#blathering about my fic

[perverse-idyll]

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

Thank you to @yletylyf and @danpuff-ao3 for the invitation and reminding me to think about fic! It’s one in the morning, I had four hours sleep last night, and I’m going to entertain myself by seeing how coherent/interesting I can make this.

Anyone else want to play? @ac1d6urn, @writcraft, @liladiurne, @squibstress, @titconao3 - do you have favorites?

The first two picks are easy:

1. When the Rose and the Fire Are One - My first fanfic! Snape/Harry, my OTP before I knew what the acronym meant, my first experience of fandom, a love letter to the pairing and the Snape-centric LiveJournal community I had serendipitously stumbled upon. Written for the Snarry Games, thus finished on a (several times extended) deadline after pulling an all-nighter. I was talking shop with a writer friend recently about themes, as in “in 20 words or less, tell us the theme of your story,” and we agreed that it grows organically out of the writing and we have no idea what the theme is before we muddle through the first draft, nor do we care. (My friend writes pro fic, but she never condescends when I talk about my fanfic as if the creative process is the same - because it is in many ways, with the exception of professional editing in her case.) Well, I lied, because this fic was consciously and passionately written with the themes of freedom and beauty in mind. In canon, Snape is a character who never gets to experience adulthood free of masters; he signs up to be a pawn not once, but twice. I wanted to give him - for Harry to give him - that freedom, while at the same time presenting the temptation of a third master. The fact that Harry loves him by the end doesn’t make that beholden-ness less true. I was also determined to show that even someone raised in financial and emotional poverty, associated with ugliness, trapped in an ugly life, was capable of beauty under the right circumstances. Yes, I was up my own arse about this fic, but that’s okay because it made it more personal and intense. It was also, as I’ve mentioned elsewhere, my first time writing a sex scene, and I jumped in at the deep end with glorious abandon. As one may gather from subsequent fics, I proceeded to make up for lost time and contribute to the mainstream perception that fanfic = smut.

2. The White Road - If there’s one fic I’m known for among Snarry readers, it’s this. Why? Because it’s set in Lily’s POV in the afterlife? Because it positions her as a voyeur, a mother watching the fork in the road of her child’s future, someone with the right to judge Snape? (The voyeurism aspect turned a lot of readers off.) Because it has a cracky premise treated seriously? Because it’s nonlinear? (No. For some, this was a bug, not a feature.) Because, as a recent bookmark proclaims, it’s “such a weird fic”? Mostly it was me wresting a different ending out of the ruins of Snape’s canon demise and the utter bollocks of the epilogue; it was a purgative experience. I think for Snarry readers at the time, in the year after the series ended, it touched a communal nerve. Snape fandom remained in turmoil for quite a while after the Lily reveal and Snape’s redemption by death (a redemption currently much disputed). At this point, 15 years down the line, perceptions of Snape have changed so drastically the fic no longer has that cathartic effect, if that’s what it was. Readers are less inclined to be consoled or sympathetic. But the chutzpah of putting Lily’s voice at the center - of turning her into a Snarry shipper, to be flippant about it - well, I’m still surprised I pulled it off. And this fic, like Rose & Fire above, vibrates with so much of my joy in fandom at the time, love for my OTP, for the stories being written about them, for the exuberant emotional engagement on all sides, that I'll always be able to dip into it and be transported back to that creative ferment and sense of belonging. I think it’s one of my best fics, but my love for it goes deeper than its relative worth as a story. It’s a memento of one of the best periods of my life.

Now things get tricky. I’m pretty sure the five, arrrgh, five WIPs I’m working on would be eligible for this list, but since at this stage only I can know what makes them favorites, I have to make other choices. And I haven’t written very many fics, you see.

3 & 4. In Infinite Remorse of Soul (Snape/Dumbledore, Snape/Harry-ish) and And Mine the Gall (concluding the Dumbledore arc from the earlier story, and going further with the Snape/Harry-ish mess) - I put these together because they were conceived as a single narrative, but In Infinite Remorse was written for a fest with a word count limit, so I posted the rest of it as a separate fic. Which turned out to be the right choice since the second fic is the darkest thing I’ve ever written. These linked stories were inspired by Dumbledore’s words to Snape in The Prince’s Tale - “You disgust me” - and how he condescends to and sometimes makes a fool of Snape in the books, when the poor bastard is simply trying to abide by Dumbledore’s expectations. Dumbledore is a fascinating character, but his lack of generosity toward Snape - his tendency to treat Snape’s moral worth as disposable when it’s clearly one of the things Snape struggles with throughout his life - caught my attention. It’s a counterweight to all the examples of Dumbledore’s wisdom, his concern for other characters. Even Draco has more charity and protection bestowed on him than Dumbledore ever gives Snape. And I decided to run with that idea because surely what Snape suffers and the loyalty he demonstrates deserves more than a “Poor Severus...” afterthought. What would it have done to his soul to never once be thanked, to have Dumbledore pass over his sacrifices while lavishing time and explanations on Harry? Yes, Voldemort’s defeat depends on Harry going back to fight. But what would Snape’s reaction be to learning that Dumbledore knew of a way for Harry to survive - counted on it, in fact - and lied about it to Snape’s face? From there I decided to chart Snape’s moral collapse and his “fuck it all” desire to go after something (someone) he wants for himself - destroying every moral gain he’d so painfully acquired because in the end the authority figure who was his role model took it so much for granted he even forgot to say “thank you.” And then I went for something twisted and frightening because I think a Snape who no longer believes in anything - who feels nothing he did in his life ever actually redeemed him - would be terribly destructive.

On a less dark note, I enjoyed writing a florid and heavily metaphorical prose for Dumbledore’s POV, mostly to suggest the complex and not always praiseworthy workings of his mind. He’s one of canon’s most intelligent characters, bent up into plot contrivances for the consumption of children, and I didn’t want to rehash his canon schemes because they rely too much on coincidence and authorial fiat. (Plus: word count.) I tried to show how his calculations and his roots in the Victorian era might influence his interior monologues. As for Snape? I just enjoyed letting his worst impulses off the leash. (Some readers haaate And Mine the Gall.) (Where is my evil grin emoji?)

5. Hmm, the last choice should be split between my creepy massage kink/character study Soft Touch, but I’m feeling rather listless about that one at the moment, so No Room for the Weak it is. Another oldie, functionally a gen fic with pre-slash Snarry vibes, it evolved from my interest in Snape’s mum Eileen. Snape fans often assume she’s dead in canon, probably because she’s not referenced past a certain point in his childhood and doesn’t appear in the Spinner’s End chapter. So I wrote this fic about Eileen trying to come to grips with her son’s violent death and all the contradictory rumors clouding his reputation. It was a chance to explore what kind of mother would produce a kid like Severus and to ponder how he seems to lack any instinct for distinguishing right from wrong. His upbringing left him morally deficient - in fact, clueless. I also tried to pull off a bit of a plot twist, just to see if I could string readers along. Also, tip o’ the hat to Joy Division. Best of all, IMO, I nailed the ending. I found exactly the words I wanted, and I’m pretty confident the story earned them. (Same with The White Road. And Mine the Gall … maybe.)

[plusultraetc]

I'm so sorry but ever since that teen Hawks page was translated on twitter I can't stop thinking about it. like. Mera treated him like a person. he was assigned to Hawks when he was already a teenager. did no one treat him like a person before then? was it such an uncommon occurrence that it seemed special when someone did? I mean, they didn't even let him have a person's name. they gave him a hero name, and to the HPSC, that was the name of a tool. of a product. they basically bought a child and treated him so coldly that Mera stood out to him because he treated him like a person. the bars of my enclosure.

[vamp-bites]

I love using art school assignments as an excuse to draw my own trigun au. Anyway more haunted knives au, featuring Legato this time

[treasuredplanet]

having a great idea for an au literally no one but you knows about

[kjack89]

Wake up babe, new milestone just dropped 😅

Since I still have 3 fics from my last giveaway to do, I won’t be doing anything special for this one, but I did want to take a moment to thank everyone who’s supported me along the way, whether you’ve been here since the beginning, or whether you’ve just now found one of my fics. I can’t do it without you, and I wouldn’t want to anyway.

Thank you for being with me on this weird, wild, seemingly never ending ride. Here’s to 400 fics, and to however many (almost certainly not 400) more!

[thetarttfuldickhead]

Interested in hearing about the TL 1x05 Canon divergence fic if you have thoughts to share!

I do have thoughts and you are a darling for asking about them!

So, concept: Ted doesn’t bench Jamie, Jamie goes on to score a hat trick, and Richmond wins the game… only no one but Jamie is feeling particularly good about it. The dressing room is subdued, but our precious prick couldn’t care less, he’s being his very best (worst) arrogant self. Roy is fed up to the point where he, realizing that Ted isn’t about to do anything, follows Jamie home and knocks on his door to have a very civil and polite word about what being part of a team means.

Predictably, the conversation quickly devolves into shoving and growling and – less predictably (to them, not to any reader) – it then takes a turn for the sexy and the messy when Roy realizes that Jamie isn’t exclusively pissed off about being pushed against a wall. Not a particularly original set-up, granted, but it’s a classic for a reason, so.

This is basically pure kink, fulfilling all my enemy ship and sadist!Roy and bratty subs being taken down a peg needs (except that last bit might not quite work out in the way Roy imagines, and in the end there’s some actual conversation and vague hints at vague Feelings because I’m bad at not letting them be a little bit vulnerable too. At the end of the day my true kink is character studies, so a little bit it's that, but disguised as sparkling pornography).

This is the fic I’ve got the most stuff already written for and I’m very excited about this idea, but it’s also the piece I’m least confident about writing. We’ll see how it goes!

[electric-plants]

i pretty much always listen to instrumental music while writing and i keep a playlist of some of my favorite long compilations which works well and good until one of my three hour piano compilations ends and suddenly transitions to an intense soundtrack and scares me half to death because i was too focused to expect it

[purgaytorysupremacy]

OMG IM JUST NOW REALIZING YOURE THE AUTHOR OF “A LIFE IN YOUR SHAPE”!!! I LOVE THAT FIC, IVE COMMENTED ON IT A FEW TIMES (I’m transgenderisms101)!!!!!’ It’s literally one of my favorite fics, I’m so happy I found you on here!!! ♥️

OH HI HEY HELLO!

yes! I remember your comments <3<3<3 thank you so much for leaving them 😭😭😭 Benny is such an important part of the fic, even if he's a bit in the background. I don't think he could be where he is with Cas if he hadn't had Benny.

ANYWAY thank you for this ask! 🥺 definitely needed a reminder today. it always means so so much to me to hear that the fic is resonating with people. 🫶

[losersimonriley]

(BARRELS INTO YOUR ASK BOX) 3, 6, 20 & 27 please ‼️

MY ANGEL THANK YOU 😭💕

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Gotta be my Detroit become human wip breathe simply because I’ve never managed to get that many words into one story before—my brain has big trouble with writing longer word counts and this fic has been in the making for literal years. I deleted the original off ao3 a long time ago but kept my google doc and decided to repost and pick it back up early this year! I’m determined to finish it eventually!

6. Favorite title you used?

Titles are my absolute nemesis—usually it’s just lyrics to whatever song is stuck in my head, but once in a blue moon I can think of something pretty good. My fav is definitely one I haven’t posted yet—part 2 of my ghoap Christmas fix-it. It’s titled Christmas ain’t the only thing coming (😏),,,OR I guess hold on moments eternal is pretty cool too considering how long I wasted trying to think up a meaningful backronym for the word “home”skshsgsh

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Probably my fuck or die ghostsoap when it all crashes down because, first off, it took me forever to write and then a couple months later after rereading it one too many times decided to heavily edit and add to the darn thing 💀 (if anyone clicks on this one beware the tags!)

27. What do you listen to while writing?

Most of the time I put on instrumental playlists because I get too distracted when words are thrown in the mix lolll. I try to match the vibe with whatever story I’m working on!

Ao3 wrapped

[roselightfairy]

Six-Sentence Sunday

From the ongoing fic! This is a bit from the next chapter I will post (probably tomorrow).

“You didn’t respond to my message,” was Qui-Gon’s greeting to him when the door slid open.

Obi-Wan grinned despite himself, sudden and wide enough to make his jaw ache. “You clearly stated that my silence would serve as assent.”

Qui-Gon smiled back, and one of his hands landed on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, heavy and solid, a welcoming clasp that spoke more than any words ever would. It was a gesture that would not have looked out of place on any master and apprentice, but this one had come to be theirs; Obi-Wan had strained against more expressive displays of physical affection in his youth, and so the reassuring grasp of shoulder or arm had become their compromise, Qui-Gon’s expression of affection or concern or comfort in a way Obi-Wan was willing to accept.

It made him feel more loved than he could ever admit, though today he found himself also admitting – somewhere deeper than he could ever acknowledge aloud – that he would have welcomed a greeting embrace.

[galadriel-blue]

STOP IT RIGHT NOW THIS IS BEAUTIFUL-

the fact that in trop canon, sauron is written with bearing in mind the fact that he LOVES galadriel??????? L O V E S HER???

imagine being galadriel knowing that the evil incarnate loves you? the abyss that she gazed into with hatred for so long gazed back into her with love!!!

and she is the only thing he is capable of loving? bc there is this cosmic connection between them that is just out of this world, metaphysical, entirely unique??? that they have their very beings bound to one another? that it's something much greater and of a higher essence than anything shallow and common? that they are the light and the dark fated to never unite but being eternally connected in a way that they are unable to with anyone else?

what are we even supposed to do with this information? how are we going to collectively ever be sane again???

THE love story of TV, i'm afraid.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: I got like insanely sick suddenly and I still feel off.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Sam, that paradise punch was a bad idea,” you groan as you struggle to get your bag out of the trunk of the taxi. 

“Whatever,” Sam slurs as he comes around, “I tipped the driver extra. Bud, you think you can get this out for the lady?” 

The driver is all to helpful as he comes around you take the handle from you and swiftly plants the bag on its wheels. It’s everything you have that isn’t bundled up into storage or sacrificed to the dumpster. You thank the man and swallow a belch. 

“Have a safe trip, miss,” the driver nods and turns to slap Sam’s arm, “and you, sir.” 

Sam salutes the man and pushes away from the cab, your carry-on slung from his shoulder. The two of you clumsily lift the bag over the curb. You look up at the airport as the roar of jet engines cuts through the dusky air. 

“I feel like I’m drunker,” Sam snickers. 

“Uh huh, me too,” you murmur. Two hours on his couch was barely enough. If anything, it’s just set your vision askew. “They’re not gonna let me board if – hiccup—I'm blasted.” 

“Don’t worry, we can get water,” he blathers and yanks your bag onto its wheels, “off to the land of vikings! Skol!” 

“Skol?” You follow him in a clamour. 

“It’s what they say, isn’t it?” He chuckles, “I saw it on a show or whatever.” 

“I... yeah, usually while they drink, not stumbling drunk,” you rebuff. 

“Sound pretty sober to me with all that whining,” he rebukes. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and follow him through the automatic doors. 

He veers off and you follow him in confusion, glancing back at the check-in counter. He stops before a bright vending machine and feels around in his pocket. He taps his card and focuses intently on pressing the button. 

“Waterrrrr,” he drones and leans on the machine to reach through the slot. 

He hands it over and you unscrew the cap. You chug half the bottle and let out an obnoxious belch. You cover your mouth in embarrassment and offer him the rest. He finishes it off and you linger by the machine as you let the cool flow settle in. 

“Feel any better?” He asks. 

“A little. I’ll have a coffee on the plane.” 

“Nah, you should sleep.” 

“Maybe,” you take out your phone and tap the side button. Nothing. 

“Anything from Mr. Carter?” Sam asks. 

“No,” you black the screen and shrug. “Come on, I gotta check my bag.” 

“You should check that boy,” he blathers as he stands straight and once more yanks the bag after you, “tell him what’s what.” 

“Sam, he’s busy--” 

“He’s your best friend! At least, he likes to say so then do nothing.” 

“Quit,” you beg him, “this is hard enough.” 

“This is what you need--” 

“I know!” You throw your hands up and face him as you come up before the counter. “I know. Okay. I’m stupid and---” you shake your head and let the truth sink back into the depths of your soul. You face the clerk and sigh, “I’m sorry, I’m here to check my bag.” 

You pull out your wallet and slide your passport across the counter. You show your boarding pass and pay for the extra weight. Your bid a safe journey and carry on with only the smaller bag still on Sam’s shoulder. 

Wordlessly, you sit in a row of seats. You look up at the clock. You’ll have to go to the boarding area sooner than later. He won’t be able to come with you. 

“Sam, I’m sorry. I just... is it that obvious?” You croak. 

He puts his hand on your back and rubs it gently. It’s soothing. The tension trickles down your sides and seeps out. It feels good to admit it aloud yet mortifying just the same. 

“No, I just sense these things. I know Steve, I know you, and I know he doesn’t deserve you. Even as just friends.” 

“Ugh,” you put your head in your hands, “I am so stupid.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re human. It stinks. Our brains, our hearts, they aren’t logical, as much as we like to pretend,” he huffs, “trust me. We’ve all been there and if we haven’t, we’ll get our turn.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” you sit up as your eyes glisten, “I just... he said he’d be here. I thought I’d at least get that--” 

Your name echoes through the airy space and you wince. Right on cue, just before you can collapse completely. You turn as Steve rushes toward you. He wears jeans and grey sweatshirt. He remembered! 

You stand as Sam sighs. You smile, only halfway before you see the figure trailing behind him. Peggy looks less than excited to be there. Her sleepy lashes flutter as her wave hair is pinned back in a messy chignon, still elegant despite the carelessness. She wears a dark green trench over a silver satin nightie. She must’ve rushed out with him. 

“Hey,” Steve nears, “sorry I couldn’t make it for drinks, but I couldn’t miss take-off.” 

“Mmm, they don’t have any afternoon flights,” Peggy mutters. 

“They do but landing doesn’t line up with the train,” you shrug and glance at her briefly. Her glare darts back at you. You wonder if that work dinner was so impromptu after all. 

“Are you excited?” Steve drops into the seat next to you. 

“Uh, yeah, nervous,” you smile as the weight lightens from your chest. He came. Maybe Sam is wrong. Maybe friends isn’t that bad. 

“It’s going to be great. You have to send me updates, oh, and I’ll be sure to send you all the wedding news!” He grins, “I still can’t believe you’re going to be so far away.” 

“It’s a good opportunity,” Peggy intones as she sits on his other side, resting her hand on his forearm, “in her line of work, I’m sure they don’t come often.” 

You press your lips tight and look down, “yeah, not really.” 

“She can get out. Make new friends. Some girl friends, maybe,” Peggy remarks. 

“I’m sure she’ll make all the friends,” Sam interjects, “I hear there isn’t much sunlight over there, she’ll be a breath of fresh air for those grumpy vikings.” 

“Mm, yes,” Peggy grumbles as she trails her hand down to Steve’s. “Too bad you won’t make the engagement party.” 

“Or the wedding,” Steve adds. 

“Well, we’ve a full wedding party as it is,” she shrugs. “There’ll be lots of pictures.” 

“Right, yeah, I’m sorry to miss it all,” you frown. “I...” you sit back and nearly choke, “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.” 

You stand as Sam puffs out heavily and to your surprise, Peggy swiftly gets to her feet, suddenly very awake. Your soberness is setting in along with a pulsing headache. You really don’t want to deal with her. If you knew he’d bring her, you’d have told Steve to stay home. 

“I’ll come with you. I’m splitting at the seams,” she trills. 

“Alright,” you agree with a tint of uncertainty. 

She twirls and you walk parallel to her towards the bathroom signs. You chalk it up to the feminine habit. It isn’t unusual to visit the toilets in pairs, even without much kinship between you. It does however spoil your attempt at respite. You less so want to empty your bladder than clear your mind. 

You don’t say a word as you enter the bathroom. You go into a stall and she does the same. Your mind clogs your biology and you have to sit and focus before you can get a flow going. By the time you’re trickling into the bowl, she’s done. A toilet flushes and you hear her unlatch the door and approach the sinks. 

She’s in heels, even at this hour. The sink sprays out water and you listen to her hum as she washes her hands. You finish up and flush, coming out meekly to use the sink next to her. You focus on the simple task as she watches you in the mirror. 

Sensing her gaze, you look up and pull your hands out from under the censor-activated faucet. You meet her eyes and nearly wince at the steely intensity. You stand straight and move past her to retrieve some paper towel. 

“This is a wise decision,” she says, “well-needed.” 

You look at her again as you dry your hands, “thanks.” 

“Oh, I’m not congratulating you. About time you got some sense,” she sneers. 

You wince and crumple up the towel. You drop it in the bin and cross your arms, “okay, well...” 

“It’s better you’re not here for any of it. He doesn’t need the distraction.” 

You chew the inside of your lip as venom drips from her voice. You’re still slightly tipsy and too tired to process this. You have no response. 

“The distance will help you get over it. Finally,” she snips, “you know, I thought it was almost endearing at first then it just became pathetic.” 

You swallow. You’re humiliated that even she could see right through you. You can hardly blame her for her spite. After all, she’s his fiancée, not you. 

“He thinks it’s silly. He laughs.” 

You flinch then. Hard. Your chest rents and your stomach boils. 

“He knows. It’s obvious. I mean, it’s convenient, isn’t it? You’ll do anything for him and really it was rather helpful. Took a lot off my plate and his but it’s time for all of us to grow up. I will be his wife and he doesn’t need some girl to measure out his laundry detergent or remind him to eat.” 

You blink and look away. You cross your arms and push your shoulders up, “got it.” 

“So why don’t you go ahead and just put him on mute now?” 

“Peggy,” you whisper. 

“We’re getting married. You know you can’t stop it, that’s why you’re running away. So end it.” 

“You don’t have to be cruel,” you mutter. 

“I could be horrid. I could have been for all these years. I believe I’ve had remarkable restraint with you,” she points a manicured nail at you, “you should be thanking me for having the grace to do this in private.” 

Your lip trembles and your cheeks tug painfully. You nod and turn away, “don’t worry, Peg, you won’t hear from me. He won’t either.” You make your way to the door, “I wish you both the best.” 

“Mm, I pray you find some clarity and perhaps some maturity along the way,” she retorts as she follows you, heels clicking loudly across the tile, “perhaps you might find someone too. Someone you deserve.” 

Her last words sting. The derision is pungent enough to make your nose crinkle. Someone you deserve... because you could never ever be good enough for Steve Rogers. 

💟

You don’t look back as you go through the gate. You can’t. It’s too painful. The tears have receded but the pain is only deeper. Peggy’s words reverberate in your head, nipping at your ears as your nape burns hotter and hotter. 

She’s right. Sam too. This is overdue. It’s exactly what you need to do. You know it. It’s the reason you chose this. That moment when you were faced with being the eternal wobbly third wheel, you made up your mind. It’s over. That part of your life is behind you, but you don’t know that you’ll ever stop feeling this way. 

It’s hard to settle in your seat, even knowing you have ten hours of flying ahead of you. Disembarking alone will be another hour at least, then finding the train station, another few hours... It’s a lot of time to think and you just can’t stop. 

You don’t take the book out of your bag or touch the screen in front of you. Instead, you sit, slumped down in your seat, eyes drifting back and forth, as you wallow in your self-pity. You stay like that through the flight. You decline the mid-flight meal and the snack cart. You don’t even get up to use the bathroom. 

You close your eyes and float away into memory. You can feel the scene around you. You can smell the stale air freshener forgotten on the shelf above the desk and hear the muffled thrum of music through the walls. You sit on the bed, your textbook open in your lap and your laptop open by your leg. Steve’s on the other end, phone in hand, texting as his golden hair flops forward over his head. 

He’s younger. That rosiness still kisses his cheeks as subtle freckles speckle his pale skin. Yet he’s just a well-built as ever. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, long legs. He’s the very picture that should appear next to ‘hunk’ in the dictionary. Every girl’s dream. Your dream. 

“Huh,” he chuckles and drops his phone, “this girl in my history class wants to meet up.” 

Your heart plucks and you force a smile, “a girl? Meet up?” 

“Oh, yeah, she lets me copy off her pop quiz every lecture. Guess I kinda owe her.” 

“Wow,” you utter, the only noise you can eke out. Owes her? Funny, you did his laundry last week and helped him print out his term paper... what do you get? 

“Yeah, so uh, do you think you could send me a copy of your notes?” He pushes himself to the edge of the bed. “I probably won’t be back tonight.” 

“Right,” you nod and hide your embarrassment at the insinuation. 

“You can crash here if you wanna. Long way across campus at night,” he shrugs casually as he grabs his varsity jacket. 

“No, I’ll... I’ll just go now,” you get off the bed and close up your books. 

“Probably a good idea. Just in case she wants to come back here,” he chuckles, “see ya in poli sci?” 

“Sure,” you keep your chin down. “See ya.” 

Your eyelids lift as you come out of the dazed memory.  

New York is gone. Steve is gone. You’re all alone. You’ve left it all behind but that home was never a home. It was all a farce you built on a childish hope. You’re done lying to yourself. It was never going to be. You didn’t miss any chance at all. You just wasted your own time. 

You just languish there in the airplane seat. It’s still hard to believe it’s all real. It isn’t until the wheels bounce and hit the tarmac that it fully sinks in. 

You’re not doing that again. You’re better off alone. You have to be, right? You don’t really know. You don’t even know yourself. You just know the girl who only wanted to be what he needed. 

But what do you need? What do you want? Can you figure it out? Is there anything in this land for you that you couldn’t find in New York? 

At least you’ll have lots of time to figure that out. Intimate hours with yourself to dwell and cringe and regret. Time to think, time to move on, time to cut him out. 

As you join the line to have your Visa stamped, you pull out your phone and turn off airplane mode. You swipe through to Steve’s last message. It was weeks ago. That makes it easier to hit that button; ‘mute’. It’s a start. Maybe in a few weeks, you’ll be ready to hit ‘block’. 

[plusultraetc]

I’m pretty sure I ended up figuring out that, timeline-wise, AFO still had eyes at that point, but this is still funny

[ramhaiba]

𝖢𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀

Pairing- Yandere Bokuto x Reader MasterList

"But to Bokuto. It’s not just a crush, it’s love."

A/N- this is one of my drafts, so this is shorter than most of my work (might make a longer ver. of this fic in the future!)

Everyone knows Boktuo probably has a crush on you. The topic of Bokuto’s childish crush on you is spoken like taboo. There is a nonverbal agreement between the entire MSBY to refrain from acknowledging it because of its harmless yearning.

While Boktuo’s a great guy, the idea of getting into another workplace relationship sounds displeasing to you since your last one ended in a disaster, causing you to quit your job due to the uncomfortable work environment. 

That’s why you pray he doesn’t ask you to dinner or anything romantic related because the sight of a heartbroken Bokuto would haunt your dreams. But that is your future problem-At present, Bokuto seems to be ignorant of his feelings because if he did, he wouldn’t hesitate to show up to practice, a bouquet in his hands, confessing his attraction towards you. 

Thankfully in the present, Bokuto just thinks of you as a good friend- a good friend who he can’t get enough of, a good friend who he wants to spend all his time with. Sure- sometimes he gets a little moody when he catches you hanging around other people but that’s just a normal thing for good friends to feel right? Right?

He’s doing it again, he’s completely ignoring every responsibility he has so he can talk to you. The second you step into the gymnasium, he’s at your side so fast that you think he teleported. Bokuto would start blathering about the more random things, details about his day, his plans for the weekend, and family events. But he always complimented your appearance, regardless of whether you thought you looked like a mess. The conversation was getting too long.

You could see in the background that Atsumu was getting impatient, hands on his hips as his foot repeatedly tapped the ground.

A setter needs to train with their team. But Atsumu can’t exactly do that if his teammate is busy chatting up their manager. “Bokuto, that sounds really great but shouldn’t you get back to pratice?” you told Bokuto, trying to solve the issue. 

Boktuo tilted his head, a naive smile on his lips as he said “It’s fine, we can talk for five more minutes. Atsumu can wait.”

That was Atsumu's last straw, his eyebrows furrowing as his fingers curled into a fist at his side.

“Bokuto, could ya please stop flirting with your little girlfriend? Get yer ass back to the court, we have a game coming to prepare for” Atsumu huffed. You glance at Bokuto, noticing his dazed expression, it seems like gears in his brain are finally turning.

“Girl-friend?”Bokuto uttered in disbelief, his arms slumped forward. When his yellow eyes looked back at you, you noticed a slight blush crawling on his face, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped.

“Bokuto-”

“I gotta pratice now, Y/n. Talk to you later” Bokuto interrupted, dashing back to the court. You looked at Atsumu, giving him the most pissed-off look because judging by Boktuo's sudden change in emotion- from happy-go-lucky to a bashful blushing ace, 

It looks like he finally realized why your friendship was so different from others.

But to Bokuto. It’s not just a crush, it’s love.

It’s all that stupid setter’s fault that Bokuto is acting all weird in front of you. The second pratice ends, you’re pulling Atsumu by his ear, dragging him to the locker room so you can curse at him.

“You just had to use the word ‘girlfriend.’ You ruined this whole thing, Miya” you shouted, cornering the blonde hair setter against a locker.

“Sorry- Sorry, c’mon it was in the heat of the moment” Atsumu huffed, averting his eyes in embarrassment. 

“God- I’m going to have to break that poor boy’s heart because of you” you sighed. “What’cha mean by that?” Atsumu asked.

“Well, knowing Bokuto- he’s probably going to ask me on a date. But I’ve kinda..sworn off of workplace romances permanently” you answered, the anger in your tone slowly fading.

Atsumu took a moment to think before opening his mouth,

“We can’t have him acting all heartbroken right now- a match is coming up and I seriously cannot set to a depressed Bokuto….So just make sure he can’t ask ya out then” Atsumu suggested.

“What do you mean by that” you questioned, unsure of what he was trying to get at. “Avoid him till this little crush burns out. If that doesn’t work, it won’t hurt to get a boyfriend, y’know?” Atsumu added.

You punched Atsumu’s arm for his last suggestion causing him to hiss.

 “You’re an asshole but avoiding him for a little while isn’t such a bad idea” you hummed. “Does that mean I’m forgiven” Atsumu huffed, rubbing his sore forearm. “For now” you replied.

—

Avoiding Bokuto was a lot harder than you expected it to be. When he attempted to greet you at practice, you’d straightforwardly tell him “ I have to go schedule the hotel reservations for the out-of-state game,” or you’d mention another responsibility you must fill. 

Either way, he would let out a noticeable pout every time you walked away, mumbling a weak “okay then.”

Then he’s trying to get your attention after practice, a nervous but excited expression on his face as he stands in front of you but you don’t let him utter a single word before reminding him that you have to go home quickly to do some laundry.

‘Laundry? Was laundry really more important than him?’

Bokuto wondered. He doesn’t understand why the love of his life is acting so strange. Maybe you’re not feeling well? Or you’re stressed.

Either way, Bokuto is showing up at your door, holding a gift basket, a big grin on his lips. 

“Bokuto? What's all of this” you asked, awkwardly as you opened the door for him.

“ Figured you’ve been stressed recently that’s why you’ve been acting so distant, so I made ya a little self-care basket.” Bokuto beamed, proudly holding the basket of assorted goods. Everything in that basket is expensive, you can tell by the popular brands of each bottle of lotion, candles, and sweets.

“ Thank you, Bokuto. But you didn’t have to do this” you responded, calmly as you carefully took the basket from his hand, trying your best not to come in contact with his fingertips.

“I don’t mind doing these things if it’s for you. I’m pretty sure I’d do anything for you” Bokuto laughed bashfully.

“ Well.. goodnight.” You mumbled, trying to close the door, but his foot interrupted its closing.

“ Actually, I was kinda meaning to ask you something”

Fuck- here it is, the moment you’ve been dreading.

“Y/n, after hearing what ‘Tsumu said on the court the other day, it kinda got me wondering about somethings” Bokuto commented, a bashful grin across his lips.

“W-what kind of things” you stuttered, trying to put up a fake smile as mentally you were dreading the worst.

“I think I wouldn’t mind- I wouldn’t at all mind being able to call you my girlfriend” Bokuto confessed.

Fuck- what do you do? He’ll be too upset to play for his match next week if you reject him. You’d be lying to him if you accepted his feelings and hurt him more when you admit the truth.

“Bokuto- I don’t think we should get into this conversation, it might distract you from your game that’s coming up” you suggested.

Bokuto leans his face closer to yours, only a centimeter apart causing your heart to race. “You look so nervous, Y/n” he pointed out, his fingers brushing over the apples of your cheeks.

 “And your cheeks… they feel so hot” he mumbled. “I-it’s nothing important, I’m fine You responded, swatting his hand away from your face, adverting your eyes from his unmoving glare. 

“At first I didn’t completely understand why you’ve been pushing me away, Y/n. But now I understand. It’s because you feel the same and you’re nervous about dating another co-worker. But I’m not like that guy, Y/n. I’d never treat you like trash. I’d never let you go” Bokuto confessed. He’s getting excited- too excited because he’s come up with a false reality where you’d reciprocated his feelings. 

“Bokuto, I’m sorry but I don’t- I don’t feel the same and I don’t think I ever will” you replied being forced to ruin his dream. His entire demeanor changes at your words. It was like a switch flipped in his brain. Once standing in front of you with a big grin now morphed into an emotionless expression, eyes dulling burning holes into you, fist clenched at his side.

“Are you saying I’m wrong?” Bokuto asked, trying to find out if he heard you correctly.

“I’m saying I don’t have romantic feelings for you, Bokuto. B-but I really cherish our friendship and I don’t mind still being friends after this” you responded. 

“I don’t want that. I don’t want to be friends” Bokuto commented, his hand curling over your doorframe, pushing himself into your apartment, every step he took forward caused you to walk backward.

“Bokuto, stop it- you’re scaring me,” you remarked, heart skipping as your back pressed against the wall. “I like you so much, Y/n. I really do and I think you could too. I just need to show you how good I can be to you-

For you”

[treasuredplanet]

plans to see sleeping at last tonight and based on where we’re at emotionally I’m going to start openly sobbing during the first 0.5 seconds of saturn

[olderthannetfic]

Of course people are being defensive, Spotify Anon. You rolled into the Fandom Old corner of Tumblr to tell us to examine our biases based on a streaming platform that only half of us even use at all.

Someome compared it to the f/f wank and they're right. If you accuse people of bullshit based on completely ufounded speculation, half of them will block you and the other half will explain to you why you're wrong. And we can't block other people's anons, so you're just going to have to endure a barrage of "this is bullshit and here's why". You asked for this, this is us examining the racial bias in our spotify wrapped and going "huh, it can't show bias if it doesn't exist" or "how does the fact that I listen to weird non-American music you've never heard of say anything about my feelings about the personhood and rights of American popstars I've never heard of?"

--

Spotify wrapped season is really popular broadly (though not so much around here) to the point that I find it very annoying since you apparently have to download the app to see wrapped??? I hate this season every year.

I use spotify via a browser, grudgingly, because some friends' fun guess-the-song stuff is on there. I had to use it at the fertility clinic because that's what they use to play music while injecting you with eggs. (I picked Mono if anyone is curious, but given how insanely painful being inflated with saline was, I should probably have picked D-2. I just thought it wasn't available because Spotify used to NOT FUCKING HAVE most of BTS' side projects because Spotify sucks donkey balls. Have I mentioned lately how much I resent the ubiquity of this piece of garbage? Have I?)

The thing that gets me that I hadn't quite worked out until just now is that 100 songs is the precise right amount to feel huge and significant without actually being so. Top 100 albums or artists is still an illusion of knowing what someone listens to. (Spotify has been improving, but they still routinely don't have the stuff I want.) But at least there, by the time you get to my 100th most listened to artist for a year, you might have some kind of picture of what I listen to.

Now, if you only listen to prog rock on vinyl, maybe your top 100 songs represent about 50 albums. >:D But let's say you're listening to some modern albums with bonus tracks and shit on Spotify. Your top 100 might be March When I Broke Up And Listened To The Same Five Albums Day And Night. No matter how diverse and interesting the rest of your musical diet, your bland-ass breakup playlist is now ninety out of one hundred songs on your Spotify Wrapped for this year.

I think it's that previously not totally conscious thought about how many 100 songs really is that was annoying me until just now.

Sure, it's just one scenario, but I think this sense of what 100 songs means is what's really annoying me about how people go on about Wrapped. Not just here and about racism: All the mainstream blathering about Wrapped annoys the shit out of me too every damn year.

It's a little like kudos. The top 200-500 most kudosed things in a big fandom may well show some pattern I find interesting. The top 100 most kudosed things show that people like that daily updating omegaverse crossover ship epic with Tony Stark.

Okay, okay, with kudos, you could probably exclude the top 10-30 depending on fandom size, but you know what I mean. Your last 100 fics read mean little, IMO. Your last 100 fandoms read, which is likely to be significantly more than 100 fics, is interesting to me.

It's my usual Numbers Are Deceptive complaint about how people love stats but do not contextualize things well.