#Forgive the completely self indulgent drawing of my own fic

[windsweptinred]

"Then don't be my knight, be my dragon. Covet me like your greatest treasure. Guard me from all those who would try to steal me away.  Burn the very hearts of those who try."

The Turn of the Wheel

[quitefair]

Fanfiction Writer Questions!

Was tagged by the very lovely @optiwashere some time ago, and I've only just had the chance to sit down and take a crack at this!

Not gonna tag anybody, but if you read this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged!

(Also this is talking about a lot of fics that I've written but not published because well... that's just how it's been lmao...

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

13 at the moment. I’ve deleted a few things that I’m not entirely proud of/works that I’m planning on rewriting and improving upon.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

26,031 (my WIP folder has almost 100k words, if we want any comparison)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly Dragon Age! Although AO3 is misleading… I’ve only got 7 fics on there for Dragon Age. But these don’t include the ones I’ve deleted and also the literal hundreds of WIP documents in my writing folder. It’s become quite a problem. I’ve also been writing for Baldur’s Gate 3 a bit more recently, but those fics are on hold because of lack of time/motivation/the fact I’ve not finished the game yet and want to do my research and understand characterisation and plot better.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. a lesson in grief (T-rated, Vi/Caitlyn from Arcane) 2. slip away (G-rated Gen-fic from Hades 2020) 3. Names (G-rated Fenris/Female Hawke from Dragon Age) 4. Anxious Grief (T-rated, Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Cadash from Dragon Age) 5. Fear and Forgiveness (G-rated, Dorian Pavus/Male Adaar from Dragon Age)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! Every single comment I get is like fuel to my brain so I love and appreciate each one!

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

I think I did toy around with a fic where I left Hawke in the Fade. The process of getting into Fenris’ headspace during that was way too painful for me to continue.

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

Most of my fics tend towards happy endings, even if they pack a lot of angst in the body of em. Of the ones I’ve got published, I’d say Names.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven’t, but then again I post so rarely and sporadically so people forget I even exist huhu.

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

… Yes… (and that’s all im gonna say)

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

I’ve not written crossovers per se, I’m more of an AU kinda guy. Though there’s definitely an ancient story I wrote back when I was like 13 that had like, every single bit of media I’d ever loved merged into one, and the excuse was that I’d just read His Dark Materials and wanted my own universe where everything I loved existed at once. COMPLETELY self-indulgent shit.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know…

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope! At least not that I know of.

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

Again no… I’ve not done a lot of stuff huhu!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

It’s the one and only. The girls that live rent free in my head. The girls that deserve everything. (It’s Josephine Montilyet/my Inquisitor from Dragon Age Inquisition)

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

It’s the Dragon Age Inquisition rewrite I’ve been complaining about for the longest time. It’s become the pet project I keep poking at whenever I have the energy to. All my Tashak/Josephine fics are set within this, and honestly at this point, instead of making one large fic, I might as well just post the disjointed chapters separately even if they don’t make sense. I’ve got WIPs in the folder from 2016. It’s out of control.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’d like to think I’m good at descriptive writing, at drawing the reader into the scene and pulling them along with the story.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I’m so bad at dialogue it’s not even funny. Also, my writing can tend towards too much rambling – I guess that’s just because it’s the way my brain works.

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

The only other language I’m fluent in is Malay, and I really can’t imagine myself writing in that unless in very specific circumstances.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Dang, I think it was probably for BIONICLE. Way back when I was like, in secondary school.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Published? Names. There’s stuff in there I still feel jealous of, even today. Unpublished – a bunch of stuff for Aforementioned Dragon Age Rewrite. I should really post stuff from there at some point LMAO…

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

2020 IN WRITING

tagged by: @indestinatus​

tagging: no one, because I am unable to think straight. But whoever is interested in doing this: I’m interested in reading it. <3 

Wow, okay, I’m getting real in this little questionnaire... read at your own risk, friends.

1. List of works published this year:

I genuinely can’t write them all out here... there are too many of them! (I’ve done so little besides writing this year!) But I keep a running list of all my projects here. I’m sorry for cheating on this one, haha. 

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

This question comes up a lot on these things, and I always put the same answer: That We May Forgive. It’s has emotional moments, silly moments, heartfelt moments where the warmth made me cry as I wrote. It was written in one sitting, and it’s the story where I felt most connected to the characters I love so much. It sums up the joy I feel knowing that these (fictional) friends of mine have finally reached peace after too many years of trauma and hardship. I began the story with a single line in mind, after which the characters took over and told the story for me:

Ziva's second pregnancy is nothing like her first.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

You Stumble, You Soar, which was written for one of my dearest friends in the world, @why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee​. I wanted to do so much better by her, but as I ran out of time to complete the story by the end of her birthday, I rushed the writing and I think the story suffered for it. It made her happy, though, and that’s the most important thing. She deserves all the happiness, all the time—but especially on her birthday. 

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

I can’t think of a favorite excerpt of my writing, because I’ve written so much that I can’t think back!

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

“Wow. Let me just tell you that I am absolutely in love with this story. I wake up everyday and, as I log into fanfiction, my only hope is that you've uploaded a new chapter because DAMN. The characters are so well written, the story is beautifully constructed and this last chapter just broke my heart into tiny little pieces. What a remarkable job you've done. Please, don't ever stop writing NCIS/Tiva fanfiction- specially this one story: it's one of my all time favorites. Thank you :)”

An incredibly kind and inspiring comment by a reader named Alexandra on my longest (WIP) fic, We Are an Ocean.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

I’ve had two periods of NCIS hiatus this year—and actually, I’m still in the midst of the second one right now. These have periods of turmoil in my own life. When I’m upset, feeling sick, feeling sorry for myself and I’m depressed and aching... that’s when I write the best, because writing is my safety blanket. When I’m feeling numb, though, or lost... the characters are lost to me, too, and so are the words I use to wrap them (and myself) in comfort.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

I’m going to deviate here from NCIS, which is—I’m well aware—why most of my followers have chosen to follow me. But in the last month, I’ve written a single fic for Criminal Minds—it’s called In Possibility, it’s unpublished, and it’s now over 100,00 words. It’s centered on Spencer Reid, who was intimidating to me when I started writing the fic. He’s far more intelligent than I am, requiring me to do a lot of research to give him realistic lines, he’s a deep and complicated character with complicated motivations and a tangled, traumatic past. He also has a sweet, really good heart that’s been scarred by years of difficult work and an emotionally taxing personal life. 

I thought he’d be difficult to write; to my surprise, he comes as naturally to me as any of my other favorite characters ever have. He gave me my first nanowrimo win! To be frank, he’s gotten me through a lot of shit this year. That was the best surprise.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

To be honest, I wasn’t much of a writer before this year. I enjoyed writing, especially in a roleplay setting with fandom friends... but I deeply struggled with trying to write alone. I didn’t do much of it.

Then, this year, well... the concept of writing exploded into the most important distraction, escape, and joy I could imagine. 

I didn’t grow as a writer this year. I became a writer this year.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

My most recent project—the one that, as I’ve said, is (and will remain) unpublished—has given me a new perspective. It’s written for an audience of me and only me... so I’ve given myself permission to engage in the most ridiculously self-indulgent writing I’ve ever embraced and thrown myself into. 

And it has been the greatest joy I could imagine in a time of great pain.* 

Next year, I want to throw myself into every project I work on with as much reckless abandon as I’ve done in this last project. I want to stop worrying so much about what people will think and pursue the words that are bursting out of the fingers on my laptop keyboard. I want to have confidence in my ability to draw out emotions—if from no one else, at least from myself.

“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.” —Emily Dickinson

And it’s alright if that one heart is mine.

That’s what I want to accomplish in my writing next year, and what a growth that would be!

* I’ve mentioned this in my last post, but I’m recovering from brain surgery, I also have the COVID-19 virus, and I’m working on passing a kidney stone that may be too big to pass. I’m writing 10,000 words a day to get through it—and it’s working. Distraction is everything to me right now.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Like Sof, I have to tag three people here, because I really couldn’t choose just one. My three best friends in the world all influenced my writing in their own ways! <3 (Sorry for deviating a little from the writing thing in some of the following lines, oops. I just have emotions that are all over the place this week!)

@indestinatus — One of a few best friends who has had my back every day for so long now. She listens when I need to talk things out—whether or not I’m talking about writing. She really gets me when I need to be silly, or I need to be serious, or I just really, really need a friend. Also, she inspired me to start learning Portuguese this year, and I’m actually practicing by writing a fic in Portuguese, lol. It’s slow going... but Sof encourages me (and corrects me, haha) whenever I work on it, just as she does with absolutely anything else I work on. Truly, I’ve had few friends in my life that are so special to me, and I love her. I really do. 

@why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee — Is there a better cheerleader on this earth? Is there a better friend? Doubtful on both counts. She thinks I’m a disaster—and, by the way, she’s absolutely right—and she sometimes has to remind me to eat and sleep, but she’s totally cool with being my internet mom. Doesn’t matter that she’s nearly a decade younger than I am, lol. All of these things have bolstered me when the writer inside of me has faltered, and she has carried my burdens as I wrote them out. Anyway, she reads everything I write, and she has requested to gain access to all of my unfinished chapters and unpublished works in the event that I die—I completely trust her with that nonsense. I’ve written it into my will. Really. Like with Sof, I genuinely love Tiz, and I’d do anything for her. 

@honeybadgerdocare — Best friend of 20 years. She doesn’t watch the same shows that I do, and my endless ranting makes very little sense to her... but she listens. She’s my sounding board for everything I write, everything I read, everything I watch, and everything that gives me big feelings. I genuinely can’t describe how much she has helped me with my writing every single day, so I’ll leave it at this: I could not do it without her. I’d drown in my own struggles and I’d stop creating the art that sustains me. She’s my soulmate—sorry to her fiancé. All of my love goes to her!

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

HAHAHAHAHA it’s cute how you think my writing is anything other than a re-organized and fictionalized version of my life and my feelings. Real life shows up in my writing, and my writing shows up in my real life. It gets crazy and obsessive, but like... I had a trip to Israel booked this year (obviously canceled due to the pandemic, but still) because Ziva comes from Israel. (Also because of my Jewish adoration for the spiritual homeland, but the thought of going and the trip planning all started with Ziva.) I went to Baltimore so I could run down an alley yelling “YOU CAN’T OUTRUN ME, I’M WEARING TUBE SOCKS!” to encourage my inner Tony DiNozzo. I nearly froze to death in Washington, D.C. and called my mom every time I saw a little red mini coop that looked like Ziva’s, or came across a place that was featured in an NCIS scene.

And to answer the actual question here, because I obviously flipped it around like the moron I am... when the pandemic canceled things I was desperately looking forward to, I wrote a fic where Tali’s excitedly anticipated dance recital got canceled because of the pandemic. I lost my appendix (last year, but the fic was written this year — does that count?) and wrote a fic where Tali loses hers, too. (I swear, I don’t always write things that torture Tali, lol, these are just my best examples!) When I lost a couple of loved ones this year, I wrote a funeral scene where Tony and Tali remembered Ziva. Writing is definitely free therapy, y’all.

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Write for yourself—write what you love, and you’ll love what you write. That’s all. That’s it. That’s my advice, something I’ve learned this year.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

I’ve been working on We Are an Ocean for roughly a year now, and 2021 needs to see it finished. I’ve got a number of lovely, dedicated readers who deserve to see the story play out as it’s intended to be played out. 

Also, my greatest love right now, In Possibility, will probably write itself to an end in 2021. Or... who knows? Maybe it will worm its way into 2022, too. :-)

14. If you could recommend only one work from yourself published this year:

Since I already went into detail about my favorite fic of mine from this year (That We May Forgive), I’ll recommend a different one: The Stars Always Make Me Laugh. It has some of the darkest moments I’ve ever written, but it also has some of the lightest moments I’ve ever written. It was an answer to two different challenges, and if I can say this without sounding arrogant, I think I met the challenges beautifully. It gave me comfort, catharsis, and closure for a few things in my own life... and I hope it comforts my readers, too. 

15. Year word count: 

HOLY FUCKING SHIT (excuse my French). I just added up my AO3 word count + my current unpublished project, and... my word count is:

428,557.

FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND, FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY SEVEN WORDS

I nearly just fell out of my chair. Goodbye, friends. I am deceased.

[alo-piss-trancy]

Hello, you have been identified as An Awesome Writer™! Congrats, you rock! So that all of your readers can shower you with some extra love today, please tell us your favorite five (or as many as you want) stories of yours and why you like them and then send this to another five fic authors you think deserve this title! ❤

Gee, I wonder who this could be from? c; (Thank you so much I love you!)

Okay so I’m doing seven because as you all know from my zillion ships and characters I’ve written for/screamed about, I’m incapable of picking a specific favourite lmao. But it’s still less than half my fics so it’s fine. Also none of these are ranked, I enjoyed them all equally tbh. (Forgive my lack of heart emojis RIP, I’m on desktop for this one)The Troubles Rain Can Bring (Pers/ona 5) : Of course I have to bring this one up, since it’s the one I consider my first legit omo fic (Jade was my first foray, but since it’s unfinished and I picked a dead fandom specifically so I had less chances of getting mean comments, I consider it more of a practice run). This was my first time writing for a very active and current fandom, so it was really intimidating, but I was also really excited to participate in creating for a game I was so passionate about! Also that fic was just a total labour of self-indulgence and love (excuse for fluff with my otp? combining all my fav tropes? Gratuitous Akira Suffering? Including the others for fun towards the end? I was in hog heaven!) While I definitely can find parts where I could improve the writing now, I still love it for all of the effort I put into it, and I got such a lovely response that made me feel really welcome on ao3, the omo tag on tumblr, and in the p/5 fandom! It’s kind of nostalgic for me, even if it was only written like a year and a half ago, haha.All Bottled Up (Dang/anRonpa: THH) : I’m just really proud of this fic, and I had so much fun writing it! I think it’s probably one of the few fics I’ve written that was a completely smooth ride of inspiration and fun from start to finish, without any hitches in the writing process or me getting bogged down with other projects. Seriously I think I hammered the entire thing out in like a week or two lmao. I love Naegiri so much, and the idea was a treat to work with even if it’s some of the most cliché omo scenarios, it was just a nice relaxing bit of indulgence! Also I got to dig into Kirigiri’s character, which I didn’t get to do in my other fic of her (since that one was so short and oddly styled). My favourite bit was probably getting to mess with the drawbacks of her gloves/hand injuries, and of course those fluffy bits with Naegi! Getting Your Feet Wet (Pers/ona 5) : This one, hoo boy. Definitely one of my longest fics, and while at the time when I posted it I kind of hated half the stuff in it (just because I had been nitpicking it for so long lmao), now that time has gone by I can genuinely say I love it and it’s probably one I’m proudest of. Not only was it my first full dive into snut (and I’d like to think it isn’t too shabby), but I got to work with a rarepair that I’ve been intrigued by, with two of my fav npcs from the game! So fun times all around! It was great to imagine how Sae might have changed and opened up since the game’s ending, and what Tae could do to help draw her out of that strict shell while still making her feel secure and comfortable. Also I got to include pet/p.lay which is something I’d been dying to write since I started that account, so bonus points for that! And I got a way better response than I was expecting, so that was nice!A Sinking Ship (Pers/ona 5) : ((Okay I swear I still plan to update the other half of this one someday soon, I literally have the draft halfway done I just haven’t been able to get it finished to the level I want.)) Anyways, I have a soft spot for this one because 1. It’s Makoto, and you all know how much I adore her, 2. I finally got to write some legit palace battling and shenanigans, which I really enjoyed and want to include more of in future projects, 3. I literally put so much detail into this one, from the setting descriptions to the dialogue and going out of my way to include the entire team interacting with her instead of just one or two chars, and I’m giving myself a fat pat on the back for that. And then throwing in actual anxiety and plot issues instead of just making her desperate for the sake of it, which may have been ambitious (hence why it’s kind of on a cliffhanger right now while I finish the comfort half), but I really just wanted her to have one of my best fics possible because Makoto deserves the best (of the worst suffering oops sorry bby). Also did I mention The Shumako Bridal Carry scene? That was absolutely necessary to include okay? Also there’s gonna be quality Shumako bonding in the second chapter so I’m biased to love this in advance. Basically I love this one specifically because it’s my own self-indulgent bullshit, which is kind of every fic I write but this is definitely one of The Most Indulgent. I also consider this one my very best omo fic in terms of the actual omo writing/content, even if it’s long AF, because at least you’re getting desperation and wetting for pretty much the entire thing, even when other stuff’s going on around it. So yeah I guess if you don’t mind a cliffhanger ending (for now) and have a decent knowledge of p/5, this is the one I recommend reading!Conundrums Lead to Collapse (Doc/tor Who - 13th Doc/tor) : I really liked writing this one because of the whump, actually. I rarely have excuses to injure characters for Even Worse Omo Suffering/Comfort, so the fact that I could write based on a canon injury was the perfect excuse! Also I’m just weak for the 13th Doctor so I’m always down for omo of her, but it was also a fun excuse to explore her character. We hadn’t gotten to see her angry or broken down at the time it aired, so I enjoyed getting to play around with how things affect her when she does finally lose the positive attitude and confidence, and bringing a character as powerful (and semi immortal I guess) as The Doctor to the floor was just a fun exercise. Also it’s kind of hard to find whump fics focused on female characters that don’t involve a certain kind of violence (or just female whump in general actually), so I just really enjoyed using all of the fandom tropes I’ve read over the years in those fics to create something for those of us who wanted it the other way around! I would also like to say this one gave me the excuse for Found Family Coddling, everyone comforts and helps her towards the end which is perfect for my fluff-craving heart after all of the angst.Holding More than Cards (Ka/kegurui Compulsive Gambler) : Oh boy, I’ll be honest the reason I love this is purely because it’s pretty much the only fic for this pairing that I’ve found for my tastes and I had to make it myself dang it (They basically had a whole two episodes where Midari creamed herself for Yumeko and they had that scene where they held each other’s faces staring into their eyes, HOW is no one jumping on this ship??? There’s literally 5 fics total on ao3 I’m not joking). I really enjoyed getting to dig into Midari’s characterization for this one, especially since I had such a tiny bit of canon to go off of and had to set it after the anime’s s1 developments. I got to write Yumeko being a dom and dropping her cheerful attitude too, which was really satisfying. Also while this doesn’t have full on snut in it, it was the closest I’d come at the time, so that was an interesting challenge. This was a rare chance to indulge in unhealthy ships too (bc literally every ship in that show is unhealthy on some level lmao) so that was entertaining to try and navigate.Capture the Fly with Nectar Sweet (The Ch/illing Adventures of Sabrin/a) : I just posted this one recently but I’m adding it anyways, because I had an absolute blast working on it. It’s so starkly different from anything I usually write, because you all know I love close friendships and found family and all that quality fluff and caring. But instead this one was me staring at my laptop thinking of how I want to tell this character to go to hell, except that would be pointless because that’s literally where she came from. I really got to stretch my wings outside my comfort zone and dig around in the dark, manipulative side for a while, and it was so much fun to study one of my favourite villains (anti-hero? she’s such a mysterious mess idk how to classify her) and her relationship with Sabrina. I also got to attempt writing desperation from the outsider’s perspective instead of the victim’s, and while I feel like I definitely still have room to improve with that, it was a nice break from the way I usually write my omo fics. I also got to shift around my writing style for this one, using words like ‘betwixt’ (which I love but never get to use lol) and using a bunch of metaphors and similes to showcase how Madam views Sabrina. This is probably the fic that makes it obvious that Language Arts was my favourite subject in school and that I’m Extra when it comes to predator/prey comparisons lmao. (Note: Please read the tags on this one, the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat warning applies here.)

I actually don’t know who else to send this to that I haven’t already, since like half the omo tag has vanished and I’m blanking on usernames, so if any of y'all are reading this post and you write fics: consider this me asking you to do it so I can hear about your fics! :D

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Finding Our Way

A/N: Repost of an old fic. I’m actually really proud of this concidering I had only been writing a couple of months when I wrote this. Feedback is highly appreciated y’all!

Warnings: Death, some angst and some fluff.

Characters:  Dean, Reader, Sam (kind of)

Wordcount: 2726

The rain is pouring down as I stand in the middle of the almost empty field. My black dress is soaked, my heels are digging into the wet ground, and I’m uselessly trying to brush a few wet hairs away from my face. Cold, shivering, I wrap my arms around me as I look up to the dark sky. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here, but it’s certainly been a while. My eyes are fixed at what’s left of the fire that was burning so vigorously just a while ago; now in the pile of ash, I can barely see some specks of orange between the gray. Tears are forming in the crook of my eyes again as I take in the sight before me. How can it be that a man who was full of life a mere twenty four hours ago is now reduced to a pile of cold, wet ash.

The hunter’s funeral serves a purpose, I know that, but now the smoldering pyre seems barbaric, now that it’s Sam we’re burning. Sam Winchester, the man of my dreams, the man that I fell so hopelessly in love with, the man that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Sam Winchester, friend, boyfriend, son and brother. Gone. Dead.

I can feel the strength leaving my body, my knees coming dangerously near to giving out, when the feeling of a blanket being wrapped around my shoulders startles me, but the familiar touch of strong hands gripping me makes the fear fade away. I turn to look into the green eyes of my best friend, Dean; I’ve seen his face so often I could locate every freckle, despite the dark. I’ve known Dean since I was nineteen, when our fathers met up for a hunt, and we’ve been close as brother and sister since.. He looks as exhausted as I feel, reminding  me that however much it hurts me to lose my boyfriend, it’s twice as hard on him, losing  his baby brother. And yet, he takes a step to the side and reveals a picnic blanket and cooler,  likely filled with beer, that he brought, taking my hand and guiding me towards it. The rain has stopped completely, and as we sit down, I can  see some stars peeking between the clearing clouds. Dean offers me a beer and even though drowning my sorrows is tempting at the moment I choose not to. I pull the blanket he gave me tighter around my body, drawing my knees to my chest to rest my chin on them. We don’t speak, choosing instead to sit in silence, watching the clouds slowly disappear as more stars comes to view.

I glance over to the remnants of the fire, and I am powerless to keep my body from shaking, tears falling once again. It only gets worse as Dean wraps his arm around me and pulls me close, guilt clenching at my heart. I should be the one comforting him, after the loss of his brother. The bond between Sam and Dean couldn’t be explained: it had to be experienced.  I can’t even begin to imagine what he is feeling right now, and still here he is, comforting me. Dean never puts himself first; there is nothing that he wouldn’t do for the people he loves. But he is going to have a hard time finding his way after this - the memory of him after John died is still clear. So, of course, it’ll come down to me to watch out for him, as he does for me. I pull away from him slightly and stretch out my arm so that he can join me under the blanket; he pauses for a moment, ever wary of affection, or care for his own well-being, but then he slides closer, pulling the blanket around both our shoulders. The sky is completely clear now and I can see the millions of stars that are blinking down on us. It’s beautiful, a night Sam would’ve loved: just the two people closest to him, the silence of the plain, and the eternity of stars shining overhead. The only thing missing is him.

“I’m sorry” I murmur, without looking at Dean, eyes too blurry and wet too focus. I hear him breathing deeply before he responds, swallowing his own tears.

“I know, sweetheart,” he finally says, sliding his hand into mine and squeezing “Looks like it’s just me and you now.”

“Yeah,” I respond weakly before burrowing my face into his shoulder, no longer able to repress the sobs shaking my chest. Dean pulls the blanket tighter around us and settles his face in my hair. I feel his own quiet tears kissing at my scalp even after I stop crying.

“Just you and me.”



2 months:

I throw myself down on one of the beds in the shabby motel room, more grateful than I should be for the grungy comfort of the mattress. We have been hunting non stop for the past two months, half of which I’ve spent swallowing my own sadness and fear and convincing Dean to take a day or two off. After John died, Dean spent every day restoring Baby after the truck accident and every night indulging in whiskey and women. Now, however, it’s work, all day, every day. I like to think he’s changed tactics because I’m with him, and I suppose it’s better than STD’s and a defunct liver; but right now, I, for one, need a moment to breathe.

“Hey, it’s only for a day or two, just a breather,” I say cautiously as I watch him anxiously bounce his knee, desperate for movement, for some distraction. A part of me feels the same way - the part that keeps me from curling up into a ball of depression - but we are still only human. How proud Sam would be - instead of watching out for his brother, I let him run himself into the ground. The memory of Sam still makes my chest tighten, so I pull my favourite book out of my duffle, hoping that it will be distraction enough for tonight.

“I need to get some air” Dean  says abruptly and stands from his chair “Do you need anything?” He briefly meets my gaze, a rarity these days; I shake my head, and a second later he closes the door behind him, leaving me completely alone.

The week after Sam’s funeral, we caught the demon who killed him. Dean took great pleasure in torturing him, listening to the thing curse, then beg for mercy, and finally for death before he ended its life. I will never forget the look in his eyes while he carved into the demon, a look of rage that I wouldn’t think possible from this sweet, selfless man; but the way Dean looked at me after the deed was done frightened me the most. The green in his gentle eyes  had been replaced by a dark brown, almost black. His spark was gone, whatever made Dean the brother I loved was gone, replaced by something as sinister as what had killed Sam. Perhaps it was the terror in my eyes or his own self-relfection, but since that day, he has barely looked at me, talking to me only when necessary - God forbid we discuss what happened, in typical Winchester fashion. I suppose he is out blowing off some steam, but to my surprise he comes back only half an hour later with a pizza and some beers.

“I brought us some food” he says with a tentative smile before laying the spread  on the table “I even ordered it with pineapple” he adds proudly. I can’t help smiling back - he knows I love pineapple on my pizza, and I know he hates them with a passion. I make my way over to join him at the table, half-pleased, half-worried about this change in his behaviour.

“Pineapple huh?”

“Mhm..” he mumbles with a mouthful of pizza, and gestures for me to dig in..

Half an hour later, I open another bottle of beer after clearing away the empty pizza box, mildly impressed that two people devoured an entire large pizza. The mood has lightened somewhat, but I’m still scared to talk to him, afraid I’m gonna say the wrong thing.

Dean suddenly takes a deep breath, as if about to dive off the deep end.“I’m sorry that I’ve been working us so hard lately,” he says, watching me as I slowly sit back down across from him and take a long pull on my beer.

“You know, I don’t mind hunting, Dean, but…it’s the tension between us that wears me out, how we can’t even talk to each other about…I mean, after…you know…” I’m unable to stop the words from spilling, and I silently curse myself. He digests my words for a while before he answers.

“I know. And I’m sorry about that, too.” He takes a deep breath and leans forward in his chair. “I know I’ve been kind of a dick to you, but ever since… since Sam died and the demon…I’ve been trying to figure out how to be around you.” I must look confused by his words, because he bites his lip and thinks for a moment before continuing. “I mean…I know that you need me, I promised Sam that…and we need each other, but I don’t…I don’t know how to be there for you, to help you heal, when I’m such a mess myself. Especially after you saw me doing what I did to that demon.” I can see a shimmer of tears in his eyes. He shakes his head a little and grits his teeth, trying to keep the tears at bay. In all the years I’ve known Dean, this is a side I’ve never seen before. I would’ve sworn he’d die before allowing anyone to see him this vulnerable.

“I don’t judge you for what you did to that demon, Dean, even though it scared me. But it was what happened afterwards that frightened me. You just closed yourself off from me, you shut me out.” I try my best not to let my frustration show, I need him to know that he hurt me, but I also need him to know that I forgive him. “I just need my friend back,” escapes my lips, as I swallow hard on the lump that’s forming in my throat. “I feel like you’re pulling away from me, and I have no idea how to bring you back.”

“I’m sorry” he says, “I really am.” I can see the remorse in his eyes and I know then that he truly is sorry. For a while we sit in silence.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” I say, once my voice is steady, and I get up and head for the bathroom.

“Come here” he says, softly  and I turn around to see him standing with his arms stretched towards me, more open than he’s been since the funeral. I don’t even think about it before I’m walking over and wrapping my arms around his waist. We stand there, just doing our best to hold the other together for a long time.

“I know we still have a long way to go, but I…I think we’ll be okay,” I say as I look up at him. He nods back, still a little tentative, but something’s shifted.



8 months:

“You broke a guy’s nose?” Dean almost cries from laughter

“He grabbed my ass!” I respond defensively, even though I’m laughing with him.

“I’m not even surprised” he says smirking, as he throws me an icepack from the medical kit in my duffle bag.

We have our ups and downs, but we’re slowly finding our way back to some kind of normalcy. Dean is acting a bit more like his old self, he laughs moore, he teases me at times, and I even saw him flirting with a bartender a few nights ago. He wouldn’t admit it though. He doesn’t even argue with me when I suggest we take a few days off anymore. I feel more like myself these days too.  I think about Sam every day. For a while I was afraid that I would forget something about him if I didn’t, now it’s more to remind myself that I will always remember him.

I remember that when the sun hit his hazel eyes it revealed a hint of green in them, I remember the dimples forming in his cheeks when he threw me one of his boyish grins and I remember the sound of his laughter. I miss him like crazy, but I’m finally able to focus more on the happy memories and not just on the pain of losing him. For a while, I felt guilty every time I smiled or laughed, as if I wasn’t allowed to be happy without him, but I don’t anymore. We are not healed yet, I don’t think we will ever heal completely, but it’s getting better.

It’s moments like these that helps us, when it’s just the two of us goofing around, no evil chasing us. Just us, getting back to being ourselves.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?” he asks me as he leans back on his bed.

“I don’t know. Something fun!” I smile at him.

“Wow you’re specific..” he scoffs, rolling his eyes at me.

I teasingly bat my eyelashes. “I know right! What do you want to do?”

“Well, there’s this small lake not far from here, I read in a brochure that it’s a nice place for fishing”

“I say fun and you think fishing?” I chuckle.

“Yep” he answers confidently.

“Fine, Winchester. If we can go swimming afterwards, I’m in”

“Deal.”

We decided to bring a tent to the lake, agreeing that we would spend the night if we liked it up there. It’s certainly gorgeous - the sun is up and the water is completely still. There are a few people in boats and a few more swimming, but we managed to find a secluded area to pitch our tent. I dig a book out of my bag and lean back against a tree, smiling to myself as I watch Dean throwing the line into the water. We stay like this for hours until I realize how much time has gone by  - the sun was about to set for the evening. I grab the extra chair that we brought and make my way over to Dean, setting it up by his side.

“I think it’s too late for swimming” he says with a little snort as he turns to look at me. I feign a little annoyance, but honestly, I’m just so happy to see that  spark in his eyes slowly returning that I don’t mind about the swimming at all. Every day that goes by, I can see more and more of my old friend in him.

“I guess you’re right,” I nod “Do you want to head back to the motel or  spend the night up here?”

“If you want to, we can stay.”

“Only if you want to,” I tease back.

This place is so peaceful and quiet and so much what Sam would’ve loved that I can’t help feeling a little sad..There is always going to be a part of me that’s missing; I suspect it’s the same for Dean. We will carry Sam with us for the rest of our lives, and I’m slowly getting used to the fact that there are always going to be things that remind me of him, things I wish he could be a part of. I lean my head on Dean’s shoulder and let out a long sigh. Despite the sorrow, I know as long as I have him by my side, there is nothing in this world that can break me, break us. Dean packs away his fishing rod and gently drapes his arm around my shoulders. We sit again in silence and watch the last rays of the sun paint the sky. The rays melt away and the stars begin to appear, and for the first time, the thought of Sam being near does not bring tears, but rather a smile.

Everything SPN

@docharleythegeekqueen @deansgirl215 @feelmyroarrrr @emoryhemsworth @essie1876 @sleepylunarwolf @angelsandwinchesters @roxyspearing @dustycelt @captainradicalpassion @grace-for-sale @fandomsstolemylife00 @laurenisnot @mrswhozeewhatsis @superapplepie @mogaruke @girl-next-door-writes @luckyfriess @duckieburns @melonshino @dslocum89 @sea040561 @smoothdogsgirl @megasimpleplan4ever @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 @itseverythingilike @riversong-sam @x-waywardaf-x @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @thereisnolumos @just-another-busy-fangirl @mamaredd123 @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @iliketowrite02 @nanie5 @wwecrazed2010 @its-not-a-show-its-a-lifestyle @obsessivecompulsivespn @impalaradio @organicapple022 @heyitscam99 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @azlinh @mystrie

Jensen/Dean:

@its-not-a-tulpa @mizzzpink @jayankles @torn-and-frayed @whimsicalrobots @luckyfriess @sandlee44 @viviandarkbloom06 @imaginesofdreams @mayasmedberg   @iwriteaboutdean @wingedcatninja @capsheadquarters @trunk-full-of-ideas @lavieenlex @angelsandwinchesters @applepielyf

[pseudocitrus]

more (a lot of shameless) musing writing/life/etc. this year under the cut (pls check tags if needed):

by the time the end of the year came....i think i started doing....pretty well. that is to say, even right now, i feel surprisingly mentally and emotionally healthy, i think. mostly.

it’s hard for me to say this decisively because i still have moments where i jerk up and suddenly panic about something that is, frankly, kind of silly, or at the very least generally unlikely. like some weeks ago at 3am i woke up and suddenly was unsure if a certain on twitter person (who i have never interacted with!! ever!!) was still following me, and the thought that they might not be was suddenly just, the most terrible thing. for the past couple days i’ve been slipping in again into anxiety attacks that i thought (siiiigh) i “finished” with. thoughts like “disease is so scary i’d rather die now than ever have to experience something really terrible and painful that drives everyone i love into debt and kills me anyway” still pounce up despite my best efforts and curated keyword muting. when i think these things, it’s easy for me to describe myself as not actually happy. something i’m chewing through is the idea that maybe this is an acceptable form of happiness after all — that is, feeling a majority of Totally Fine Feelings, and a minority of disease is so scary i’d rather die now than ever have to experience something really terrible and painful that drives everyone i love into debt and kills me anyway.

i’m really a “words” person, by which i mean a lot of my problems are about words, and so are a lot of my solutions. did i say the right thing? why haven’t they said anything — do they hate me? when i recognize my perspective getting skewed, i try to self-correct by piling through different lenses one by one, until i feel like i can see clearly again. in this way, tokyo ghoul has been a treasure for me, a chest of healing phrases. things like Even if it’s unstylish, live; or, I can’t wish for you to be happy…it’s so easy to become unhappy. I only wish for you to live — these are my magic spells. i cradle them and feel a little warmth, and even sometimes, a little sting in my own eyeballs AAH lmao. i can take a breath and suddenly it’s ok to not have 100% Totally Fine Feelings.

i’m accepting a little more that, similar to how you have to take a shower and eat food and exercise etc. every day and/or frequently, maybe an emotional/psychological well-being isn’t also something that you “level up” and then no longer need to worry about. it has needs that must be cared for. and just like anything else there are times when it gets sick and then especially needs to be cared for, rather than beaten into submission.

i’ve relied a lot on tokyo ghoul this year. some part of me, at the thought of it ending (whether this ends up happening soon or not) feels just~ a little~ terror, lmao. i’ve become really attached. a lot of what i do creatively is related to tokyo ghoul; a lot of the little things that make me happy on a daily or weekly basis is related to tokyo ghoul. i’ve tried other manga and anime series and, at least right now, even if i like them a lot (like the ancient magus bride, vnc!!) they don’t capture my heart as completely.

(frankly, maybe that’s ok. do i really have room for something else that will consume me as much as tg?)

if i try to analyze what’s led me to having what i consider to be a more healthy outlook, i guess i would say that something that’s made me feel more free and good is writing fic the way i have recently…just, the slightly built-out ~200 to ~500 word “headcanons” without much surrounding context, lol. coming up with titles and descriptions has always been a huge pain to me and it’s nice to not have to worry about it.

i talked a little bit about how i started to feel a little less desperate for notes this year, which was a personal problem of mine that i thought i’d have to struggle with forever. frankly, it’s entirely likely that those desires for attention and love (which i did not like relying on as much as i, personally, did) might come back one day, and, i’m trying to prepare myself for it.

if i think about any actions i took concretely to get to this current mindset, however, i’d say that, unexpectedly, writing the small headcanons really helped. they helped me write without me feeling like i’d invested a lot of time and energy into a Full Story whose reception would end up disappointing me in some dumb and irrational way.

i mean.....each headcanon bit still took about an hour or more on average haha. and i still checked for notes and felt really happy for any positive comment. i guess the important thing is that my overall mentality was different. i could relish the act of writing without feeling like i absolutely needed something else other than the writing to have my basic satisfaction met.

i don’t want to go over details, bc writing can be something for me where, the more i talk about it, the less i want to write. but, my mood also took a HUGE turn for the better in november, when i started trying to do nanowrimo. ///

i didn’t finish. i didn’t, technically, even “write” anything — i was super busy, so all i did was plot-outline. but the amount of psychological reward for doing just that much was incredible. i was able to admit to myself that the only thing that kept me from writing “this story” which i so desperately desired to write was plain fear, and giving myself permission to start, was like letting out a breath i’ve held for over a decade. i was afraid of not actually having a story and of not, after all these years of fanfic-writing, being able to actually come up with characters for myself. truthfully, i am still afraid of all these things. but now i’m afraid and have something to show for it other than my own private hopes and dreams, which — after so long — had become more of a poison than a light.

it was around this time that things happening in tokyo ghoul, which sometimes had the ability to drop me into panicked and/or sad and frustrated states, also stopped having such a huge effect on me. (which was good, for me, personally.) i’m still not done with the plot of this story...actually, i haven’t worked on it in a couple weeks lol, there’s been so much going on. but once again i’m starting to some dark thoughts sink their claws into me and now i feel equipped to think, oh........even though i don’t know what to do next in that story, even though i’m still afraid of writing it, even though i know it will be hard and my failure to come up with something might be “proof” that i’m not actually good at writing......the truth is actually that trying to write it anyway is what will make me feel better.

this year is also the year that i finally made some headway into forgiving myself for giving up drawing when my schooling started getting really difficult. for a long time i was frustrated with myself for not drawing — if only i’d used those years more — then i’d be so much better now than i am! i started the year trying to do more digital drawing but just couldn’t swallow my self-loathing long enough to finish anything, so i bought a daily journal thing and invested more in pencils and pens and paint and strangely, having the physical thing, drawing the same way i drew back before i “gave it up,” made it a little easier. (as i write this i feel really stupid, lmao. when i enjoyed drawing, i did it mostly on paper...of course returning to drawing on paper would feel better! idiot!!)

anyway. still. i made myself draw and sincerely, literally hated everything i drew in the first six months. one day the person i live with came home and saw me crying at my desk and was just like, “ah, yes....let me guess....you are a terrible drawer and that means you’re a terrible person,” and i,, just,,

i drew faces over and over and also allowed myself my enraged commentary. i copied. i did it over and over and over again. and finally — just now, literally just now, i’ve been drawing and....not hating it at least 50% of the time, lmao. with the daily journal it’s easy to look back into earlier months and feel furiously embarrassed by how terrible some of my old sketches look, and also feel strangely relieved. like.....ah, ok. so all of that effort. even if all i could do was cry in the short-term. ended up leading to something in the long-term after all.

anyway, i accept i’m not an amazing drawer. in my real life i feel surrounded by artists who look at my dumb scribbles and make comments on whatever weird anatomy i did that i had five seconds prior thought looked totally fine. all i want, at least for now, is to be able to draw more of the kinds of things i like, and this year i feel thankful i had the privilege and luck and energy to do more of that.

hmmm. anyway. that’s it i guess. this year had a lot of lows, not just for me personally but for like,, my entire country, lol. the kind of special helplessness and hopelessness i’ve felt this year is something i’ve never felt before. sometimes indulging in my own self-introspection feels unbearably selfish. how could you possibly be focusing on your dumb feelings and thoughts when there’s so many other important things going on?

even if it’s a selfish belief, i want to think that allowing myself to struggle in self-love, allowing myself to have space to exist with all my flaws and failures, is important self-defense in a world that feels increasingly like it wants to snuff me out. my small relatively trivial personal struggles this year have really taught me that my bad feelings are “ok” to feel and that i always always always have the power to react in my own way. my bad feelings, as much as i wish they just didn’t exist, have, this year, have helped me understand a lot more about the way that i actually want to live my life.

ANYWAY!! BIG SIGH!!!! here’s to 2018!!! :’)

[justanoutlawfic]

Happy OQ Valentine’s Day!

So, this may be a complete wreck but I’d like to draw your attention to a few things before you read you’re present ;) 1. Im pretty sure I gave away my identity already because... 2. I’m working off my iPhone (it’s sad but it’s true lol) and... 3. Mobile Tumblr just refusesss to make things easy on me. 4. And also, I waited to write this last minute like most other things in my life. But aside from all that, I do hope you find even a tiny bit of enjoyment in this. Our beautiful sunken ship deserves a bit of light today ❤️ P.s. I’d love to write for you again in the future if you’re ever interested. HOPIN’ AND WISHIN’ AND PRAYIN’ (An Outlaw Queen fic) The shadows blanket the road this far out. They stretch from the tops of the evergreen trees and cast most of the road in darkness. Except for tonight, there are a few bright beams filtering down from the full moon in the sky. The only sounds come from the crickets and wildlife beyond the pines and it’s a solitary, lonely kind of peaceful. She’s made a habit out of coming here; slipping out just after Henry’s gone to sleep and spending a precious few hours hoping. Hoping for what, she isn’t quite sure. Maybe for the resolute acceptance of how things have turned out. For her heart to stop aching and move on already. Sometimes even, she’s loathe to admit, she wishes for a freak accident that would take Marian away and right the universe again. But mostly, she hopes he’ll appear out of thin air, grinning how he does, as he steps back into Storybrooke and into her life. She knows it won’t happen, that he might as well be in another realm altogether. She understands why he’s gone, respects it even, but it doesn’t keep her from peering out down the road and wondering where on the other side he could be tonight. The pavement is cool beneath her thin slacks but she likes sitting at the very edge where she can pretend the red line in front of her crossed legs is the only barrier keeping them apart. As if the two of them sit apart, the protection spell a curtain that only need be pulled back and they’d be face to face. She lifts the flask next to her and the moon beams off its shiny surface as she indulges in another sip. She’s not drunk, but the alcohol numbs things just enough, blurs the edges so she doesn’t actually cry. And it would be all to easy to let herself embrace her emotions and sob in self pity. He was supposed to be her second chance; her redemption for the awful woman she’d been—and he was, for however brief a time. His integrity made her better. His morals brought her back to that seventeen year old girl she once was. Just “Regina”, not “Her Majesty” or “The Evil Queen”. He saw the real Regina under all those layers of guilt and anger and regret. And perhaps what makes her feel more despondent than anything is that she’ll never get a third chance. She got so unexpectedly lucky with Robin. She didn’t deserve him to begin with, but only he could have been her soulmate. Only he could understand every sordid detail of her past and still have the audacity to not only love her, but choose her. Regina runs a hand through the front of her dark hair as she sighs. She misses him. She misses having another person unconditionally in her corner, misses not always feeling like the third wheel, misses the smell of damp earth and aged redwood. She wants to scream to the heavens, or this “author”, or whatever higher power there might be that it’s so unfair! Only she knows damn well how fair her pain is; how cosmic and condemned her story has read. It’s her punishment for choosing revenge when she could have chosen forgiveness. Daniel’s death was the great catalyst of her life. And while she knows there are many who let their grief morph into hatred, there had been another way. It would have been harder, maybe taken longer, but she might have come out the other side a better person; a hero. She won’t make that mistake again. While it feels just as bad as it had years ago, even worse actually; she cannot tarnish what Robin stood for, just to try to ease the ache. If anyone was undeserving, it was that man. He had made mistakes the same as any of them, sure, but he worked for his redemption. Robin had found a way to do what she never could. He turned his pain into purpose. A purpose full of love and selflessness and renewal. And now he’s been hurt once more, entangled in the web of her retribution; collateral damage for the penance she was paying. He had not known just what loving the Evil Queen would cost him, even if she had truly made a change. Yet, he had opted to accept the shit hand he was dealt and if only it weren’t for her he wouldn’t be hurting because of it. He might even be overjoyed to have his late wife back; his family reunited. She prays for that as she slowly pushes herself to her feet now. She decides it’s the only thing she can do to wish him well, Marian too. If only she could have granted him a memory spell before he’d gone so he could forget about the wreckage she’d brought into his heart. Of course, her thief would never have taken the easy way out. And Regina can’t help but to hold on to the thought of him remembering her, remembering the true, sacred, magical connection they shared. She suddenly has to lift her fingers to her face to brush away an errant tear. She will not feel sorry for herself, at least not anymore tonight. Staring out down the still, vacant road out of Storybrooke, she sniffles and squares her shoulders to reign in her emotions and she hopes above all else that Robin finds the kind of happiness she knows he deserves. This chapter of her story is closing, and she needs to let the dust settle on the pages and find a way to move on. If her heart is going to take it’s time mending, then she must stop her late night visits. She has a son at home and new, delicate friendships, and a town that seems forever under threat, and a population of people who she owes debts so great she may never repay them. But she must try. She turns on her heel and heads back to her silver benz parked just off the shoulder, opens the door and gives one last, longing gaze down the vacant road. In her mind, the protected barrier shimmers and parts and her handsome thief appears, Roland at his side, tiny hand clutched in his. Regina abandons the door, unconsciously letting her feet carry her forward a few paces. She let’s her eyes slip closed and smiles wide with the image of them behind her lids. “Regina”, he says. And it’s not until she reopens her eyes that it occurs to her the tone of his voice had not been quite right. “Regina!” As if awaking from a dream, her focus snaps back to reality and he’s still in front of her, rushing towards her more accurately, his arms outstretched. The the next moment she can feel him against her chest, can smell his woodsy scent right under her nose. “Oh thank God, Regina!”, he nearly cries in relief and it’s all she can do to catch her brain up to what’s happening. Maybe she’d had more to drink than she thought? He pulls out of the embrace, but doesn’t completely withdraw his touch. He must have sensed her shock, perhaps too overwhelmed to see her to notice she didn’t hug back. “Regina?” Her eyes scan over his body, willing herself to believe it’s really him, but they land instead on the dimple faced child grinning up at her. “Gina! We come to visit you!”, his little voice hits her ears and she raises her eyes back to Robin’s anxious gaze. The acceptance breaks around her and she throws her arms around his neck, afraid he might disappear. “Robin!” It’s the only thing she manages to say while she’s this overcome with emotions. He holds her back, just as tight and whispers her name quietly against her head and she finally finds her voice. “Wha—why—what are you doing here?”, she breathes in disbelief. Her hand falls to Roland’s head below and caresses his locks to finally acknowledge him, but she needs to grasp her current reality before she makes a fool of herself. “It’s Zelena”, he tells her with a bit of disdain, “We’re all in danger. I had to come back to warn you all, to help fight” He glances down at his now frightened son and lifts him into his right hip for a soothing hug while Regina blinks in confusion. “What are you talking about? Where is Mari—“ “We can’t talk about it now”, he cuts her off urgently, gesturing with a discreet nod to the boy in his arms. “Listen, I promise I will explain everything later. But we don’t have a lot of time to gather the others and make a plan”. He slides a gentle hand down her arm as if to assure her it’ll be alright despite his ominous warning. Roland wiggles in his grasp and his father sets him on his feet a moment before he bounds off a yard or two and squats down to examine a rock on the pavement. “I’m just so happy to see you, Regina”, Robin cups her cheek in his chilled palm, “didn’t think I would again”. His words rush off his tongue before his lips are pressed to hers, desperate and needy, fueled by the current perils only he knows they face and his all consuming love for her. It is a reunion kiss that can only come from resolutely believing they’d be separated permanently. Regina responds with all the heart she can muster, their lips moving fluidly together as if the last few weeks had not eclipsed. When they finally break for air they are both grinning like fools, foreheads resting together as their breathing falls in sync, and she swears she suddenly feels whole again, as if her arm had been missing and has just now been returned. She lets the feeling wash over her, soaks it in selfishly for a minute because she knows how fleeting this absolute contentment is now. There are still a thousand questions running through her head, a dark cloud churning and billowing over their little town and every life in it, but with Robin’s hand in her own things feel possible. She tightens her grip and they start toward her car, ushering Roland away from his picture in the dirt as they go. They let their hands slip apart to round the car and Robin opens the back so Roland can hop inside excitedly, insisting that he’s mastered belting himself in. Once he’s safely buckled and shut in, Robin pulls his handle but catches Regina’s eyes over the hood. They both have a flurry of emotions hidden in their expressions, but one sticks out above them all and Regina knows this one to be the only true importance in the world. “I love you”, Robin declares, the lines around his eyes wrinkled from the joy on his face. Her chest swells with such happiness that her dark eyes moisten with tears and she doesn’t care that her voice cracks when she finally speaks the words herself. “I love you”. Fin

[queerpyracy]

where only god and the devil will know

hey guys/gals/pals i wrote wildly self-indulgent smut fic of my own orig fic

consider this chapter 3.5 of atdm

nsfw, 2k

Micah may share a face with Aaron, but his eyes are softer. The air in the garden is thick with the smell of flowers, sticky sweet and made heavier by the heat. He smiles, when James says Micah can call him by his first name. It’s a bright smile, there’s no edge to it. “James,” he says, as if trying out the fit of the name in his mouth. “Do you want to have a drink with me?”

In the back of his mind, James can hear Aaron laughing at him, but these days, it’s an easy sound to ignore. “I would like that,” he says.

Micah extends a hand, all smooth palm that’s never seen a day’s hard labor. “Come with me,” he says, with a grin. “We can take it somewhere we’ll be alone.”

The air is cooler, in the brothel, and smells of cigarette smoke. The lights are low and the place is mostly empty, there aren’t too many men who would come there on a Sunday. Micah takes a bottle from the bar and pulls James after him down a corridor to a room painted deep gold-yellow. There’s a sense of newness to the place, still, a suitcase half-unpacked in one corner.

Micah looks back at James, handing him the bottle. “Open it for me?” He sits on the bed, tucking his legs under him, and pats the bed next to him. His smile would melt a widow’s heart. James can’t remember the last time someone smiled at him like that.

The moment James sits next to him, Micah is almost in his lap, tipping his chin up to drink from the bottle and display the long curve of his throat. He offers the bottle to James with a sparkle in his eyes, and James wonders at how ready he is to accept this game, to let Micah convince him this is something special. “So, James,” Micah says, putting his legs across James’ lap, “what brings you to Carlston?”

The bottle isn’t labelled, but it tastes like berry wine, too sweet for his taste. James hands it back to Micah. “A fresh start.”

“Me, too.” Micah takes another drink and sets the bottle aside. He tips up the brim of James’ hat—James realizes only then that he’s so distracted he forgot to take it off—and peers at him with something that looks dangerously close to genuine curiosity. James’ heart flutters like a schoolboy’s and he’s embarrassed at himself, that at the first sign of softness he’s ready to plunge into the river.

“I wonder,” Micah says, voice soft and low, “what a man like you comes to a brothel for.”

James wishes Micah’s dark eyes weren’t half so wide, that they suggested some kind of guile or deceit or anything that he’s more used to than the simple interest and curiosity he’s faced with.

“On a Sunday? I come here for the same reason any man does.” He brings his fingers to Micah’s cheek, tracing down his jaw and pulling him forward by the chin. His mouth is warm and he tastes like something James is afraid of but desperately, achingly wants. He’s warm and new and he’s someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about James, which is maybe the best thing he could possibly be. In the quiet breath of space that follows that kiss, James whispers, “To worship.”

Micah makes a soft sound, hardly more than an intake of breath. He lays a hand against James’ chest, fingers spread out. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

James laughs softly. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to negotiate.”

“How long?”

“About twenty years.”

He hasn’t touched anyone, since Aaron left.

Nearly a year. All that time, not knowing where he had gone, not knowing at first that he wasn’t coming back. Thinking he had died. Finding out that the truth was worse.

He hasn’t touched anyone, and now Micah’s hand is on his shirt and his eyes are dark and soft and James wants nothing more than to forget that year, even for a moment.

It’s awkward, at first, remembering how to negotiate the terms of an encounter. Even before Aaron, he only did this a handful of times—and not always from the side where he now sits. Micah is patient, though, and there’s not much that he doesn’t agree to. An agreement reached, Micah takes what he’s owed, and draws his fingers over James’ throat. “Maybe you’d like to worship where only God and the Devil will know.”

James doesn’t know if Micah feel the way his pulse picks up, but he knows that when that hand pulls away something in him stings with need.

Micah stands, and starts to bring his hands to his collar, but stops. With a smile full of mischief, he asks, “Do you want to undress me?”

He would like nothing better. James tosses his hat to the side and stands. He’s used to being one of the tallest people in the room, but Micah is barely taller than Carl, and of an even lighter build. He looks slim enough for James to pick him up with one arm.

Buttons slide away under his fingers, one by one as carefully as the muttered lines of a prayer, shirt falling away from Micah’s shoulders. Micah drops it to the floor behind him, and shivers as James trails his fingertips down, kneeling in front of Micah.

Micah balances his hand on James’ shoulder as James cradles his knee, sliding his shoes from his feet. It’s not a dissimilar posture, James thinks, from washing the feet of Christ.

Micah’s skin smells of milk soap and something floral, and he’s so close that for a moment James just has to take it in, hands on the back of his thighs and forehead against his middle, overcome. Micah lets him kneel there for a moment, touching his hair, the back of his neck.

Pulling back he reaches for the button of Micah’s trousers, and slides them down over his hips. His legs are lean and perfect and James wonders for a brief moment what it would be like to have them wrapped around his neck.

He supposes there’s plenty of time to find out.

Micah steps away from his clothes, rolls his shoulders and smiles in a way that would make the Devil blush. He holds out his hand, and says, “Well?”

James kisses Micah’s fingers, the back of his hand, and rises, drawing his fingertips up Micah’s arms, over his shoulders. Micah tips his head back as those fingers reach his throat, and James bends to kiss his neck, mouth finding his heartbeat. “Forgive me,” he whispers against Micah’s pulse, “forgive me my sins.”

Micah stands an idol, receiving worship. His hands trace a path down the front of James’ shirt, parting buttons, pushing it back from his arms along with his vest. Micah’s palms ghost over old scars, as if making a note to return to them later. “You know how to earn your forgiveness,” he murmurs, pressing up against James.

James runs a reverent hand down Micah’s back, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Micah’s thigh. Micah let out a soft breath, laughed a little, pulling James back toward the bed. He sits himself back, lounging, trailing his fingers down his leg, drawing the eye with them.

James kisses his way down Micah’s thighs, letting Micah hook his legs over James’ shoulders, run his fingers through James’ hair.

James moves up, passing by Micah’s cock to kiss his throat again, and work his way down Micah’s chest and stomach, to the coarse dark hair trailing from his navel. Micah’s breath hums in his chest, he twists and reaches for something, and James moves out of the way to let Micah slide the condom on with a skilled hand.

He squeezes Micah’s hip, and when Micah lays back again James swallows him down, not one to be outdone in a show of skill. Micah sucks in a surprised gasp, his fingers tightening in James’ hair, pulling in a way that earns him a hum around his cock.

Micah loosens his grip a little, and James can hear the smile in his voice. “Worship me,” he purrs, “earn your forgiveness.”

James obliges, attention focused completely on Micah, on getting him off, listening for each and every shift in his breath.

“Stop,” Micah gasps, and James does, looking up. Micah catches his breath, and sits up, looking at James for a moment. “Take your clothes off,” he says, legs dangling from the bed. He looks like a prince of hedonism, limbs loose and relaxed, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

As James obeys, Micah reaches for a slim dark bottle on his nightstand, and offers it to James with a smile. “Worship me,” he says again, and lays back with his knees bent, legs spread wide.

For a moment James just gazes at him, the glass of that dark little bottle cool in his hand. He takes his time, slicking his fingers and kissing his way up Micah’s torso, whispering benedictions against his skin. Micah strokes his hands down James’ back, the filed edges of his fingernails scraping over James’ spine. James shivers under the touch, patiently preparing Micah, delighting in the soft sounds he made in his throat, the way his lips curved up when his eyes met James’.

“On your back,” Micah whispers, sliding a condom onto James without breaking eye contact.

James turns over, and Micah straddles his waist, sliding his hips slowly back with a wicked grin. “Who gives you forgiveness?” he asks, his fingertips on James’ throat.

“You do,” James murmurs, gazing at Micah, enraptured.

“Who gives you life?” Micah asks, his lips tracing over James’ cheek.

“You do.” Micah is—very good at this. Maybe it’s the way he sounds so sincere, even with that gleam in his eye, inspiring some sense of… safety. That’s what James would call this feeling. It’s almost strange.  He never wants to leave it.

Micah slides a hand between them, grasping James’ cock. “Who gives you salvation?” he asks, his voice dropping slightly, so close that James can feel Micah’s breath on his chest.

“You,” James answers, and he’s glad that Micah stops asking questions because his voice fails him the moment he’s inside Micah, all he can do is anchor his hands on Micah’s hips, pinned in place by those soft dark eyes.

Micah takes his time, luxuriating, his fingers spread across James’ middle. For a moment, he bites his lip, and James swears he’s never seen anything so God-damned beautiful in his entire life. Micah opens his eyes and chuckles, sitting back and dragging James’ hands up his torso. “Touch me,” he purrs. “Worship at the altar of the idol.”

James pulls himself up, pulling Micah’s legs around his waist, and obliges. Whatever part of Micah he can reach with lips or hands, he does, pulling those quiet little moans out of Micah’s chest, tracing every line and curve of him and committing it to memory. The wine-dark birthmark just below his throat, the spatter of moles here and there on his skin, like raindrops in the dust.

Micah sinks his fingers into James’ hair, pulling himself up against James’ chest as he bounces in James’ lap, his breath ragged. Micah presses his forehead to James’ and that shining smile spreads across his face, fingers trailing down over James’ cheek. I have to come back, James thought, I have to see you again.

James is caught off guard when Micah tips his head back with a cry, coming with a shiver that runs through his entire body. There’s sweat on his skin, a rosy color in his face, and the pleased little smile he gives James was too much. He rolls Micah onto his back, the headboard banging against the wall as he makes a last few thrusts into Micah, Micah’s short fingernails scraping down his back.

Micah runs his tongue up the curve of James’ neck, and whispers, “Give yourself to me,” and James shudders, and does.

For a moment, he has to get his bearings, Micah’s narrow chest flush against his own, not quite able to determine which pulse belongs to him. Micah waits, catching his breath, and when James looks up at him, he smiles again. “I think I wouldn’t mind seeing you again, Sheriff.”

James laughs, feeling lighter for it. He can’t remember the last time he laughed. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you again, either.” Grasped by some impulse, he takes Micah’s hand, squeezes it. “Thank you.”

Micah seems surprised at the thanks, and shrugs. “Of course.” He nods toward a narrow door at the back of the room. “Sink’s in there, if you want to wash up.”

For the first time in a long time, when James looks at his reflection, it isn’t tired.

[meggannn]

concrit, and notes for the self

So this is a bit of a weird post I've been wondering how to articulate for a while. I know people have different ideas on fandom courtesy in this regard, and opinions on this topic can be heavily divided.

This is my post to get it out there and say I don't mind, and in fact encrouage, people giving me concrit in my fic in AO3 comments or reblogs. Everyone is different and everyone writes fic for different reasons; some people write for fun and don't care about improving. I totally respect that and that's why I don't offer concrit unless someone specifically asks for it. I'm writing for fun, but I also take my writing seriously, maybe more seriously than I should, so if you've ever read my fic and thought "hm, that bit's not great," please consider this an open invitation to give me all the constructive feedback you want. I try to say I welcome it consistently in my notes when I post fic, but I guess people don't really register that. In fairness, I've seen people say they welcome opinions on their fic and then turn haughty and defensive when someone gives any feedback that isn't praise, but I've always respected writers who freely share the negative concrit they receive (so long as it’s not a troll) because as a reader, it also encourages me to read and interact more with them. If you don't feel comfortable sharing it publicly or want to talk about a certain thing at length, you can always feel free to IM me privately here, or leave the comment on anon on AO3.

This is a weird thing to post on Tumblr, since I don't think I have a big writer presence here, but AO3 doesn't really have a good platform to share this kind of message. And I realize this is a bizarre thing to want to post about -- if I'm not receiving any concrit, like, shouldn't that be a good thing? am I really complaining I'm not receiving any? -- but the few times I have received concrit in the last five years, one was from a friend who knows me well enough to know I welcome it, and the other two were strangers who seemed hesitant to bring it up at all, that made me wonder if they were scared of my reaction so they sandwiched it between complements to soften the blow. I don’t want people to worry about my reaction and apologize for giving negative feedback. I’m always down to talk about ways I can get better. Chances are more likely I’ll probably apologize to you, lol.

Not to say people should look for things to criticize if they think there aren't any -- I'd be flattered -- but I don’t want people thinking giving me concrit will make me resent them, or that bad feelings will fester if we’re mutuals. I promise there isn't anything mean enough you can say about my work I haven't already said to myself. (Though I will say, I'm writing this with the implication people will be reviewing recent or future works judging my talent as a writer now, not dig into my '09-'13 fic history back when I didn't know the word for ellipses and criticize me how I was.)

I have a weird history with concrit (it all started with a flame war back in ‘10...), but now I take the smallest comments from both positive and negative feedback so seriously to the point it does affect how I look at my future works, possibly because most of the feedback fic writers -- including myself -- do receive is just a single bookmark or anonymous kudos with no words attached. Sometimes when I think of people hating my stuff it makes me never want to share anything again, but a large majority of the time when I do receive it, I find that I have a thicker skin than I thought and I'm very easily able to separate the work from my personal feelings. Again: there's nothing anybody can say will be as bad as what I've already told myself, lol.

I'm putting the rest of this behind a cut because it's somewhat related, but it's mostly me blabbing about ways I think I can improve. I've been trying to narrow it down to a few specific areas I want to get better in. Some are going to be on me and only on me to make happen, but I feel like others might better spotted by readers.

This is about to get very mopey and self-indulgent, so if anyone actually reads this bear with me.

Vocabulary. It’s not that I think I have a limited vocabulary, but I think my tendency is to rely on the same words or phrases, which... just feels lazy and fake after a while. @thunderheadfred suggested I don’t try to hard with this one, because trying too hard to include big words can often lend to a convoluted mess, but I think the solution to my problem might just be “read more” and “get creative with how words interact with each other.” Part of this is also just learning relevant jargon or legalese or whatnot and getting familiar with it to the point that I finally don’t feel like I’m playing Mad Libs when I’m talking about something I don’t understand.

General... logic editing. I'm not sure how to describe this one, but I've had moments occasionally while rereading fic where I just think, “Life doesn’t work like that,” or “Megan, you pulled that one completely out of your ass.” You ever just read a fic and think “Goddammit, this makes no sense,” or even with smaller things, just “that’s not how that works”? Some of them are going to be things only specialists will know, which is okay because at that point I feel like learning to get it right is more a bonus than an obligation especially if it’s not plot relevant, but I generally want to make everything as accurate and realistic as possible to the point that the story unfolding in the reader’s head matches the film I’m imagining in mine. Most of the time, I can bullshit my way through stuff I don’t know, but bullshitting also takes talent, which... well. The thing about talent is that you need to have it or develop it, it’s not always something someone can help you with. But still, it’s a bit of a weird problem to articulate when the crux of it comes down to me saing like an idiot, “Uh, I don’t know how things work.” I kinda vaguely know how governments work. My knowledge of science and technology and math is in the negatives. And I don’t have a goddamn clue how the military works, which is a great joke on me for falling in love with a character like Shepard and wanting to write a million fics about them. So, just, part of this is research, but oftentimes research is only half the problem. The other half of the problem is sitting down at my keyboard and thinking “Great, now how am I going to write it?” because more often than not what happens is that the information I just read off Wikipedia or an obscure informative website just collects dust in my brain. I’m trying to be patient with myself about this kind of thing, because on some level I realize I’m pretty damn young and sometimes you just learn things by! going through life! But I am also an impatient ravenclaw motherfucker who wants to be a good writer Right Now. I want to know how things work and how they affect the people around them! I want to be able to make my story and understanding of the world as accurate as possible! I want people to go “yes, this makes absolute sense” not just “oh, that sounds kinda right I guess?” One thing I try to remind myself is, when I think a small thing sounds wrong or try-hard or that that thing doesn’t quite sound right for whatever reason, most of the time, the reader has no idea. The reader might be skimming over it, they may be digesting it without any sense that something is wrong about it whatsoever, hell they might even like it. I mean, if you asked me to read a friend’s fic and point out an error, I’d have to pull out a magnifying glass to find one, and they’d probably be able to recite a laundry list’s worth within five seconds. So there’s that.

Environmental building. I feel like I'm improving on this simply because I've finally started acknowledging where characters are even located in a place at all, lmfao. I'd like to upgrade to "being so good at describing locations and environments that someone other than me can ‘see’ where they are," but atm I'm settling for, "remember to at least TRY to transcribe the physical locale I see in my mind, because half of the time you forget to do even that, dumbass."

Characterization. This is a big one because it affects so much else, namely, the course of the entire fic. I say this all the time to reviewers but I mean it. A fair amount of time I can type on autopilot and it’s like the characters are doing all the work for me, but other times I sit for an hour scratching my head saying “Jesus, what would Varric say in this situation?” and then I realize “Maybe Varric wouldn’t even let himself get into this situation in the first place,” and that starts a whole chain of doubt and thinking about rewriting and actual rewriting while wondering if the rewriting is even necessary. I've recently been able to put my most consistent problem to words, and that's that I will always have staple issues with the POV characters. The nature of my style means that I spend a lot of time in the POV's head, which sometimes means less energy is spent developing their actual actions. E.g., say I write a fic with Shepard as the POV. If Garrus is in the fic, he is absolutely going to be the snarky, confident, more proactive version of himself to make up for all of the angst and moaning I will inevitably write as a result of digging into Shepard's mind. But say I write the same fic with Garrus as the POV. Depending on the time setting, I will be so caught up in his head as he worries about his mom dying and his guilt over losing his team and his place in the Hierarchy or if his dad will ever forgive him or his insecurities over his relationship with Shepard, that Shepard-the-deuteragonist will have to be the talkative, confident marine to draw him out of his own head. And again, imagine this is, like, the same story -- the same story written from a different perspective shouldn’t go a different way! In this example, some of the gap can be excused with the fact that by necessity, the POV has them viewing each other. Garrus and Shepard know each other well enough to know each other's bravado and strength can be a facade for their seriously fucked up emotional issues, so it's not that they imagine the other never has these moments of darker reflection that they do. And the same thing about Varric and Hawke or Hawke and Fenris, etc etc. Depending on how you play them, they could also be looking at each other through rose-colored glasses, or be so used to accepting and supporting the other through their private uncertainties that for the sake of the fic, that what they mostly register in the other is just the best or most confident side of the other's behavior. Narratively, I've realized it might come out of a subliminal urge to balance one's introspective side with the other's more proactive side, which may work sometimes (if they're both serving aggressive roles in the story, for me, the fic might get too 'loud'; if they're both too quiet, it'll just get boring), but most times I feel like it doesn't do justice to the "loud" parts of the POV character, since they are always the one who gets caught in paragraphs on paragraphs of angsty introspection in their own head due to my inability to write anything else. Shepard and Garrus are undeniably “loud” characters no matter how you slice it. Shepard may mope and pine and nearly drown in her depression in her private moments, but she's also a marine, and she’s proactive and brave and assertive. So I'm trying to be hyperaware of when I lose those facets of her personality through the trees when I try to capture the forest that is her darker side. And I would be wholly welcome to anybody who has comments on that type of thing in the future, if I write a character that isn't acting like themself.

This got a lot longer than I thought it would so now I’m not sure how to end it. I think I’m just going to sit in silence for a moment then heat up some soup. Hmm.

ETA: I would be ashamed if I didn’t mention @tetrahedrals, who consistently provides me wonderfully helpful feedback on my ME fic, and none of whose fault this is. All remaining errors in my fic after they’ve been beta’d and workshopped are entirely mine, but she’s helped me a lot to ensure there are far fewer than there might have been. xo