#I’ve had this in my WIP file for far too long

[its-wabby-stuff]

Mikey Goes To Oz

<Time spent: 49 hours 17 minutes>

When Mikey takes some time away from a loud family squabble he accidentally ends up getting “flushed” down the sewers. This winds up sending him to the colorful land of Oz where he meets a good witch, a wicked witch, a brainless scarecrow, a heartless Tinman, a cowardess lion, and a powerful wizard, all disguised behind very familiar faces.

A canon adjacent spin off set before the season one finale but after they discover Splinter is Lou Jitsu

I wanted to fit each of the boys into their “you’ve had this all along” category. Leo isn’t brainless, in fact he’s pretty clever with a street smart, people reading ability on par with Donnie’s intelligence. Donnie isn’t heartless, he just has a tough time expressing his feelings. They are complex and unalgorithic but he can get just as excited or sad or angry as anyone, as much as he may deny it. Raph isn’t a coward, but being brave sometimes means admitting you’re scared and that you maybe don’t have all the answers. You dont have to be strong all the time and you don’t have to do it by yourself.

In the movie Dorothy’s journey home is also a representation of her running away. The important thing was to remember there were people who cared about her. Mikey is experiencing a similar phenomenon, wanting the escape the bad vibes in the lair. His “you’ve had it all along” is interesting because it is an object, since the Ruby kneepads could’ve taken him home the whole time. And sometimes getting home means going on a journey only to realize you never left.

I put April as Glinda because Glinda appears as a defender of the weak, and I see April in a similar light. Always willing to help and beat someone up if it is so required. Splinter as The Wizard of Oz represents Splinters own willingness to hide behind different personas, his running from the past and the pulling back of the curtain for Mikey in timeline. The Wizard grows through the movie, albeit quickly, and ends up leaving Oz to go home leaving his legacy with the scarecrow, the Tinman, and the lion. In this case the passing of the baton to his sons.

Meanwhile Draxum as the wicked witch felt much more how Mikey sees Draxum at this time in the show, mostly just an antagonistic force who wants something from them. Fun fact: I imagine throughout this dream, Draxum is uninterested in being the wicked witch but is pressed into it via plot. Hence his disinterest in being “melted.”

Additional characters not pictured: Big Mama as the Wicked Witch of the East (those were her Ruby kneepads!!) and Todd as the Mayor of Munchkin Land. If you can think of more, feel free to leave them in the comments or tags.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut; "Tim's free cloning lab". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Red Robin’s commitment issues are his own problem, not mine. I’ve got a schedule to keep,” Luthor replies dismissively, then knocks back the last of his hopefully-actually-a-protein-shake-and-not-Bane-venom-or-something and gets to his feet, picking up his tablet again as he does. He does not seem concerned to be alone in a lab full of sharp objects and computers with two only negligibly-restrained Bats. Admittedly Luthor doesn’t tend to seem concerned during literal multiversal apocalypses, but Tim is vaguely insulted on principle. A multiversal apocalypse couldn’t do any worse than uncreate Luthor and everything he’s ever done in his life, after all. He could tank his stock prices and drive up all his insurance rates, and then make him have to live with it. 

A little respect isn’t that much to ask, is it? 

“Wow, called out by the supervillain,” Steph mutters to him under her breath. “The Metropolis supervillain, even.” 

“I do not have commitment issues,” Tim mutters back to her. 

“Yes you do, the issue is you commit yourself to somebody and then become an insane person about them but never actually mention the existence of said commitment to them,” she retorts frankly. 

“I do not–” 

“When did you go for the red and black suit again and how long did you stick with it?” 

“. . . we’re in a supervillain lair in Connecticut, I don’t have to answer that right now.” 

“Oh, so you will later?” 

“So anyway, new supervillain trap, how’s that going for you?” Tim asks Luthor. Steph snorts at him; he ignores her and all her baseless, ridiculous, baseless accusations that are definitely not currently reading him for absolute filth. “All coming together nicely, no tech issues? Because we could troubleshoot those for you while we’re waiting for extraction, no charge.” 

“The chemical breakdown of the necessary stabilizer you missed when you were cleaning out my old labs is laid out in file B-2.13, speaking of ‘troubleshooting’,” Luthor mentions, and Tim . . . pauses. 

“‘Stabilizer’,” he echoes carefully, and then glances around the sunroom lab. The sunroom cloning lab. 

The sunroom. 

Ah. 

That is probably a connection he should've made, like . . . literally instantly, yeah. 

“Oh my god, do you think you can actually convince Red Robin to make you another–wait, why do you even want Red Robin to make you another Superman or whatever, you did it better than he ever did,” Steph says, squinting in bewilderment at Luthor through her mask. Tim’s much more insulted this time, even if it’s objectively true that Kon is objectively–never mind. Luthor just looks dubious. 

“I don’t want another Superman, there are already far too many of those running around and being an issue as it is,” he snorts dismissively, waving her off. “And I’m willing to provide a useful little resource or two, of course, but it’s hardly traditional to have to make my own grandchildren, now is it. Besides, Supernova won’t be as annoyed about it if they come from you. Though I did include some potential design notes for your consideration in the C folder, of course. Streamlined the tactile telekinesis a bit, for starters. It really didn’t come out as effective as intended, unfortunately.” 

“Of course,” Tim echoes, perfectly aware of that one time that Kon took apart every single gun inside the exact city limits of Los Angeles and nothing else without even meaning to, and also that one time last week when he very much did mean to disassemble a bomb immediately after its trigger mechanism had been tripped, and did it so fast that it didn't detonate. 

So as politely as possible, that makes Luthor’s use of the word “effective” slipped in there a little mind-numbingly terrifying to consider. 

More than anything else, though, Tim really hopes that he’s just gone insane and hallucinated all this, because otherwise he’s going to have to write all this down in a report, and Steph will not lie for him about this one. 

Case in point: she is currently laughing her fucking ass off at him.

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

WIP Wednesday (sorta)

No WIPs on the horizon for me but I’ve been tagged in an assortment of writing posts (thank you all 🥰❤️❤️) so thought I’d use the opportunity to share a (very angsty) scene from my cutting room floor that I like but never quite went anywhere.

O.B. and Casey ask Mobius for his opinion on a new statue dedicated to Loki at the TVA, angst ensues.

***

Mobius blinks, pulled from his memories by the sound of chairs scraping against the linoleum floor. The meeting is over. His coworkers gather their things and meander out of the conference room—laughing, gossiping, planning follow-up meetings—but Mobius stays seated and stares at his notepad. It's empty. He slumps, running a weary hand through his hair. He hadn’t paid any attention to Judge Gamble’s briefing on this cycle’s latest threats to the multiverse. Again.

He’ll need to get the notes from Bea. Mobius gets up, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach as he searches for Bea amongst the crowd. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed Mobius slipping—the way he’s constantly asking for her notes, the decreasing numbers of files he’s completing, how patterns that used to seem so obvious elude him lately. She’s looked the other way thus far but eventually she’ll need to take disciplinary action, whatever that means in their new TVA. Mobius can handle it and honestly, she’s already given him more leeway than she should as their new Director.

It doesn’t take long for him to find her. Bea’s standing at the end of the hallway, embroiled in what appears to be a hushed argument with Casey and O.B. Despite the anxiety pounding through his system, Mobius’ curiosity spikes.

“Hey guys.”

Bea jumps slightly at his approach—odd—and turns around with a forced smile. “Oh, hey Mobius,”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she answers too quickly. She shifts when O.B. tries to get around her, file in hand. It's a futile attempt to hide the technician from Mobius’ view.

“Right,” Mobius chuckles, stepping around Bea to take the file from O.B.’s outstretched hands. He might be losing his edge but he’s not useless yet. He can detect a lie when he sees one. “You know, Bea, I might have believed you if not for…”

The words die in Mobius’ throat as soon as he opens the file.

They’re plans. Plans for a new statue in the atrium; a statue dedicated to the person who made everything they do now possible, the holder of all the timelines, their savior, the person whose absence is felt like a dagger to Mobius’ chest with every heartbeat.

He looks gorgeous, just like always. Whoever designed the statue did a great job. They almost captured Loki’s likeness. His hair curls loosely about his shoulders, his jaw set and determined, his expression regal—though his eyes are missing that familiar, mischievous twinkle. He’s dressed in emerald robes and wearing those magnificent horns Mobius had last seen him in. In all his years studying Loki variants, Mobius had never seen a Loki with a larger set. They’re a testament to the power he wielded that day. After centuries, it seemed Loki finally found his glorious purpose. Mobius wishes the sight filled him with pride. Instead, he’s taken straight back to his nightmares.

“We wanted to honor him,” Casey begins in a soft voice, “but we weren’t sure if it’s what he would want so we thought we’d ask…” Casey trails off.

They thought they’d ask the Loki expert, Mobius finishes, gulping past the lump forming in his throat. Smart plan. If anyone knew how Loki would want to be remembered, it would be Mobius. Except…

He doesn’t know.

The thought strikes Mobius with harrowing realization. In another time, this statue would be exactly what Loki would want. Mobius’ mouth quirks up into a smile as he recalls the statue Loki had arranged for himself on the Sacred Timeline following his fake death on Svartalfheim. It had been a grandiose, expensive thing. Another prank pulled by the God of Mischief.

Mobius’ smile is gone as soon as it appears because that Loki isn’t his Loki. This time, it isn’t a trick. It isn’t part of some grand plan. Or, at least, not one that Mobius can understand.

He has so many questions about that day. How long had Loki been timeslipping? How many other options had he tried before he settled on that final decision? What led him there? Had he spoken with someone beforehand; had they led Loki to this conclusion?

Mobius shuts his eyes in an effort to clear the now familiar tears building behind them. Why hadn’t Loki talked to him? What hadn’t he asked for help? Mobius is sure he could have convinced Loki to try something else. They could have figured out a solution if only they’d worked together. Why did Loki think this was the only option? Why did this sacrifice fall to him and him alone? Why didn’t he say goodbye? Why? Why? Why? Why? The questions circle around and around in Mobius’ head. Forever unanswered.

“Mobius?” O.B. prompts. “Do you know if Loki would be okay with this? We don’t want to move forward until we know.”

Mobius opens his mouth in an attempt to answer but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know if this is what Loki would want because that Loki, the Loki who sacrificed himself for all of them, is a stranger to Mobius. That Loki had spent who knows how long traveling through time, attempting to find a solution, alone. There are no reels for what happens within the TVA, no reels for Mobius to analyze.

Sometimes, when he dreams, Mobius swears he can remember moments with Loki that never happened. Arguments, laughter, philosophical conversations over pie, even… There’s one night in particular Mobius returns to often in his dreams. He flushes at the memory before shaking it away. It all feels so real when he’s asleep but when he’s awake his memories jumble together until he can’t determine what happened and what didn’t. It makes him feel untethered, these half-forgotten memories, these dreams, these fantasies. Mobius settles on that last word: fantasies. That's all they are. Something his mind has manufactured in a desperate attempt to make sense of what Loki did.

“Mobius?” O. B. tries again. “Is this what Loki would want?”

Would want. Past tense. Because Loki isn’t coming back. Not this time. Mobius takes a breath but it doesn't reach his lungs.

“I—” he stutters. The papers shake in his hands, that image of Loki holding the timelines grows larger on the page until it consumes the world around him and Mobius feels himself slipping back into his memories. “Um, I don’t…”

Suddenly, it’s too bright and the ringing in his ears has returned. It’s the alarm from the observation deck blaring a warning that they’re running out of time until the loom breaks. Mobius’ wipes sweat from his brow. It’s excruciatingly hot; he wonders if he should be worried about the temporal radiation leaking through the glass window before him but he can’t focus on anything except Loki. Loki walking out onto the gangway. Loki raising his arms to break the loom. Loki grabbing hold of the timelines and breathing life into them with that brilliant, beautiful green magic of his. Loki turning back, one last time, to give him a smile before he-

“Mobius?” Bea puts a grounding hand on Mobius’ arm and Mobius forces himself to the present. He can’t allow himself to be overtaken by that particular memory again. He can’t.

“I’m fine,” Mobius says after a moment. “Just a headache. Really,” he adds at Bea’s unconvinced stare before turning to O.B. and Casey. “To answer your question, O.B., I don’t know. I don’t know what Lo-“ Mobius’ voice catches on the name. “I don’t know what he’d want. Not anymore. Maybe he’d like a statue. Maybe not. I just… I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Bea cuts in, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll put the plans on hold and revisit them later.” Her last words are unmistakably a stern warning to O.B. and Casey to drop the subject.

“But-” O.B. starts.

“We get it,” Casey nods. “We’ll come back later. Feel better, Mobius.”

With a pitying glance that Mobius begrudges but can’t say he doesn’t deserve, Casey takes the file from his hands and guides O.B. back down the hallway, leaving Bea and Mobius alone.

Mobius half expects Bea to follow, he can’t imagine her to do list, but she doesn’t. He can feel her eyes boring down at him while he scuffs at the TVA emblem on the floor below. For all time. Always. Mobius snorts. Yeah, right.

He knows what he has to do. He can’t be here anymore. The memories are too loud, too painful. And more importantly, the new TVA deserves better than an old, washed-up analyst broken beyond repair.

Mobius takes a shuddering breath. “Look, Bea, I’ve been thinking…”

“Can we get some lunch,” Bea interrupts.

Mobius meets her gaze confused. He knows they need to have this conversation. He knows that she knows that they need to have this conversation and yet…

Neither of them are ready. He can see it in her eyes. Somehow she knows what he’s about to say and she doesn’t want to have this conversation any more than he does.

“I’ve been implementing some changes,” Bea starts. “Trying to get something better than wilted salad and stale pizza in the cafeteria,” she adds with an awkward laugh. Then, she pauses, uncharacteristically hesitant “I’d love to get your thoughts if you’ve got time. If anyone knows how to make this place better, it’s you and …I could really use your help, Mobius.”

Mobius sighs. It’s an easily delegatable task, a distraction technique. Bea doesn’t need his help picking the food in the cafeteria. But—Mobius meets Bea’s gaze—she’s scared. There’s no script for them now; the future is unknown. There’s no guarantee that anything they do will make a difference or if it’s even the right thing to do. Amidst all the changes, she needs the reassurance. And in a way Mobius does too. The TVA might be haunted for him now but it’s the only home he can remember. He doesn’t know where to begin out on the Timelines. He isn’t sure if he’s ready to leave. Yet.

“Sure,” Mobius says. “Let’s grab some lunch and we can talk through your plans for the place. I’m sure they’re great.”

Bea smiles in relief and they make their way to the cafeteria. Mobius half-listens as she chatters away, outlining her plans to improve life at the TVA. He won’t be here to see them through. It’s only a matter of time before he leaves but that conversation can wait a little longer.

***

The finale was sad but lemme tell you the tears didn’t come for me until that conversation with B-15 and Mobius. 😭💔

Anyway, sorry to leave it here with hurt/no comfort but if you need some comfort, recommend Tell Me Some Things Last - a lovely story by @loki-is-my-kink-awakening about Sylvie & Mobius healing that I’ve fully adopted into my own headcanon. Also shamelessly plugging my own Lokius S2 reunion fic (which is where this scene was going to drive towards eventually anyway).

No pressure tagging my fellow creatives back for a “last line” “seven sentence Sunday” or “WIP Wednesday” whatever floats your boat. I want to hear what you’re working on and absolutely love reading your writing updates as they come in!

Happy writing! 💖

@loki-is-my-kink-awakening @lgwilt @kcscribbler @blackbirdofasgard @queen-of-meows @dewdropreader @mirilyawrites @wolfpup026

[inoankin]

Strangers (scrapped)

i need tumblr to revert back to its old layout right this second because this twitter-esque layout is making me so fucking upset

anyways this has been in my wips long enough for me to know it's probably never getting finished soooo. you can have it.

can you tell that i really connect emotionally with music? cuz i reaalllyy connect emotionally with music

_______________

It starts with the picking.

Vincent is checking around the second floor for anything useful when he hears it. The untuned, experimental picking of the old banjo’s strings. The sound floats up the stairs and right to Vincent, as if magnetised. After a moment the playing starts. It’s unrefined and far from pleasant. But it’s almost familiar.

Then, the humming.

That. Well.

Vincent’s feet carry him to the top of the staircase, just listening. The voice is rough like the strings, and yet. There’s something about it. 

He steps down. Magnetised. Before he knows it, he’s at the landing, watching Leo Caruso sit with bowed head as he hums alongside the makeshift tune. Light spills over his shoulders. Vincent thinks he spots a hint of a smile. He’s happy. The song is on the tip of his tongue.

Then…

“Mm-mm, mm-mm, I don’t mind. If I live too long, I’m afraid I’ll die…”

Oh.

The stagnant air carries the Davies’ words and they taste like cinnamon from Leo’s lips. As he sings, Vincent makes his way down the steps, enraptured by this impossible moment.

“So I will follow you wherever you go, If you offered hand’s still open to me.”

Leo doesn’t notice him when he reaches the bottom. It doesn’t seem real. This vulgar, cocky criminal, picking a banjo and singing the Kinks like he’s got nowhere better to be than here, flipping every one of Vincent’s notions on their heads. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

“Strangers on this road we are on, Oh, we are not two, we are one.”

Something in his voice beckons him forward; but when he walks into the open space, Leo’s head snaps up.  

Silence.

He looks nervous, guilty. Like he’s been caught in the middle of something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Vincent’s pinned by his gaze before he convinces his body to move again, making it the rest of the way to the piano resting quietly against the wall. He lifts the lid and tests the keys. Still well-tuned. He takes a second to remember the chords. And then…

“So you’ve been where I’ve just come, From the land that brings losers on...”

He doesn’t look at Leo, instead focusing on the keys. Similarly, it’s unrefined. He learned to play this song a while ago, and it’s not like he’s had much free time lately. He shouldn’t have any now.

Leo picks back up his half, the banjo a fitting supplement for guitar. His smile is small. Vincent’s is as well.

“So we will share this road we walk, And mind our mouths and beware our talk.”

It shouldn't come as a surprise that Leo can play; his file mentioned an upbringing in Virginia. And anyway, he’s missing a third of the chords he picks. Still, Vincent finds himself entranced by his fingers on the strings, calloused and confident despite his mistakes. Like the result doesn’t matter, because he’s enjoying himself. The simplicity is infectious.

“‘Till peace we find, tell you what I’ll do, All the things I own, I will share with you.”

Their voices meld into one. Leo meets his eyes and he gets the feeling that the song choice was intentional. His eyes glitter with warmth, with trust. Vincent ignores the flighty feeling in his chest.

“And if I feel tomorrow like I feel today, We’ll take what we want and give the rest away. Strangers on this road we are on, Oh, we are not two, we are one.”

They play together and it feels fucking right. Like everything they do. Slotting together perfectly, like companions, like friends, like… 

Vincent fumbles a few beats as he dismisses the rest of that thought. Leo eyes him, but he keeps on.

He can accept the fact that Leo is attractive. It’s not anything subjective, it’s just a fact. With a hard, lean body and the skills to match, he’s not losing anything by admitting it. Leo’s attractive. That doesn’t mean Vincent has feelings for him. He’s not even… he’s never thought about a man that way. It would be a stupid choice, anyways, considering his circumstances—he’d be better off shooting Leo now. He tries to ignore how that idea makes him vaguely nauseous.

But he can’t spare it any more thought once the next verse catches them. He forgets the next lyrics, but Leo supplies.

“Holy man and holy priest, This love of life makes me weak at my knees.”

Vincent might have jumped in were he not suddenly captured by the sound. It’s not smooth, but it is good. Like a low fire, crackling with warmth and smoke, licking at the roof of his mouth. Vincent’s goes dry.

“And when we get there, make your play, ‘Cause soon, I feel, you’re gonna carry us — come on, man!”

Vincent swallows and pulls his eyes back to the piano. It shouldn’t be so hard to look away. But Leo is so earnest in his joy, glowing in the soft light of the afternoon. So he sings.

“In a promised lie you made us believe, For many men, there is so much grief. And my mind is proud, but it aches with rage, And if I live too long, I’m afraid I’ll die. Strangers on this road we are on, Oh, we are not two, we are one…”

Vincent watches his own fingers play. Badly bruised and webbed with cuts from day and night spent navigating the wilderness with Leo at his side. 

couplet? maybe

Leo doesn’t know who he is, and maybe the irony of it is what hits the hardest. He’s extended this proverbial olive branch and he doesn’t even know what it means, wholly trusting that Vincent is who he claims to be. That’s always been Leo’s greatest vice. Trust. He gave his trust to Harvey, who threw it back in his face. And now, despite his wounds, he’s given it to Vincent. Who plans to do the very same.

fin.

[nightwingshero]

WIP Wednesday (Late Again)

I was tagged by the amazing @detectivelokis thank you hun!

Tagging: @jinfromyarikawa @sstewyhosseini @marivenah @river-ward @simonxriley @playstationmademe @chazz-anova @voidika @shegetsburned @aceghosts @glowwormsmith @madparadoxum @ghastlyrider @direwombat @strafethesesinners @vampireninjabunnies-blog @poisonedtruth @ri-a-rose

tw: blood and violence, just Wren being Wren honestly. 

My jaw ticked as I glared down at her, but her face was made of stone—pure marble as she looked back with her cold blue eyes. “So you’re the one that set that fucking thing loose? That fucking monster that ran around the damn police station, the fucking—”

“The T-00 Tyrant, the Nemesis project, yes I’m quite aware of my work, Ms. Blake.” Imogen Edwards didn’t flinch when she spoke of it, nor did she blink as she shifted, crossing her ankles under the table as she carefully interlocked her fingers—her nails perfectly manicured and painted red—and rested them on the metal table. The glass of water remained untouched and ignored. “If you brought me just to go through every little file regarding the work relevant to any project that I’ve had a hand in, we will be here for a long time.”

I couldn’t tell what pissed me off more—her lack of empathy or the fact that even if her hands were covered in blood, she still looked so perfectly put together. A white button up with a black skirt and blazer, she didn’t look detained by Chris, she looked as if she had just stepped out of the office. “People died in that city, only a handful of people actually survived what you and Umbrella did—”

“And as I said to your overly muscled brute of a colleague, I was explicit in my orders to shut down certain projects due to lack of profit and the overconsumption of resources. Dr. Ainsley Spencer and I spoke in length over the phone regarding it. I wonder, when you were offering her sanctuary to correct her ‘sins’, if she perhaps mentioned that.” I froze and stared at the woman sitting at the table. The metal chrome wasn’t complementary by far, but she still sat like a queen, her head high and shoulders back. As if this was a regular meeting—as if she wasn’t the reason so many of us went through hell. The redhead sighed and rolled her eyes, the first show of emotion since I had stormed into the room and continued with a condescending tone. “That means it was costing too much money and—”

“I know what it fucking means.” I snapped. My hands began to shake as the anger, the guilt, the memories came flooding back. We had looked so hard for her; Chris was so set on getting her so that we could get more information—bring her to justice and get her to cooperate. That was the goal. But I seethed as the emotions got the best of me, images that I had tried so hard to forget came right back to the surface. “Innocent people died because of what you did—”

“Innocent people died due to carelessness of the professionals in charge of the subjects—the professionalism was quite lacking in Dr. Birkin himself as he became unstable. However I don’t expect you to understand things that are clearly above you—”

“And the people you experimented on?” I asked, my tone calmly edged as I took a step closer to the table. “The people in the hospitals? The people you took in for experimental treatment—what about them? What were they, huh?” Guilt ripped through me, but that only fueled my anger. Images of the day we had sat in the hospital and signed the papers, only to see him for the last time as something else entirely.

As if reading my thoughts, Imogen leaned forward with a smug glint in her eyes with a ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “No profit, no results, useless. Waste of valuable resources and a damn waste of my time, most of them were dying anyway. They were expendable. It would have been comforting to know that their sacrifice meant something, but nothing came from the information we received from them or the testing we performed on them. I goddamn waste of time—”

It only took a second for my hand to reach out and clutch a fistful of her hair before swiftly, with all my strength, slamming her face against the metal table. A loud crunch sounded with the bang that echoed off the thick walls lined with tile and a one-way mirror. I could almost feel the panic and hear the yelling as they scrambled outside, and it was only another second before Chris burst in the room and grabbed me, pulling me away from her as blood pooled around her. As soon as my grip was released, she raised her head, blood pouring down her nose, dripping onto the table and her shirt, the red spreading quickly through the expensive fabric. She barely flinched, but her eyes blazed.

“Fuck you, fuck you!” I yelled as I fought against Chris, desperate to finish what I started.

“Wren, enough! Let it go!” Chris called, but he just went ignored as Jill and Carlos rushed in, hovering at the door as they watched in shock.

“Do you always treat people like this? So barbaric and unbecoming, what would your father say, Ms. Blake?” I choked as I stared at her, but she just offered a bloodstained smile in return. “Stephen Blake, early to mid-sixties, diagnosed with a disease that was rare even by our standards. I remember his case being quite abnormal.”

Tears fell as I glared at her, hating her and wanting nothing more than to claw her eyes out. “You fucking bitch, you killed him! You turned him into a fucking monster after promising to help him, you—”

“And did you read the fine print, Ms. Blake? When you signed the papers that gave us permission to your father’s dying body, did you or did you not read the contract?” Imogen scoffed, specks of blood spraying over the table. “You signed him over to us, you were told that it was experimental treatment with great risks, and you signed without even reading it, didn’t you? Come now, who really is at fault for the death of your father? The company that attempted to make his last months’ worth something or the daughter that was so tired of him, she shifted responsibility to the first person that offered her a pen?”

[shadowmaat]

The Paladin

I found this in my WIPs file. I probably won’t finish it, but I did enjoy what I’ve written so far. It’s a Bobadin modern AU based on a prompt from this Weird AU Combos list.

-

The apartment across from Boba never seemed to stay occupied for long. Mostly it was just a “Hollywood thing;” people moved in expecting to make their Big Break and then left again when they realized fame wasn’t instantaneous and rent was expensive. There were also those who made a big show of their BLM flags and rainbow stickers, but got uncomfortable when they realized that “white” and “straight cis” was the minority in the building. Or the ones who wanted to prove they didn’t need Mommy and Daddy’s money, but balked when they realized they had to do their own laundry and dishes.

Boba had long since given up trying for awkward smalltalk with any new neighbors, knowing they wouldn’t last. So when he saw the door open and moving boxes on the floor inside, he didn’t give it much thought beyond wondering how long this one would last.

The elevator doors slid open and let out a middle-aged white man with tousled brown hair and rumpled clothes carrying a box labeled “Kitchen.” Behind him, plodding with exaggerated care, was a young child of indeterminate gender with skin darker than Boba’s, wearing a hat with big floppy ears. They held a box of their own; a shoe box with the letters “GRGO” painted on the top in green paint that matched the smears on the kid’s hands.

The man ducked his head in greeting, but kept one eye on the kid as they started down the hall.

“Come on, mijito,” the man said. “One more trip to go.”

The kid didn’t respond; all their attention was focused on the box.

Grinning, Boba got on the elevator. Kids always meant more noise, but he could stand it for a while. The kid was cute. So was his dad, though that was a moot observation if they weren’t going to stick around.

-

Shand was all fired up when he got to the office. He’d forgotten it was Friday, which meant a new episode of The Paladin had aired, and that meant he was subjected to her theorizing about the Paladin’s identity- both onscreen and off. 

It was one of the dumbest gimmicks he’d ever heard of, and he’d lived on the fringes of Hollywood for most of his life. Having a protagonist who was always encased in armor was one thing, but the studio had taken extra steps to hide the actor’s identity. The role of the Paladin was listed as being played by “Himself,” and in all the interviews, promo materials, and behind-the-scenes shots he was always in the armor. The helmet even had a built-in mechanism to alter his voice and people were going to ridiculous lengths to analyze recordings to see if they could figure out what he really sounded like. People like Shand.

Boba couldn’t care less. He wished he knew less, too, but Shand insisted on keeping him up-to-date. She’d done a lot of security work for various studios and was impressed by their level of secrecy. She was also irritated that none of her contacts would spill what she wanted to know.

He finally managed to distract her by talking about his encounter with the newest tenant. She lived in the building, too, and had a betting pool with some of the others about Apartment 403.

“He and his kid were lugging in boxes on their own,” he said.

“His name’s Din Djarin,” she said, pulling up something on her phone. “Single dad, works for COTW Stunts; they’re hardcore.” She scrolled. “No family listed, no criminal record, kid’s adopted-”

“The amount of information you dig up on people for no reason is chilling,” Boba interrupted.

“It’s part of the job.” Shand put her phone back in her pocket. “And it isn’t for no reason, it’s important to know who your neighbors are.” She smirked. “Helps figure out the betting, too. I give him four months before he bails.”

Boba frowned. It didn’t make any difference to him, of course, but for the kid’s sake he hoped this Djarin would last a little longer. Kids that young needed stability. Stuntwork could be a tough gig, though, as he knew from experience. It was tough to get good, steady work and tougher still on the body, especially in these days of budget cuts where the studios felt they could skimp on safety.

“I think he’ll last longer,” he said, though he didn’t have any evidence to back up the feeling.

Shand sat up straight, her eyes brightening as she looked at him and he cursed himself for falling into her trap.

“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?” Thumbs tapped at her phone screen.

He shrugged. “He’s got a kid. And an adopted kid at that. CFS tend to frown on families who move around a lot.”

She hummed. “True. Never married under this name. I wonder how he managed to swing that? Single parents aren’t high on Vulture Services’ list.”

Shand had been through the System herself and had escaped to the streets, claiming they were safer. Boba had done his stint, too, and wished he’d done the same; his upbringing had been brutal.

“Dunno,” he said. “Maybe I’ll keep an eye on them. Just for the kid’s sake.”

“Right. The kid.” She smirked. “His headshot isn’t much to look at, but no one ever said you had good taste.”

He flipped her off and then, thankfully, the phone rang and distracted her. Concordia Security had a new potential contract, though it was dependent on a rather thorough background check, first. He tuned her out and settled in to do his own work, briefly lamenting that these days he was mostly confined to a desk.

-

When he got home the hall was filled with the smell of meat and spices. His stomach growled as he unlocked his door and flipped on the lights. At least it meant Djarin was feeding his kid well; it was a good sign. Assuming, of course, that he was feeding the kid and not eating it all himself. There were people like that out there, but Boba chose to hope for the best.

He’d finished his own uninspired dinner of leftovers and was reading in front of the television when he heard his doorknob rattle. He muted the TV and listened. Another rattle accompanied by a weird slithering sound. Checking that his knife was still on his belt he went to the door to investigate.

The fisheye viewer showed an empty hall. The door to 403 was cracked open, but otherwise-

The knob rattled again and he heard a muffled “bah.”

Silently, he undid the bolt, turned the handle, and yanked the door open.

The kid from across the hall wobbled, caught in the act of reaching for the knob again. The remains of a well-chewed tamale were in one hand… and on his face and his shirt and the outside of the door. Large brown eyes stared up at him.

“Kwa?”

Boba’s heart may have melted a bit. He crouched down to eye level, smiling.

“Hey kid, you learning to break and enter?”

“Bu.” The crumbling tamale was thrust at him.

Before he could respond the door across the hall jerked open, revealing a wide-eyed Djarin.

“Gro-” his eyes landed on the kid and all the air whooshed out of him. “Grogu!”

He all but leapt across the hall, sweeping the kid, Grogu, into his arms.

“Grogu, mija, don’t do that to me!”

Grogu giggled, waving the tamale and spilling more filling.

Boba stood as his neighbor looked at him, traces of alarm still evident around his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Djarin said. “I turned my back for a second and-” he huffed.

“No worries.” Boba smiled. “Kids that age are half-magic; they can disappear in a blink and show up in unlikely places.”

“Me di cuenta,” Djarin muttered. “Sorry again.” Smiling, he repositioned Grogu and offered Boba his hand. “I’m Din, and this little troublemaker is Grogu. We just moved in.”

“So I saw.” Boba shook his hand, as well-callused as his own. “I’m Boba. It’s nice to meet you both.” He offered his hand to Grogu, too, who regarded it for a minute before offering a gap-tooth grin and grabbing Boba’s fingers, smearing them with smooshed beans.

“If you ever need anything, I’m right here.”

“Bu,” Grogu said.

Din blushed. “Not Bu,” he said. “I’m Bu. Boba is our very understanding neighbor.”

“Ba?” Grogu looked from Din to Boba.

“I’ll take it.” Boba smiled. “Ba it is.”

The kid was delighted with this development and his dad was smiling in that sappy way some dads got around their kids.

“Thanks for watching out for him,” Din said, stepping back. 

“Any time,” Boba says. “We’ve all gotta watch out for the kids, right?”

“They are the future,” Din agreed, an odd cadence to his voice. He dipped his head, pivoted, and went back into his apartment, closing the door behind him.

It wasn’t until Boba had washed his sticky hands and gotten a cleaning cloth for the door that he realized why Din’s response had sounded familiar: it was a quote from The Paladin. He rolled his eyes. Great, another one.

[taelonsamada]

2022

Saw @dominimoonbeam do this and thought it was a fantastic idea, not only to remind myself how much I’ve accomplished this year, but also set goals for myself for 2023!!

2022 was an INSANE year for me lol I had discovered redacted late November/early December 2021, but REALLY sank into the fandom around March 2022, and the people I met in that fandom were all amazing and wonderful and insanely supportive. Thanks to that support, I finally delved back into the world of fanfiction for the first time in almost twenty years, and the response has been…. Well, I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve cried several times when seeing how people have responded to my silly little stories lol On top of the fanfiction, the fanart and the response people have given it have not only had me drawing more and thereby increasing my drawing skills, but my commissions have skyrocketed, which has allowed me to tame some bills that were hanging over my head (AND YES I AM AWARE THAT I STILL HAVE SEVERAL COMMISSIONS WAITING, I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN THEM, I PROMISE 😭) And as if the craziness weren’t enough there, I even got to travel to Boston and meet one of the amazing friends I’ve made in person, and while there I achieved a decade long dream of getting to see the Final Fantasy concert Distant Worlds!! 🥰

Progress was made here at the camp, too!! We finally got new batteries, which means we’re able to operate more solely on solar, which allows us to consume less gas and thereby save money AND be less dependant on outdated resources! Frustratingly, the mine got a 3 year extension, but that just means three more years of telling the government where they can stick it, so more chances to stir up some drama lol

And of course, this year I’ve also finally achieved the dream I’ve had since I was 9 and published my first book!!!! What. WHAT. And on top of that, you all have been wonderful about that book, and very supportive 😭 I am a legit different person in an entirely different place than I was in December 2021, and I just cannot believe it. And I have every intention of making sure 2023 is just as wonderful lol

Goals for 2023:

Finish writing Tarnished Truths, the sequel to Silvered Scars

Edit and polish Tarnished Truths

POSSIBLY publish Tarnished Truths (depends on how long editing and polishing takes)

Write the third book in the series (which will be following Reid, the Alpha of the pack from Silvered Scars)

Finish writing Between You, Me & The Fence Post

Finish Return to Shore

Put a dent into my Redacted WIP file

Make more art (definitely been more focused on writing the last few months)

Save up enough money to begin building my own cabin out here in the woods

Again, I wanna thank each and every one of you who’s been along with me for this insane ride, and I hope you’ve had fun on this journey! It’s far from over, and 2023 is definitely gonna be an interesting year!!

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

WIP...Wednesday

I mentioned my hibernation fic the other day, so I decided to share a bit of it for WIP Wednesday. :D

He smiled as he bent to kiss her. She is perfect. She fills my heart with such joy. “I was feeling tired.”

“Again?” Her voice was tinged with worry.

Pulling up his chair next to hers, he sighed. “Yes, but I think I know what it is.” She offered an encouraging nod, and he continued. “Every so often, the bear needs to hibernate. It’s getting to be that time.” He watched as she put a slip of paper inside her book and closed it.

“How long?”

“It can range from a week to three months. It’s never the same, and I won’t know for long I’ve been hibernating until I wake.” She’s going to ask if she can come with me. Oh Annie, please…

As she serious as he had ever seen her, she asked, “Can I come with you?”

He sandwiched one of her hands in his as he shook his head. “No. It’s far too dangerous. Best to stay here and—” Please don’t fight me on this. It’s too dangerous. Far, far too dangerous.

Anais smiled sadly. “Carry on as best I can.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “I will write to your mother, Nadia, and Astarion to see if any of them would like to be with you while I’m gone. Or perhaps Gale could make the trip from Waterdeep. Or Shadowheart and her parents?” I would also suggest Wyll and Karlach, but alas, they cannot return from Avernus, and gods know where Lae’zel is.

Her other hand now rested on the top of his. “Oh no, please. I don’t want to be a bother. Besides, I’m not alone when I have Scratch, Horace, and Obie here. And there’s also everyone in town. I’ll be okay.” She reassured him with a kiss on his cheek.

Their foreheads touched as he closed his eyes. I don’t want you to feel alone. I want you to be surrounded by love and care while I hibernate. It will make my sleep much more peaceful. “Since we have coupled, we have not spent one night apart. I worry if my hibernation lasts more than a week or two you will be lonely, my heart.” And it breaks my heart to see you sad.

She wrinkled her nose and gave him a quick peck. “Oh, I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.” Impossible, dearest one. “Is there anything else we need to do before you, I assume, go into a cave and sleep?”

Halsin chuckled heartily. “Yes! I’ll start scouting for one tomorrow. There is something else, Annie. I need to put on some weight.”

Anais raised an eyebrow. “How much?”

“Usually between forty to sixty pounds. Though,” he remembered a specific hibernation, soon after the Shadow Curse took hold. “There was one time I barely put on forty pounds, and it was…erm, not a pleasant experience. So please forgive me if I eat us out of house and home for the next several weeks.” Upon hearing her laugh, he shook his head. “You’re taking this remarkably well, my heart.”

She waved a dismissive hand with a grin. “To be honest, when you pass a certain point, some things are just filed under ‘strange but interesting druid things.’ This happens to be one of them.”

[feather-rose]

Killed by a kiss..

.......

Hinata(Looking quite shy, here and wondering why she had accepted this, and to come up here.): I’m not quite sure, it’s gonna happen, Ino-chan! Cause there are too many too people, here and the music is far too loud!

Ino:(Laughs) Trust me, I’ve never been wrong! Hina-chan! My point has always been right with all the reading mind I’ve been through onto people’s mind--

Sakura(Drinks a bit of her sake drink.): You did lost onto that bet with Shikamaru, though..

Ino(Groans.): How was I supposed to know that Neji would have had the guts to have a real relationship with Tenten and let her move with him? Heck, even all that sex Shika had heard from his floor..

Sakura(Looked disgusted.): Urgh..Ino..That’s just so gross..

Hinata(Looked unsure, here. With all the crowd.): Well, Ino, I really don’t know if I should..

Ino: Just kiss the first guy who’s coming into this bar, Hinata, and we’ll be through. How’s that?

Sakura: Ino, seriously..

Ino(Interrupted her.): And do it, sexy. Guys like it a confident woman who take action, here. Swing off your curvy hips! Trust me!

If it meant, for her to get out of her shyness, and become a proud woman but confident. And wip off the reddness from her her cheeks. Be a woman, Hinata! Naruto wouldn’t wait, any longer! She sighed up to that thought and acted up fast as she closed up her eyes and slammed up the table that made the table jump, along with the two girls, here.

Hinata( Sighs) A..A..alright..Give me some sake..And I’ll do it..(She waved over the sake bottle and took it over her hold, poured some and drank fast enough until it made her throat burn.) Too fast..(She blinked up a bit and jumped out from her booth and a bit too fast.) My head is spinning around now!

Sakura( Didn’t looked too sure as she she seen Hinata wobble a bit, here.after a drink.): Hina?

But the dark long blunette girl wasn’t listening any longer she unzipped her coat and walked away from the round table, confident even with her cheeks pink as ever, but confident.

But what she did not know was that the guy she made up with had his back turned to her as he rose up a finger.

And without an instant, she grabbed his shoulder and made him whirl around with surprise.

His dark eyes were shocked.

:Hey what the--

Until she kissed him, hard onto the lips, almost cutting him out of breath. Much to Ino and Sakura’s surprise. Passionate enough as she grabbed him by the white collar of his shirt. Both of Hinata’s friends were too shocked to act, more like theirs jaws had dropped down with shock at the scene.

Ino: No way! Why?

Sakura: Why him? Why Sasuke-kun?

Hinata was so focusing onto kissing the first guy she had seen walking into the bar. Not giving a damn thing if the guy was too shocked or pleased. But she was having a great time, here.

Couldn’t even heard him groan or if it had been a moan. She wasn’t sure, though.

And then she dropped him down onto the floor, like garbage. Missing his head to hit onto the booth, and walked away, swinging off her hips, happy and confident.

Not giving a damn thing about the comatose guy onto the floor..

Whose soul had been under a happy cloud.

Sakura: Hina--

Hinata(Happy as ever. As she took another drink under her friends’s shock): It was so much fun! Thank you Ino-chan!

Ino( Not so comfortable, after what she had seen, here.,): Uhh..

.......

A few days later...

Into the hokage’s office. When Naruto wasn’t around here, Neji had taken his place for the meantime as he was analyzing a few files. Never ending files onto the desk and through the computer. When the lazy Nara had called in through the open doorway as he knocked.Man, If I had known, that being hokage was a pain onto the ass--

Shikamaru: Yo, Neji?

Neji(Checked up through the files and sighed as he took one of them.); What?

Shikamaru: Sasuke wants to talk to you.

Neji(irritated): What does he want? Don’t you see I’m busy, here? Could he ask, Naruto?

Shikamaru(Sighs as he put his hands into his pockets.): Nope, it’s not him, but he wants you. Man, what a drag..

Neji(Sighs): What does he want, again?

Shikamaru(Shrugs): I don’t know, should I sent him in?

Neji(Looking defeated, but he had no other choice): Hn. Not my favorite person, but sent him, in.What could be worse?

If he had known what came in next, he would’ve had prevent it.

Sasuke(Walked in after Shikamaru walked away.): Hi, sorry to interrumpt you, Hyuuga, but..

Neji(Still irritated): Just say it! What do you want?

Sasuke(Rose up a hand and scratched the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable, here. Maybe because he was talking to Hinata’s cousin.A very strong man that came back from the dead.): Say..Do you have your cousin’s phone number?

Neji(He tries to stay patient when it came to his cousin. When he felt like his hands were clutchering up onto the file he held..): Say what?

Sasuke: Look, she’a fucking good kisser--

This is where a nerve had touched the war hero Hyuuga Neji as he dropped everything he held onto his hands and had actived his Byakugan, here.

And sent the young Uchiha out from the broken window, with his powerful gentle fist.

All because Sasuke wanted Hinata’s phone number. Because Neji’s cousin was a fucking good kisser.

Not so much for Neji.

.........

[e-s-willswriting]

WIP TITLE TAG

Thank you for the tag @palebdot <3

RULES: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

My short story WIPS are a little scattered, so I'll mainly note down the long-form WIPS I've made documents of.

The CRYPT Archives

“It was incidental I ended up working with criminals. I’d help everyone, if I could. Because I think there’s one thing that’s truly terrifying.” “And that is?” “Feeling alone. Feeling like nobody gets it, or that nobody is there to help you at your lowest. I want to be there for people going through that.” “So you could be in front of a mass murderer, or anything along those lines, but if they’re going through a crisis of mental health, you would help?” “I’d help them. They’re people too."

Crypt is my main project (Contemporary Urban-Fantasy/Horror) about a therapist working with monsters.

Idol Project: (Comedy choice-based visual novel) about a girl who joins an Idol group made up of everything but idols.

            Mae: And it’s luck of the draw out there. But I’m sure something will come through for you. I mean, you’ve got naturally pink hair!             Mirai: It’s a birth defect.

The Degenerate: (Contemporary Horror/Thriller) Nothing written on the document, though I have the idea for the title and generally what I'd want to do with this one. Though it's major trigger warnings and will take a lot of care to write well. Triggering themes include: Porn addiction, sexual content, murder, misogyny.

Loving Arcadia: Again, nothing written, though I have ideas. (Romance/Drama/Contemporary) Set in the UK, a group of students start making a band. The head of their band is a trans man, but his mother is a leading online figure in the Gender Critical sphere. Yeah, again, touchy areas I have to write with a lot of care.

Lighthouse

This letter shook me. For a moment I had believed the blood to have been my own, since my clothes were stained after the scrapes I took scrambling to the lighthouse. But if this letter were true, if the blood was not my own, I had before me the words of an insane, dying man. A man who had committed suicide. ‘I would never do something like that! God forbid.’ My first thoughts other than survival. A clue to who I was. I am Cecil Best, and I would not resort to suicide. God wouldn’t forgive that. And another- I am a religious man. To write God Bless or God Forbid- those phrases inspire a tightness in my chest. The very name inspires deep feelings within me. God guides me in the right direction. Those are the only two things I know.

(Gothic Horror) Set in the 1800's, a man wakes up on a tiny, rocky island in the middle of a storm. The only other thing is a colossal Lighthouse that touches the sky. Will also have triggering content.

Untitled FIlmmaker Romance Concept

It’s not that I’ve not had ideas. Far from it, actually. What’s stopping me from writing is that I have one specific idea that won’t leave my head. I want to write it desperately. I want to film it and I want to make it a great film. I know the exact people who can help me realise this too. I can see the whole thing in my head, and almost feel the leather of the seat and smell the warm sweet popcorn as I watch it in the cinema. It’s a perfect idea. The problem is that it’s not my idea. It’s C. Daniels’ idea.

(Contemporary Romance) About a filmmaker who gets the rights to adapt a short film from a writer, but she requests to be directly involved in the scripting process. They bond not only as creatives but potential romantic partners, though something is holding her back.

(I'm weird about romance because it's basically that I hate seeing so much toxicity in novel relationships and I just want to write the things that I wish I could see more, but it's not my go-to genre either)

@littleshipofwords

@alnaperera

@stanrendipity

@fictionalbullshitter

@wmlittlemoreauthor

@ryns-ramblings

[buckrogers]

WIPs word search

Tagged by the gorgeous @bromcommie!

I’m not sure if this is cheating or not but since a large part of my writing recently is stemming from RP, I decided to include a few of my personal favorite snippets as well as a bonus I just liked for how it came out after I had to wrestle with it for a while. These are from all kinds of interactions Steve has had and I’ve included with whom (two guesses who most are with).

Space (and also home w/Bucky):

Home but not quite home. Home looked at through a cracked mirror. Looking around, even as close as it gets in places, it isn't a hard push to see why it isn't the place Steve draws in that sketchbook of his. Why it's other places, warmer ones, that he prefers spending his time in. The apartment. Wakanda. He never had talked much about the way his body had its own memories for it. Being in the ice, being cold that way, down to his bones. Maybe because it had seemed such a touchy subject to begin with, maybe because it would have seemed like he was comparing somehow, what Bucky had endured all those years to his subconscious physical recall. For all his hesitations, about diving into bodies of water (he never had learned how to swim before the serum and it took time after to muster the courage to learn and overcome his first body’s hesitations), about confined spaces that felt a little too similar to the groaning fuselage of a plane as it sank, it hadn't come close to the things he'd read in those files, pressed into his hands by Natasha years ago. (you're going after him aren't you)

Sharp (w/Tony):

He'd had hope, when Tony hadn't fought him on staying behind to help with the clean up. Hope for what, he wasn't entirely sure, but there had been enough give in Stark's expression for Steve to recognize it as something. A step forward. The potential for some kind of meaningful conversation, when they weren't both in dire need of sleep and a hot shower. This, though, right here, wasn't a version of Tony ready to make any kind of peace. Judging from the brittle smile he was wearing, he was about as far from it as Steve had known him. Listing a little too heavily for comfort on the side that had forced him into bodily intervention to stop his pursuit of Bucky. Guilt curled inside him all over again. Steve's mouth pinched on one side. His jaw clenching beneath the beard he'd been sorely neglecting to shave for months now, long before he'd been recruited as an exile. "They aren't," he agrees, quiet. "I assigned myself." He was looking at Tony with the same face he used to make when they were trading verbal barbs on the helicarrier, eyes sharp. Brow furrowed. Concerned, despite everything, with the way his eyes dragged up and down his body, mentally cataloging any sign of obvious distress in the other man.

Sweet (w/Bucky):

Getting to set his hands gently on Bucky's hips, to use this new body of his, for something tender and sweet and the right side of aggressive. The good kind of pent up and wanting. There were so many landmines buried in their bodies, trigger words and old memories and the ghosts of other lovers that navigating the terrain was an act of belief, itself, the trust to be put somewhere, on a bed, against a wall, rolled over and on top of - it was knowing where that line was.

Home (w/Bucky):

It was all Steve wanted for the longest time. That idea of - that memory of - two sets of dishes in the sink. A life that rose and fell; that breathed to the rhythm the two of them set. It was what he'd longed for, once, to be impossibly closer; to somehow climb inside Bucky's chest and find his home there; snug against his heart. Cradled by the cage of his ribs. Safety had always been that muscle, beating steadily against his knobby spine at night; had been those arms curled around him. The funny part was - the funniest thing still was - that dream hadn't changed much, for the ways they had. Gotten bigger, grown older. Sometimes he'd look at Steve, part his lips and flash his teeth just like he was now and it was all he could do to breathe properly. He very nearly forgot how the way he would back then, stutter on a breath and erupt into a coughing fit, turn a watery eye on him accusingly as if somehow it was all his fault, the fact Steve's body had never quite worked right. That dream of having something real, that belonged only to the two of them that the rest of the world didn't get to touch - yeah, it was still there. It still kept time somewhere in his chest. His old, creaking heart still remembered how that beat went.

+ Bonus

Burden (w/Peggy):

He's been in rooms hushed by death, before. None of this is new, none of it should feel any different to the times that have come before it, the steps he's climbed; the doors he's walked through, the glass he's stood on one side of and stared past his own grim reflection into, to bodies, covered in sheets. It's been a hospital, it's been laid out on a stretcher, it's been suspended above a city. Steve Rogers isn't any stranger to loss, he's known it. Fought it, battled with it, inside a tenement in Brooklyn; for himself. For his mother. Even, once, not so long ago, for the woman in this room. The version he'd known the longest, who gave him comfort when by rights she should have kept her strength for herself; should have been beyond reaching for his hand; squeezing his fingers and hoarsely, gently, chastising him for keeping things to himself. (not every burden is yours to carry alone, my darling) The way he misses her is profound; longing seeped in acceptance. It's an old wound, one that's long since healed but still easily knocked, bruised; pressed on hard enough til it reinstates itself. It still flares like a struck match, when he stands in that doorway for a long moment before announcing himself. His hands empty of anything that seems remotely useful in a moment like this.

I'm not sure who hasn't done this one or would be interested, so if you're intrigued, here are some prompt words and go forth and write, my loves: ache, lost, belief, taste.

[shut-upjohn]

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

72.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

245,015.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Really on L&O. I have other fandoms but thus far my writing muse is picky and doesn’t run with a lot of other universes.

4. What are you top five fics by kudos?

Unmarked File, Reassurance, Taken?, When the Lights Go Down in the City, and The Last Thing I’ll See, in that order.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try my absolute best but I do have this bad habit of reading comments via email and then thinking I’ll respond later when I’m on AO3, and then completely forgetting to do that. But I do see and appreciate them all <3

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh…

Jury’s out? I think “In Love With The Night” is the only fic I ever stuck to killing EO off in, but it was a very considerate death. I personally think “falling in between the lines” is one of the worst. It’s bittersweet but unapologetically about unresolved grief/love.

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

Cheesy happy or earned happy? There are a lot of little random ones that make me happy (Baby Blue) but then there are more climatic ones I love (Lights).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Occasionally.

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

Published? No. I wrote one make out scene and was pretty uncomfortable writing it. I’ve experimented with writing some but I’m taking that to my grave.

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

Only in my head, I can never quite find the proper context to actually write the random connections my brain makes.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don’t know how I would begin checking for that, it took me a full two years to realize I could bookmark stuff.

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

Yes, “From The Depths”. I woke up to @rgrdsalxndra and @maggells tagging me in a violently angsty drabble on Twitter that was like “here, we need Death, your turn” and everybody hated us for like a full 24 hours. It was glorious. We should do it again sometime.

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

Ooh. Desmond and Peggy, EO, Outlaw Queen are up there for sure but how can I pick??

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

Legacy. It just requires a lot of effort to move forward and I haven’t touched it in a while. I usually get stuck on WIPs when I’m scared I’ll miss out on adding an important piece if I rush myself (that happens when plots live in your head too long) but that one I’m stuck because getting from point A to point B is very complicated.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’m supposed to have writing strengths??

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

If I feel like something’s getting too cheesy or doesn’t feel like it’s grounded in the characters (which happens often), I slam my laptop shut and don’t open the doc for several months because if I look at it, I’ll delete it.

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

No. I would make a fool of myself. But @somuchwhatever you could write in French?!?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

L&O.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I feel like you have to break down what you mean by “favorite” because I will likely have a different answer for each “aspect” of a fic if that makes sense. That said, my favorite written things are fics I had an experience writing. Like clearly envisioned each moment and couldn’t stop writing until it was out. To me that will always be my best writing, and I think I got that most in “Lights” and “Unmarked File”. “In Love with the Night” was a close second, but I also ripped my own heart out with that one so it’s a little bit less pleasant to remember.

I don’t know anyone’s tags on here😂but whoever wants to, feel free to do one.

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Got tagged by @somewhereapart, and I figured y'all may be sick of seeing me just post fic so here ya go.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

88

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

305,612

3. What fandoms do you write for?

AO3 tells me I've written for Battlestar Galactica, Buffy, General Hospital, Law & Order: SVU, Law & Order: OC, Lie To Me, Stargate: Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, and The West Wing. And I honestly can't think of any others outside of just ficlets I've tossed into the wild over the years.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Flinktober 2022 (EO, SVU/OC)

i remember skies (EO, SVU/OC)

gala (EO, SVU/OC)

bizarre love triangle (EO, SVU/OC)

Chautauqua (EO, SVU/OC)

I did not include one that was cowritten with a bunch of other people because I will always assume the kudos are for them.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

As often as possible. If someone takes the time to comment, I want them to know that i care enough to acknowledge and thank them for that kindness and effort. Especially when I write mostly for a fandom where I've seen people specifically state that they will read works but NOT comment on them as some sort of punishment for whatever random/imaginary fandom sins the writer whose free content they are enjoying has committed. That's just dumb and unkind, so I make the effort to let people know their comments are appreciated, even if it takes weeks to circle back.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm. There are several chapters in the first flink posting that would qualify, but I'm going to go with my largest Sam/Jack (SG-1) fic, Gravity Sings. It's hard to pretend it's not angsty when you've literally killed off half the planet.

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

Hmm. Not really sure. I'm a sucker for fluffy endings, so I tend to write them quite a bit. Maybe waltz or Chautauqua?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Occasionally, but I shut it down quickly. If you come up in someone's space where someone is providing you free entertainment and be rude? Don't expect a pass from me about it. The scroll bar isn't difficult to use, and neither is the back button. I use it frequently on poorly-written works or things that may be well-written but just aren't my thing. What I don't do is sling entitlement issues around demanding things be written to my satisfaction (unless you employ my beta services, in which case, you asked for it!). :D

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

I never really did prior to the first flink experiment, and I created that experiment purely to practice writing smut. Well, I take that back. @rgrdsalxndra would be the first to remind me I'd often cockblock Elliot and Olivia by having them dream-smutting without real-life release. But I started that project with the express purpose of getting better and more comfortable with writing smut, so I'm making that the hinge point.

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

Because SVU and OC are different shows, I write them regularly. But if you mean out-of-universe crossovers, I've only really written one, R.E.M. (SGA, BSG, Buffy). It was based on a prompt from an LJ friend, "Elizabeth Weir, Kara Thrace, and Buffy Summers walk into a bar..."

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware. There are much better people out there to steal from. Also, I always assume if something is similar to what I've written, it's because fandom truly does become a hivemind at some point. Nothing new under the sun and all.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I'm aware. If I had to guess, I'd say Gravity Sings would be the most likely candidate since SG-1 fandom is probably the most global and that fic has been around much longer than any other likely candidates.

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

Wrote Wet Dream with much better smut writers than myself in a group chat, and a bunch of us in SG-1 fandom way back in the day once built an SG-1 AU loosely based on The Big Bang Theory called The House That Jack Built, and I have several entries in that little universe.

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

How does anyone pick this??? I love them all for different reasons. I will say EO has a grip on me nobody else ever has, but then they have that 25 year slow burn that is just absolutely and sickly delicious.

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

Glazed and Fired (SGA) was originally the first part of a 5 Things fic that got away from me, and I had always intended to go back and finish it but eventually just put it away for good. I fully intend to finish my others (Skies, I'm looking at you).

16. What are your writing strengths?

Grammar. Economy of language (this is also sometimes a weakness). Getting into the head of characters who are typically very closed off.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I feel my writing is way too mechanical. I'm also still not comfortable writing smut. I always walk around with a sense of imposter syndrome with my writing.

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

I'm literally one class shy of a degree in French, and I had to write many upper level term papers in that language, but let me assure you I have zero plans to ever write in another language. I sincerely applaud those of you who do.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Stargate SG-1

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Geez. It probably changes regularly, and I'm hesitant to say because my faves are never anyone else's. all i ever wanted (a rather dark Elliot-centric fic) holds a very dear spot in my heart just because of how my muse just grabbed a keyboard and churned it out. This is not a popular opinion, and hardly anyone read it, but I still love it a lot. And just because it was the first fic I wrote that was widely recc'd, I have a soft spot for Things Not Dreamed (SG-1), a Sam & Jack & Daniel fic written from Daniel's POV.

tagging in a no-pressure way (and sorry for any double tags):

@morethanwords229, @whatbecomesofyou, @samwrites99, @rgrdsalxndra, @shut-upjohn, and anyone else who wants to do it!

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for 🦄; "tactile take it". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

He wants to say Tim’s name, but he doesn’t want Tim to hear someone else’s voice. 

“Just like that,” Tim says, matter-of-fact but still approving, and Kon lets out another shaky breath. “Find your prostate for me, won’t you? I can’t do it myself like this." Kon bites back a strangled noise and–and–

Tim told him where to find it, before they did this. And with his TTK, when he concentrates right–well, there’s a lot he can feel with it. Generally he ignores his organs and whatever, just . . . 

He’s pretty sure he knows where his prostate is, but he’s less sure how he’s supposed to, like . . . touch it, or . . . 

He doesn’t know how to touch himself like this and if he asks Tim’ll hear the question in someone else’s voice and– 

“Start slow,” Tim says, and Kon shudders in relief. “The feeling will build up. Just rub it a little for now, mm? Give yourself a little pressure.” 

Kon swallows roughly, and tentatively unfurls just enough TTK to–do that, he guesses. He . . . rubs inside himself, up against the little–what is it, technically, like a gland or something? fuck if he even knows–the little whatever a prostate is, and . . . Tim’s right, yeah, as he keeps rubbing over and around it, it gets more sensitive and feels–feels–

It feels really good, Kon realizes a little dazedly, which is . . . which is weird, kind of. Opening himself up hasn’t felt good so far, just–overwhelming, he guesses. Overwhelming and so much and . . . 

He rubs himself a little harder, testingly, and his cock twitches in response, swelling up harder. 

And Tim smiles at it, not his face. 

“Knew you’d like that,” Tim says, obviously pleased. “I’ve always wanted to introduce you to it.” 

Kon flushes, biting the inside of his cheek roughly. Just–“always”? 

How long is “always”? 

“Sometimes when I’m having an annoying experience I calm myself down by thinking of things I want to do to you,” Tim mentions. It sounds like he’s recording notes for himself for a case file, even though he’s clearly talking to him. It makes Kon feel–weird, a little, the idea of being something that Tim would take notes on, or of being something he’d ever give half as much attention as he gives a case. “At the Wayne Foundation fundraiser last week I got so bored I spent the whole damn dinner pretending I had you under the table to keep my cock warm.” 

Kon’s cock twitches much harder this time, and Tim’s smile widens a little. 

“You like the talking too, don’t you,” he says. “That’s kinda sweet.” 

Kon’s face burns, but Tim isn’t looking at his face anyway. He just–he tries not to squirm, and tries to keep his thighs spread and his hole spread, and . . . and just . . . 

“You’re doing so good, Kon,” Tim says coaxingly, and Kon bites his lip at the sound of his name. “Especially for your first time. Don’t stop now. You can take a little more, right?” 

Kon’s face burns.

[pitchblackkoi]

i’ve had this for ages but here is a piece of a wip i’ve had for over a year now. i’ve been working on it again and maybe posting will bully me into finishing it. so here’s some of my shadowgast childhood friends au

When the server has gone and Caleb has a hot coffee sitting in front of him he asks “So, what is it that you do these days?”

Essek perks up at this. “I’m at the Marble Tomes Conservatory. Mostly I teach classes, but I do have some time dedicated to research. I’ve been able to invent a few spells of my own, actually,” he tells Caleb, speaking with an energy that is incredibly familiar.

“I am happy for you, friend,” he says, a genuine smile on his face. “It’s all we ever dreamed of as boys. I assume your area of expertise is dunamancy?”

“Yes, graviturgy specifically,” Essek answers. “When I started school here I got access to so much knowledge about magic and dunamancy, in particular, was fascinating. Using magic to manipulate the workings of the universe. It really was beyond any of our imaginings as children.”

And just like that Essek is off talking about magic theory, enthusiastically gesturing with his hands as he explains complicated concepts that he clearly understands very well. Caleb is listening intently, filing it all away to be examined alongside what else he knows of dunamancy at a later time. Mostly he is focusing on Essek himself, the way his ornate earrings sway as he talks, how bright his eyes look as he talks about his passion, and the way his sleeves are rolled up to show off his forearms. Even when their food arrives (sandwiches with a small bowl of soup that reminds him of meals they ate in his little house as children) he only pauses briefly to take a bite of his food before he’s off again. It’s endlessly endearing and makes him smile.

Caleb realizes the danger of this, of course. It would be so easy to fall back in love with Essek. As far as he can see he is close enough to the boy he knew and loved that it wouldn’t even be difficult. He’s never been good at letting things go. But it would be doomed to failure from the start because he would have to tell Essek about what happened after he left and he would never feel the same way after that.

Essek seems to catch himself after a while. “Ah, but I have gone on for a long time. What have you been doing? I do wonder what landed you in Rosohna.”

He sets his sandwich to the side, trying to decide what to disclose while he finishes chewing. “My friends and I are renting a house on the edge of the Gallimaufry. A lot of us are just doing odd jobs. Jester spends her days working in a bakery, Veth is at a small apothecary, things like that. When money gets tight sometimes we’ll do bounties to make ends meet, whatever we have to.”

“Bounties?” Essek asks, eyes wide.

“Ja, usually someone needs to get rid of a monster for some reason or another, and my friends and I became adept at killing them as we traveled together,” he says with a shrug. “We get by and usually it’s good money. We would rather not if we can help it, but it doesn’t always work out that way.”

“I must say it surprises me to hear that you adventure for money,” Essek confesses. “I always imagined your pursuits would be of the more… academic variety.”

Caleb gives him a wan smile. “Unfortunately it is not always easy to focus on academics and pay the bills. As it is I can only spend some of my time teaching magic to some children in the Coronas.” His smile turns genuine at this. “It doesn’t pay much but I enjoy it too much to stop. If I have to use my magical capabilities to kill monsters so that I can continue to teach, so be it.”

“So what is your specialty? I had always wondered which school you would land on,” the drow asks.

“Transmutation magic is my specialty, though I have some skill in evocation as well,” he answers, feeling much more comfortable discussing magic. It is well-tread ground between the two of them as well as something he feels confident discussing.

This makes Essek give him a fond grin. “I should have known. It is the school with the most flexibility, the most room for creativity and change. It is perfect for you.”

The words send a feeling of relief flowing through him. It’s a confirmation that though he has changed much, maybe some of the boy he once was still lives on in him. His oldest friend recognizes him in even the way he does magic, which is the closest thing to his soul that he has. It’s almost a validation that he chose right when he tried to pick back up the pieces and relearn the art.

“Ah, Danke, Essek. It has done well for me and given me the tools to tinker with spells where I can. All magic is personal, but I find that understanding the intricacies of transmutation lets me make bigger changes than those that come naturally. It just takes a bit of working through,” Caleb begins to explain.

The drow just looks at him with a smile, lunch set to the side as he looks at his friend affectionately. The expression on his face makes Caleb pause in his explanation.

“Ah, sorry. I don’t want to bore you with things that you already know,” he says, blushing a little bit. He can’t believe he’s trying to explain basic magic theory to someone who actually finished their schooling and teaches at a high level, in a lesser-known and complex school of magic no less.

Essek waves away his worries with a hand. “No, that’s not it. It’s just nice getting to watch you get excited about magic once again. I missed it. I missed you.”

Something in Caleb’s chest melts at the words and he smiles warmly. “I missed you, as well. I am glad fate has brought us together once again,” he replies.

This, however, causes Essek to make a sour expression. “I don’t know if I subscribe to the idea of fate,” he admits. “My time in the dynasty especially has put me off of it. Not just because I practice dunamancy, either, but because of how it is talked about as fact here, an absolute.” He pauses, considering. “But if some grand design has brought our paths together again I cannot help but find myself grateful.”

[from-a-reckless-writer]

dove down my rabbit hole of wips and one of my wips isnt a wip anymore! so here, have some gay shit....

“Kelly wants to get married in the woods, I want to get married in Midvale. So, apparently, our wedding will just happen via Zoom. Her in the woods, me at the beach. Ain’t that just fucking grand?”

Alex comes through the door like a hurricane covered in leather. Her helmet lands on Kara’s counter loudly. Her keys haphazardly thrown somewhere in the general direction of the bowl by the door.

“Then have two weddings.”

Alex follows the voice and her eyes zero in on her sister’s best friend.

Lena is sitting on the floor of Kara’s apartment, wearing an oversized sweater. Her dark hair spilling down her shoulders softly. A hand wrapping around a wine glass, the other typing on her laptop, not even jumping in the slightest at the commotion that is Alex’s entrance.

Alex plops down on the couch sighing loudly, not even batting an eye at this utterly domestic scene that is her sister washing the dishes with Lena Luthor on the floor of her apartment.

Lena doesn’t comment at the Danvers’ Sisters antics and Alex doesn’t call them out on the ridiculousness that Lena and Kara are still keen on keeping up.

The three of them already well desensitized to one another’s preferred brand of bullshitery.

“You know, sometimes I forget you're a rich-ass bitch and then you say shit like that and suddenly, I remember,” Alex says, smoothly snatching the wine from Lena’s hand.

She finishes the entire glass in one gulp and Lena rolls her eyes. Alex had finally proposed to Kelly the other week and well, that meant this week all of them had fallen victim to the Olsen-Danvers wedding debacle. It seems today isn’t the day that that whole dilemma is going to stop.

The wedding, of course, was still a few months away, but both parties were stressing about it as if it was going to happen immediately the next day.

Kara swoops in then, mussing up Alex’s hair, earning her an annoyed Hey stop it! before putting down another wine glass and pouring for Lena. Her arms are still wet from washing the dishes.

Lena murmurs her thanks and continues what she was saying, “Well, since you’ve finally remembered that I’m a billionaire. Let me pay for two weddings.”

Alex chokes on the wine.

“What? You’re kidding me, right?”

Lena continues typing, ignoring Alex’s shock, you’d think she didn’t just offer to pay for a wedding.

“Well, I mean, I’m never gonna get married,” Lena explains, “but if you let me do this, I can brag around that I’ve paid for two weddings. Not to mention I’m gonna make two brides very, very happy.”

“Or,” Kara interjects, lowering herself on the opposite side of the couch, perfect for Lena to lean back between Kara’s legs and lay her head on the side of her thigh. “You can just wait for Kelly to get here,” Kara says, pointedly. “Talk it out like normal adults and reach a compromise.”

Kara’s hands start to snake their way from Lena’s hair to Lena’s shoulders, massaging, all too aware that Lena won’t stop whatever it is she’s working on on her laptop till everybody gets here.

Lena lets herself melt and closes her eyes, sighing as Kara’s fingers dip at the junction of her neck and shoulder with just the right amount of pressure.

“I don’t wanna get married in the woods, Kara.”

Lena opens one eye to take a peek at Alex, who looks exasperated, her eyes pleading, gulping down another glass of wine.

“Don’t tell me,” Kara replies. “Tell Kelly.”

“The bugs, Kara,” Alex moans. “Imagine the bugs, and the moss and the ughhh.”

She dramatically thumps the back of her head on the couch.

“Imagine the soil. Clumpy wet soil. Eurgh. Ew. What if I fall face first in that? What if I trip over a stupid tree root in my heels? In my wedding dress?!”

“Alex, you don’t even have a dress yet,” Kara deadpans.

“I thought you were gonna wear a suit,” Lena adds.

“You two suck.” Alex pouts.

****

The rest of their friends arrive and Kara finally succeeds in prying Lena’s work laptop away from her. Alex was already teasing the line from tipsy to drunk by the time Kelly comes through the door.

“Let’s get married in Vegas!!!!” Is how Alex decides to greet her fiance.

Kelly laughs, gives her a peck then answers, “As much as that sounds like a very convenient wedding, I don’t think Eliza would appreciate that, baby.”

Alex frowns at being rejected, sags against the couch and crosses her arms. Why does Kelly always have to be right?

“How much has she had to drink?” Kelly turns to Kara.

“Uhh ask Lena. She made her switch to whiskey.”

Lena—who Kelly thinks was way too busy nuzzling against Kara’s neck to even answer her question—mumbles something that sounds like “S’was just two glasses.”

Kelly just shakes her head, makes Alex drink a glass of water. Her ring making a clink against the glass.

“Alright, what if,” Nia sing-songs, eyes sparkling with mischief, “we just settle this whole wedding thing with Charades?”

Nia claps her hands together like some gameshow host and Kelly takes a deep breath through the nose.

She’s been to enough Game Nights to know where this is headed.

Everybody else was intoxicated enough to accept the suggestion as a grand idea, not at all even thinking that: Hey, isn’t this something we should all take seriously?? Maybe ask the brides what they want, maybe???

Kara nods enthusiastically, agreeing immediately, “Oh!! That’s a great idea! Fun and fair at the same time!”

“Olsen vs. Danvers. Brides get to pick their teams.”

Nia pulls a white board out of nowhere, uncaps a marker and writes “Team Danvers”, “Team Olsen” separated by a neat line in the middle.

“Are we really letting Nia take charge of our wedding venue?" She hears Alex whisper from where she has her tucked at the crook of her neck.

Kelly sneaks a glance at the chaos happening before their eyes; Brainy already claiming to be on Kelly’s team, J’onn shaking his head opting to be the game scorer instead and refusing to participate, somebody’s shouting about: NIA, DREAM PROJECTIONS AT CHARADES IS CHEATING!!!!

Guess this is their life now.

Kelly smirks, boops Alex on the nose and says, “Scared you’ll lose, Danvers?”

****

Alex loses by three points.

“How was I supposed to know you were gesturing 'Transformers'!?!” She barks at Kara, throwing her hands in exasperation.

“I pointed at Nia!” Kara huffs, incredulous at the fact that her sister is blaming her.

Nia lost them a point too!

“What does Nia even have to do with it???” Alex’s voice grows higher in pitch. Her brows furrow in a mix of confusion and frustration.

“Trans, Alex. Trans.”

“Oh my God,” Alex groans. “How are you this dumb?”

And that was the story of how Kelly got her dream wedding.

****

The frenzy finally dies down, some time between Nia making up another drinking game and J’onn making her sit back down. A movie that none of them were watching provides a background noise to the almost lazy atmosphere. Kelly and Alex were pressed close on the far end of the couch, enjoying the temporary quiet.

“Guess we’re getting married in the woods, huh?” Alex murmurs.

“I guess we are,” Kelly whispers back. Alex beams at her, grinning dopily at the thought of finally getting the ending they deserve. It would be the perfect day, she has no doubt about that. No matter where they are. It would be perfect because they got there together.

Alex can’t wait.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing.”

Alex continues to smile stupidly, nudges her nose to Kelly’s.

“Just— I don’t really care where we get married, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” Kelly raises an amused brow at her.

“Mm-hm. So long as you’re the one walking down the aisle.”

Alex presses their lips together, breathes Kelly in deep and for the first time that night, she feels that the future isn’t so scary, even though there is still a very large possibility that she might trip over a tree root on her wedding day.

Somebody interrupts their kiss.

“She’s only saying that ‘cos she lost.”

“Shut up, Luthor.”

****

“Text me when you get home!”

Lena hears Kara call loudly after her sister, before closing the door. Game Night has officially ended and as usual she’s still here. She’ll always be here, she thinks for a brief moment. The thought holding more depth than it should.

Kara didn’t even question her when everybody began filing out and Lena just started picking up the discarded dirty plates and walking them to the sink. They’re well past the point of asking each other if the other would stay over.

It was already some unspoken rule.

Already well past the point of Lena wanting to ask Kara what the hell it is they’re doing.

She’s bent over the sink, scrubbing—Kara doesn’t own a dishwasher for the sole reason that she finds doing the dishes therapeutic—when Lena takes a glance over her shoulder.

Kara is sitting on a high stool near the counter, casually flicking through her phone. It was Lena’s turn to do the dishes tonight. Once upon a time her doing the dishes would have resulted in a fight. “I can superspeed the dishes. Why would you even want to do them?” A statement that would be met with an eye roll.

Kara has learned not to fight her on it again, after around the 7th time that Lena had stubbornly insisted and Supergirl got doused with dishwashing liquid.

And now, it’s become some sort of routine, Kara does the dishes after lunch and Lena does the dishes after dinner. Oh, how the paparazzi would kill for this—Lena Luthor Knows What A Sponge Is?

“Is it true when you told Alex you’re never going to get married?”

Kara decides to break their quiet.

“Yeah, pretty certain about that one, why?” Lena turns around, cocks a curious brow. If she’s being honest she’s beyond certain that she’s not going to get married. She always jokes about how she’s married to L-Corp but it isn’t till now that she realizes how true that is, and...how lonely.

“I don’t know,” Kara murmurs, not meeting Lena’s eyes. “I just like the idea of you getting married, I guess.”

“What?” Lena chuckles at that; genuinely confused but still curious.

“Well, I mean—” Kara wobbles through her words.

“I guess, I just— I like the idea of you walking down the aisle...in a white dress,” Kara muses.

Then, “Or a suit!!” she quickly amends. “If you wanna wear a suit, that is. That can totally be arranged, you know?” Kara waves her hand around and it’s like now that she’s started, she can’t stop.

And Lena’s just standing there, water still dripping from her elbow, unsure of how to feel about Kara imagining her getting married. Quite an incredulous scene isn’t it? Her getting married? What a crazy thing to say, an even crazier scenario to imagine!

She snaps out of it, realizing Kara’s still rambling.

“I have no objections whatsoever with that, if you wanna wear a suit. And yeah, you know? I just— I like that idea. I like the idea of you dancing to your wedding song. The idea of you exchanging your vows, the idea of you-”

“Kara,” Lena decides to put a stop to it, since it’s clearly evident Kara won’t be stopping any time soon. And Lena's feeling way too many things that she doesn’t want to feel at the moment. She’s sure that she’s going to feel more, if she doesn’t put a stop to it herself.

“I’m well aware that it’s the best friend’s job to help with the bride’s wedding,” She says, “but, darling don’t you think you’re putting just a bit too much effort into this? Certainly seems like you’ve thought about it a lot.”

At that, Kara’s cheeks turn a light pink, squirming sheepishly under Lena’s questioning gaze.

Shouldn’t Kara be thinking about her own wedding? How beautiful she would look walking down the aisle. How her blonde hair would look so nicely with her dress. How happy she would finally be after finding someone she could share her life with. Not that Lena's been thinking about those kinds of things. No, of course not. That’d be hypocritical of her at this point. Why would she even— Why were they even talking about this again???

Lena tries to rein in it, tries to focus on Kara again; hands finally finding a dry towel, hesitantly walking into Kara’s space to hear the blonde more clearly.

“Well, I mean- Like I said, I do really like the idea of you getting married,” Kara repeats herself slowly.

And before Lena can come any closer, “Like the idea of you getting married…to me. More specifically,” Kara adds more quietly.

“What?”

Lena stands frozen.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard y- Kara, did you just?”

Lena’s heart is pounding away in her chest. Did she hear her right? Did Kara really just—

Lena’s a step away from her and Kara uses this to her advantage. She pulls Lena closer, tugging at her wrist, the towel dropping from Lena’s hands. Kara summons enough willpower to stare into Lena’s eyes.

“I like the idea of you getting married to me, Lena Luthor.”

“Kara, I’m sorry- What?” Lena jerks away from her, the words finally landing.

“Is that a no?”

Kara lets her go. She can’t focus on Lena’s heartbeat to assess the situation more. Kara’s own heart is betraying her, drumming so loudly in her ears.

“Uh- no, that's definitely not a no?” says Lena hesitantly, eyes wide, breathing nervously. She turns away from Kara for a minute to take a breath, hands fidgeting about.

She whirls around again to face, mutters, “You do realize marriages are for people who are—”

She pauses.

How do you exactly phrase that wedding proposals are for people who are actually in some kind of romantic relationship? And not for people who casually stay over every goddamn Thursday without fail?And okay, maybe sometimes, in a much different reality, would willingly commit fratricide to save the other? And in an also much different reality, willingly expose a secret identity to save the other?

Lena can’t find the right words.

“Oh, I don’t know, Kara,” Lena scoffs, shaking her head disbelievingly. “Marriage is for people who are actually dating each other.”

Kara takes her sarcasm as a good sign and pulls her in again.

“Well,” Kara begins. She can hear Lena’s heart thumping erratically, now that Kara’s gotten her bearings.

“We can always have our first date after the wedding, right?”

Aren’t they well past the point of dating anyway?

She’s got Lena standing between her legs now, her hands wrapping around her waist.

“First date and honeymoon all in one. That sounds great, doesn’t it? I can fly you wherever you want, Paris, Maldives, hell I even have a Fortress in the Arctic, if you’re into that.”

Lena stares at her, blinks once, twice; shakes her head and lets out a noise between a laugh and a scoff.

“Kara Zor-El, you are one ridiculous woman,” She breathes, putting a hand on Kara’s cheek. Because what else is there to say? This whole conversation really is ridiculous. But at the same time Lena feels like she’s floating? Like this may be the best moment of her life, and of course, it’s going to be ridiculous. This is Kara she’s dealing with, after all.

She doesn’t know what she’s going to do if Kara reveals this to be just some sort of joke.

But the way her blue eyes are piercing through Lena’s, so earnest and so warm, argues otherwise.

“So, what do you say? Wanna get married?”

“Are you serious right now?” Lena asks, still unbelieving. This is beyond crazy. They’ve fought aliens and monsters and traveled through time but this? This is just beyond crazy.

“Lena, do I look like I’m joking? And besides, you’d already offered to pay for two weddings, why not pay for our two weddings, instead?”

She shakes her head again, let’s herself fall closer to Kara, lets out a laugh against her neck.

“Mm. You want a Kryptonian ceremony too?”

“Yeah.” Kara’s voice turns shy. “If that’s alright by you.”

“Of course, that’s alright by me. I’d be honored.”

Her heart feels more than full at the thought of Kara wanting to share that part of her with Lena. She’s always had some doubts whenever the topic of Kara’s Kryptonian heritage arises, always half-afraid she’s overstepped on something that isn’t hers.

But looks like there was nothing to fear all along.

“So, we’re getting married, huh?” Kara wiggles her brows, her face breaking into a wide grin.

“Yes. Mm-hm,” Lena hums against her. “I do. I’d marry you. Let’s get married.”

“Seal it with a kiss?"

****

“Hi.”

Lena blearily opens her eyes, follows the soft voice, her bare back being caressed by the sun filtering through Kara’s curtains.

“Hi,” She whispers back. All this feels much too like a fever dream. She’s half-tempted to pinch herself just to check. She’s woken up beside Kara a million times before but she’ll never get used to the sight of soft golden hair and sleepy blue eyes.

Kara gives her a soft peck and the feel of her lips sends Lena reeling.

The previous night was a whirlwind in her mind’s eye. The moment Lena murmured her 'Yes, please.', Kara kissed her passionately. Once they broke away, Kara had zipped around the apartment, Lena too dazed to even ask what it was Kara was looking for.

She watched as Kara tore off a keychain from one of her bags, curled the keyring to fit Lena’s finger and whispered, “This’ll do. For now.”

Kara had kissed her knuckles reverently, her lips making Lena’s blood sing in her veins. The feel of mangled metal fitted just for her left hand is an imprint on her soul. A promise of more to come.

They didn’t make it out of the kitchen the first time. Kara had lifted her by the waist and set her down on the kitchen counter. Which was a good thing, because Lena couldn’t feel her legs after.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom the second time either. She had tackled Kara onto the couch, pinning her wrists together, licking at the shell of Kara’s ear. “My turn now,” Lena had whispered. The way Kara shivered underneath her was enough of a reward. How long had they been waiting for this?

Flashes of last night had her hips bucking slightly unto Kara’s leg sandwiched between her own, but before it could escalate further...

“I have exciting news to share,” Kara tells her.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Kara hums, now nosing at Lena’s hair.

“What is it?” Lena asks.

“I’m getting married.”

“Oh you are?” Lena plays along.

“Yes. I’m getting married to my best friend,” whispers Kara, almost conspiratorially. “How cool is that?”

Kara looks giddy with excitement and Lena knows she’s mirroring that exact same expression right now.

“Mm. Very cool, darling.”

Kara giggles and they trade more lazy kisses before Lena breaks away to breathe.

“Quite a coincidence though,” Lena husks out against Kara’s lips.

“Oh really? Why?” Kara asks, tries to keep a serious neutral face despite her nose scrunching up in that cute smile that Lena can’t resist

“I’m also getting married,” Lena confides, “To my best friend," she adds, eyes flashing. "Isn’t that great?”

“Very great.” Kara nods slowly, blonde hair falling into her face, a hand running through dark tresses.

“I love you,” Lena whispers, her lips brushing Kara’s softly.

“I love you, too.” Kara kisses her harder then, her hands lazily wandering along Lena’s skin.

They lie there quietly for a few moments, basking in the morning glow and then, “Alex will kill us.”

Lena snorts, twists in the sheets and says, “I think your sister is too busy planning her wedding to even think about plotting our murder.”

read follow-up here.

[world-of-aus]

Ghost Story - Bugged

Pairing: eventual hitman!bucky x detective!reader

Warnings: None for this chapter.

A/n: This is definitely going to be a series as for how long i’m unsure but this wip has been sitting in my docs and my mind for far too long and needed out. I hope you all will enjoy it, and hopefully i can really build this one up, yall ready?

Stay up to date with my latest updates by checking out @worldofausupdates​!

His file had been thrown on your desk, its contents nearly spilling out due to the manner in which director Fury had delivered it to you.  

“Fury,” you greet as you look down at the file thrown on your desk to the man in question, “to what do I owe the pleasure - or rather displeasure,” you add taking notice of the grimace painting his already disgruntled features.

Fury say’s nothing as he zones in on your desk, hands meeting wood as he looms over you, “James Buchanan Barnes,” he begins his hand reaching out to open the disheveled file, “a ‘ghost’ taking it upon himself to go after the scum of New York,” your brows raise as he digs through the files, “Mob bosses, arm dealers, human traffickers, if they’ve ever been brought in; they’ve likely seen the end with him.”

Your office grows quiet as Fury gives you a minute to look over the file that he had started to present to you. “How did he even manage to get in with the likes of some of these,” you question as you flip through the photos encased in his file, “red skull, kingpin, Thanos, Ultron,” your eyes meet your directors.

“Ever heard of a contract killer,” he questions, “contract killer, you mean like a hitman?” Fury's nodding at your question, your own brows furrowing at the answer, “wait so these men hired James Barnes for a job only to become ‘the job’ - how’d he manage that?”  

“Doesn’t sound like your typical hitman does it,” fury questions, “well he isn’t,” he answers at the shake of your head. “James Barnes from what we know is a planner, very detail oriented – does his research on the bastards that hire him, finds their weak spot, wins them over, and then uses that against them when their guards are lowered and they’re least suspecting.”

Your brows furrow as you continue to flip through the contents of the file; James Barnes was indeed very detail oriented from what you could see. He had planned every last detail from how we came across those who hired him, to how he crossed them. For many of these men you couldn’t even bring yourself to feel sorry for their imminent endings, it was a long time coming after all.

“It seems like this ‘ghost’ Is doing us a favor don’t you think,” you question as you close up the file sliding it back to your director, “would it really be so bad to just slide his ‘wrong doings’ under the rug like the others, they’ve done far worse for longer and we’ve all had to turn a blind eye to it.”

Fury’s face is unreadable, and for a second you think you might have broken the unruly man but then he’s producing a second file from his coat. The file hitting your desk in the same manner as the first this time though he doesn’t bother opening the contents for you before he’s speaking.

“Brock Rumlow, you heard of him?”

You can’t help the quiet scoff that leaves your lips, you had heard, and dealt with Rumlow plenty. “Really Fury, Rumlow is one that we’ve - I've had to turn a blind eye to plenty, course I’ve heard of him, he’s been escaping prison sentence since our first meeting.”

Fury is leaning forward to open the file, “Rumlow’s hired Barnes for a job, thing is this jobs been going on for months and Barnes finally has enough on Rumlow to take him down,” your eyes flick to your directors, “and as much as its going to pain you to hear this Barnes needs to be stopped.”

“Stopped,” you question, “did anyone ever stop red skull, kingpin, Thanos, Ultron when they were skipping out on arrests for doing far worse than what James Barnes is doing?”

“Is he any better though,” Fury retaliates, “he’s still murdering people detective,” you scoff to which Fury raises a brow at, “James Barnes is murdering men who if you ask me deserve it – the men he’s taken down have murdered innocent individuals for less,” you continue, “these men deal Fury, they traffic children, women, and you want me to stop him from taking another rat down?”

Fury’s lips are set in a thin line, “detective if Barnes is successful in taking Rumlow down we will have no one, no one, to take down,” he barks, “all these names are attached to each other in some way, and with the information Barnes has obtained if we can just bring him in, get him to comply we can shut them all down with just Rumlow alone – we can bring a stop to this detective.”

“But he knows me Fury, I've brought Rumlow in enough for him to recall my face, how exactly are you expecting me to infiltrate?”

Fury doesn’t answer as he turns to your door, taking a few steps to reach for the door handle, you watch as he works open your door, a familiar figure standing on the other end of it. “I’m sure formalities aren’t needed but detective y/n, this is detective Rogers – Rogers, y/n.”

Steve is offering you a warm smile before he’s crossing into your office, the door closing behind him. “Rogers here is very familiar with Barnes having spent months himself trying to find this ‘ghost’.” Your gaze falls to Steve who's nodding his head as his lips part, “Barnes isn’t an easy man to track, on top of how well he has these hits planned he has his tracks hidden just as well, or at least till now.”

Your brow raises as Steve steps forward placing an open file on your desk, “I didn’t want to read too much into this, but like I said I’ve been tracking Barnes down for months trying to catch him before he can strike but I've always been a few steps short of him - until last week, I think he wants us to find him, I think this is a possible call for help.”

Your eyes take in the photo, “is this an address,” you question as you take in the warped letters in blacklight seemingly painted to a bathroom shower wall.”

“It is,” Rogers confirms, “looked up the location and it leads to a broken-down warehouse, and you know these guys and their warehouses – there's always something more,” you finish for him.

“So what,” you question as you look up at him, “you really think this is the ‘ghosts’ way of asking for help? He hasn’t let you catch him before, so why would he now?”

“I had your same thoughts,” Steve replies, “the first thought that hit me was that it was a set-up, a possible trick to set me off his trail – but Barnes has never in any of the areas where I suspected him to be, left anything like this and I'll scour the entire room to find a trace.”

Your eyes are leaving his to look back down at the file, mind racing. This could be it; you could put an end to every corrupt evil thing hiding in the shadows, though you know it wouldn’t be the last you see of them, but bringing Rumlow in could very well shut all this down for a long while.

Your eyes flicker to Fury’s, “If I agree to this, how are we getting me in,” you question, “Rumlow will know it's me the second I get in.”

“Good thing you aren’t going in.”

Your brows furrow, “but Fury you just - how”

“We’re sending you after Barnes,” Steve cuts in, your eyes meet his watching as he leans forward to reveal another photo similar to the first, “he thinks I'm the one trailing, so he won’t be suspecting you, or at least that’s what we’re hoping, by also sending you in we hope we won’t be conveyed as a threat, and that he can trust us to help him take down Rumlow – but our way.”

Your office goes quite for a second before you’re speaking up, “I can be threatening you know,” and that draws a grin from the two men posted in front of you, “and we have no doubts about how threatening you can be detective,” Fury gets in, “but we need Barnes on our side, and in order to do that we need to try and talk him down, and we believe you to be the one to be able to do that.”

You mull over their words before you’re turning back to Steve asking the one question on your mind, “Rogers you say you’ve been trailing Barnes for months now, you don’t think he’s going to get thrown off seeing me come in, surely that’s gonna piss him off and make him run no?”

Just as Steve goes to speak Fury’s phone is going off, the two of you watching as your director reaches for the device in his jacket. He’s turning his back to you giving a greeting before he falls silent, he points a finger at the two of you before he’s making his way out of the office without a single word more.

It’s only when the door is closed behind him and it's just you and Steve that the brunette is closing in on you in a rushed manner. “We don’t have much time,” he whispers as his eyes dart over his shoulder, “but he’ll be expecting you, he knows you’re coming.”

Your brows furrow, “what do you mean - Steve who knows I'm coming?”

Steve’s leaning further into your desk hands quick and quite as he lays a burner on your desk piled on a closed envelope. “Fury’s going to send you out, take one of the cars parked in the garage and go to the location he sends you, from there you’ll get more information.”

There's a skip in your chest, “Steve what’s -” the door to your office is swinging open then, Steve sliding the envelope and phone into your hands, “take it,” he murmurs quietly.

“Y/n,” Fury calls voice booming, “I’ve been given a lead on Rumlow, I need you to go now.”

Your eyes are snapping to his, “a lead on Rumlow, but – now detective y/l/n.”

You know you can’t argue with the stern glare being directed at you, so you move quickly gathering all the files and burner that had been deposited onto your desk. The skip in your chest is now a fast flutter as you do one last sweep of your office before your following Fury and Rogers out of your office. Fury flanks off first as you move down the busy hallway.

Steve remains by your side as he seemingly guides you to the parking garage, taking you out of the offices side door exit fairly quickly. He leads you to the patrol car Fury has assigned you, opening the door for you letting you settle in.

“Rogers, seriously what’s going on,” you question as he leans to buckle you in, he tucks his head slightly voice barely above a whisper, “this runs deeper than we imagined y/n.” Your eyes are wide as he pulls away from you, “what does that mean,” you breathe.

You don’t get an answer as Steve closes your door for you, the words ‘start the car’ being mouthed from his lips, you listen, not knowing what else to do.

You’re then putting the car in drive as you pull out of the garage altogether, it's when you're exiting onto the busy streets of New York that the burner is buzzing in the passenger seat. You reach for it at a red-light finger flipping it open as you open the unknown numbers text.

“Go to the address Fury provided, open the envelope and go from there, when you arrive, he’ll be waiting – he’ll be able to explain more.”

A second text comes in just as the light turns green a car horn sounding from behind you.

“Trust no one.”