#This idea is one I originally posted on AO3 a million years ago

[theonlyominerd]

Happy Dragon Age Day! :D

Dragon Age owns my soul right now (if you can't tell lol), and managed to spark my want to write again. Never thought it would happen, but here we are lol And of COURSE it's a Solavellan fic, because I am deep in that hell and always will be. For anyone who wants to read it, it's over on AO3 :D

[moonlightspencie]

Things I Can’t Say

Description: Aaron Hotchner has a lot of things on his mind. Most of which he can never bring himself to say. Until one slip unravels everything. (originally posted on ao3)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Warnings: usual criminal minds-level mentions of cases, hotch being dumb

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: it’s me. hi. i’m back

The case was turning out to be a rough one. Each lead was turning up as a dead end, and every member of the team was just about over the chase after a couple of days.

Y/N sat in the office the local precinct had set aside for the team, on the phone with Penelope as she rattled off a million ideas. They eventually came to a possible suspect, Y/N putting the phone on speaker for Hotch and Reid to listen to as she listed her points.

“He could be a good starting point. He knew Quinn, and hung out in the same circles as the other three,” Garcia offered.

“Okay, we’ll check him out. Thanks, sugar,” Y/N said with a smile.

“Anything for you, my sweet.”

She hung up, looking to Hotch to find him already looking at her.

“She already sent the address,” he said, holding up his phone.

“Awesome.”

“You’ll come with me to check out the first suspect. Reid, I want you to stay here and complete the geographical profile.”

“Sounds good. I feel like I’m getting somewhere,” Reid said, nearly mindlessly.

Hotch nodded, starting towards the exit of the precinct with Y/N on his heels.

They pulled up to the house after a long drive, already getting the feeling this wouldn’t be their guy. Hotch pulled the key from the ignition, and they walked up to the front door.

A man opened the door after a firm knock, burly and a bit unkempt. Y/N spoke up first, hoping to soften him up to questioning.

“I’m supervisory special agent Y/L/N, this is Agent Hotchner. Can we ask you a few questions?”

He raised his brows. “Anything you say.”

“We’re inquiring about a man named Quinn. We hear you were good friends,” Hotch stated.

“Is there a question in there, agent?”

Hotch sighed. “Do you know the last time you saw him?”

“Week ago. Maybe two.”

Y/N crossed her arms, whispering to Hotch. “He’s not our guy. We’re looking for someone highly organized.”

Hotch nodded, dropping his arms.

“Well,” Y/N started, handing the man a business card. “Thank you for your time, sir. If you have any information, please give us a call.”

He looked at the card briefly. Then, “One question.”

“Yes?” she asked.

“Pretty girl like you: what are you doing working with the FBI?” the man asked, a sly smile on his face. “Don’t you think you’d be happier someplace else? Maybe around here?”

“She is a federal agent,” Hotch said, moving to stand in front of her. “Try practicing a little more respect.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to be afraid of you, G-man?”

“You may be too incompetent to be the unsub we’re looking for, but I promise you this: one more slip-up and we will nail you to the wall for the illegal guns, and the drugs. I’m too busy to deal with scum like you currently, but you can believe I’ll have local law enforcement coming back with a warrant and subsequent 20-year sentence.”

The man stopped in his tracks, color draining from his face and confidence waning completely.

“Hotch,” she said, a hand on his arm. “Let it go. It’s fine.”

“It isn’t fine,” he huffed, turning towards her. The man shut his door in the meantime. “We’re federal agents on a job. There’s no reason for anyone to think it appropriate to treat you like that. Especially in a situation like this.”

“He’s put in his place now, though. I think you put the fear of God in him.”

She laughed, taking half a step back. He didn’t falter, though.

“I just—“ he started and stopped just as quickly.

“I know you’ve been a little on edge with this case. It’s okay. Just… Don’t worry about the little things like that. I could’ve taken care of it.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Come on,” she said, starting to walk back towards the car. “I’ll let you have your pick of the music on the way back.”

He hid a smirk, following after her. The ride back to the precinct was quiet. Too quiet.

She turned to look at Hotch as he drove, uncharacteristically silent. It took a few seconds before he realized she was watching him, and he shot a sideways glance in her direction.

“You have something on your mind,” he stated, not even bothering to ask a question.

“Yeah. You’re being really quiet. Much more so than normal.”

He sighed, not giving a response.

“What is it, Hotch?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Are you still mad about that guy flirting with me?” she asked with half a smile.

“No,” he said shortly.

She scoffed. “Right. That was real convincing.”

He side eyed her. “I’m not.”

“You know, it’s okay if you are. I get it,” she started, a smile breaking out. “I really don’t mind if you’re all jealous.”

His face flushed, embarrassment taking hold.

“That’s not— It’s not what that is,” he muttered.

She raised a brow, the smile fading from her face as she took in his flustered state. She sat up straight in her seat, looking at him.

“Hey, I was just joking…” she trailed off. “Wait, are you actually jealous?”

“No.”

“You’re flushed and acting really flustered. It doesn’t take a profiler, Hotch.”

“I— No. I couldn’t be.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he said with a raised voice. He then took a moment, taking in a breath. “I can’t be. I have Beth, I can’t.”

Her heart stopped in that moment, she was sure. She didn’t know what to say, settling back in her seat and watching the road in front of her as they continued on towards the station. He was just as quiet, though internally panicking over letting it slip. He couldn’t help but think back to when he first realized she would become a problem for him.

—————

They sat at the table in the restaurant, exchanging the most embarrassing stories they could think of. Everyone was busting up with laughter through the night.

“No!” she exclaimed, looking at Reid with wild eyes. “You took down an old woman?”

Reid groaned. “Not on purpose! I tripped!”

“You’re lucky she didn’t break a hip,” Derek said with a laugh, slapping a hand against his back.

“At least it isn’t Y/N, here, getting thrown up on by a suspect,” Hotch said, smirking at her as he let something she’d been trying to keep secret slip.

“You asshole,” she laughed, lightly smacking his arm. “I was hoping to take that to my grave.”

“Oh, that is so gross,” Kate said, laughing.

“She had to change her pants in the car. It was lucky she had a change, because I did not want to ride back with her covered in… that,” Hotch laughed.

She groaned, pressing her face against his arm and away from the group. He laughed it off, his hand reaching down to rest on her knee as she waited out the laughter of the others. Though, this small gesture started feeling like too much for him. He could tell his face was reddening, and he took his hand away quickly to not alert anyone else to his condition.

He swallowed, trying to calm his nerves. He took in a breath, smiling slightly as she finally pulled away from his arm, though he felt his heart still pounding wildly. He couldn’t feel anything for her. He was her boss. She deserved better.

—————

She sat in her seat, unsure what her next move would be. Unsure what it should be in a circumstance like this. Did he really just admit he was jealous?

“We can just pretend this didn’t happen, you know? I— I don’t want you to feel guilty or freaked out about this,” she offered, still not looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No, I know. I know you didn’t,” she said, nodding. “You— You have Beth. You have a lot going on right now, frankly. I don’t want you to feel like this is adding on, or…”

“I understand. I really appreciate that.”

“Anything.”

He swallowed. “I just… I didn’t mean for that to slip out.”

“I know. You really don’t have to explain anything, it’s okay.”

He nodded quietly, both parties turning back to their own worlds as the pavement flew by them.

The rest of the case was a welcome relieve to the conversation they didn’t want to remember any longer. While they never wished for a difficult case, neither of them could say the mental gymnastics weren’t a great way to forget everything else around them.

Before long, though, the case was over. And, unfortunately, they were surrounded by profilers.

“Everything okay?” Derek asked as he sat next to Y/N. “You’re spaced out, sweet stuff.”

She smirked. “I’m alright. Just a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not particularly. It’ll pass, so no worries here.”

He nodded, not convinced. “If you need to…”

“You’ll be there,” she said, finishing his sentence. “I appreciate you, Derek Morgan.”

“Right back at you, mama,” he said, nudging her side with a smile. “And if you need me to kick ass…”

“Won’t be necessary.”

“Just an offer,” he said, hands raised in surrender.

She smiled. “I know.”

The next couple of weeks were excruciating. She kept up a happy face, but she couldn’t stop thinking about his pseudo-confession. She wished she had the guts to say something back, but she knew it would have been pointless. He had someone, and had too much on his plate to deal with a younger subordinate confessing feelings for him. It wasn’t unwelcome when Garcia scurried through the bullpen with talk of a new case.

“Meet Maria Gonzales, thirty-four, and Cameron March, twenty-nine. Both women were reported missing within the past month, and just turned up in the past two weeks, bound in plastic with ligature marks on their wrists and ankles. They were each taken from a different healthcare facility in the San Antonio area last month. Now, a Miss Bryar Johnson has been abducted from yet another facility.”

Y/N sighed. “Yikes. So, we should have about a two-week period to find Bryar?”

“Yes,” Garcia started. “The first two women were killed right before they were dumped. Bryar was reported missing three days ago.”

“Plastic could be a sign of remorse,” Spencer piped up.

“What was the cause of death?” Rossi asked.

“Strangulation,” Hotch said, not looking up from the files. “Wheels up in 20.”

The San Antonio case was going surprisingly well, though Y/N felt that it could be going better on a personal level. Usually she’d pair up with Hotch for most of the case, especially since their similar skill sets matched with their different personal presentations was always helpful in getting answers whenever they needed them. This time around, he hardly looked in her direction.

“I know you said you’d tell me if something was wrong, but you’re still not saying a damn thing,” Derek said, walking up to her at the table she sat at.

She looked up at him, then went right back to searching through the files that sat before her. She could tell Derek was staring a hole into the back of her head, but couldn’t justify telling him what was happening in her life at the moment.

He sat down next to her, dragging the files away from her line of site.

“Mama, I know when something is up with you. You can’t hide that from me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not saying anything.”

He sighed. “You’re being awfully difficult.”

“What’s new?” she questioned with a smile, finally looking at him.

He chuckled. “Touché. You’re talking to me now, at least.”

“I always talk to you, Morgan.”

“Most of the time. Except when you’re trying to hide something.”

She glared at him. “Have you considered I’m not talking for a reason?”

“Oh, I’ve considered it. I just know that when you hold stuff in you get all solemn and grumpy. I don’t want you to get to that point,” he said, turning her chair towards him. “Talk.”

“I can’t, Derek.”

“Why not?” he asked, voice quieter.

She sighed. “It’s… It’s hard to explain. It’s really personal.”

He reached for her hand, quietly taking it and not saying another words for a few moments. She looked to where their hands connected, letting out a shaky breath as she did.

“It’s Hotch,” she whispered, not looking at him.

“What? Is he okay?”

She nodded. “He’s fine. I’m just— I don’t know what to do.”

“What’s wrong? I haven’t seen you like this,” he noted, brow furrowing in concern.

She shook her head. “Yeah. It’s… I don’t know. Have you ever felt something so strongly, but just knew there was nothing you could do about it?”

He paused, studying her for a moment. He scooted forward slightly, eyes still trained on her face as he spoke quietly.

“Do you have feelings for Hotch?”

She nodded after a beat. “And I think he confessed the same to me but— There’s just nothing to be done about it. The worst part of all of it is that he can’t even look at me now. We haven’t really spoken since then. That was a few weeks ago.”

Morgan sighed, looking down. “Damn.”

“Damn, indeed,” she said with half a smirk.

He chuckled slightly. “I’m sorry, mama. I— I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

“Of course you can’t. You’re a smoke show. Who could resist?”

He laughed out loud. “You know me so well.”

She laughed along. “What can I say?”

He stood up, taking her hands as he did. She stood with him, accepting a long hug from him.

“You deserve to be happy,” he whispered. “Let this one go. You’ll find the right person.”

“I get it. It just really sucks right now.”

“I know.”

“We have a break in the case,” Hotch’s voice rang out in the small room, breaking the two of them up.

“Yeah?” she asked, pulling away from Derek. “What do you need from us?”

Hotch looked between them for a moment, then continued on.

“Garcia should have just sent an address. We need to leave now, though. A massive storm is rolling in and roads are getting bad.”

“Gotcha,” she said, nodding curtly. “Are we all riding together?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

She paused for a moment before responding. “Right.”

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Morgan said with finality. As soon as Hotch left, he turned back to her, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s finish this and get home.”

The storm turned out worse than they all had expected. The take-down ended up slightly more difficult due to power outages across the state, and the more difficult part was the fact that they would be forced to stay for the night when Y/N wanted nothing more than to go home to her own bed.

She sat inside the SUV with Hotch and Rossi on the way back to the hotel for the night, staring out the window at the pouring rain. Their voices became a type of white noise to her as they conversed quietly, though her silence didn’t go unnoticed.

Hotch glanced back at her every couple of minutes, feeling a sense of dread at the coming conversation she currently knew nothing about. His heart felt like it might burst, and putting up a front was getting harder and harder by the minute. He had a million thoughts running through his head, and it certainly didn’t help that she was completely spaced out in the backseat.

“You’re awfully quiet back there,” Rossi noted, finally breaking the two out of their own heads.

“Just tired,” she said. “The rain doesn’t help. I always get sleepy during storms.”

“You sure?”

She hummed. “Yeah. No worries here, Rossi.”

They pulled into the parking lot after a few minutes, and prepared to run inside of the building and away from the downpour. They all got in with minimal damage done, though not without some wet hair.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh as she looked at the two men, her own head safe after using a jacket as a shield.

“Good look, you guys. The drowned rat thing really suits you,” she said with a smile, looking between them.

“Hey, watch it. Maybe next time you won’t be so lucky,” Rossi said, laughing lightly as he shook his hair out.

Hotch smiled, scrunching his nose as he brushed his fingers through his hair. Y/N watched him with intent, though not without missing the fact that Rossi knew that look on her.

He cleared his throat. “I’m gonna head off.”

She looked to Rossi as he gave them one last knowing look. A look that was a bit too smug for her liking.

“He’s acting weird,” she said out loud.

Hotch nodded. “That’s Dave.”

“Only when he knows something,” she said, looking back to him expectantly.

“What would he know?” Hotch questioned.

She watched him for a moment. “You tell me.”

He cleared his throat, glancing away. She was silent, hoping it’d prompt him to say something.

“Can we talk privately?”

“Why?”

“You said you wanted to know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Hotch, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He sighed. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“I’m not saying you would.”

“Y/N.”

She crossed her arms. “We haven’t talked in weeks. I don’t know how to act around you right now.”

“I never should have said anything. Not like that, I know,” he said with a sigh. “I would really appreciate if we could talk about it now, though. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Please. Can we go someplace else? The others are going to be here any minute.”

She glanced around the hotel lobby, then back to the man in front of her. He sure looked less intimidating with soaking wet hair and puppy dog eyes.

Eventually, she nodded. “Okay.”

They stepped into the hotel elevator, unsure what to say in the silence. She looked up at him, receiving a small smile. The elevator dinged on the floor they were all staying on, and she led him to her room.

He followed after quietly, standing awkwardly by the door after she closed and locked it. She turned to look at him once she sat on the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m still wet.”

She couldn’t help by laugh. She then got up, making a quick stop in the bathroom to grab a towel. She came back, standing in front of him to hand it over.

“Here,” she said, arms extended with the towel in hand.

He smiled. “Thanks.”

She watched as he scrubbed at his head, his hair flying in all directions by the time he was done.

“You look ridiculous,” she said with a smirk.

He dropped his arms, towel still in hand. His brow quirked up.

“That bad?”

“Not bad. Just ridiculous.”

He failed to hide a smile at that, looking around for a place to set down the towel. She took it from him, instructing him to take off his shoes as she went to throw it in the bathroom once again. She came back to see him settling down on the edge of the bed.

“So,” she started, trailing off as she sat next to him. “What’s up?”

He snorted a laugh. “A lot. I think, first, I need to apologize to you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do,” he said with a nod, turning to look at her more fully. “I shouldn’t have let on that I had any kind of feeling for you other than professional ones. That’s… It was really unfair to you, and puts you in a bad position. I want you to feel safe and respected at work, and I feel like I’ve put that at risk.”

“Hotch,” she said, stopping him. “You didn’t. I know you respect me, and I do feel safe. As safe as an agent can get, anyways.”

She laughed, drawing a small smile from him.

She continued, “I made a joke, and it turned out to be true. You didn’t just up and tell me. I’m just like… Really good at my job.”

He fully laughed this time, head dropping into his hands.

“You’re making it really hard to feel bad about this,” he mumbled.

“Good. You shouldn’t feel bad.”

He sighed, looking back up. “I still will. You don’t deserve to be worried that your boss is going to— make a move.”

She quirked a brow. “Make a move?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not worried about that and never have been. You care way too much about this team and people in general to make advances at someone who didn’t want them,” she said, scooting an inch closer. “Besides, you made our boundaries clear. You have someone you love, and I know you’re not the cheating type.”

He paused, then let out a heavy sigh, looking anywhere but at her.

“Uh oh,” she said, looking at him curiously. “What nerve did I just hit?”

“I, uh… We broke things off. Beth and I.”

She deflated. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to—“

“No, no,” he waved her off. “It’s okay. It was mutual. Distance has been wearing on us for a while, and honestly neither of us were really feeling it anymore.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last week.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “It’s not been as difficult as I thought it would be. Jack has been handling it very well. He told me the other day on the phone that I’m going to find the perfect person one day.”

Hotch smiled at that, finally looking back at her. She smiled back, nodding.

“I’d have to agree with him. He’s got that big old brain from his dad, you know?” she said, nudging him in the arm.

He laughed softly again. “He’s a great kid.”

“The best, arguably.”

He hummed in agreement.

“Can I ask you something?” she said after a beat of silence.

“Anything,” he replied with a brief nod.

“Do you ever say or do the things you want to?”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean by that?”

“You just keep so much bottled up. Do you ever let yourself dump it all out?”

He cleared his throat. “On occasion, I suppose.”

She nodded thoughtfully. He watched her, knowing something was stirring in her head.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly.

“Can I slip a secret?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed. “I really, truly wasn’t uncomfortable when you let it slip. The whole jealousy thing.”

“What?”

Hotch’s heart started up again, unsure where she was going with this, but really hoping it went in one direction.

“I know what you were feeling. Like, every time we show up to a new town and half the ladies in the place are staring you down. I get it.”

He let out a breath. “I don’t—“

“If this is like, way too inappropriate for me to say, I’d really appreciate if you didn’t fire me. But, I’ve had a thing for you since my first day on the job. Frankly, these past few weeks have been hell.”

“Y/N…”

“Again I ask that you don’t fire me.”

He chuckled. “I won’t. I— Since your first day?”

“Remember when I couldn’t remember my own name for a minute there at the beginning?”

He hummed. “You were nervous for the interview.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “I’ve never been more prepared for an interview. I was nervous that my possible new boss was a smoke show, and it freaked me out even more that he was staring me down the second I walked in the door like I was an unsub.”

He smirked. “A smoke show? Really?”

“As if you don’t know,” she laughed, pushing his shoulder lightly. “I just… I guess I kind of freaked out seeing you. And hearing you talk so passionately about work for the first time. Not to mention the way your voice sounds…”

“Alright, let’s not get carried away,” he said, color rushing into his cheeks.

“It’s also super cute when you blush like that,” she said, squeezing in the last phrase before he could stop her again.

He sat quietly, just taking her in for a moment. She hid a smile, unsure what her next move should be. He cleared his throat.

“So, are you really all that sorry that things with Beth ended?”

“Sorry that it might have hurt you? Yes. Sorry that it’s done? Not really.”

“I see.”

“I also don’t know how excited I should be, considering you could totally blow me off right now and see if sleeping around is your new lifestyle. That might make things worse for me, honestly.”

He laughed. “Oh, yes. Leaving the person who gave me the courage to finally end a serious relationship is at the top of my list.”

Her face dropped. “What?”

He took in a breath, now realizing what he’d just said. A nervous laughter bubbled out of him, his eyes wide.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You broke things off because of me?”

He groaned. “Not fully.”

“Hotch, what the hell,” she said, laughing fully. “What if I was, like, not on board?”

“I didn’t think you were until now. I guess I still thought it was worth it. Plus, like I said, we’ve both been wanting to for a while.”

“Still!”

She laughed, scooting even closer to him. She took his hands in her own, a wild smile on her face as she looked at his bewildered one staring back.

“Are you fully insane?”

He stumbled over words for a moment. “I— I might be.”

She stared at him a moment longer, then decided all of the thinking and overthinking they’d both done was getting ridiculous. If he could act impulsively, so could she.

She leaned forward, pressing a hard kiss to his lips. He stayed still for a moment in shock before responding eagerly. His arms found her waist, and he tugged her into his lap as soon as he could.

(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)

FULL MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

[torukmaktoskxawng]

tsamsiyu ta'em - prologue

Masterlist - part one

Summary: Corporal Makayla Sully believed she was the last of her family. Her parents were long gone, her brother Tom was killed for his wallet, and his twin Jake abandoned her in exchange for the sunny paradise Pandora. Kayla is informed of Jake's passing and so she decides to take a job opportunity with General Frances Ardmore. She hitches a ride to Pandora with the intent of recovering her brother's remains, twenty years since the last time she's seen him. Instead of a box of bones or ash, however, she's given something she thought she lost a long time ago.

Pairing: Ronal/Tonowari/Original Female Character

Tag: #tsamsiyu ta'em fic

Word Count: 1k+

posted on ao3

Taglist: @mooniequeen

Warnings: canon-compliant, canon-typical violence, mature language, adult content, slow burn, polyamory, found family, cool aunt agenda, alien/human (technically avatar), jake sully sister agenda, time skips, I'm trying to hurry up and get to the good parts so bear with me, fluff, angst, adopted spider, tags to be added

A/N: The title loosely translates from "warrior from above" in Na'vi

EARTH, OVER TWENTY YEARS AGO...

It's like a switch turned off in his head.

One minute he's drinking and actually enjoying life for once, the next he's thrown out of the bar and had been told his twin brother was dead. Seeing Tommy's body numbed everything, sobering Jake up before he even had a chance to puke the stuff out. It's one thing for his legs to stop working, it's another for his emotions to stop as well. The man barely said a word or even composed a proper emotion during the whole funeral process. After watching his brother's body being cremated, he hadn't been angry or even devastated by the loss. There wasn't a single tear shed on Jake's behalf during the service, his mind droning out the words exchanged and the condolences given.

Now, he sat in his wheelchair, staring out the window of his sister's crammed two-room apartment, not far down the road from his own living space. His hair was long and unkept with the idea of shaving it all off tomorrow, the dress jacket he had worn for the service now tossed to the couch behind him. The shaggy, old apartment didn't have much for lights, least of all a view, the only green to be seen being the lights of signs indicating a restaurant or a dollar store right outside. The familiar sound of ice clinking softly together in a glass could be heard behind him, along with a woman's voice.

"Jake? Jake."

"Hm."

The woman's voice drew closer as she crossed the room to him, "I found a job opening down the street. 'Pay is good. Thought we might check it out together?"

Looking up, Jake is met with a small glass with about a couple gulps worth of whiskey in it, and two ice cubes to make up for the shitty water content. He glances up at his sister as she offers the glass to him and he eventually takes the drink but doesn't acknowledge her words. Kayla's head tilts to the side, studying his reaction before speaking again, "What is it?"

His jaw tightens, taking the time to stare down at his drink while he finds the words, "... I'm taking Tommy's job. I'm gonna be shipped out on a shuttle tomorrow afternoon. In about... six years, I'll be landing on Pandora."

"... Really."

"Money's good," he tries offering the bright side, despite his brooding behavior. He gulps back his entire drink with one tip back of his head, tolerating the burn of alcohol before setting the empty glass on the window sill, "And they need someone with Tommy's face and DNA in order to sync up with the avatar they designed for him. I'll be saving them millions of dollars."

He doesn't need to see her face to know that Kayla was trying to refrain from scowling, "You don't know a single thing about science. You're a war dog."

"Not anymore, clearly," Jake muttered while his hands touched the wheels of his chair.

"You know what I mean. I mean you barely passed high school--"

"'And Tommy passed with flying colors', yeah I know," he responds flatly, a bad taste starting to form in his mouth, "I've heard that plenty of times, trust me."

"Jake-- why are you telling me all this the night before you're meant to leave?"

He finally looks up at her. Plain-faced and pale, Kayla still had a shadow of youth in her eyes, with plenty of life ahead of her. She may not be a twin like Jake and Tommy, but she still bore the resemblance of a Sully. Narrow nose, thin lips, dull blue eyes, and a pointed chin, Jake's younger sister could easily be misinterpreted as his twin now that Tom was no longer around. The thought made his stomach clench and the taste in his mouth got worse.

"So you wouldn't be able to stop me."

She huffs, unimpressed as she took a long sip of her own beverage, "Well, at least you're honest when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk."

"When are you not drunk these days?" She hissed, "Do you think those scientists will take on a drunk in the RDA or whatever-the-fuck it's called?"

"I'll sober up in my cryotube. I'll be clean in six years and it'll only feel like six hours for me. It's a win-win."

"You mean a win-win-lose because that still means leaving behind your only living family member. Whatever happened to 'Sullys stick together?'"

Jake scoffs while taking a hand to rub his tired face, "You're not a kid anymore. You can make your own living, and start your own family. You don't need me and you definitely don't need this lifestyle. You could do anything with your life without your crippled brother holding you back--"

"Who died and made you the sole decision-maker of what I do with my life?"

"You're clearly leaving an opening for me to say 'everyone died.'"

She pointedly slammed her drink down on the window sill before she turned to walk away, "Fuck you."

"Kayla..." With his sister still exiting, Jake grabbed his wheelchair and made the motion to go after her, his arrogance and pent-up emotions now starting to boil over, "Hey! Kayla! What the hell do you want from me?!"

"I want to be the first choice!" She screams, whipping back around to point an accusing finger down at him, "For once! I have never been put first over anything else ever! Not with Mom or Dad. Not with Tommy. And now not even with you!"

The snarl he lets out startled even him, bitter coldness dripping from his words, "Grow up, Kayla."

"What, is it childish to feel wanted?"

"Yes! That's not how you survive out here!" He emphasizes this by swinging an arm in the direction of the window.

"Stomping down feelings and a need for your family will ensure your survival?"

"'A need for your family?'" He grins up at her, incredulous and in disbelief, "Do you even hear yourself? It's not like I'm your first choice for a caring older brother!"

"No, you're not. You're always drunk, mean, and miserable these days."

"Hence why you don't need me holding you back--"

"Shut the fuck up!" She roars back, "Only you can hold you back. So stop trying to sell me this bullshit excuse that you're not worth keeping around only so you can ditch me! Because that's what you really want, isn't it? To ditch your sister?"

The room is silent apart from both siblings trying to regain their breath and posture. Jake had a hard time admitting that his voice had cracked when he managed to tone down the volume, "... No matter how I answer that... it won't be an answer you like."

Pain flashed in her eyes, a visual that would continue to haunt Jake from that day forward. Kayla's dirty-colored hair spills over one shoulder as she straightens herself up, towering over Jake, the hurt quickly being replaced by a wall of cement that quickly hardened behind her blue eyes. Her face relaxed into an expression that slowly bubbled with anger instead of pain, her voice dripping with venom, "You're right. Because you're either leaving me here because you don't want me to watch you die, or you're leaving to start a new life without any reminders of me. Either way, you're a sick son of a bitch and I wish you died instead of Tommy! Go to Hell!"

For added measure, she takes her foot and kicks at his wheelchair, pushing Jake back as he rounds back with more hateful words, quick to defend and pity himself, "I'm already in Hell! Living here, breathing this air, looking like this! This whole place is fucking Hell and I'm sick of it! You can love life as much as you want and make the most of it, but it's still a dying dream! I hate it here! I'd rather blow my brains out on Pandora than here! At least there's something nice to look at when that happens!"

The silence is nearly deafening the apartment, Jake's ragged breaths of anger pounding in his ears as he glares up at Kayla. Spontaneous tears spilled out of her eyes the second Jake found the time to blink, her breaths shaking as she tried to control herself from letting out any pathetic noise resembling a sob. It was a struggle, to be sure, as Jake watched her entire composure slowly crumble and shake, trying to grasp whatever dignity she had left.

"I hate you..." the words sound forced out, but they stab Jake straight in the chest, nonetheless. Kayla's voice croaked as she continued the verbal lashing, "I hate you..." She furiously wipes away her tears with the collar of her dress shirt that she had worn for her big brother's funeral, "When I wake up tomorrow, you better be gone by then."

The pent-up rage had been released in a cold laugh under his breath as Jake tightly gripped his wheels, "How about I do us both a favor and leave now!"

He rolls past her and makes it to the door, letting it slide open for him with a bit of a struggle due to the little power left in the mechanics of it. He doesn't turn back as he aggressively wheels forward, calling over his shoulder, "Have a good life, kid."

"Fuck you, Jake."

Then the door slides shut once more.

A/N: If you didn't see up top, I already have a masterlist starting since I have three chapters of this fic already published on ao3. Please check it out and leave kudos and uplifting comments if you enjoy, thank you!

[recurring-polynya]

I was cleaning out my WIPs folder a few months ago, and I found the original draft of my Kira-and-Rose-Review-a-Restaurant story. It was nearly complete, and it's not anything earth-shattering, but it's also mildly entertaining, so I thought I would finish it up and send it out into the world. Then, of course, I procrastinated on that for months, but, hey! It's Kira's birthday! Happy birthday, Kira!

(read on ao3)

🍴 🐟 🍶

“Captain,” said Izuru, clutching his folders like a lifeline, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“My companion will have the tekkadon, but he would like the orange sauce on the side,” Captain Outoribashi informed the waiter. He squinted at his lieutenant. “Is that alright? Do you like tekkadon?”

“Er, yes, it’s fine,” Izuru excused. “Sir, when you said we could go over these budget requests over dinner, I thought we would go to a ramen stand or something. This is far too--”

Rose waved a hand. “It’s covered, don’t worry about it.”

Izuru chewed the inside of his cheek while his new captain continued to order a rather frightening amount of food. The waiter seemed to be taking all this in stride.

Captain Outoribashi couldn’t be more different than Captain Gin, he kept reminding himself. Rose was elegant and mannered, and was trying very, very hard to make everyone in Squad Three feel comfortable and welcome. He also had absolutely gorgeous waves of shining hair, velvety purple eyes that you could just fall into, and amazing taste in absolutely everything. Izuru would never have assumed in a million years that his captain would have any sort of… interest in someone like him, and yet, here they were. In a fancy restaurant. After work hours.

“Sir,” he started again, when the server had left. “It’s not about the money-- well, also, I feel you may have been misinformed, it’s true that I come from a noble family, but, uh… not a very well-funded one. It’s, just, er… I feel that a captain and a vice-captain should have a very professional relationship, you see, and this place is rather upscale, and I feel like you’ve gotten the wrong idea--”

Rose blinked at him. “You’re friends with Lieutenant Hisagi, no?”

Izuru’s cheeks colored. “Well, yes, sir, we’ve known each other since our school days.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

Izuru felt all the blood in his body fall down into his feet. “Tell me… what?”

“Well,” said Captain Outoribashi, with a sneaky smile on his face. “One of the first things I realized upon my return to Soul Society was that old curmudgeon Kyouraku Kenji had retired and that the restaurant review column had been vacant for nearly three years!”

“Wait, what?” Kira sputtered.

“According to your friend,” Rose rambled on, “His former captain felt that the column was elitist or somesuch and didn’t want to continue it, but what could be more egalitarian than communicating the rapture of fine dining to the masses? I thought I was going to need to lean on my good friend Kensei for a little old-fashioned favoritism, but Lieutenant Hisagi was perfectly willing to hand me the post, can you believe it? I assumed he might have mentioned it to you, you’re also a Bulletin contributor, are you not?”

“You’re here to review this restaurant?” Kira managed to get out.

Rose put an elegant finger to his lips. “Shh! We’re supposed to be secretive about it, but I refuse to use a nom de plume, so I am sure we’ll be quite infamous before long.”

“'We'?” Izuru echoed.

“Well, I need to try as many dishes as possible,” Rose mused. “I have to bring companions. You had a noble upbringing, so I’m sure your palate is quite sophisticated. And you’re a writer! I hope you don’t mind, but I was already planning on blatantly stealing any particularly clever turns of phrase that pass your lips.”

Kira felt frozen absolutely solid. Why did his captains always have to be so interested in him? Why couldn’t he get an icy asshole like Kuchiki who would forget he even existed whenever he was out of eyesight, or a battleax like the Kenpachi, who would just break his arms first thing in the morning? Who was he kidding? He knew very well he wouldn’t last ten minutes in Squad Eleven before someone ran his underwear up a flagpole.

Rose’s face fell. “If you’re not interested, just say so. I’m sorry for presuming. Do you happen to know anyone who likes fine dining? Kensei has excellent taste in cuisine, but he dislikes ambience, and you can’t take Hirako anywhere. Beyond that, I’m afraid I’ve fallen out of touch with many of my old acquaintances.”

No! Kira scolded himself. He has offered you a reasonable boundary and you can just say no. Say no, Izuru. Say it. Just because he’s lonely doesn’t mean it’s your job to be his friend. You’re his lieutenant and that’s all you have to be.

“An assortment of shiokara,” the waiter returned, setting a tray on the table holding a number of sampler bowls. “And your sake.”

“Do you like shiokara?” Rose asked, gesturing at the pots of fermented fish before picking up the sake. “Also, do you drink?” he asked belatedly. “I love it, but only with shots.”

“Ah, same,” Kira finally managed. “I tend to think of it as bar food, though, I’m a little bit skeptical of the artisan nonsense from the menu.” It was out of his mouth before he even thought about it-- you’re not at the izakaya with Hisagi and Abarai!! he reminded himself.

“Oh, Kira, you cannot say something like that and then refuse to give me your opinion on the finished product!” Rose sighed. “Please, just help me with this first review! I’ll…” he frowned. “I don’t know what you like. I’ll let you pick the music we listen to in the office for a whole week.”

Kira had already experienced the horror of Rose’s automatic music player that he had brought back from the World of the Living. “Er, that’s okay,” he replied. “I don’t really know any of the music you have. It’s probably better if you pick.” He grabbed a bite of firefly squid with his chopsticks. “I’m here, might as well.”

Rose’s face glowed.

---

  “ ‘...I found the dish quite pleasant, although more adventurous diners may find the flavors too subtle. My delightful dining companion, a man of culture and manners, proclaimed that ‘you could throw a rock toward Rukongai and hit a bar with better shiokara than this.’”

“Savage,” Rangiku declared.

Momo slammed her Bulletin down on the table. “How did you convince him to let you go along? I wish my captain took me to fancy restaurants!”

“Who says it was me?” Izuru frowned, sipping his sake. “I don’t think it ever said the guy’s name. It could have been anyone.”

“Later on, he says that you described the rosewater agar agar as ‘smelling like your great- aunt’s house,’" Renji pointed out dryly, "which is the same thing you said about that facial cream Yumichika tried to get you to use."

"Why do you pay attention to things like that?" Izuru griped.

"Because he took it very personally and complained to me for a month about it!"

"Anyway," Shuuhei broke in, "Captain Outoribashi told me it was you. He wanted to make sure you got your co-author stipend." He jerked his chin. "He said he wasn't sure if you were going to keep doing it with him."

Izuru shrugged. "It was sort of by accident that I ended up going anyway."

"Well, if you don't want to, tell him that I like going to fancy restaurants," Rangiku offered.

"I think it's a nice opportunity to get to know your new captain!" Momo announced. "But if you really don't want to, I also like going to fancy restaurants."

"I also think you should do it," Renji said. "I don't care about fancy restaurants, but that was the funniest restaurant review I've ever read. Captain Kuchiki thought it was hilarious, too, by the way."

"He what," said Izuru.

"He chuckled softly and shook his head," Renji translated.

Izuru had to take a minute to process that one.

"Also, that sweet, sweet co-author stipend," Shuuhei pointed out.

Izuru glared at him.

"Look, it's too soon to have more than anecdotal feedback, but my editorial instincts tell me this column is going to be a big hit. You and Captain Outoribashi have rapport, Izuru! Chemistry!"

Izuru frowned, deeply. "He's my boss, Hisagi, and he's only been that for three weeks. All I want with him is an appropriate work relationship with healthy and firmly respected boundaries."

"How about a 10,000 kan per month dining budget?" Shuuhei replied, and took a shot of sake. "Alcohol permitted."

"Oh," said Izuru. "Well. Maybe that, too."

~

If you enjoyed this, maybe you'd like to read their review of the Seireitei Waffle Hut?

[kabira]

a much-needed update.

hiiii so i realize i've pretty much left everyone here hanging for the past year, almost? and mentioned reposting on ao3 about a billion times but haven't really followed up on it. i've toyed with multiple ideas, like reposting, rewriting, deleting this blog off the face of the earth to disappear forever (jk), etc but! i've done some soul-searching in the sweltering summer and finally come to a decision.

there isn't a lot keeping me in this community now, but writing - for fun - isn't something i want to stop doing, because it's really important to me even outside the context of a fandom. i've become pretty rusty lately, though, owing to the fact that my last stint with writing a full-length piece was over a year ago, and i haven't really had the time or brainpower to chase down those plot bunnies (though they remain persistent). however, there's nothing that makes me want to write more than going through my old fics and being horrified by my many mistakes <3 so <3 i will instead be slowly rewriting and reposting my old fics.

does this mean i'll delete the old versions? probably not, because i like to see my own growth. i'll leave them unlinked on the masterlist and floating around on my blog in case anyone wants to revisit them. can't say i'm going to fix every single fic, but i'll try to do most of them. might even combine a couple of them into a single continuity (looking at you, spider-vernon).

i know i'm the prime example of all talk and no anything else, but i swear i'm going to try my best this time. hell, i opened my original draft of bhobc last night and redid the whole last scene on a whim, so i'd say the process is already in swing. if i can't bring myself to commit to something completely new, i'm at least going to try and redo what i already have. until then, i have some new ideas brewing that i'll probably end up either posting on ao3 (here) or my genshin blog (here) because i don't think i can fully come back to writing for kpop anymore. there's a million reasons for this, but the one that stands out the most is the way this community has responded to the events of the past few months.

despite all the atrocities being committed in gaza, i haven't seen most people even deem to comment on the state of affairs or use their accounts to bring light to them (some have talked it about their mains and not their kpop sideblogs with a SIGNIFICANTLY larger following - i wonder why!). even if you say it's for the sake of keeping content apart, why does this divide exist to you, truly?

it's disgusting to see that even some of the people here i used to respect haven't mentioned it, instead choosing to talk about their favorite kpop boy or, i don't know, what sonic character they'd be. even if something happens within the fandom, the outrage seems to be only momentary, a couple untagged posts expressing disappointment here, a two-week break there, and then they're right back to writing egregious smut as if nothing ever happened. where's your anger? where's your fucking humanity?

anyway, tldr, i'll be rewriting a big chunk of my fics and reposting the older versions anyway. also, fuck you to everyone who's been silent about the ongoing genocide.

[virgeandhis-pocket-protector]

Ayo @prince-rowan-of-the-forest tagged me in the "getting to know your fellow fanfic authors" writing tag game! I'm putting this in a new post cause the original one was gettin long.

Go see Rowan's answers here! (https://www.tumblr.com/prince-rowan-of-the-forest/730426008116822016/aaaaa-thanks-for-the-tag-when-did-you-post-your?)

My answers beneath the read more.

When did you post your first fanfic?

Lordy. Back in 2019, I posted an extremely rough draft of a multi-chapter Sanders Sides (or 'SaSi') fanfic called Kingdoms for a Mind (or 'KFAM') on Wattpad. Either that one or a now tossed SaSi fic called Fear No More (guess which side was the focus in that one. Guess. Hint: It's the anxious guy.)

First Character you wrote for:

Virgil from Sanders Sides, I thiiiiink? Although I wrote for most of the sides at that point, too. Virgil was my little baby boy though.

Main character(s) you're currently writing for:

Logan, Janus, Virgil, Patton, and Remus in the updated version of KFAM i'm working on, and Patton and Roman in a new SaSi/The Mechanisms crossover.

Character(s) you haven't written about before but plan on writing about soon:

Mostly non-SaSi stuff. I have some fic ideas for a Pure Vessel/Pale King angst (from the Hollow Knight video game) or Diggory and Percy from Hello from the Hallowoods (highly recommended queer drama podcast).

Fandom(s) you're currently writing for:

SANDERS SIDES and the mechansisms and star wars and someday probably hollow knight and hello from the hallowoods oh and me and my friend's D&D campaign, but that's mostly original stuff.

Platonic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Tehe. All SaSi platonic duos, pretty much, like the whole group. Platonic/familial Janus, Logan, and Virgil is a favorite though. And I love my creativitwins angst.

Romantic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Analogical, Anxceit, and Royality, among others like loceit, roceit, and logince.

Your top three tags on AO3 (if you post your works on AO3):

Character tags: 1. Original Characters 2. Morality | Patton Sanders 3. Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Relationship tags: 1. Analogical (romantic) 2. Virgil & Roman (platonic) 3. Creativitwins (platonic)

Your current platform where you post your works:

Archive of Our Own (Ao3)! Here's my acc.* (https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakewithapen/profile) *PSA that I haven't posted anything new in a while. Feel free to read my 3-year-old stuff tho. And if you're feeling extra special, please please bully me about posting stuff I really gotta -v-

Snippet of A WIP you're currently working on:

"The fire cracks. Leaning against a fallen tree, only a few miles away from where their journey began all those weeks ago, Logan realizes he has forgotten how to lie to himself. With conscious, newfound honesty, Logan senses that he is not just uncomfortable. He is angry. Janus doesn’t need to know. Why, in a million years, would Janus even deserve to know? Logan’s feeling are private, they are his, and they do not have to be spoken to anyone. Ever. Logan looks down toward the grass. Why do you care? He almost spits out, but in his periphery, he can see Janus still looking towards the woods. The other’s hands are placed gingerly in his own lap. His mouth is turned down, but his eyes are wide and alert. Janus longs for Virgil to return, too, just as Logan is. He feels the same urges Logan feels. Janus must already know the answer to his question. He knows. He must hate that he knows. He thinks Logan will either save his feelings or put him out of his misery and either option is nicer than conscious ignorance. Perhaps Janus has come to find he can’t lie to himself either. Logan’s stomach churns. They must be talking about these feelings, once so sweet and freeing, in the bitterest configuration possible." (From "Kingdoms for a Mind 2" — a Sanders sides fic)

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

No-pressure tagging some of my favorite fanfic authors:

@i-will-physically-fight-you @late-to-the-fandom @anxious-mess19 @vinbee631 @groovyghostie @annaizscribbling @emo-nightmares @girlboypatton @lily-janus

This is also @pancakewithamace, btw, in case you don't recognize this blog!

[bugeyedfreaks]

About your ppgxrrb post, as someone who’s in the shipdom for years but now only like it because of certain famous fic, I agree.

Pretty sure some of the shippers would agree with it too but a lot of them are excusing their toxic behaviors as just the boys being toddlers + doesn’t know any better since most of the fics takes place when they’re teenagers/older. I disagree with the whole “they’re kids they don’t know any better” excuse cause they’re fictional characters and they’re just born bad/evil, and its not that deep

…I ended up writing a whole lot and I’m gonna cut it just so I don’t clog up everyone’s dash with my Deep PPG/RRB Opinions. 😆

Yeah, ugh, it wouldn’t bring me down so much if what you said wasn’t such a prevalent line of thought, but if there are some shippers who would agree with what I wrote before… I don’t understand what would compel them to ship the characters in the first place! I can’t understand it! I’m not saying, “You’re a bad fan/person if you ship [XYZ]!” I know people who genuinely love the original PPG series, people who I also genuinely love and cherish and think are amazing and wonderful and yet… they ship it, to my constant confusion. For years and years. 😂 I’ve even read that one fic and… I swear, I tried, I wanted to like it, I was told it was written true to the show and I Wanted To Believe… but how can the main premise be “true to the show” when it’s already 100% antithetical to who the characters are in canon in the first place? I sadly could not enjoy it. Like I said in my post, they would never be the redeemable bad boys because they’re literally pure evil. And I get suspension of belief in fan creations, I understand that fanfic is people’s way of… I dunno, indulging their fantasies in their favorite media or whatever, and I’m not vilifying anyone for daring to commit the ~atrocious~ sin of… wanting their faves to find true love. 🤣 …but what’s the point if the characters you write just turn out to be shells of how they actually act? At that point you should just go for it and make up your own original characters. Embrace the cringe!

A while ago I got really inspired and wanted to write a PPG fanfic for the first time in a million years, and since most of the story in my head included the villains in a large way, I felt kind of forced to try to add the boys (because, speaking of things that get me down, you will never get any substantial visibility on AO3 or whatever if you don’t at least include them in the tags, no matter how creative or novel your fanfic may possibly be) so I started thinking about this whole idea of how they’d really act towards the girls all grown up. I never wrote down anything substantial because I abandoned the fic, but I came to a general conclusion that 1) Brick would be complaining that the girls weren’t following traditional gender roles (i.e. the ones made up by creeps involving sandwiches and ladies making them in the kitchen for him), 2) Butch would be foaming at the mouth to sex up any girl that moved (wham, bam, thank ya ma’am… his love of carnage and leave ‘em for dead mentality would get reflected in his mixed up hormones in the worst possible way), and 3) Boomer would be the white knight who would complain and cry and eventually flip out Bubblevicious style about why none of the girls were dating himmmmmm and whyyyyy oh my goddddd he was so niiiiice to themmmmm so because of that THE THOTS MUST PAY! 🤣 They are the examples of “toxic masculinity,” like… true toxic masculinity. They canonically thrive on the toxicity. That’s why attacks against it weaken them! It‘s never suddenly changed their bad behavior for good ever. They could be beaten again and again and, instead of accepting that maybe their worldviews are bad, maybe applying some self-introspection to their awful ways and adopt any sort of good behavior, they would always ultimately double down. In the fic world, they’re grown guys, and they should know better, but it would be against their basic canon nature to want to.

…again, I’m not trying to be a downer on anyone who indulges in it, this is just an explanation of why I really can’t gel with it and just my thought process behind why that is/how I think they’d actually act. The popular depiction of them as ultra hottie bad bois who secretly have true hearts of gold under all the blatant misogyny just feels so untrue to canon to me that suspending my disbelief whenever I see the kajillion fics and fanart out there of them successfully winning the girls’ hearts is… tough.

TL;DR:

[mysticalbookkeeper]

💖 My New and Improved Dayshift at Freddy’s fanfic, the rewritten version I have on AO3, and Lilac’s journey in Okage: The shadow King. They’re my two favourites so far because the writing is really witty and funny.

🎥 Ummm…New and Improved Dayshift at Freddy’s.

📝You want the long answer or the short one? Cause the short one is, I have no idea. The long one is, possibly over one thousand or over two million.

🤩There was someone who criticized my work (in a nice way) on my story about The Eyeless One (a Last Door fanfic on A03), and they’re advice helped me to write better in my later fanfics and fictional stories.

🔮That’s a company secret employee. 😉 (I’ll tell you sometime later).

👄I don’t have an OTP at the moment, but if I did, it might be “I won’t say I’m in Love”, or “Love will find a way” or “I see the light”. Basically almost any Disney song I can think of.

🎭 Adventurrrreeee! ⚔️

🙊I tell them obviously! Because everyone deserves to know the amazing creator behind my works.

🙌 I do have one, but I can’t remember it off the top of my head. But it’s one I’m super proud of and it’s actually in an original story of mine that I’m currently working on.

🦉My sister, Amber, long before any of us became official authors (fanfic or otherwise).

👶 I don’t think I ever met a fankid before, but if I dkd, I guess they’d be alright, as long as they’re not mean. And probably not.

🐗 Simple. I don’t. I ignore them, delete their comment and move on.

🟥 A decent enough amount of time I would say. I’m picky, but I’m not overly picky at how my stories should go.

🏡 Home.

💪A lot of things. The joy of writing stories, writing epic adventures, drawing said stories, writing about my favourite characters, even just getting up in the morning and getting ready. Also just the thought of writing my stories is enough to motivate me.

🚿 Just about anywhere, but mostly home. Even forests sometimes, or being out and about.

🌠Hell, I don’t know. 🤷‍♀️

💻 My PC and my phone.

🤔 Don’t know.

📕Go ahead.

🤷‍♀️ My first fanfic that I posted on Wattpad years ago. A Dayshift at Freddy’s…story…(Also, The Eyeless One was doing good as well, probably still is).

🍎 Nothing.

🥘🤫🤭

🦗 I prefer to write in sequence. I like the story to flow nicely from beginning to finish.

👀Unlikely, sorry to say. But I prefer to write what I’m interested in (imagine me writing Friday night Funkin'. Yikes. 😬)

😱 Losing my stories for good and unable to recover them. Which is what happened when my old phone got stolen and had my two important fanfics on them, the Okage one and the Dsaf one. I thankfully found the rest of the okage story in ny files. Sadly, the same could not be said for the Dsaf one. And I have most of my current original story stored away on a USB, in case something were to happen.

☕️ Mostly Soda, juice or chocolate milk. But I do drink coffee in the morning sometimes. I do love tea, I just noticed I never drink it while writing.

📈Don’t know.

🎬 Neither, I don’t think.

🛌None so far.

🐸Well, I have a few ideas, Beauty and the Beast, the Hunchback of Notre Dame, Hercules, Aladdin, and Tangled and the Lion King 2. Also, the Little Mermaid. Those are the movies I watch so far that involve romance.

👩‍🎓 Sadly, no, no, I do not. But hopefully one day.

⏳Nothing, just “keep doing what you’re doing, you’re doing a good job.” I mean my writing was terrible back then, but we all gotta start somewhere, right?

💯 Mostly Teen and General Audiences. Two in teen.

😁Kudos.

🐎 Definitely a medieval AU.

👩‍🏫Henry Miller from Dsaf.

🎵No. But there was this one song I listened to while writing Lilac’s journey in Okage. Here it is: https://youtu.be/bVvqKphTmX4?si=M5azankeJhsj6GYW

🌷I think most of them are pretty popular, so I don’t think there is one (as I hold most of my fanfics dear to my heart).

❓Hmm…what videogame fanfics have you written?

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask Game Part II

💖 Which of your fics is your pride and joy? 🎥 Pick a fic and I'll tell you the song I imagine playing during its movie trailer.

📝 How many words do you have posted?

🤩 What's the most meaningful comment you've ever received?

🔮What's your favorite plot twist you've ever written?

👄 Your OTP are having their first kiss. What song do you imagine is playing?

🎭What genre of writing comes easiest to you?

🙊Your coworkers or classmates stumble across one of your fics, but don't know you're the author. Do you fess up? Or keep quiet?

🙌What's a line or paragraph of yours that you're proud of?

🦉Is there another author that helped inspire you to write?

👶Fankids: How you do you feel about them? Would your OTP have kids?

🐗How do you handle trolls?

🟥How long do you spend in edits?

🏡What is your perfect writing envrionment?

💪What motivates you to write?

🚿Where do your best ideas seem to strike?

🌠What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?

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[delopsia]

Paper Airplane | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 2,900 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, unprotected sex in a bathroom, vague but consensual power play, and roleplaying ruined by an inability to remain serious, implied age gap if you squint.

Oh, the things you would give to have been a pilot at the same time as Admiral Floyd.

You don't know whose big idea all this was; a big end-of-year celebration for all the students who have attended and graduated from Top Gun this year. This is the first year they've hosted it, and because it's the first, everyone under the sun has gathered here. Past instructors, you've had over the years, former students, and most importantly, it's brought in Mr. Robert Floyd.

This venue is gorgeous, with its marble floors and vast staircase that leads up to a second-floor balcony. A hulking chandelier hangs above your head; from your perspective, you reckon it's half the size of the Super Hornets you've been flying lately. Sparkling dauntingly above your head. You wonder what would happen if it fell.

And yet, it doesn't hold a candle to Admiral Floyd.

Admiral Floyd, with his gently graying hair and ocean blue eyes that you swear up and down, you can see from miles away. The same Admiral that always asks you to refer to him by his callsign, Bob, because he dislikes such formalities. You're sure that if they'd let him, he'd wear jeans and a plain t-shirt to work instead of a uniform.

"You're staring again," you hear your friend whisper, her voice only barely audible in this loud, echoing room.

Right; for a moment, you'd almost forgotten that there were other people in this room. It seems your friend is the only one who has noticed your staring, fortunately. You'd like to go without getting caught staring for an umpteenth time; your dignity can't take much more of—wait, shit, he's walking over here.

The chair next to you groans as it's scooted out from under the table, "you're on your own, sister," she teases; you should have expected that; she's always had a dislike for the awkward 'nerd speak' between the two of you. Says something about how it's like watching two field mice.

"Pleasure seeing you here," how in the world does this man cross a room so quickly? You could have sworn he was still on the other side of the room just a second ago. "Did you need somethin'?"

"I...uh," squeezing your suddenly clammy hands, your eyes dart back across the room. Shit, shit, shit, what do you say...? Your gaze lands on an ice sculpture that you hadn't noticed was originally behind him. "I was....trying to figure out which model that ice sculpture is."

Admiral Floyd's gaze flutters, jumping from you to the sculpture, then back at you once more. You're not sure if he's buying it.

"Well, you're not gonna be able to figure it out when you're all the way over here," even his breathy laugh manages to send the butterflies in your belly into their fitful flutters, tickling inside your belly.

He offers you a hand, "c'mon; I'm sure you'll figure it out once you're closer."

Your feet ache as you stand, one of your heels teetering beneath you, feet already beginning to ache once more. These shoes were truly meant to be looked at, not worn. Admiral Floyd's hand on yours is firm, so large that it nearly completely encompasses your own. He doesn't quite let go, even as you begin to walk with him, loosely cradling your hand in his own.

...okay, so maybe that's why he was laughing.

"y' recognize it now?" He chuckles, letting go of your hand.

Everything feels too warm; it's as if you're standing directly in front of a fire, your heartbeat gradually becoming heavier with every passing second. You really, really should have picked something different to ask about.

"Now, why in the world did they choose a paper airplane?" You sputter, God, why, of all things, did it have to be a paper airplane? It's a wonder they even trust you to fly a multi-million dollar aircraft.

Bob shakes his head, glasses glinting in the light as he does so, "see? I told you it would make sense up close." But then his face changes, smile faltering into something flat, serious, even, "which is exactly why I don't buy what you're telling me."

Would it be better if you pull a Cinderella and flee the building, never to be seen again? Because right now, that's sounding like a perfectly viable option. Transfer to somewhere far, far from Admiral Floyd, and never think of this again. Yeah, yeah, that's a viable option.

"I—" stammering, you take a step back, "I don't know what you're talking about."

All it takes is one stride forward for Admiral Floyd to close the gap between you, standing mere inches away, dangerously close. "I think I do," he contends, "why else would you be stutterin', lieutenant?"

Your saving grace comes in the form of an unfortunate lieutenant blindly running into one of the ladies serving champagne, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the building. Everyone falls quiet, all attention on the source, even Admiral Floyd. There's a door to your right, you don't know where it leads, but you'll take getting lost over another second of this.

Heels clicking along the shiny marble floor, you dart down the hallway, stepping into the first open hallway that you can find. Unfortunately, you realize a little too late that it only leads to a set of stairs to the second floor. There isn't much option to turn back, not when you can hear dress shoes down the hallway you just came through.

At the top of the stairs, you're rewarded with disappointment. There isn't a soul up here. You're moving as quickly as you can, hoping and praying to find an alternative route back to the ground floor. There are so many rooms up here, and yet they're all completely empty.

Except for a stray women's bathroom. Certainly explains why you hadn't been able to find one on the ground floor.

Admiral Floyd appears on the top of the stairs, but he's looking in the direction opposite yours. Without much other option, you disappear inside the bathroom. Surely he won't follow you into the lady's room. No, he's much too nice to do such a thing.

The bathroom is tiny and only has three stalls, but it's just as pretty as the rest of the building. A dainty chandelier hangs just in front of the sink, and there's a small floral-pattern sofa off in the far corner. A strange placement for such a thing, but you'll take it. You're sure that you'll be stuck in here for a little while.

But then the door swings open.

"Bob?" You blurt, backpedaling as he hurriedly steps towards you. No, no, no, why did he have to follow you here? Why is he still coming after you?

"Oh, so now it's Bob?" His tone ominously calm compared to his body language, muscles tense, handsome face completely and utterly unreadable, "what happened to Admiral, huh?"

Your back hits the wall. There's nowhere else to run.

Strong hands brace themselves on either side of your head, barring you in, "Lieutenant, were you staring at me?"

His voice breaks midsentence, briefly becoming as high and pitchy as a whistle.

You're trying to form words, something, anything, but a rapidly growing smile pulls at the corners of your lips so harshly that you can't move your mouth. Bob's lips start to quiver, a snicker breaks through your lips, and it's like a dam breaks. His head drops, shoulders shaking as he starts to laugh with you.

"We almost had it!" You giggle, "Bobby; we were so close!"

Bob's ears and cheeks flame with a cherry red, oddly reminiscent of the gnarly sunburn he got last summer, "'m sorry!" With the moment now ruined, he's free to lean up and pepper sweet kisses to your lips and cheeks, carding his nails against your neck, "you almost got me with the paper airplane, honey bunches."

You try not to focus on the embarrassment that twinges in your gut, and it's not hard to escape the feeling when you have Bob to kiss it away. "What's worse is I really didn't know what it was until it was right in front of me."

"Do you wanna keep goin'?" He questions, once his chuckles have died down, "or have I gone 'n ruined the moment again?"

All things can be fixed.

Wordless, you step past him, away from the uncomfortable wall, and toward the sinks, "you locked the door, right?" He hums his affirmative, watching with a wary gaze, mouth agape with unasked questions.

Careful, you bend over the counter, resting your head in folded arms, "do your worst, Admiral."

A switch flips, eyes darkening as his face hardens once more. Big hands take hold of your hips when he steps behind you, yanking you backward until your ass is pressed directly against him, "do my worst, huh?" A few octaves deeper than before.

His hips shift, and you can feel yourself growing wet just from the feeling of his hard cock pressing against you through his slacks. In one smooth motion, he pushes your dress up until it pools around your hips. The cool air of the bathroom feels even colder on your once-covered ass, but it's hard to focus on when you feel him twitch against you.

The scene you find in the reflection of the mirror is quite a sight; Bob's already got his eyes on you, watching your every reaction as he starts to move your hips manually, grinding your soft ass into his clothed cock. Even as he tries to get back into the scenario, his eyes don't lose that softness that they carry, looking you over, taking you in, ready to stop at the first sign of discomfort. Even now, even when you have a safe word that you've proved you aren't afraid to use when necessary.

One of his hands come down from your hips, his belt audibly opening and loosening, "is this what you were wantin', lieutenant?" Just then, the leaking head of his cock presses against you through your panties, spreading you open just the slightest bit. "Do those Top Gun boys not fuck you right, hm?" 

Sucking in a sharp breath, you bury your face into your arms, unable to form words as he rocks himself into you, so close to what you want. 

Bending down, Bob's lips ghost the shell of your ear as he purrs into it, "use your words, lieutenant." The weight of his body on top of yours is heavy, comfortingly so. 

"...yes," you whisper, pushing yourself back against him the best that you can, "this is—this is what I was wanting."

He draws away, and you can feel his hand brush between your thighs as he moves your soaked panties to the side. The plush head of his cock slips between your folds, thrusting against you and bumping against your sensitive clit, but not quite entering you yet. Entrance spasming needily each time he brushes over it, needy. 

Finally, finally, you feel him breach you. The slightest bit of pressure has you opening up around him, stretching wide as he sinks inside of your quivering cunt. It's a sensation that makes the both of you gasp, gooey walls gripping him tightly whilst he disappears inside of you. His cock isn't big enough for it to hurt, but even as he bottoms out, you need a moment to adjust to his size.

"There you go," your Admiral praises, grinding slow circles into you, "God, you're so wet that you're drippin'." The sudden appearance of his hand between your legs has you jumping, startled by the fingers that trace where you've been stretched wide around his length.

He draws back, leaving you with a soft wet sound, then, slowly, he buries himself back inside. So achingly slow that you find yourself already impatient, pushing yourself back onto him as soon as he pulls out again.

"Ah ah," he grunts, seizing your hips, "you're gonna take what I give you."

To emphasize his statement, he pushes you forward, forcing you as close as you can possibly get to the counter, leaving you no space to gather leverage. The weight on your backside grows heavier, fully trapping you between him and the pearly marble.

Bob's pace is deliberate; his body curled around yours as he languidly thrusts into your weeping sex. With each motion, he drags against that sensitive bundle of nerves hidden inside of you, showering it with so much attention that your walls are starting to flutter from it.

"You sound so pretty, pantin' under me like that," whispering into your ear like it's a secret, "does that feel good?

Only now are you aware of your labored breathing, panting with every smooth motion of those talented hips, the ones that wordlessly know what you like.

"Feels—" thrust into momentary speechlessness as he abruptly slams himself into you, your back arching at the suddenness of it all, "feels good!"

There's that dark chuckle you were missing, he knows exactly what he's done, and he intended every bit of it. But then he's back to that same pace, giving you no choice but to feel every bit of him as he works you open on his cock. You need more, though; you need—

"Look in the mirror for me, lieutenant," it's not a request, no, it's an order, straight from the Admiral's tongue, "look how pretty you are, gettin' fucked by an Admiral of all things."

He allows you just enough space to push yourself up, palms bracing your weight on the marble counter as you meet your reflection in the mirror. Your lips that can never seem to close, your once wrinkle-free dress, now a crumpled mess around your waist. The change in position forces your legs to move, heels clicking at the floor as they struggle to find traction.

"Admiral—"

"—I got ya, hold on," Bob is already sliding out, leaving you clench around nothing but air. 

The sickening emptiness isn't there for long. Only lasting until he can spin you around and urge you up onto the counter, your hips right on the edge. Your aching feet are thankful for the break, shoes sparkling in the light as Bob's hands curl under your thighs, pushing them up. He doesn't need his hands to slide into you, angling his hips and slipping right back in. 

"Just takin' me in like you were made to do it." There's sweat beading on his pale forehead, body burning up under the thick material of his suit. 

Oh, how you wish his shirt were off, so you could see his defined stomach flex with the motions of his hips.

"Touch yourself for me, darlin'," he instructs, the pet name slipping from his tongue by mistake, "wanna feel you cum around my cock."

Your clit is so neglected and sensitive that when your fingertips first find it, you tremble from the feeling, savoring how you spasm around his cock. His rhythm is starting to change, gradually becoming quicker, blunt-head kissing your g-spot directly on each thrust in. It makes your breath hitch in your throat, whimpering in surprise. 

Harder now, properly fucking you, the pace growing too slow, even for him and all of his patience. Long, deep strokes, gripping your thighs so hard that you fear he may leave bruises there. Flesh audibly hitting flesh, the sound drowned out by the deep grunts that your fluttering walls elicit from him. Your nerves feel like they're on fire, muscles gradually beginning to tighten. 

"'m close," Bob warns, raspy, "shit, baby, you feel so good 'round me."

His very words are starting to make you come undone, whining weakly as you feel a fire begin to build up in your lower belly, spreading until the once cool room feels like it's been engulfed in a wildfire. 

"Come on darlin'," his voice strained as he pumps into you, hips stuttering, "come on my cock for me." 

Your entire body goes still, can no longer breathe as you feel yourself spasm around him once, twice, before that dam finally bursts, and you cum with a soft cry of his name. Eyes rolling into the back of your head, and for a moment, everything goes fuzzy. The only thing you can register is the stalling of Bob's hips as he cums with you, emptying himself into your sensitive body. 

Just as quickly as it came, it dissolves, tension fading and leaving you limp underneath him. Your lungs burn for oxygen, feels like you haven't had a proper breath in hours. 

Then, your ears are graced with a fond chuckle. You don't recall closing your eyes, but when you open them, it's like stepping into an entirely different world.

Bob's taken his glasses off, rubbing the sweat from his forehead as he smiles down at you, "paper airplanes, huh?"

"Shut up," rolling your eyes, but it's hard to feign annoyance when he leans down to steal an open-lipped kiss. 

"Now I gotta figure out a way to sneak us out of here," he says against your lips, "'m surprised they ain't caught onto us yet."

"Eventually, someone's going to notice the matching wedding rings," running your fingers through his once pristine hair, "I'm gonna need you to turn these events into a regular thing."

Bob's eyebrows raise, but he doesn't seem all that surprised, leaning into your touch, "so long as you agree to a bubble bath when we get home." 

"You've got yourself a deal," there's an ache in your back as you sit up, easing yourself onto your feet. You can already feel his cum starting to leak from you, your panties doing little to stop it from running down your leg.

Once he's tucked himself away, Bob grins at you, "now it's your turn to catch me."

And catch him, you will.

[maculategiraffe]

Hi! I hope this isn't strange to message about but one of your posts came across my dashboard and I basically did the Beyonce meme, all "MACULATEGIRAFFE????" Because a decade and change ago, idk exactly but my early teens, I read your Bran stories and the rest of the series, probably your entire blog catalog. I reread them all every few years, including earlier this year, and I had NO idea you were still active anywhere on the web. (It didn't occur to me to check, since the stories are so old now.) Not entirely sure what my point is, but your SB stories are one of my... maybe top ten? works that I've read online. And I have read literally hundreds of millions of words of fanfic and original fic on the internet, I tracked it in 2018 and that year I read over 60 million words, to put it into perspective. It definitely had an impact on my own writing and how I approach flaws and relationships. Anyway, I don't know how you feel about those stories at this point in your life so I hope you don't mind me bringing it up, and I hope you're doing well.

Thank you so much for your kind words ❤️ I'm very glad the stories I wrote all that time ago have been a positive experience for you! I really need to get them all archived on ao3 at some point just for the historical record. But yes, I AM doing well, and working on a new thing that might be ready for public consumption sometime in the not TOO distant future (my plan is to really buckle down on the final edit during November, like a modified nanowrimo where the goal is to get it done instead of get it going), knock wood and the creek don't rise. Bless the internet and its strange interconnections!

[painless-innit-colourful]

The Tailor of the SMP (pt. 1)

Does anyone remember that post that started the c!Tommy sews headcanon back in January? Well, before that part was added on in the reblog chain, the post was originally joking about some random tailor that had to put up with the ridiculous wardrobe of this SMP. In the beginning, this fic took that idea as a way to look back on season 1 of the Dream SMP, a little nostalgia trip, and somewhere along the way my original character gained a life of her own. Meet Thalia, personal tailor to much of the Dream SMP. She is completely apolitical and doesn’t care about anyone on the server at all.

part two | ao3 link

---

Her name was Thalia. She lived a quiet existence, carving out a humble life for herself in the peaceful land of the Dream SMP, doing commissioned needlework for the people of the country. Dream offered her a job as his personal tailor once; she refused the offer and decided to open a small stall making clothes for the people of her town. Dream gave her a house, close to the main highways and places of business like the Community House and surrounding shops that she could visit daily, but far enough away that she keeps the peace and quiet of her modest existence. The house was big, much too big for one person, and so she kept many rooms as storage for some of the clothes she was able to keep and display, and some she prepared for the days when hopefully, her work would have loyal customers, and then eventually friends, to visit or stay over. She built relationships and made clothes for a few months, and everything was quiet and wonderful. One of her spare rooms contained her pattern pieces for what she has been paid to make, and one day down the line she was organising through them and found a folder from her earlier days on the SMP. She smiled as she looked through hastily drawn outfit ideas from a million years ago: a fur-lined hoodie for Dream, a cape for a king, a two-piece suit for Tommy, along with the photo of him beaming next to JSchlatt he gave her when he returned the suit to her for safe-keeping.

Oh, how naive she was. How naive they all were. Because it wasn’t long after that, a tall, British man was at her door asking for her blaze rods. She watched as a nation sprang up ten minutes from her home, lines drawn in the land around her house faster than she could make a blanket for a newborn babe. But it was when the revolutionaries of that newly self-declared nation, L’Manberg, came by to be measured for soldier’s uniforms, and they asked her what side she would align herself with, was a line crossed.

From that day forward Thalia declared herself apolitical, as it said on a sign by her front door. Her house became her shop, and the spare rooms her storerooms. The L’Manbergians left their normal clothes with her when they rode away to declare their independence, and it cemented her decision in her mind. The SMP was no longer a place where Thalia could make friends with her customers, not when they were fighting wars against each other. She kept out of it completely, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire. Both sides respected her decision: she heard from Dream when he came by for a king’s regalia that part of the Declaration of War detailed how Thalia was to be left out of it and her land untouched, and Thalia told him to thank them all for it. Since, some had asked why she stayed; sometimes the answer was “It was winter and I couldn’t stomach a freezing voyage overseas,” and sometimes it was “I never had to want for appreciative customers or materials.” She wasn’t sure. But one thing was for certain, business was booming.

Literally.

---

After the boys of L’Manberg won their independence (in the most dubious way ever, but okay), there was no shortage of orders for Thalia. Her house became both her base of operations as the land’s resident tailor and a storage wardrobe for the SMP and its offshoot nation. There was a flurry of activity around her home for a while after the war ended, as new faces came and turned into regulars, which was what Thalia found to be the case with Niki, the good-natured baker of L’Manberg whose wardrobe was the biggest on the server. Thalia kept her well-dressed, Niki kept her well-fed, and both were happy in this arrangement at the end of the day. 

Another new citizen of L’Manberg, Jack Manifold, was dragged in by Tommy, who demanded Thalia measure him up for a L’Manberg uniform. Thalia grumbled and made them wait until after dinner, but when they were gone and she got to sewing, she finished the uniform in record time. Her hands had learnt the pattern. Like they learnt the pattern of the L’Manberg flag when Niki shyly came by to ask if they could make a full-size pennant to fly over L’Manberg together. It was Thalia’s biggest undertaking yet, and it took them six evenings to complete it; Niki spending her daytimes baking an endless supply of cream puffs that got them through late-night sessions reinforcing fabric, and Thalia spent her’s tailoring robes for a priest of Church Prime - as strange as that sounded, she learnt not to ask too many questions. On the final day, Niki brought one of her signature cakes as a gift for Thalia, and in turn, Thalia gave her her own L’Manberg uniform, in a soft purple hue. When Thalia visited L’Manberg a few days later, she saw their flag waving in the breeze over the young nation, and pride swelled in her chest for what they’d made. 

Her and Niki’s flag, not the nation, of course.

So when the news broke months later that there was to be an election in L’Manberg, and she experienced another uptick in business, Thalia didn't know where she stood. She talked it over with Fundy one night as he came over requesting a suit. It was her second that week: Quackity had already gotten his, as the presidential debates neared. Thalia thanked her lucky stars that Pog2020 seemed to be sticking with their L’Manberg uniforms, though she wondered when it was they were last washed.

“You’re really not going to vote?” Fundy asked, sipping from a mug of lukewarm tea. Thalia gave half a shrug as she went about mending a frayed edge on Fundy’s revolutionary hat. “I thought I made it clear at the door that I don’t deal in any politics. I just make the clothes.” She furrowed her brow while also flashing Fundy a small smile. “Besides, I’m not a citizen of L’Manberg anyway.” “You’re not a citizen of Dream SMP either.” Fundy countered.  “Yeah, okay.” Thalia conceded. “Regardless though, your country’s politics don’t impact me.” “You sure?”

And once again, Thalia was proved to be so out of touch with the world around her. On the night of the election, she stood on the small hill by her house, a mug of tea in one hand and her radio perched on the windowsill of her house behind her, playing music that only just drowned out the noise coming from L’Manberg. The local station - a Dream SMP one - supplied the chill soundtrack to her evening of relaxation. It would be the calm before the storm, she had decided, anticipating a flurry of orders tomorrow for authentic L’Manberg uniforms, or hopefully just the hats: she predicted the incumbent creators of L’Manberg to be re-elected. The sounds of the crowds dulled in the distance, as she guessed it was time for the results to come in. She tried turning the radio down and jogging back up the hill, but she was too far away to hear any words in the indistinct sounds of President Wilbur’s voice ringing through the land around the country.

She was about to go back and turn her music back up when the subdued sounds from the nation next door erupted in a roar of noise, thousands of people suddenly shouting and hooting. Thalia smiled and turned up her radio, and as the song playing ended the station went to the news as it had been all night, bringing live updates from L’Manberg’s first election. “Well folks, it looks like the results are in, and oh boy was this a historic day. After voter fraud and the hacking of thousands of false votes was dealt with-” Thalia almost laughed, who could that possibly be? “-Pog2020 were declared winners of the popular vote. However-”

Whatever the radio announcer said next was indiscernible, swallowed by the roar of noise sounding throughout the valley. It was so loud and sudden Thalia nearly dropped her tea as she scrambled to put it down and turn her radio louder, pressing her ear to the tinny speaker. “-President Schlatt’s first decree seems to have struck a nerve with many Pog 2020 supporters, namely because- breaking news, former President Wilbur Soot and Vice-President Tommy Innit have been exiled, and- We're just getting reports that in the chaos in the centre of L'Manberg - riots really, breaking out in the main street near the grandstand - that former President Wilbur Soot has been shot-"

Thalia's heart dropped. Her mind sprang into action, riots in L'Manberg: lock the doors, close up shop for a while, run down to the market in case food supplies are interrupted- But when she found herself outside, cloak hastily wrapped around her shoulders, she observed her feet taking her elsewhere. The streets of L'Manberg were full of people in shock, people taking up arms against each other, people cheering and crying and shouting. In amongst the chaos she found Niki and Eret practically clinging to each other and the nearest wall to avoid being carried off by the crowd.

"What happened?" She yelled over the din, despite them both being right next to her. Niki was in tears and an expression of pure shock and dismay seemed unable to be moved from Eret's face. "Schlatt won," Niki shouted back, fists clenching at the sleeves of her pale lavender coat. "He and Quackity pooled their votes, and he took the presidency and Wilbur and Tommy were thrown out and Wilbur got shot-" She covered her mouth with her hands and sobbed, eyes turned to the sky shining with disbelief. Eret picked up the tale. "We have reason to believe he lost a canon life, and Schlatt also called Tubbo back up to the stage and- and the walls are coming down." His uniquely deep voice, normally so steady, wavered as he opened his arms and gestured around at the blackstone walls coming down bit by bit, brick after brick torn away and shattered upon the ground. The literal cornerstones of the nation itself. Simply, nothing here was safe. Speaking of-

Niki drew their attention back to her as one of her sobs turned to a scream. Eret followed her gaze, their jaw-dropping, light- no, flames dancing in the black of their sunglasses. "Thalia," They said, tone sincere. "Don't turn around." But she did not heed their warning. They say the proper and respectful way to get rid of an old flag is to burn it, but as Thalia's fingers ached with the memory of many hours spent sewing, she felt rage burn in her as hot as the fire consuming her flag.

Yeah. She was going to kill Fundy.

---

Unfortunately, the post-election flurry of activity did not go as expected.

Niki and Eret walked Thalia back to her home, where Niki gave back her coat with a teary sigh of "Lest this is burnt too." She left in a breezy blouse and dungarees, and Thalia showed her how to pull her hair into buns to keep it out of her eyes. "I know you won't get involved in any conflict, but if Fundy apologises, please don't accept it." She laughed, almost cruelly. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that, my dear."

When the Manberg cabinet came by for their fitting- Well, Thalia maintained she stayed apolitical the whole time: kicking the president out of your house does not demonstrate any political affiliations if said president was being a dick. Quackity asked for a shirt with velcro fastenings instead of buttons, and she almost laughed, and Fundy stayed quiet the whole time, which was probably the best option for his own survival. However, her keen eye did not miss Tubbo's hands lingering on his revolutionary uniform as he put it into storage, nor the way he flinched when Schlatt shouted through the house for him to hurry up.

So much so that she purposely fudged the measurements of his new suit so that he had to remain behind after the others had gone back to Manberg so that she may 'fix it'. And after she got a righteous laugh out of Fundy's uncomfortable squirming (due to a bit of payback she likes to call Ultimate Revenge of the Seamstress - scratchy tags), she made the kid a cup of tea and sat him down while she unpicked seams and attached darts in the right place that time.

"I'm fine." He said in response to her question, rattling his teacup around the saucer without drinking any. "Just… Everything's new and changing lately, it'll take some getting used to, y'know?" "Have you heard from Tommy or Wilbur?" Thalia glanced up when Tubbo fell silent. "Neutral territory," She gestured around them at her house's interior, not missing how his eyes snagged on Niki L'Manberg uniform, displayed on a mannequin beside them. A testament, to something. Exactly what, she wasn’t quite sure anymore. "You can talk here."

"I- I haven't." The corners of his mouth turned downward, and he shuffled nervously. "I'm not worried- They can look after themselves, just… Yeah… I miss them." He admitted it quietly, like he was afraid of someone listening. Thalia took note of that.  "What about you?" "Hm?" "Can you look after yourself?" She glanced up again to see him staring into his now-lukewarm tea, expression guarded.  "I'm fine. Schlatt's a dick, but…" He paused for a long moment. "My duty is to Manberg."

His words hung in empty air for a few ticks, before Thalia cut through it. "Well, you may be glad to know I'm out of red silk, so do you want a green or blue tie?" His eyes- no, practically his entire face lit up at that. "Green! Please." She matched his grin, thinking of the pre-made red tie she had in the next room. Running up another wouldn't take twenty minutes, and it'd be worth it. Tubbo finally drank some of his tea.

The other one was badly made anyway.

Keep making excuses Thalia, a little voice in the back of her mind nagged as she finished the edge of a handkerchief with a fancy trim, just to break in the overlocker. She'll probably give it to Eret, since she already had a whole bunch.

A week passed, and her clients began to dry up; the post-election fervour finally dying down. Yet she knew she had two more important customers left, so in her quieter moments, she prepared, clearing space in storage and even patching up a pair of brown trousers to what she remembered to be Tommy’s measurements. Yes, the exiles of L- Manberg. They’d found a way to fly under the radar for the moment, with only the occasional sighting reaching the press, but Thalia knew she’d hear a knock on the door sooner or later.

Wilbur came in the night, a little after eleven p.m. Usually, anyone trying to get her attention after sundown would be told to go away (and depending on the time, with accompanying crass language), but she made an exception for him, letting him stand in her front porch with the light off while she changed back into her work clothes. She turned the light on to let him in, and was met with a face she’d seen so regularly on posters and newspapers as spotless and refined as one would expect a leader, greasy and grimy, with duffle bags under his eyes and grass stains on his knees. His lopsided smile was still as charismatic as ever though, so much so that Thalia decided not to mention the smokey smell that hung about him.

His request was relatively simple: a brown trenchcoat, white shirt, black jeans and trainers. He’d already switched out his revolutionary hat for a grey beanie - apologising for losing it in the post-inauguration scramble, while Thalia told him not to worry about it - and the rest of his uniform would hardly be worth keeping in its present condition: covered in mud and grass stains, smelling like smoke and body odour, and worn threadbare on the elbows and knees. However, it was her baby, that suit, and so she prepared to spend a few nights repairing it and getting it back to its former glory in the near future, much like the underground rebellion was intending to do with Manberg. Wilbur spoke freely, apparently trusting in Thalia’s neutrality enough to go on a ramble about his future plans for Pogtopia and the reclamation of L’Manberg. He then went on a rant about how much he hated Schlatt and the new flag - which she agreed with - how annoying he was finding Tommy lately - which she didn’t - how helpful Technoblade was - which she had no opinion on, having never met the man - and his frustrations over Tubbo’s closeness to Schlatt. While she let him finish, her mind was elsewhere. Should she tell Wilbur about Tubbo’s reservations, or how he also disliked Schlatt? Had they actually spoken since that disastrous election night? In the end, she said nothing. The amount she thought about it was starting to spook her: her involvement was supposed to be minimal. She just made the clothes. Besides, her neutrality would mean nothing if she couldn’t maintain it.

It was when she was measuring him for his new trench coat that she asked, casually as she could muster, “And how are you feeling about everything?” He went particularly quiet, hesitating before answering and cutting his words into smaller and smaller pieces as he second-guessed his answers. “-I’m okay- Yeah, I’m alright, really, I mean, we’ve lost everything we worked for and had to start again in a hole in the ground while our legacies were torn down and burnt to the ground, and my son disowned me to the President in a phone call I was also a part of and I don’t know which of my allies I can even trust and Tommy’s a little shit and- disregard that actually, I’m fine.” 

She stood up from measuring how long the coat should be to look him in the eye. “How much should I disregard?” “All of it.” He said quickly, then tacked on a laugh to save face. “I think I said too much.” She shrugged, “Neutral territory. Nothing said in this room leaves this room.”  He laughed again, but even she could hear the cracks. “Only the mannequins are listening.” “And oh, the things they’ve heard.”

By the sound of it, Wilbur badly needed to vent. So she let him. Continuing to measure him for his new outfit and not time-filling at all, she half-listened to his grouchy tirade about something something “not just a drug van”, something something Quackity’s ass while she contemplated the best way to wash the suit jacket to get the smell out without completely destroying the integrity of the fabric. She finished up, they discussed payment and delivery and “No I am not venturing halfway across the surface to some random co-ordinates- Yes you can send Tommy-” and returning the uniform for her collection.

“You do not get to just bin that suit. I poured my damn heart into those things, I’m getting them back.” He laughed in response, messing with a loose thread on his lapel, to which Thalia had to restrain herself from batting his hand away.  “Starting a collection?”  She indicated through the open doorway to her storeroom. “Just a little one.” Upon the mannequins, there were four suits on proud display: Eret’s, Niki’s, Jack’s and Tubbo’s, all complete with their matching hats, boots and handkerchiefs. She turned to smile triumphantly to Wilbur, a rare bit of her ego poking through, “I have to keep them on display, or they just turn into bags of wrinkles and creases in storage.” His jaw was curiously slack, but as she watched, his brow furrowed and his fists clenched as he looked over them, his gaze lingering on Eret’s markedly. “Are you preserving history or parading it?” A bit of the former president poked through, and Thalia wondered if this was how political opponents had felt.  “Perhaps a bit of both, why?”

His firm stare wavered, “I’m sorry Thalia, just- You know how I feel about your non-committal relationship with choosing a side of history to be on.”  She gave him her usual scowl. “With making all your clothes, I don’t have time to pick a side.” “Spoken like a true centrist.” He murmured, distaste clear. She put her hands on her hips and stood to her full height. “There are agreements, Wilbur. Treaties. I am left out of your disputes and wars because I am not a fighter, and I cannot gamble everything I have for a bit of land.” “But what of morality, Thalia? Legacies?” He was earnest in his words, the charismatic politician with a campaign to win and a voter to convince. “If you won’t stand for anything, why bother getting to your feet?” He sighed. “Besides, there’s more to conflict than fighting. There’s debates, negotiation. Wars of attrition and popularity-based power, espionage.” “I’m neutral.” “You’re lazy.”

She gave him a sceptical look before turning away, “Tell that to your side seams.” He frowned a little, and the president was gone again, his bravado quickly melting away. “I’m sorry.” She sighed, “It’s alright, Wilbur. I know you get frustrated with my commitment issues.” He snorted behind her. “Besides, I can’t imagine it’s easy to win people to your side when you’ve suffered a heavy loss.” 

This time he was the one heaving a sigh. “You have no idea. At least previously I had the outfits as a benefit. Thank you, by the way, for keeping my administration best dressed.” There was that shameless smile again, and it was plain to see how Wilbur had talked his way to the top spot.  “You’re welcome. Any plans to still be?” He looked almost sorry when he shrugged, “Unfortunately, Pogtopia doesn’t have a dress code. It’s a po- Pity.” His eyes twinkled, and he screwed up his face. “I- I al-” He wheezed. “I almost said ‘potty’.”

Thalia snorted. “Oh god-” They both stood there, in her hallway, leaning against the walls, trying to keep their composure as adults definitely not losing it over a toilet joke, their dispute put firmly behind them. “You can- really tell it’s- it’s past midnight-” Wilbur gasped as Thalia wiped a tear from her eye, her cheeks aching from grinning.  “This is really stupid.” He held his hands up, “Pogtopia doesn’t have a dress code, POTTY.” 

They fell about giggling again, Thalia doubled over in a state of sleep-deprived, caffeinated hysteria that was probably shared by the other in the room. “I- I haven’t laughed like this in ages…” The giggles elsewhere dried up. “Wilbur?” She asked, eyes darting up. “Wil?” She asked again, as she watched Wilbur, leaning heavily against the wall, his eyes directed upwards as if searching for the heavens. The grin had slipped from his face, and his mouth was a small ‘o’ of concern and pain as he slowly leant more and more into the wall. “Wilbur?” His eyes met hers, and they were full of fear, as a hand slowly raised to the rusty-crimson patch on his white shirt - a patch that was growing bigger. She lunged forward as he slipped, catching him around the middle and winding one of his arms around her shoulders as he went weightless. Slowly, she guided him to sit down on her sofa, shaking her head as he slouched into it, one hand on the reopened wound, one raised towards her as he mumbled “It does this, just give me a minute”, speech slurred.

“Y’know, bleeding on my carpet is a terrible way to say thank you for being your personal tailor.” “Sorry.” Was all he muttered, eyes closed and teeth gritted. Thalia’s shoulders slumped. She got up, went to her kitchen and got him a cup of tea, a towel and the first aid kit. Told him not to mention it. Sent him home an hour later with a soft smile and the promise not to tell anyone. Went to bed, but not before drawing up a quick pattern for a reinforced t-shirt that wouldn’t be too heavy to be comfortable. He still managed to bleed through it within the week, however, he said it was comfy enough, so she counted that as a win.

---

part two | ao3 link again

Taglist: @nixavia @zrenia @spaceheatertrash @waitblues @kinda-late-but-here-though @icyisweird @boomybelovd @rozugold @thatfriendlyanon

[captain-ozone]

Fic Writer Review

Thank you for the tag, @flutteringdreams-matw​!! I loved reading your review, and I’m stoked to have the opportunity to fill this out myself, too!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?  46. And not all of them have been transferred over from FFN. There’s at least another dozen between multiple fandoms over there, lol. 

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 656,571. My word. 

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?  When one of your fandoms is DC Comics...Does that count as one or several? LOL. xD

There’s been Merlin, Danny Phantom, Batman (Comics), Young Justice (cartoon), Teen Titans (cartoon), Titans (TV Show), Smallville (TV show), The Justice League (movie), The Flash (Arrowverse TV Show), Miraculous Ladybug, Harry Potter, Rise of the Guardians, How to Train Your Dragon, Sword Art Online (anime), Blue Exorcist (anime), The Bright Sessions (podcast). Might be missing some.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 1. Come Alive (Young Justice) 2. life, if well lived (Batman) 3. On Three (Miraculous Ladybug) 4. a million dreams (Batman) 5. Genesis (Danny Phantom)

@redriotted​ should be informed that my top two are fics she requested from me via prompts I’m sure neither of us expected I would ever fill. Love you, dear! I credit you for these fics!

5. Which of your fic do you want more attention for?  Difficult question for me to answer. I’ve been gifted with lovely feedback on most of my work. I guess if I were to choose one it would be Locking Up the Sun (Batman)? It’s a Fantasy AU. A fantastic exercise in world-building. I had so much fun with it that I’ve been playing with the idea of spinning bits of it into an original work.

6. Do you respond to comments, why or why not? YES. I try to respond to every review and comment I receive. I understand it takes a lot of time and energy for some people, but from the moment I posted my first Merlin fic in 2011, I needed to respond, even if with nothing more than a little thank you. And I’m not about to stop the habit. I met some of my dearest friends responding to reviews. I still meet wonderful people doing so. :) 7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?  Uhhhh, I’m not sure? I guess it depends on perspective. Most of my fics end happily, or rather, I am quite heavy-handed on the comfort part of the Hurt/Comfort trope. I do bittersweet more often than I do angst. I wrote a Merlin AU inspired by The Picture of Dorian Gray about Uther Pendragon that was pretty angsty? Grief was another one, also in the Merlin fandom. I’m sure there were some in my FFN Merlin oneshot collection Rabbits and Bathroom Breaks that apply, but lord knows I hardly remember half of what I’ve posted in that monster. 

8. Do you write crossovers? Once. I wrote a Rise of the Guardians/Frozen crossover with an Elsa/Jack Frost pairing as a gift for a friend.  9. Have you ever received hate on a fic? Oh, of course. Who hasn’t? I’ve been cursed out more than once, too. It always stings, but it’s a matter of stepping back and asking myself: is this constructive? will this make me a better writer? Once you frame the comment/review that way, it’s a bit easier to see that it’s unproductive to linger on it for long. It’s someone’s personal preferences and/or beliefs not aligning with your own. Or someone who can’t quite distance themselves from fiction enough to realize you are not always what you write, nor are you a reflection of the characters/plot you’re writing about.

10. Do you write smut? if so what kind? Rarely, and only as crack or as a joke. Nothing I would ever share in public. RIP Uther Pendragon/Troll fic of circa 2013-2014. I do so wish I’d saved you somewhere safe. 11. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes, but I have no idea where they are posted or in what language. Most of the requests came over FFN, so I’m sure they’re available somewhere. In some capacity. 

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not quite. My friend and I wrote every other line of the aforementioned Uther/Troll fic in a chatroom, if that counts. 13. What’s your all time favorite ship? I’m far more interested in platonic/family relationships in pretty much every fandom I’m in. If I were to choose one? Adam Hayes/Caleb Michaels from The Bright Sessions. Or Barry Allen/Iris West in The Flash.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?  *eyes Shift warily*

I KID. I made a promise over half a decade ago, and I intend on keeping it.  In all seriousness: A Merlin time-travel fic I started ages upon ages ago. I hardly remember what the point of it was. There is a fun scene I’ve considered posting as a oneshot more than once over the years, though, just because it makes me laugh.

15. What are your writing strengths?  Dialogue, I think? I love it. 

16. What are your writing weaknesses? Imagery/action. Give me a single scene focused on a conversation between two hopeless individuals that need some TLC and let me forget about where they are sitting or if they are sitting at all or if there are things that need describing around them, please and thank you.  17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?  I’ve done it, in some capacity. I used my knowledge of Latin grammar from old high school classes to try to write spells for Merlin fics. I probably butchered quite a few, lol. I think it’s important to use language as accurately as possible, though, if it were to be used at all. Most of the time I take the lazy man’s route and use dialogue tags and italics, just so I can avoid making ignorant mistakes. As a reader, as long as I have translations in front of me, I’m golden.  18. What was the first fandom you wrote for? Merlin. I owe that fandom everything. 19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Come Alive. I don’t know that I have ever had so much fun writing anything in my life. a million dreams (my Flying Grayson time travel tear-jerker) and Not a Bit (my MLB Brothers AU, inspired by the original PV) come in close second. I dig my family feels, obviously. 20. What fic are you most proud of?  Shift, my Danny Phantom AU, if only because it’s been seven years since I posted its first chapter. Writing it has felt like pulling teeth at certain points, but it has been with me for a long, long time. Rereading it is like looking at a time lapse of how I’ve developed as a writer, lol.  Heart of Gold (Merlin) is another. Before Shift, it was the longest fic I’d ever written, one, and it was my first time really developing an OC/attempting a redemption arc as well. It was far from a perfect fic, but boy did I feel like a queen when I finished it. I’m sure you might’ve done something like this at some point, @cdelphiki, but here you go! @breynekai-tfc, too! And anyone else who sees and wants to share, please do so! 

[forevfangirlwrites]

hiiii, soooo I have a prompt for a couple of weeks for the actress Au but I don't want to write it because you probably have many, but anyway I tell you so I get rid of it

Basically I got this weird idea where Percy and Annabeth get into a situation where some fans have posted an old picture of Annabeth and her ex (cof Luke cof) and Percy who has never seen that photo panics ( because the boy iscrazy in love with her) and makes all these senseless ideas until Annabeth reassures him and at that moment Percy lets it slip that he has always had this fear that she could choose someone else because he is just a barista and so nothing special

obviously you don't have to I had to free myself, I hope you have a nice day ♥️ (if there are mistakes and google's fault English is not my first language I did my best 😫)

Percy has never really been into traditional social media all that much. Not because he hates it or anything, but because he’s never been able to look good in Instagram photos (he needs a someone to teach him how to pose, like seriously what do you do with your hands?)

Plus, he gets most of his news and stuff through Reddit rather than Twitter.

That said though, he has every social media platform on his phone with notifications on for the one and only Annabeth Chase.

It might seem extra, but he just calls it being a supportive boyfriend.

But the way the algorithm on these apps work means that he sometimes gets notifications for tweets other than Annabeth’s simply because they are about her.

So when his phone buzzes with a tweet from annabanana2 that just reads: They’re so cute together! he has a momentary panic.

And of course, it has to be a busy day. He hurries to try to finish the caramel mocha as quickly as possible so he can open up the tweet as a million possibilities run through his head.

The biggest one being that someone had found out about their relationship.

He hands off the mocha and swipes up on the notification.

Never mind, this is worse than being found out.

It’s a picture of Annabeth hand in hand with a guy who he vaguely recognizes, with a wide smile on her face. But before he can really look into it, the door dings, signaling another customer.

Trying to push aside panic and summon midwestern newscaster, he turns to the girl at the counter.

“Welcome to Cali’s, what can I get you?”

“Hi, um, I’ll take the…” she trails off, looking at the menu.

His fingers itch to check his phone again, to put a name to the face of the guy he’s definitely seen before.

“How’s the French vanilla macchiato?”

Maybe in a TV show? “Huh?”

The girl turns her gaze to him and he flushes, embarrassed at his inattention as he apologizes.

“Sorry, I got distracted, what did you ask?”

He tells her the French vanilla macchiato is a good choice and proceeds to make it for her, all the while trying to resist the urge to check his phone.

The happy smile on her face is burned into his mind. But he tries to focus on trying to place the guy because it’s much less painful to think about.

“Here you go,” he calls as he pushes the drink across the counter, already pulling out his phone.

“Uh...could you give me a straw?”

He flushes again. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, here you go.”

The girl waves it off, thankfully looking more amused than annoyed. As she turns to leave, he swipes open to the photo again.

“Do you—” he cuts himself off, brain finally catching up to his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say that, but she’s already turning around with a questioning look.

Well, he’s in this far and she seems nice to hopefully she won’t mind. “Do you know who this is?”

He holds up his phone and she steps forward to take a look.

“Annabeth Chase?”

“Yeah, but who’s the guy?”

“Luke Castellan.”

Recognition floods his brain at the name.

“From The Titans! I knew I remembered him from something!”

The girl smiles, taking a sip of her drink. “Yep, they dated a couple years ago.”

His mind goes blank. “What?”

The girl nods. “Annabeth and Luke, they dated for a while. I guess the tweet is from the people who still think they’re together. They had a pretty amicable break-up.”

This girl is a treasure trove of knowledge and has just saved him ten minutes of Googling.

“Oh, I didn’t know…” It’s a lot of information to process.

She just shrugs. “I used to be super into Titans which is why I know. Anyway, have a good day!”

“You too! Thanks!” He calls after her, knowing his day is now far from good.

The replies under the tweet just echo the original, confirming that they are indeed a cute couple, and go well together.

They have to still be together, she hasn’t dated anyone since one reply so helpfully reads.

His stomach sinks further.

She does look happy in the photo, free and smiling, no need to hide anything cause she’s dating some measly barista.

His stomach sinks even further. Maybe she is better off with Luke.

The thoughts don’t leave his head the rest of his shift.

He was going to meet Annabeth on set today after work, but when he pulls off his apron, he finds himself heading towards home instead. The set is just another reminder of everything she deserves and everything he isn’t.

So he trudges to his shitty one-bedroom apartment and sits on the secondhand couch, mood sinking lower and lower by the second.

The TV is a blessing and a curse, so after flipping through shows that have very attractive people who’d make better partners to an actress than him, he stops on some Bob Ross reruns.

They help, calming him enough that he starts to doze off.

The knock on his door, however, startles him out of it and he sits up in a rush as the knock pounds again.

READ ON AO3

READ ON FFN

A/N: Hello! I’m so sorry it took me such a long time to get to this prompt! I hope you liked how it turned out! The prompt was a great way to revisit the past in this series! Thank you for the prompt!

[moinsbienquekaworu]

And I did the stats! I'm absurdly proud of my little digital fanfic library but it's basically a history of the fanfic I've been reading since I discovered fandom, so I'm putting the graph and more explanations under the readmore, in case you don't care/don't want to see which weird ships I like/used to like (since I won't be tagging the post because I don't want that in the general tags). Proceed at your own risk!

Okay! So. First off, I've had that collection for almost five years now I'd say, I don't have the oldest dates but that's when I started discovering fandom. I started downloading fics to be able to read on my phone even when I didn't have an internet connection (and downloading fics from FFNet wasn't the easiest), and then when I started using AO3 I thought I'd get the fics I liked in case they disappeared or something. They're all epubs and I can make annotations in my ereader app, which is also pretty cool (my 'copies' of Cambiare Podentes or Pacify are full of notes from multiple rereadings throughout the years and that's very fun) In total I have 1311, which is a respectable number I think.

All the smaller folders - anything 15 fics or less - are mostly old fandoms for which I never read a lot of fic. There are separate Harry Potter and Star Wars folders because those are for gen fics and the ship folders are for, well, ship fics. Fandoms like Sherlock, OFMD or Gravity Falls don't have separate ship folders because they're either 90% ship or gen fics, and a folder for a few gen/ship fics would be useless. The 'originales' folders are original fic, with a PWP variant because sometimes you want to peruse the SFW folder and not the smut one or vice-versa. The older folders are probably the Drarry or Snarry ones, as well as the Sherlock and the Originales ones, because they're the ones with fics in french in them and I stopped reading fic in french years ago to pivot entirely to english.

As for analysing this: I knew what the results would look like, because 1) it's my collection I know what I read and download and 2) I regularly sort the fics I download in those folders, and every time I check the numbers just as a curiosity, but there still was a surprise or two. Notably, the OFMD folder compared to the Obikin folder, because I started reading OFMD fics literally less than a month ago (may 11 to be precise) but I've been reading Obikin fics for close to a year now. Also now that I'm thinking about it my numbers are wrong I know I put a gen fic in the Obikin folder and I didn't go back to put it in its proper folder yet, so it really is the same number of fics, which I wasn't expecting. I also keep thinking the Gravity Falls and Drarry folders are going to be bigger, but no, they're not (especially not the Drarry one, I stopped shipping that and reading fic for it years ago when I got into Snarry) Obviously this makes my OTPs clear, they're the ones I have more fics for (the Sherlock folder is mostly Johnlock and the OFMD one is mostly Blackbonnet, of course). I do find it funny I have more original smut fics than Tomarry and Harrymort combined, but that makes sense too. I gotta say, I have no idea what all the HP gen fics are, because that's a fandom I read mostly ship fics for and almost nothing else, so I don't know where those came from, as opposed to the SW ones (it's because I like fluffy Jedi bonding stuff). The Snarry folder wins - well, everything, but more specifically on top of having the most fics in it, I know without needing to check that it's the one with the most words in it, because it's the one with the most longfics in it: if you just count Pacify and Cambiare Podentes that's already a good million two hundred words, and then there's the fics I have doubles of, all the longfics...

By the way this is the wrong place to put it but I find it fascinating how different fandoms write different formats: I can give you like, 2-3 Obikin long chaptered fics, same with Kylux (most of which I didn't read because they weren't my style, sorry that one aviator Kylux and Lex Talionis I just can't) but for Johnlock or Snarry I could give you a list and still forget some I've read. I don't know if it's the size of the fandom or the age or something but that's fascinating. If that wasn't so long a process and it was useful, I'd write down all the fics I have, their titles and wordcount and fandom, that could be really interesting... but only for me because that would be pretty biased. I mean, I tend to gravitate towards longfics and that's the fics I'm more likely to download, so yeah.

Anyway I think that was a nice ramble, if someone read all this I love you, when's the marriage?

[bytheangell]

A Million Words

A million is a number I honestly have a difficult time wrapping my head around, especially in terms on number of words I’ve written and posted to AO3. I’m not sure exactly when I crossed that line (I didn’t notice until I was a bit over, I’m awful at catching/tracking milestones like that, oops!), but the idea that I crossed it at all is something I never would’ve imagined myself capable of a few years ago when I started writing fic. 

It’s given me the reassurance that maybe one day I can manage that with original novels, too. And even if I don’t, that I can keep writing fanfiction until I have a million more words to share with the world for all of our favorite (and not-so-favorite) characters and ships! <3 

Anyway, I wanted to make a little post about it to mark the milestone, even if it’s a bit late! Mostly to say a very large and heartfelt THANK YOU to anyone who has ever read/commented/liked/kudos/shared any of my fics along the way <3 <3 <3 I know I write primarily for myself, but for those patches of self-doubt especially, the support is always what brings me back and keeps me going, and it’s so greatly appreciated! 

So yeah, if you’re looking for some Shadowhunters (and a very small sampling of other fandoms) fic to read, I have a million words across 421 works to choose from! Some book canon, some show, some a fusion of the two, ranging from 100,000k chaptered fics to 300 word ficlets, friendships and family bonds and ships from Malec to the rarest of rare-pairs! You can find them all HERE! 

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Tabula Rasa

Tabula Rasa has 8 stories at Gossamer, but there are even more X-Files fics at AO3 and her website. She writes Mulder and Scully in a very lovely way. I've recced 3 of my favorites of her fics here before: Bird in Snow, Fall: East on M St, and Skuamorph. Big thanks to Tabula Rasa for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I'm always extremely pleasantly surprised to get kudos (or, very rarely, a comment) on my old fic, but I'm always happy to see it! I did post them all (I think) to AO3. I'm not surprised people are still reading fic, though. It's an iconic show and now with streaming, it's really easy to watch older shows and natural to want fic about them!

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

XF was my first fandom, definitely my first online fandom, and so it will always have a special place in my heart. Also... I had a great time! I stumbled upon and joined the Scullyfic email list by accident, but it was the best thing I could have done. I learned a lot about how to be a writer and how to be in fandom, and those lessons are still important to me. Foundational. Also, in terms of modern fandom drama, XF was more low-key on the drama (although it didn't seem like it at the time!). But I learned something that's always served me well: find like-minded people, and hang out with them. Don't worry about the rest.

Also... you can't control the show, but you kind of can control the canon.

Because of Scully, I ended up taking a forensic anthropology class in university-- and now I have a Master's in a forensic science! Part of the Scully Effect, and proud of it!

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Definitely mostly email list! I never really got the hang of message boards. Posting fic was exhausting, and tbh I never figured out how to work Ephemeral. I checked it every day, though! I loved, after a new episode, everyone sending in their thoughts and reading everyone's experiences together. Fandom was a lot more work back then, tbh!

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

That fic can be just as good, or better, than traditionally published works. There are works of XF fic that have stuck with me for years now, far more than some books I've read. That fan writers can know the characters better than the show writers. The fandom in general was really smart, and mostly more adult than me (I joined fandom when I went away to college, so I always felt at the younger end of the scale. That was good though!).

Also, my first time reading and writing porn. Not gonna lie, I was shocked the first time I accidentally read smut. But I adjusted fast. lol

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was still a kid (now we would say preteen) when the show premiered- I think in middle school. But I was already into ghosts, aliens, monsters, solving mysteries, and I'd already imprinted on the dynamic thanks to Square One (really)! I was also just old enough to start developing celebrity crushes. Hilariously, I did not twig to the fact that I'm bisexual the entire time I was in XF fandom, despite having enormous crushes on BOTH Mulder and Scully. Ahhhh!

Also, my whole family was into the show, but I was definitely the one with the hyperfixation. I used to take notes and record the episodes as I watched. It just had the right stuff and hit at the right time. And I've always been obsessive.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

As a kid I also really liked Star Trek, and someone had given my dad a book about the history of Star Trek, which I read. This included mentions of fandom and fanfic. As soon as I had a private-- and perhaps more importantly fast-- internet connection (in college), I went looking for XF fanfic, and that was that. Hooked immediately. Also I shipped them A LOT so that's what I went looking for.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I tend to not go back to a fandom once I have a new fandom, so I wouldn't say I'm in it. I did hang around the edges for the revival, of course, because I wanted to experience that with the same people, but since the revival was mostly not that great (with a few exceptions), I didn't get pulled back into it. But I still think of the people I knew in the fandom a lot, and always hope they're doing well.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I've never left fandom, and I've been in a BUNCH: Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Bandom, Supernatural, now CQL/The Untamed and other Chinese-media fandoms, with many smaller ones in between or on the side. I feel like at their core fandoms tend to be similar, although where you host the fandom makes a big difference: Livejournal, tumblr, twitter. I think that because fandoms now tend to be bigger and more diverse (which is good) there tends to be more wank (which is bad). In some of them I was close to a group of people, some of them not. Honestly the best thing is when someone you know from an old fandom is in your new fandom. It's so much fun. I have really good friends thanks to fandom, and I've had them for YEARS. Like. 15 years.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I tend to focus more on ships than characters, but some of my all-time favs: Scully, Hermione, Sirius Black, Castiel, Lan Wangji, Xie Lian. That's just fandom-oriented ones, otherwise we'd be here all day. :D

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I don't often rewatch episodes any more, although if I come across an ep on tv I might. I definitely still think about them though! For example, I'm a teacher now, and just a couple weeks ago one of my colleagues mentioned he'd heard the students saying they shipped two of their classmates, and he was like "Ship? I don't get it" and I was like "HOO BOY, do I have a story for you!" And I explained how shipping came from XF fandom, and why. That was fun. I definitely still think about Mulder and Scully too-- I mean, they're cultural touchstones, so they do come up sometimes in greater pop culture. Also, I was in Hannibal fandom for a while, and Gillian Anderson is still The Best.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I haven't read XF fic in years, even the ones I remember as being really significant/important to me. I still have my all-time favs saved on an external HD though! Fic in another fandom- every day lol.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Blinded by White Light by DashaK has stuck with me. Mr. and Mrs. Smith and the Ruby-Throated Warbler by I forget I'm so sorry -- that's lasted as my ideal post-canon MSR and as an interesting and different way to tell a story.  [Lilydale note: It’s by rah.] I was always thrilled to see fic by Brandon, JET, MaybeAmanda, Syntax6... and, frankly, everyone on the Scullyfic/ Emuse list. So many talented people in that fandom!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Things Outside, which is the only thing I've ever written based on a dream, and I'm really satisfied with it. It was hard to write but so much fun to revel in the weirdness. I always kind of wanted to write more because I know a lot more about the situation, but otoh, I like the open, ambiguous ending (usually I am very HEA).

In other fandoms, King & Country in bandom (MCR) and in Supernatural I'm very proud of Hope and Clay. I struggle to write casefics even though I love to read them, but that one really worked out.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I don't think I'll ever write something new. There is an old fic that may be done but it was smut so I was too shy to post it at the time. In theory if I find it and it's decent, I could post it!

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I do! I write fic very slowly, but I do write still! I have a million ideas for stories, but I'm so slow at the actual writing part.

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I usually take a jumping-off point from canon, or of course, something I need to fix or expand on. Or sometimes I start telling myself a story as I fall asleep and the idea grabs me long enough I can manage to write it.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I was getting into fandom and realized people didn't use their real names. I flipped through my history book looking for inspiration, and decided tabula rasa was a great name for a writer. I tend to add an X because it's rare to get "tabularasa" as a username, and the X is indeed for X-Files (so I'm something like tabulaxrasa most places). I usually go by Tabula Rasa or Tab, though. And I still use it because 1) it IS a great name for a writer; and 2) it's not fandom-specific so I can keep it in every fandom.

I identify with it so much I have answered to this name in class (oops). I have a "Tab" t-shirt (as in the soda, but I have worn it to Comic-Con for ease of ID-- better than a nametag!). And my mom got me a necklace with a "tab" typewriter key as a charm, which I adore. Yes, I have accidental merch of myself.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

As you can tell from the above, my family knows (my family being my parents and sister). They are supportive! I think my mom read a couple stories? But obviously she has to know the fandom to get it... I got my sister into fic, and we even wrote a couple fics together (in Gundam Wing). She's a lot more selective about fandoms, but she's joined fandoms on her own, too. She's just not in one constantly, like me. :p

I tend not to tell not-online friends unless I have felt them out and know they're super fannish, or they bring it up first.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Most of my old fic is now on AO3 and I hang out on twitter a lot, @tabula_x_rasa

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I'm really glad people are still in this fandom! It will always be so important to me. Thank you Lilydale, for this nostalgia trip!

(Posted by Lilydale on March 30, 2021)