and stopper the bottle. She turned and smiled as she caught Mary’s gaze through her dark glasses. She was almost silent as she approached barely a whisper of fabric as she slid into the bench seat, and propped her forearms against Mary’s calves. Placid, like it was a normal breakfast and there wasn’t anyone chained to the table she was sitting at. She took a sip of blood, Mary’s blood, from the pilsner glass she’d stolen from a bar in the city when she was 23 and willing to risk her purse smelling like cheap beer for the next month. She hummed, and licked her lips to clear a single drop of blood that had gathered on the center of her bottom lip, blending in almost completely with her dark lipstick. She smiled, it even almost looked kind.

“Good evening, Kindred.” 

The experiments got more painful and less scientific from there. She spent a lot of time learning theory while her sire “worked.” Mary was supposed to die at the end of this project, but her sire seemed to want to make her appreciate it first. Mary didn’t. In fact she spent a day gagged after pointing out how stupid it was. The goal, apparently, was to increase Mary’s blood’s potency temporarily, then make it permanent when her sire took it. She hummed the Dire Straits while the needle extracted her bone marrow.

Mary was hungry. She was ravenous, actually. Starving. The creeping instinct in the back of her skull pressed ever forward as she followed her sire with her eyes, urging her to ignore the aching in her joints and her slowly healing wounds and leap for the exposed throat being paraded in front of her. She could just barely keep it in check, aware of the straps pinning her flat on her back. Of the ragged, bloodstained, hole in her tank top above her heart, from the first time she’d tried, of the terrifying time she lost before the stake was removed. The thing was, and this sung through her veins instead of the blood she was sorely missing, her sire was getting sloppy. She’d stopped getting dressed up almost immediately. The costumes getting less and less elaborate as Mary became someone her sire didn’t care to put in effort for. Eventually the changes were more than just seeing her in curlers. It was straps left looser after taking blood and clutter gathering on the bench seat around her, close enough to touch. The point was, that Mary was making plans, in the hours she strained her eyes and brain and pressed her body against the straps holding her down to stay awake after dawn.

It was a simple plan. Her sire had patiently explained it to her that very first night. You stake someone stronger than you, and eat them. Mary didn’t think it could happen to a nicer person. Her fingers curled around the hammer her sire had knocked off the window ledge tight enough for shaking tension to travel up her unbound arm. Her grin in the dark was feral and sharp.

The thud of the hammer against her sire’s temple was oddly muted for all the buildup Mary had made of it in her brain. The body landing was the loud part, as she dropped like a stone onto her own equipment, boneless and ungraceful in a way Mary had never seen, no matter how untidy her sire had gotten. 

Mary considered, for a moment, that Before she would have been repulsed by the sight. Her sire’s head dented at the temple and blood matting her hair to her face, the thick stream of not blood leaking down her cheek from under a deformed eyelid. On the second swing of the hammer, she drove the stake in with a crack of bone that was much more satisfying from the other side. She knew, doing it, that even After, two weeks, a month ago, she would have been more squeamish and sympathetic. Mary’s fingers slicked with blood as she hauled the ragdoll limp body into her former place on the table, didn’t bother to remove the shards of broken glass from her bare arms as she strapped them punishingly tight to the table. Two weeks, a month ago, Mary didn’t have the lingering ache of a bone marrow extraction, didn’t know what a botched table top lumbar puncture felt like, and wasn’t so fucking Hungry. She took a shower first, washed her hair, changed her clothes, drank what was left in her fridge. She could have drank something fresher, she still remembered that first evening, scared and feral and angry, the bindings on her limbs rattling along with the tremor in her body, and her sire’s throat scraped open under her teeth. The taste on her tongue brighter than anything poured from a careless hand down her throat. Older and colder than a body would ever allow, overflowing her mouth at the corners and dripping trails across her jaw. That would have been too easy. She didn’t want to kill her sire, she wanted to win.

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Unfinished Background practice

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Sketch dump, mostly stuff drawn in Con panels.

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It's those damned Doxes again.

Loose panel redraw from L.E.G.I.O.N. #19

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Solving the Glory Problem

Souled!Drusilla AU snippet

It could have been a fight, or maybe should have been, to validate all the stress the A team was going through about it. Faith didn’t really care though. Fair fights aren’t the kind you survive. She’d known that before her Watcher died, and it tracked that that was the one thing that stayed the same after her world was upended. Faith was on lookout. So, mostly she was slouched against a dumpster behind Sunnydale General and hoping whatever it was coated in would wash off while she waited for Dru to work. She twirled a knife in her hand and watched the Hospital’s back entrance to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupted. She kept an ear on them while she scanned the open side of the back parking lot where it met the woods.

Nurse Ben had stopped struggling a while ago, not that he’d been able to put that much into it in the first place. At some point, he’d started to glow. Ben shuddered one last time and beams of searing white light shot out of his body. They played along the brick around them, and Faith shielded her eyes with her off hand to make sure that whatever attention that’d drawn hadn’t come running. Nothing happened. She didn’t know what she expected from Sunnydale. Yeah, it was the moon, it was a car, it was some kids playing with fireworks. Nobody’s killing gods within walking distance of a 7-11. Faith put her knife away and looked back at Drusilla in time to see her use her fangs to tear her own wrist open. Dru sat back on her heels and pulled Ben’s head into her lap. She made shushing noises as she pressed the wound against his slack mouth.

Faith pushed herself upright and took a couple steps closer to the scene. She hooked her thumbs into the front pockets of her pants and leaned over Dru’s shoulder to get a glimpse. It looked mostly standard, as far as vampire attacks went, except for the bit at the end.

“Hell of a light show. Hey Dru, you kill that guy?”

Drusilla hummed, too content to be anything but the cat that caught the canary. Blood had traced a line from her mouth down the side of her throat and pooled a little at the neckline before dripping down the planes of her skirt. “Temporary, Saint Slayer.” She started, and giggled.

Her giggle sounded exactly the same as usual, when she leaned back against Faith’s shins and tipped her head up to look at her with dazed yellow eyes. The warmth that seeped through the leather of her pants where they were pressed together was unusual though. Ben’s body heat in Dru’s body, and maybe she should have flinched at the thought. But instead she just looked down at where Dru was twining her fingers through his hair with her free hand, the other still dripping into his mouth.

“He’s a birdcage man. Built for holding things. Catch a demon much easier than a god, keep it tight in his breast, he will.” His head lolled when she pulled her hand back and tapped at his chest where his heart wasn’t beating.

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Sketch of G3 Frankie

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Sloppy Slobo sketch

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Green skinned Blond man, you entrance me.

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🎶You might as well be walkin' on the sun 🎶

Putting the robit in y2k fashion. I worked to maintain the silhouette and color placement while, you know, also putting him in JNCOs

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We're doing this!

I’ve been writing entirely unstructured MCU crackfic the last, while. It’s like, 10k long.

The Concept: MCU Steve Rogers, guy who never quits, is quietly sent home after the serum "fails." It did not, in fact, Fail. After realizing this, Steve Rogers, 5'1” Super Soldier and 6 time recruitment office applier, makes up a new fake name and Joins the Army anyway.

Thus starts the Legend of Reeve Dodgers. He becomes a military in joke, he gets into all the regular Howling Commandos type nonsense, he wakes up in modern New York and goes missing for 3 weeks, he gets an Analyst job at SHIELD and almost drives his deskmate into a nervous breakdown, he starts writing and drawing for the ongoing run of In Universe Captain America Comics, he gets poached for Stark Industries R&D testing, he becomes good friends with Clint Barton, he wears a Captain America Suit for the first time during the events of The Avengers(2012)

“I can't believe that Howard helped make an Easy Bake Oven for Supersoldiers.” He drags a hand down his face and looks over at Steve from between his fingers. All five feet of him. “I can’t believe it worked.” Steve gets the vague impression that he should be offended by that, but shrugs it off. “See, you’re saying that like it’s a name,” Steve says, with an absent push at the air for emphasis. “But we’ve just established why I don’t know what that is.” “The easy part was that it caused fewer house fires, champ.” Tony says, and claps him on the shoulder before rattling through his explanation in a way that Steve’s learned means he wants to get to a punchline that Steve wouldn’t have understood otherwise.

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Last call to vote in the poll. I’ve even cleaned up a bit for company over the past couple days. You’re going to get to see the timeline I made. 50s McCarthyism Captain America did happen in this. For funzies.

Bucky’s spoon stops halfway to his mouth, the mess tent gruel threatening to slop back onto his tray. He fixes Steve with a look of deep disappointment. “Reeve Dodgers?” Steve smiles back, unrepentant, and tugs his tags out from the collar of his shirt. Bucky puts his spoon all the way down and hooks his fingers in the chain to haul Steve halfway over the table and look himself. He groans. “Reeve Dodgers.” He says again while Steve resettles. He picks the spoon back up and some porridge drips off it into his peas as he points at Steve. “That, is the worst one yet.” “It worked.” Steve says, and watches Bucky try and fail to keep a straight face as that fact sinks in.

I’ve been writing entirely unstructured MCU crackfic the last, while. It’s like, 10k long.

The Concept: MCU Steve Rogers, guy who never quits, is quietly sent home after the serum "fails." It did not, in fact, Fail. After realizing this, Steve Rogers, 5'1” Super Soldier and 6 time recruitment office applier, makes up a new fake name and Joins the Army anyway.

Thus starts the Legend of Reeve Dodgers. He becomes a military in joke, he gets into all the regular Howling Commandos type nonsense, he wakes up in modern New York and goes missing for 3 weeks, he gets an Analyst job at SHIELD and almost drives his deskmate into a nervous breakdown, he starts writing and drawing for the ongoing run of In Universe Captain America Comics, he gets poached for Stark Industries R&D testing, he becomes good friends with Clint Barton, he wears a Captain America Suit for the first time during the events of The Avengers(2012)

“I can't believe that Howard helped make an Easy Bake Oven for Supersoldiers.” He drags a hand down his face and looks over at Steve from between his fingers. All five feet of him. “I can’t believe it worked.” Steve gets the vague impression that he should be offended by that, but shrugs it off. “See, you’re saying that like it’s a name,” Steve says, with an absent push at the air for emphasis. “But we’ve just established why I don’t know what that is.” “The easy part was that it caused fewer house fires, champ.” Tony says, and claps him on the shoulder before rattling through his explanation in a way that Steve’s learned means he wants to get to a punchline that Steve wouldn’t have understood otherwise.

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I’ve been writing entirely unstructured MCU crackfic the last, while. It’s like, 10k long.

The Concept: MCU Steve Rogers, guy who never quits, is quietly sent home after the serum "fails." It did not, in fact, Fail. After realizing this, Steve Rogers, 5'1” Super Soldier and 6 time recruitment office applier, makes up a new fake name and Joins the Army anyway.

Thus starts the Legend of Reeve Dodgers. He becomes a military in joke, he gets into all the regular Howling Commandos type nonsense, he wakes up in modern New York and goes missing for 3 weeks, he gets an Analyst job at SHIELD and almost drives his deskmate into a nervous breakdown, he starts writing and drawing for the ongoing run of In Universe Captain America Comics, he gets poached for Stark Industries R&D testing, he becomes good friends with Clint Barton, he wears a Captain America Suit for the first time during the events of The Avengers(2012)

“I can't believe that Howard helped make an Easy Bake Oven for Supersoldiers.” He drags a hand down his face and looks over at Steve from between his fingers. All five feet of him. “I can’t believe it worked.” Steve gets the vague impression that he should be offended by that, but shrugs it off. “See, you’re saying that like it’s a name,” Steve says, with an absent push at the air for emphasis. “But we’ve just established why I don’t know what that is.” “The easy part was that it caused fewer house fires, champ.” Tony says, and claps him on the shoulder before rattling through his explanation in a way that Steve’s learned means he wants to get to a punchline that Steve wouldn’t have understood otherwise.

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I’ve been writing entirely unstructured MCU crackfic the last, while. It’s like, 10k long.

The Concept: MCU Steve Rogers, guy who never quits, is quietly sent home after the serum "fails." It did not, in fact, Fail. After realizing this, Steve Rogers, 5'1” Super Soldier and 6 time recruitment office applier, makes up a new fake name and Joins the Army anyway.

Thus starts the Legend of Reeve Dodgers. He becomes a military in joke, he gets into all the regular Howling Commandos type nonsense, he wakes up in modern New York and goes missing for 3 weeks, he gets an Analyst job at SHIELD and almost drives his deskmate into a nervous breakdown, he starts writing and drawing for the ongoing run of In Universe Captain America Comics, he gets poached for Stark Industries R&D testing, he becomes good friends with Clint Barton, he wears a Captain America Suit for the first time during the events of The Avengers(2012)

“I can't believe that Howard helped make an Easy Bake Oven for Supersoldiers.” He drags a hand down his face and looks over at Steve from between his fingers. All five feet of him. “I can’t believe it worked.” Steve gets the vague impression that he should be offended by that, but shrugs it off. “See, you’re saying that like it’s a name,” Steve says, with an absent push at the air for emphasis. “But we’ve just established why I don’t know what that is.” “The easy part was that it caused fewer house fires, champ.” Tony says, and claps him on the shoulder before rattling through his explanation in a way that Steve’s learned means he wants to get to a punchline that Steve wouldn’t have understood otherwise.

[endollvors]

Remember Celia Fic? Well, its first two chapters are up for public consumption. Celia’s POV on the plot of Descendants 3. Features VK Day being a Sham and Celia & Hades Friendship, amongst other things.

“This ain’t an application,” he says finally, “It’s a popularity contest.” Celia snorts. It’s not like she doesn’t know. Dizzy got her acceptance before they even announced VK day, and she’s over at the salon writing out her application for ‘Juvenile Reunification’ just the same as the rest of them.