#but again i'm surprised that anyone even read my self-indulgent fics at all

[wignalluvion]

[from-the-clouds]

savior complex - joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller

All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine

summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one.  ♥

“What do you want?” 

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says. 

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference. 

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second. 

He’s covered in blood. 

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow. 

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?” 

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained. 

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?” 

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave? 

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.  

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile. 

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.” 

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue. 

Joel doesn’t answer. 

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard. 

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that. 

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict. 

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?” 

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side. 

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.” 

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow. 

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one. 

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child. 

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips. 

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest. 

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable? 

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand. 

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction. 

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage. 

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy. 

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.  

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.” 

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell. 

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.” 

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do. 

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers. 

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….” 

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard. 

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you. 

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes. 

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching. 

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges. 

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling. 

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper. 

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide. 

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up. 

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration. 

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing. 

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say. 

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder. 

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?” 

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed. 

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you. 

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought. 

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk.  Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask. 

“It was sitting out.” 

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits. 

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound. 

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them. 

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?” 

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head.  “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.” 

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection. 

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-” 

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool. 

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done. 

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it. 

I’m sorry. 

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once. 

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward. 

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film. 

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy. 

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide. 

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap. 

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to. 

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase. 

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?” 

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes. 

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts. 

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur. 

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement. 

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans. 

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you. 

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you. 

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.” 

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well. 

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time. 

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate. 

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.” 

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again. 

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known. 

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer. 

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing. 

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling. 

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him. 

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved. 

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles. 

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.” 

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

part ii

[videogamelover99]

[Gravity Falls] Waking Days Ch. 1: Waddles

Summary: Bill Cipher is reborn, but not in the way he would have wanted. Stuck as a mortal and relying on those who brought his downfall, he realizes that maybe he didn't lie as hard as he should have. [AO3 Link] Characters: Bill Cipher, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Stanford Pines, Stanley Pines, Jheselbraum the Unswerving, The Axolotl Pairings: None (past BillFord) Rating: T

A/N: Welcome to my self-indulgent, Bill Cipher-centric character exploration that is this fic! First off, thank you all so much for voicing your support over this story. There's so much planned that I want to share.

The format for this story will have an episodic feel. I originally planned these chapters to be 7k-8k words long, with one "episode" per chapter, but dividing them into smaller chunks might be the way to go.

ALSO! I'm currently looking for a beta reader! Preferably someone with a few published fics, but I'm really open to anyone who can read finalized versions of chapters and give me some notes. Send me an ask if you're interested!

Thank you for going on this journey with me. Enjoy!

---

Deep in the redwood forests of central Oregon lay a small little town called Gravity Falls. With a population of a few thousand, low on tourism, and high on mosquito bites, the town was hard to find on any of the maps, and some might have claimed that the town hadn’t even existed. 

Fewer still knew of the oddities that made the town their home, passerbys had nothing to say outside of an “eerie feeling” and a glimpse of tiny men in pointed caps in the corner of their vision. 

But the town was real, and the oddities were more real still. 

In the outskirts of that town, down a dilapidated forest path, in a clearing sat The Mystery Shack, an old scientist’s lab turned tourist attraction. It was in this house, on a stiff, plushy couch, framed by the light of a seemingly empty water tank, that Bill Cipher, the monster with one eye, harbinger of chaos and trillion-year-old mind demon awoke, in a body that was not his and whose irritating human instincts he deeply resented. 

“Gah!”

“Screee!”

"Ow!"

Instincts like rapid breathing, sweatiness, and overall shakiness usually meant one of these dozen organs wasn’t working properly. Unfortunately, after waking up for the dozenth time in this manner, Bill had to admit that the organs weren’t the problem. 

Not that he could remember what the problem was. Whatever dream or nightmare had caused this current inconvenient bout of terror, whatever remnants of it were blank, fuzzy static on a rotting television screen. 

It was more annoying than anything. 

Bill started his nightly routine of picking himself off the floor. The blanket he had was tangled around his legs, which were somehow still on the sofa. After a moment or two of clumsily getting the appendages to move, Bill managed to heave himself upright.

Bill rubbed his eyes, he had two now. So weird. 

"Oik!"

Mabel's pig sat on the rug next to his head, staring blankly.

"What're you looking at, huh?"

"Oik!"

"None of your business."

"Oik oik!"

"No, what do I look like, a snack machine?"

"O-oik!"

"Ha! So's your mother!"

Waddles chose that moment to get up and trot away, done with the conversation. Well, good, Bill was done with him, too.

He stole a glance at the water tank. Still empty. Figures old Frilly wouldn't be there when Bill had a bone to pick with him. Maybe he should put some mercury in the water. As a surprise.

What was the point of stuffing him in this body, anyway? Did the ol’ salamander really think it would do anything? Was it to scare him? To torture him? To tell him how awful and evil he was and all those other meaningless statements that Bill had found hilarious in his time? 

Crimes against the second dimension? It was a crime that the place had existed the way it did. A rotten, broken building called for a demolition. He’d just had the detonator. 

Why would you do this?

Ugh, not again.

I-I wish I was dead! I wish I wouldn’t have to see what a monster you’ve-

Bill pulled himself up onto the couch and raised the blanket over his head. As if that could block out the incessant voice that only showed up at the worst of times. 

He would not sleep again.

—

Dipper walked into the kitchen and came face to face with his Great Uncle Stan trying to rinse a semi-cooked egg out of his hair under the kitchen sink. 

“Wow, Grunkle Stan, are you okay?”

“Huh?!” Stan turned around, anger barely concealing his twitch of embarrassment. “Oh, it’s just you. Gimmie a hand, kid.”

“What happened?” Dipper asked, angling the faucet to better rinse out Stan’s scalp. He’s done worse things for his Grunkle. Barely. 

“That triangle freak happened, that’s what. When I get my hands on him I’m gonna-” 

Ah, Dipper should’ve guessed. Bill had developed a bad habit of pranking Grunkle Stan wherever he felt like it and then conveniently disappearing in the aftermath. There was that incident with the freezer a few days ago. And the stick of butter last Sunday. Not to mention the spider incident. Ugh. 

It had only been a few weeks since Bill had become the Mystery Shack’s unwilling resident, but even in that short time, he had managed to establish himself as Stan’s worst nightmare. Dipper had a feeling it wasn’t the pranks that got to Stan as much as it was that the demon had managed to one-up him in the trick department so many times. 

“Look, just- gimmie word if you see the little devil. We’re gonna have a talk.” Stan clenched his fist in emphasis.

—

Mabel came out of the elevator and was confronted by her Grunkle Ford in a futuristic super suit, pointing a sci-fi gun in her direction.

“Mabel!” He quickly lowered it. “I’m so sorry! It’s the reflexes.”

“What’s that?” Not at all fazed by the near-death experience, she pointed at the gun in question. It didn’t look like the one that shot lasers, and it didn’t look like the one that was basically a giant magnet, so it must’ve been new.

“Oh, this? I was just testing this when you walked in.” Ford trained the gun on an apple sitting on his desk. “Would you like to see how it works? It’s quite fascinating.”

She saw the familiar hazard sign on the side. “Ooh, does it fire radiation, like in that one movie with the green guy? Dipper and I have got to sit you down for one of our movie nights! Culture has come a long way since you fell through that portal.” She added sagely.

Grunkle Ford winced. “Maybe later.”

She hesitated for only a moment, looking down at her shoes. “It’s because of Bill, isn’t it?” she said quietly. 

“That’s not something you should worry about.”

“I don’t want you to not spend time with us just because he’s there,” she insisted. “We can tell him to beat it if you need us to.”

“It’s not a discussion I should be having with you. It’s just…never mind. Would you still like to see how this works?” He lifted the gun.

“Sure!” She could brag to Dipper about it later.

Ford once again pointed the gun at the apple and fired. A bright blue flash lit up the room, and a small blue box formed around the apple, trapping it inside. Mabel walked up to it and poked it lightly. The box fizzed but stayed where it was. “Cool! A box gun.”

“My newest invention,” Ford said, picking up the box. “A weapon that locks its target in a perpetual state of quantum uncertainty. I call it ‘Schrodinger’s Pistol’.”

“Wow. So the apple is like, dead and alive in there.”

“I’m surprised you know it.”

“We got taught it in school once. It was about cats! I didn’t think it would be dead cats, though.” 

“I see. However, a more accurate description would be that the apple both does and does not exist in this box. To affirm one or the other, we would need to remove the box and check, but until then it would remain in flux.”

“So if we open this box, can I eat it?”

“Well, I suppose if you time it right…” Grunkle Ford hit a switch on the gun and pointed it again. A little meter on the side went up and down up and down up and- he fired. The box disintegrated, leaving behind the apple, the same as it was before. “There we go. Perfectly safe to eat. Probably not full of radiation.”

As Mabel chomped down on the apple, Ford tucked the gun into his belt. “So what did you come to me for?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mabel tried to chew. Bits of apple few in different directions. “Have you seen Waddles? He likes to wander down here sometimes. I’m sending an audition for our school band, and I need a backup dancer. The makeup takes a long time.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen him. Why do you need Waddles for you to do your makeup?” 

“Not my makeup, silly. His!”

At that, Ford looked slightly concerned. 

—

“There! That should do it.”

Jeselbraum the Unswerving, now in the brand-new human form Ford was still getting used to, backed away from the rift, and watched as the clock-like device buried itself in the bark of the tree the rift had originated from. Lines of metal filaments shot out from the device, embedding themselves in the tree and the ground beneath it. They glowed faintly. The clock chimed.

She gestured for Ford to back away, and he did so, staring at the device in wonder.

String-like tendrils hot out from the filaments, weaving together like a transparent tapestry until they formed a bubble around the clock. As more and more strings shot out, the bubble grew until it contained the tree in its entirety, including the tear in reality that had been causing Ford so many sleepless nights. The strings vanished, and the bubble settled, rippling a little in the wind.

“It’s a time bubble,” Ford said, a hint of wonder escaping him. “But it’s…artificially made?”

“Yes.”

“And it was made by that friend you mentioned?”

“No. He had suggested it as the best course of action,” Jess’s smile turned a little bit smug. “But it was made by me.”

“Ah,” Ford turned back to the time bubble. The tree and everything surrounding it had frozen, time moving at a microscopic degree not perceptible by the human eye. “What a simple solution, delaying the decay as much as possible. I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it.”

“It won’t hold forever,” Jeselbraum’s smile faded. “And it’s only a matter of time before more cracks start forming on this side of the dimensional break. Bill Cipher’s realm cannot be contained, and sooner or later it will implode on itself. He knew that very well, which is why he was so desperate to get out.”

“But if crossing into our dimension would only bring the decay along with him, what was the point?”

She shrugged. “Hindsight is 20/20.”

Ford couldn’t help but laugh. But soon the anxiety returned. “I need to ask you something.”

“Hm?”

“Do you think it’s possible for something to pass through that rift? Into our dimension?”

Jeselbraum pondered the question for a moment. “I suppose it is. And if such a thing happens it will only widen the crack. Think of it like a piece of fabric: if you have one with a tear in it, when you wear the garment that tear can only grow. The only way to repair it is to find the right thread, which…”

“Is currently impossible.”

“Yes.” Jeselbraum scowled. “And if the rip in this dimension continues, it will not just be your dimension at stake.”

—

Bill peered past his distorted reflection into the tank. The Axolotl peered up at him, its beady little eyes blinking once, twice. 

It looked just like an ordinary axolotl, but Bill knew better.

“Laugh it up, Frilly,” he muttered. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not gonna work.”

And what do you think I am trying to do?

“You know what!”

Clarification would be helpful.

Chiding. It was chiding him. Like he was a child.

“You’re the one who should be-!”

“Uh, who are you talking to?”

Bill turned around. Dipper was growing up at him, one arm clutching that blue book he always carried. His own little journal. I knew the kid was obsessed but this is embarrassing.

“Someone your limited human mind wouldn’t even comprehend the existence of.”

“So…yourself? Didn’t pin you as that kind of crazy.” Dipper leaned to the side to look behind Bill. Of course, it was useless, because Dipper saw nothing but an empty tank filled with rocks and fake seaweed. The Axolotl only showed itself to those he wanted to, and right now, what he wanted to do was torment Bill.

“Kid, I’m every kind of crazy.”

“Lucky us.”

“Yeup. So, figure it out yet?”

Dipper frowned. “That code. You weren’t just messing with me, were you?”

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t. Who knows!”

“You do.”

“Ha! Got me there.”

Dipper scrutinized him for a moment. Bill just grinned. Finally, the boy stomped his foot in frustration. “Ugh, I hate you!” Bill laughed.

“Hey guys,” Mabel walked in, in a brand new sweater that sported a small white goose holding a knife, covered in pink glitter. She held a chocolate bar in her hand. “I heard evil laughter. Nothing’s on fire, right? Have you guys seen Waddles?”

“Nothing’s on fire. And no, I haven’t,” said Dipper, “Bill?”

“Sure I did.”

The two twins waited for him to elaborate.

“He’s a pig. Pink, round, the works.”

“I meant today!” Mabel cried. “Have you seen him today?”

Bill flopped onto the couch and searched for the TV remote. “Nope!”

His view of the screen was quickly taken up by Mabel, her hands on her hips. “I’ve got a word with you, mister.” 

Bill made a face. “I told you, I haven’t seen your codependent pig. Ain’t transparent, Shooting Star, get out of the way.”

Mabel did not get out of the way. Instead, she became more in the way, stomping her way closer. “Grunkle Stan looked pretty egged up today. Literally.”

Bill grinned at that. He was pretty proud of that trick in particular. “Oh yeah? Sounds like a case of bad luck. Maybe it’s raining eggs, like that one time in 1376! Ask the gnomes. Or the flesh-eating termites that live in your walls.”

Dipper gave the walls a wary look. Gullible.

“We know it was you,” said Mabel. “Grunkle Stan was pretty angry.” She snatched the remote away from Bill, triumphant in the face of his protest. “You need to say sorry.”

It took a bit for Bill to process what she was saying. Then he laughed. Longer than usual. “Good one, Shooting Star!” He wiped a fake tear from his eye. 

“I’m serious,” said Mabel, “if you’re gonna keep living with us-”

“Here’s something I’m letting you in on, kid. A great big secret you’re now privy to. Ready? I don’t apologize. That’s not what I do. What I do is cause unimaginable torment and unending nightmares to the people I don’t like. You know, fun times all around! Saying ‘my bad!’ kinda defeats the point, doesn’t it?”

Mabel stomped her foot. “I want you to say sorry!”

“And I want that remote,” Bill shrugged. “Hey! I know, let’s make a deal. You give me the remote and I tell you where your little pig went.”

Mabel blinked. “You will?”

“Sure! Just shake my hand-”

“Do not shake his hand,” said Dipper. 

“Fine,” Bill held his hand out. “Your end first, Star.”

Mabel eyed him with suspicion, but after a beat of silence handed him the remote.

“Well?” Demanded Mabel.

“He went out,” said Bill.

“Out where?”

“Out,” Bill pointed at the door.

“Oh no,” Mabel’s face fell “You let him go outside?!”

“Hey, he’s a free pig, he can do what he wants! Although…” Bill trailed off. “Gotta hand it to ya, kid, you sure know how to keep your pets on a tight leash if you know what I mean. Word of advice, if you’re gonna force your minion to do all your bidding, don’t let him run around all willy-nilly on the off times. Makes them start questioning things.”

“I don’t force him to do anything,” Mabel snapped, suddenly defensive.

“Sure, yeah. Bet he loves being shoved into a princess outfit and paraded out on the street. Or forced to lie on his back for hours as you make a macaroni replica of him. Or made to learn the polka. Don’t need the animal rights brigade showing up at your doorstep!”

“But he loves doing that stuff…” Mabel’s voice took on a strange, thick quality. Suddenly, Bill the conversation a lot less funny than how it started. The dream he had that night had taken the joy out of pretty much everything.

Maybe he’d make her go away. “You sure about that?” He looked pointedly at the door. Mabel seemed to get the message, heading toward it.

“Waddles! Waadles!” Mabel raised the chocolate bar again, a waver in her voice. “I’ve got your favorite snack!” She ran out the door. 

Dipper kicked Bill in the shin. 

“Ow! Hey!”

“Don’t say stuff like that to Mabel!” said Dipper. “She’s gonna take you seriously!” The boy ran after his sister. “Mabel! Mabel, come back!”

Bill flipped to the reality TV channel. Nothing like watching dumb idiots getting at each other’s throats to make him take his mind off…this entire day. 

Where was that pig, anyway?

—

Stan settled the new welcome signs next to the porch and checked his shoes for traps before putting them on. No laces not tied together? Check. No superglue on the soles? Check. 

It wasn’t like he asked for this.

I did, damn it. I knew it was a terrible idea to keep him here. 

They could’ve…well, not killed him. Dumped him in the nearest asylum maybe. One with tight security. Hey, got another one of those psychopathic crazies, no need to thank us, don’t ask questions, just take him!

Stan picked up the poster boards with gaudy Mystery Shark advertisements and slammed the door harder than necessary. Of course, no one listened to him, the guy with any common sense.

It was late afternoon when he was down to his last poster, tired from all the walking. Dipper had, for once, offered to do this for him, but Stan had already given up the Shack to Soos, and this was…nostalgic, in a way. He looked down at the sign, tracing the old, hand-painted groves he’d hastily carved out the first few years he’d gotten this place. Years of hard work had paid off, after all. 

Stan shook himself from the memory, remembered that Ford was here, the portal was dismantled, and the Stan of War 2 existed, and felt ridiculous at how emotional this sign made him all of a sudden. Well, time to leave these feelings in the woods, where they belonged!

He raised his hammer when he heard it, the tell-tale growl of some kind of animal. 

His grip on the hammer tightened. The sign and the nail dropped, forgotten. 

“Darn coyotes, scram, you hear me!”

The growl did not falter. It got louder as if the thing that made it was getting closer. 

It was a strange growl. Instead of a continuous roar, it was like multiple shorter sounds, layered on top of each other in a disjoined, continuous harmony. These sounds felt familiar. 

Stan did what any sensible man would do in this situation, and hightailed out of there. 

He didn’t get very far, tripping over a large tree root and falling face-first into a large pile of wet leaves.

“Oh, come on!”

He tried to stand up, but his shoe was stuck, wedged between two of the roots. He tried to rip his foot out of the shoe, but not dice. It was like his foot was stuck to the sole. 

Like someone had glued it in.

“Are you kidding me? That little-!”

The bush next to him shivered, the growl was louder, and he could finally make out what it was. It was…

OInK.

oinkOinkOINKoiNKoinKoinkOINKoinK!

“Aaaagh!”

The forest was silent once more. 

—

“Mabel, what are you doing?”

“Shh.”

Mabel sprinkled some more chocolate in the corner of the back porch. Dipper watched, as in front of his very eyes, a small group of ants emerged from the crack in the floor and carried one of the pieces away.

“Mabel, that’s not gonna help! You’re just attracting more bugs.”

Mabel made a frustrated noise and crumpled up the remaining bar, stuffing it in her pocket. “But he loves chocolate, Dipper! Waddles can’t live without chocolate! Why isn’t he coming back? Do you think something happened to him? Do you think…do you think I’m the one who made him leave?”

“Hey, come on,” Dipper put an arm around his sister. “Don’t listen to Bill. About anything. But especially this. You’re a great owner, and Waddles loves you. We’ll find him!”

Mabel sniffed and wiped her eyes with a chocolate-stained hand. “Promise?”

“Of course, Dum Dum.” 

Mabel looked out into the moonlit trees beyond their house, the dark forest surrounding the Shack seemed quiet, today. “Grunkle Stan’s been out for a while, too. Do you think maybe he found Waddles?”

They listened as the wind settled between the trees, rustling the leaves and bending the tall redwoods at their tops.

And another noise. It sounded like a growl.

“Did you hear that?” Mabel asked.

“Yeah,” Dipper looked out into the treeline. “Could be a coyote. Or a mountain lion.”

The growl was louder. Whatever it was, it was coming closer.

“Waddles is out there!” Mabel bolted toward the trees, only for Dipper to grab her by the elbow.

“Mabel, hold on! We don’t know what it is!”

“What if it has Waddles?”

“Waddles is a smart pig, a coyote wouldn’t get him.” Dipper let go of her sleeve once he was sure she wouldn’t run away. 

The growl came again, and the hair on Dipper’s arms stood on end. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a wild animal. That growl just sounded wrong. “M-Maybe we should get inside.”

The brush underneath the tree line shook menacingly.

“Like, now.”

Together, they bolted inside and locked the doors. 

“But what about the Grunkles?” Mabel asked.

“They have the key,” Dipper assured her. “And survival skills, they’ll be-”

The growl was closer, whatever it was, it was prowling outside.

“We should turn off all the lights,” Dipper said. “Maybe then it’ll leave.”

The twins ran through all the first-floor rooms, turning off each light. It was following them, the growl carrying from the front porch to the kitchen and through the corridor into the living room, where they came face-to-face with their previous enemy, watching TV while hanging upside down from the couch.

Dipper shut off the light and pulled the plug on the TV.

“Hey!”

Dipper tossed the plug aside. “Did you not hear the monster outside?”

“The only monster you’re gonna worry about is the one who’ll rearrange your liver if you don’t plug that thing back- Wait. You hear that?”

The three of them went quiet. The growl came, closer than ever, behind the door to the front porch.

“If we keep very quiet,” Dipper muttered, “It won’t know we’re here.”

“Great plan, kid, file that under-”

“Bill! Shut up!” Dipper whispered harshly.

There was a noise behind the back door. It sounded like-

SNIFF, SNIFF. 

For a moment, there was only silence.

“Huh,” Dipper said, “maybe it left.”

SCREEEE!

“Aaaaah!”

Dipper and Mabel grabbed onto each other as something slammed against the door, old hinges creaking under the pressure. 

Dipper and Mabel scrambled behind the couch next to Bill. “Can’t you do something?!”

“Oh, yeah, lemme just turn your little problem into a nice party hat and- oh wait, I can’t! Gee, I wonder if it’s because someone killed me and made me lose my powers!”

The monster slammed harder into the door. DIpper flinched and grabbed Mabel’s hand.

“So what’s the plan?” Mabel asked.

“I, uh,” Dipper’s voice got stuck in his throat as the unknown creature let out a distorted, hungry roar.

“Set it on fire,” said Bill.

“We’re not doing that,” Dipper said. 

“Fine, you got any venomous snakes lying around?” 

“We’re definitely not doing…whatever that is.”

The growl faded into an eerie silence. 

“Do you think it’s gone?” Mabel whispered.

Dipper strained to hear anything outside of the house. Nothing but the wind and the trees creaking outside.

Carefully, Dipper climbed from behind the couch, Mabel following suit. He walked over to the door and pressed his ear on its surface. He then peaked through the blinds. The porch was empty, and so was the surrounding clearing.

“Haha, it’s gone!” Dipper breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Whadaya think it was?” Mabel asked.

“No idea. Some mutated wild animal? A creature we haven’t seen yet?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t run after it,” Mabel joked.

“Didn’t need to!” Dipper grinned. “The security system, remember? Soos updated it recently, it covers even more ground now. Whatever it is, it was caught on tape, we just have to play it back.”

“Then let's do it!”

The office didn’t look that different than it had a year ago. The room was filled with Stan’s old knickknacks, but there was a Soos touch to things in the corners, evidence of the new Mr. Mystery’s influence. The gaming system in the corner, for one, and the little anime figurines on the desk. There was a photo of Melody on the wall, standing on a Portland beach and smiling at the camera. Another photo was of Soos, Dipper, and Wendy in front of that jacked-up go-cart Soos made for his web show. 

“Okay, here we go,” Dipper found the remote and wound back the tape playing on the monitor. “Huh, that’s…weird.” 

Dipper went frame by frame through the tape. Just a few seconds after Mabel and Dipper locked the door, a strange distortion came over the TV, making the porch appear fuzzy and pixelated. Like the tape itself was corrupted.

The fuzzy spot in the tape moved off-screen, seemingly circling the Shack, before coming back around and lingering on the porch.

“It’s censored!” Mabel said. “Like-”

“Looks like your little Mystery Monster’s got a knack for practical illusions!”

The twins both jumped and Bill’s sudden, grating voice. He was standing near the door, staring at the monitor with a curiosity Dipper didn’t like.

“What do you want?” Mabel snapped. Dipper was surprised by how harsh it sounded. Out of all the Pines, Mabel by far had the most patience with Bill. A worrying amount of patience. 

Bill seemed surprised too, but only for a moment. He shrugged, pointing a thumb back a the entrance. “Unfortunately, your WEIRD HUMAN FLESH is also stupidly tasty. And now I’m stuck as one of you! Getting eaten by your guest of the week would just be embarrassing.”

“Do you know what it is?” Dipper asked.

Bill came closer and squinted at the screen. “Fella’s got a knack for bending light, something only 51 species on your planet are capable of.” Bill tried counting on his fingers, then gave up. “Could be a badger.”

“Badgers are capable of bending light?” 

“You’ve never met enough badgers!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, it’s gone now,” Dipper sighed, “I should’ve gotten a glimpse while I had the chance.”

“Eager to be badger food?”

“It’s not a badger!”

“Guys,” Mabel said, “I think Dipper’s getting his wish.”

Something was creaking out in the hall.

“It’s just the floor, the wood is old,” Dipper said.

“Yeah, and bendy.”

“Yeah, and…” Dipper trailed off to see what his sister was pointing at. There, on the floor, two of the planks bent up, as if something underneath was trying to get out. That strange growl came, quieter and more distinct. It almost sounded like-

A nail from one of the planks came away and bounced off the wall. 

“It can burrow,” Dipper whispered in awe.

“Less gawking more running, Bro-bro!” Mabel yanked him by the hand and they ran out of the office, Bill not far behind. 

Dipper found his footing. “Gift shop! If we get into the basement, maybe-”

The planks came away, and wood splinters rained on the three of them. Dipper turned to see what this new monster they’d encountered was, and froze in his tracks.

Mabel beat him to it. “Waddles?!”

[scenetocause]

AO3 Wrapped!

stealing this off @strawberry-daiquiris even tho no one tagged me either because if u can't be a bit self indulgent on new year's day when can u etc

Works Published: 6 (not counting girloscar, altho i think i did write most of that in 2024)

Word Count: this took me an unreasonably long time to work out bc i initially added up all the fucking kudos didn't i. not like my job involves numbers or anything!!!! incredible i can tie my fucking shoelaces. anyway it's 10,999 which feels like a very curséd number

Top 3 Kudosed Fics:

taking girloscar out of the equation bc girloscar who receives 2-3 kudos a day still is an outlier and should not be counted

so far, i've given it up - bit surprised by this, thought the first one in this series would be higher but turns out you lot love lando coming in his pants on the peej

2. that dog in me - less surprised by this, who doesn't want a puppy oscar

3. you know i can wait - feels like it's actually mainstream to want to impregnate lando these days

my top ships and that are boring cus i basically just wrote landoscar and also the rancid pimando threesome.

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?  you know idk if i'd call it pride but maintaining my streak of being day one on various lando and/or maxf ships with starting the max fewtrell/lando norris/pietra pilao tag is the sort of structurally important fandom work i think of as "my role"

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? idk i'm always surprised anyone reads any of my nonsense tbh

What work was the quickest to write? i banged out the landoscar wanking on a private jet fic in literally 30 mins before i had to go to work because that's what you have to do when @goingxmissing tells you to do it

What work took you the longest to write?  girloscar by thousands of miles

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? lmao it's rimming. damn right!!!!!

Your favourite character to write this year? as always it was lando. i know other people hate being in his head but it's def my comfort zone (and entirely why i started writing fic again back with time thrown down the well)

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? girloscar in the sequel to climb up to your lips. she's not actually troublesome herself but some of it is so acute it makes me have to pause and detach myself from her a bit, which is why it's taking me so long to write.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? i have a horrid wip that's jenson/lewis/ollie bearman, along the lines of the jenson/lewis/lando from a few years back and that will be sinning its way onto the internet sooner or later

Favourite work you wrote this year? idk i mean it is definitely girloscar but then that feels a bit cheesy doesn't it. but i do love her and i reread that fic a lot, partly for referencing things into the sequel but also because i am genuinely amazed i finished it. i generally assume i'll fail at things because my parents didn't hug me enough or whatever and so being able to look at over 110k words and be like cor yeah i did do that innit is - don't wanna say like a point of pride or something wank but at the very least concrete evidence even i can't deny that i did finish something.

[mecachrome]

fic writer questions

haiii thank u @bright-and-burning for the tag :') nobody is online so i will Reflect and return with a worse image...

how many works do you have on AO3?

20 (16 on my main account, 4 on my sports account)... and then 15 more on dreamwidth 🥲

what's your total ao3 word count?

175.5k T__T

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

gurllll. no one needs to see my 11th grade k-pop fic like that

do you respond to comments? why or why not?

i try my best but i have a difficult relationship with my writing so i often block out that i wrote a fic at all after some time and it hinders my ability to acknowledge commenters directly ;__; and then i always feel awkward responding like 6 months late to someone so i just let it go even though i know no one actually minds... i really do appreciate every comment i get though and deeply cherish everyone's kind words and generosity!!!

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

i don't really write angsty endings tbh i just write vaguely bittersweet ambiguous stuff... perhaps sharl character study i wrote for a friend's birthday would be up there because the whole thing is just inelegant whump LOL

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

for my own birthday a couple of years ago i wrote an extremely self-indulgent k-pop fic with all of my favorite tropes and also coded elaborate interactive html/css elements with multimedia messages and notifications you could tap on and the whole thing was just sweet secret relationship toothrutting fluff 💗 anyway extremely cringe but i enjoyed myself and thought it was mostly cute

do you write crossovers?

i haven't for any fictional fandoms... the concept is fun though!

have you ever received hate on a fic?

not directly 2 my face !!!

do you write smut? if so, what kind?

i'm an ambiguous fade 2 black kind of guy even if i do try my best at times... TT i'm just too repressed 4 this life unfortunately. pwp writers have my major respect it really is sooo difficult to write cohesive compelling comprehensible porn 

have you ever had a fic stolen?

idts but i have had oomfs/people adjacent my circles turn out to be plagiarizers which is always an unpleasant surprise!

have you ever had a fic translated?

yasss shoutout to anyone who has translated my random fics to russian or spanish 🧡

have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes ! i wrote a bnha au for a k-pop ship with my friend once lol she wrote most of it and i kind of just contributed a scene and the concept but it was still really fun, she's a much better writer than i could ever hope to be... also helped friend finish a fic for a fest once because it was overdue and she tapped out so i was up until 6am filling in scenes randomly for her. oh to be 18 again <3

what's your all-time favorite ship?

unfortunately in f1 it is simply landoscar... all-time i don't know!!! actually i do but i don't want to say it. nvm

what's a wip that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

arghhh... all of my 814 wips at the moment honestly. especially my kidfic verse that i'm deeply attached to but tragically incapable of working on TT and the jb81 that i totally gave up on!!!

what are your writing strengths?

this is an oxymoron.... i have never written anything good in my entire life. i love to beta read other people's fic for grammar though that's always fun

what are your writing weaknesses?

poor/stiff dialogue, horrible romantic development, inconsistent scene lengths, completely flat plot, no concept of good writing practices in general, a horrible tendency to purple prose, inability to write any actual conflict, i could go on

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

ehmmm i had a lot of strong opinions on this in k-pop fandom LOL and then it was funny to see the same thing happening in f1 but just with different languages (so much random french/german dialogue...) but i think there are untranslatable or commonly recognized words that can be sprinkled in verbatim, like in k-pop it makes sense to use certain honorifics that don't have english equivalents but i draw the line at not translating existing terms like "mom" lol... but i have a lot of thoughts on how languages are communicated in fic in general (perhaps too many), like i also overthink how to communicate grammatical structure - so if i'm writing a french character speaking french but presenting the dialogue in english or same with korean in k-pop fic i usually try to make it flow in a way that is as grammatically reasonable as possible, which goes beyond simple semantics but into the actual logic of syntax + verb order... ok i'll stop actually

what was the first fandom you wrote for?

i was writing crasy fanfiction in middle school 🧡 earliest i remember though is probably naruto circa 6th/7th grade... honestly hard to say because i purged a lot of my ffdotnet output out of shame in 8th grade lmfao

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I Forgor...

what's your favorite fic you've written?

for my sports fics i'm partial to my latest 814 fic because i feel like it's just generally inoffensive and not plainly awful 🤔 in general though i'm attached to some of my like most niche audience_of_2 dw fic that i've written for nugu boy groups with literally 0 fans. like a level of total nobodyness few can comprehend........... we were in the trenches

no pressure tagging @piastrisms @chelemlem @miamimaiden @liamlawsonlesbian if it would be of any interest ! 🥰

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Little less than super, soldier

Basically an oc x zemo fic but I'm going to write it in y/n style because that's what I'm comfortable with ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also I am still working on Avatar and Spiderman fics just taking a self indulgent break because the FOCUStm is on Zemo rn.

Your characters background is clear as the story progresses but if you'd prefer to know it going in this is a post on it! And this is a short fic of that info too ✌

This is a part one... I got so excited and wrote a few more ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Summary: Sam gets back up from an old friend, meanwhile y/n is struggling to deal with Zemo.

warnings: for now canon typical violence, tho later chapters will contain mild body horror. Warnings will specify.

Nicht - Don't

Tut mir leid - I'm sorry

Soldat - Soldier

(My german is very basic so feel free to correct me!)

next

Sam hadn't seen you in years, not since he watched you walk away from him, Bucky and Steve. He couldn't argue with their decision, it was for the best. You were a wreck and despite his best hopes he knew you were right. If anyone knew you were alive they'd use you again.

Still he wasn't too surprised when you turned up at his house. He'd only been back from dust a few days earlier but he'd heard from others that you'd been there. Stepping up to help when people around the globe needed you. He hadn't realized the broken person he'd met screaming in a cell had so much heart.

Still you were a ball of nerves, being overly polite and stumbling over your questions. It was a far cry from the swearing, snapping venom you'd spit when the Avengers had you and it put him a little on edge. You just wanted to know if he was okay, if they all were and that you'd be leaving again. He'd given your shoulder a squeeze, despite the flinch, and wished you the best. You'd settled quickly under his had and that was the first time he saw you really smile.

He found the number a few hours later. A tiny scrap you'd somehow tucked into his own jean pocket. A small note, "Just in case." He felt oddly proud of who you'd become and kept it into his wallet.

That day passed into fond memory but every so often a little note and number would turn up. A small reminder you were out there and willing to help again. A few times he thought to call but he didn't. No point worrying you or pulling you back for nothing.

Only this wasn't nothing now. He and Bucky were stumped and with the threat of super-soldiers and he knew you'd want to know. Though the idea of dragging you back it was horrible. He felt the weight of his decision bearing down on his shoulders. Sam slumped further into his chair as he eyed the message. Then with a last deep breath in, his thumb tapped the glass.

Sent. Delivered. Read. Ellipsis.

Then nothing. He waited, head in hands, regretting it immediately. It wasn't like you wouldn't be a huge help but dragging you back like this? It just didn't feel right. Even if you came what could you know anyway? Hydra weren't exactly open with you about things whilst in there clutches. Hell you might end up coming to draw gun fire and that thought twisted his gut. Sam watched the screen until his eyes burnt, then let his head hit the desk.

The buzz startled him some time later. He flung out his seat, scrambling to the message. Bucky, whatever he had been up to after visiting Zemo he was ready to meet. Sam's shoulders sagged as he read the text. He wasn't disappointed, not really. He knew he was asking too much by contacting you. The risk to your freedom was eminence. There was no telling who was still out there looking for you, other than SWORD anyway.

Still Sam couldn't help but feel down as he got his things ready. God only knows what Bucky had done and meeting him across town in some garage didn't bode well.

Maybe you'd settled down somewhere, maybe you were happy. He hoped so, that you'd chosen yourself. Sam fortified himself, squaring his shoulders as he headed to the door. No point stalling, he needed to find out what Bucky had been up to.

He swung the door out quickly but found his feet rooted in place. There you were, frozen with a hand in the air ready to knock. A mess of hair, in sweatpants and an old thread bare t-shirt, looking rather stunned. He stared a moment, watching your mouth bob open and shut, over night bag slipping down your shoulder.

"Y/n!" Sam couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. To his relief your posture relaxed and you returned his smile. "Come on, Bucky might have something, we'll meet him across town."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You knew you should try to stop bouncing your leg but every time you lost focus it jumped to life. You didn't want Sam to see you worried like this. He'd always been so kind to you and you didn't doubt he'd let you leave if you asked. You couldn't however, no matter how much it felt like jaws were gonna snap down on you.

He'd been so nice in the car over, being careful to avoid touching you, asking after your life, avoiding making you speak any specifics. You appreciated that, although your run down, rented flat and part time jobs were hardly worth the effort. Hell you'd struggled enough making nice with coworkers, maybe a fresh start would be nice after this.

You'd wanted to call Sam. You'd wanted to check in with him and his family. For a time you even considered contacting Wanda but you never liked someone else in your mind with you. No you'd resigned yourself to the loneliness. Maybe you should get a pet.

"Is it Bucky?" Sam offered, eyes glancing to you before returning to scanning the room. "You know after Wakanda he's..."

"Yes I know." You interrupted, stilling yourself again. You'd actually gone to see him shortly after checking in with Sam. A guilty part of you had felt relieved when he'd disappeared. Though after the five year absence you felt you had to see him too.

He'd been starting therapy at the time, was working, he was doing well all things considered. Still you'd felt the need to check, to be sure the Soldat was gone. You'd left then satisfied that the man you'd known wasn't behind those kind sad eyes and that this Bucky that stood in his skin was not a threat. Still an incredibly able soldier just not of the winter variety. Anyway it wasn't him you were worried about.

When Sam had fully explained the situation you'd blanched. These flag-smashers had access to the serum. Not the same one you'd had pumped into you but a better one. One that left them with the strength and power of Captain America, not just side effects.

Still no matter what it cost, you couldn't leave knowing the serum was out there somewhere. So you'd focus on that, let it anger you, burn away any doubt and drive you forward.

You heard him before you saw him. Loud deliberate steps, Sam must have let him know you'd be there. Unless they were so as not to startle Sam. Regardless there was little more than a tight smiles shared before Bucky led you both further in to the garage.

You wouldn't say you were on comfortable terms with him yet. He was still guilt ridden about the Soldat's memories with you and you were still a little unnerved with a new man wearing the same face. It was nice to see him so happy though. Even in this circumstance his mood seemed far different than you'd ever seen him. Here's to therapy you supposed.

Bucky's plan seemed rather extreme. Break Zemo out and have him help. You had to admit it seemed rather extreme. The ex Colonel was part of an elite intelligence op and had a history of hating Avengers. Though he also hated super soldiers more so that might keep him on their side. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

Except you'd be among the enemy in that case. It wasn't outside the realms of possibility that Zemo didn't know about you. After all his search through the leaked files where rather singular in their aims. Your particular information had been lost or redacted so heavily that without specific knowledge on you it would be hard to link the two.

You continued to follow behind Sam, keeping your eyes on the shadows, watching your back. Some stress was elevated when Bucky flipped the lights on, continuing his back and forth with Sam after shooting a soft look at you. Nothing got past his notice.

If they kept this bickering up you'd be there all day. You slunk over to a car under the lights, perching on the open bonnet. You couldn't help the fondness in your smile as you watched their amusing relationship. Giggling to yourself as Sam rolled his eyes with his whole body, raising his brows to you.

"Look, let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I just walk you through a hypothetical." Bucky started.

"What did you do?" Sam questioned, his brow furrowing as he turned back to face him.

You felt tense again, arms uncrossing from your chest. You weren't quiet sure what was going on now. Clearly Sam had caught on to something you'd missed. Bucky launched into a far too detailed plan and you felt a shiver run down your spine. Every hair stood on end as the dawning realization hit.

"You didn't..." You almost whispered as Sam interrupted again. Then the door was opening and your ears were ringing. Your heart pounded in your throat as Sam charged forward in front of you. You were still stunned, now behind them both as Zemo entered the garage, dressed in a guards uniform.

He caught eyes with you for a moment, taking his hat off before returning to Sam and Bucky's argument. His eyes seemed to drift back to you before he interjected again.

You found yourself standing under his scrutinizing gaze, drifting closer to Sam, inching him further between you and Zemo. You barely followed what was being said, waiting for him to pull a gun or stop staring. Either was preferable in this moment.

"Okay." Sam spoke, defeat in his tone. You clenched your jaw. You didn't like this. If the guy wasn't gonna attack he was going to manipulate his way to his release, you were sure.

Still he seemed cooperative, leading you all back to a larger room filled with old cars. They were expensive things but you didn't let your eyes wander from him. Choosing to break the middle of the pack, you kept yourself between Sam and him. Despite his words and values you wanted to remain vigilant. If you could do nothing else you'd shield Sam.

Other than a few snide comments he seemed true to his word. He drove the group of you to an airport in mostly silence. Peaking back at you and Sam through the mirror.

"So all this time you've been rich?" Sam said incredulous at the sight of the privet jet on the tarmac. You'd calmed down a little, walking by him and Bucky's side as you followed.

"I'm a Baron Sam, my family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country." Zemo spat back. You couldn't help but snort at his comment. You regretted drawing his attention again when he stared back at you. You looked away until his attention left, drawn else where.

Bucky and Sam eyed you a moment and the indignation flared in you again. "What? They dropped that city on me." you hissed quietly. You weren't sure you wanted Zemo to hear that. Sam looked stunned blinking at you before he was turned back to the plane. You fell back in step behind the group as you approached.

You suppose you never did tell him about that. Just letting it stew with your general hatred towards your then captors back then. It'd been a huge loss to you. A life built there crashing down on top of you, leaving you broken and pinned for days. You shook the memories away trying to forget the carnage.

Zemo greeted an old butler looking guy at the steps. To your delight he was wearing the little white gloves and everything. Sam awkwardly nodded and you gave the man a genuine smile as you passed. He was just like the caricature on TV. He looked to be 100 and considering his familiarity with Zemo he could've known him all his life.

It soon set you on edge to be at his mercy 1000 feet in the air. With a knowing look he could fly you all anywhere and you'd be none the wiser. Certainly wouldn't make a change from most flights you'd been on, at least your hands would be free.

Zemo smiled at you as you boarded, gesturing to the seat opposite his own. You ducked your head, shifting quickly to the back behind Sam. If the staring was bad in the garage you sure as hell didn't wanna experience it in direct line of sight.

You didn't catch his name but Zemo spoke to the butler in Sokovian for a moment, implying he'd give out of date food to Sam and Bucky. Angered you huffed, Zemo turning at the sound. You caught his eye, keeping a glare set on his smug expression.

"Nicht." You bit out through gritted teeth. Your Sokovian was rusty but you saw the slightest change in Zemo's expression, before it settle back into a cat like grin.

"Tut mir leid." He nodded, turning back to face forwards again. Sam's head peaked at you from round his seat but you just slumped back into your own. Staring out the window and gripping the arm rests as the plane took flight.

Not long into cruising altitude Zemo angered Bucky. You hadn't been paying them much attention by this point. You'd found yourself relaxing and had become dazzled my the ice on the window and fluffy clouds below. You were startled back by the sudden movement of Bucky. Jumping up and catching Bucky's eye as he took his hand off Zemo's neck and slumped back into his seat, his book back in his hands.

Cursing under your breath you moved to the seat in front of Zemo now. You resigned yourself to a task to keep you awake, stop them from killing one another.

Zemo spoke an apology, but it seemed more probing than you liked. To your relief Sam seemed to turn the conversation back to lighter topics. You slid further into your seat a moment before Zemo began pushing again. You glare into him, not missing the way he glanced at you when he said "innocents die."

A small pang of fear hit you but you bit back a response. He'd clearly caught the hint of resentment you felt towards what happened in Sokovia. Still you kept your gaze level as you bit your cheek and allowed Zemo to continue.

Madripoor, you'd only ever been there in passing. The lawless nature allowed you to obtain some fake documents for relatively cheap. It was too risky to stick around though, too many dangers, too much risk of outing yourself.

Worse still Bucky was gonna have to put on an old mask.

Soldat

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Fandom asks for MCU <3! 3, 5 (Loki), 6, 9, 17 (Tony), 22 (Emma)

3. NoTP?

Scott Summers/Jean Grey, Logan/Jean Grey, Anyone/Jean Grey (I mean, if I have to have her around in a fic and shipped with anyone, it's usually another character I don't dig either), Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter, Anyone/Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers/Sharon Carter, Steve, Bucky, Sam/Brock Rumlow, Tony Stark/Pepper Potts (I mean, I can deal with their relationship as a past relationship turned best friends, but I'm not gonna read or write their ship as I think they weren't really healthy for each other - like Ross and Rachel.) Loki/Grandmaster (I will make references to it as a past thing that Loki did for survival but he hates it). Loki/Thor (There's some pretty-pretty artwork out there, and I will acknowledge that it's gorgeous and can enjoy it as artwork, but as an actual pairing, no. Just not my thing.)

5. Out of all your fanworks that include [Loki], which is your favourite?

Obviously, my on-going WIP series Hemispheres would be the top of that favorite list, but then I'd have to say I'm torn between these two:

What's on your mind, half of the time, (brother mine)

and

A little shy and sad of eye but very wise was he

Both of them feature Loki in vulnerable moments. The first one, he's like 5 and tiny and adorable and scared of the storm. He gets to meet a stranger who boosts his confidence a little. And the second one, he comes back after a grueling time in Asgard with Thor, who's still being far too bullying, and his friends and is really low about it, and Tony gathers everyone up to make a blanket fort (as Loki's never experienced one before), order Loki's favorite take-out, and watch movies to comfort him. Wholly self-indulgent on the comfort side.

6. Show us a bit of a WIP!

From "Too weird to live, too rare to die" (Justin Hammer/Loki)

“So Loki made friends with Natasha by helping her with mission stuff?” Justin roped them back around to the other topic. 

Nodding, he answered, “Yeah.  He did some spellwork for her.  Imbued it into a piece of jewelry that essentially all she’s gotta do is think about how she wants to look, and that’s how she looks.  The spell lasts as long as she needs it to, and then when she’s ready to not look different, she just thinks of herself and bam.  Nat again.  No more dying her hair unless she wants to, no more contacts, no more tech that can blitz out on her.” 

Justin looked impressed.  A little skeptical, him being a tech and science guy like Tony, especially tech, but still impressed.  He wondered how Loki’s ‘magic’ could be utilized in their own tech, but he figured Tony had already been thinking about that. 

“Nice.  Sounds like he’s much better as an ally than an adversary,” Justin remarked as he finished with the last of the dishes.  He dried his hands and hung up the towel again. 

Tony took in how easily Justin took on the domestic task of dishes.  Seems like he learned some humility in prison, after all, and wasn’t looking to be waited on anymore.  Perhaps there was hope for guys like them after all. 

“Much better as an ally, though don’t let the gentle smiles and the fun tea parties he has with Morgan fool you.  He’s still dangerous when he wants to be.  He’s like a cat.  Don’t rub him the wrong way or you’ll find his claws slashing your hamstrings,” he joked, but the serious look in Tony’s eyes said he wasn’t actually joking. 

Justin walked over to the fridge, grabbing a glass along the way, and filled it up with ice and water.  He took Tony’s glass from him to fill it up, too, and handed it back, refusing to see the pleasant surprise in that gaze that followed him around to take a seat at one of the tall chairs at the counter.  Cold, pure water rushed down his throat and gave him time to think of how to respond to what Tony said.  Setting the glass on the counter, Justin turned it around and around, watching as the water remained calm even in its movement. 

“You think Loki’s dangerous to people here and you let him stay?  He’s really close to Morgan from what I hear.  I don’t see him much.  Passing in the halls, when we eat.  That’s about it, but your kid adores him.”  Justin let out a breathy laugh.  “I think she adores all of us, though, so I think that’s just her.  Big heart.”  Like her dad. 

Moving across the kitchen so he could belly up to the counter next to Justin, Tony took a drink of his water and set the glass down.  Two men, both at one time consumed by the big buck, by reputation and prestige and power, by controlling the playing field where weapons and tech were concerned, rivals – not bitterly so but rivals nevertheless, now sitting side by side, drinking fucking water for fuck’s sake, when they used to be dripping in the finest whiskey and women.  Burying the hatchet, and not in each other’s skulls. 

Tony never would’ve believed it could happen, especially not after he and Rhodey had to face down Vanko and the shitstorm he brought that Justin bankrolled. 

It was kind of nice, though, given that one of the last people Tony’d wronged in the past had injected his ex with Extremis, which still made Pepper a fiery handful to deal with, but at least, they’d gotten a handle on it for her so that she did set people on fire with her fists anymore.  While he’d never specifically wronged Justin the way he had Aldrich Killian (and really wronged was a little strong for just saying he’d been a spoiled dismissive asshole), he had been a dismissive asshole, which pushed Justin to make one of the worst decisions of his life. 

“I don’t think Loki’s a danger to Morgan ever,” Tony finally stated and tilted his head to meet Justin’s curious stare.  “I don’t think Loki’s a danger to me or Bruce or probably not Thor anymore.  Not since we’ve all sorta ganged up on Thor and told him not to be a dick to his brother.  The stabbing’s stopped at any rate.  You, though.  He doesn’t know you well enough yet, so I’d just say...tread carefully.  You never know when you’ll end up on a mission with him.” 

“Yeah, about that,” a voice from behind them announced. 

Tony and Justin swiveled their seats. 

Phil Coulson met their eyes. 

9. Write a recommendation of someone else's fic you enjoyed!

Okay look, I have so many bookmarks and fics I could recommend that are tear-jerkers, kept me on the edge of my seat through months and months, that made me swoon, and I could easily give any and all of those. I could and I would! But this asks for one fic, and I'm gonna go with one that made me LOL so hard it woke up dog up from a nap in the other room and had my sister asking me if I was okay because for a second, I couldn't breathe.

Clark's Chicken by @kleenexwoman

I don't normally read DC fanfic. I like DC okay enough to know generally who the major players are, but I'm not invested. However, I am invested in my friends and their creative sparks, unless I'm just really not at all into a particular fandom. I can't really write a full review to say what it's about other than it's not exactly safe for work, definitely not for kids, though teenagers would love this, I think. I think that's why I love it - I'm still 12 and masturbation and fart jokes make me giggle. (There are no fart jokes in this, but discussion around masturbation is.) I want as many people as possible to read this fic because all the laughter in the world could finally heal humanity, I think, and if we could all laugh our asses off at this one, it could drive out the darkness all around us these days. Seriously, I believe this fic has the potential to lighten the world, to drive out the fascists, to heal the sick and sad, to build a protective bubble around the vulnerable - all through the laughter that this fic will grace people with. READ IT AND LEAVE KLEENEXWOMAN SOME LOVE ON IT.

17. What's a book, movie, or show you think [Tony] would like?

Book - American Gods - He really rooted for the New Gods at first, especially Technical Boy and Media, but somewhere in it, he really dug Mr. Wednesday, Mr. World (and especially Mr. World's reveal).

Movie - Real Genius

Show - McGyver (remake)

22. Give us a headcanon for [Emma]

So many people give Emma shit for being cold, stand-offish, and snobby, and because of this, Emma performs that to perfection. However, around those who see past this barrier, she's loving, warm, tender, kind, encouraging, compassionate, and has one of the biggest hearts they've ever met - and she uses her big bucks to take care of the people she loves.

Thanks for the asks!!!

Fandom Ask Game.

[allylikethecat]

Hi Ally!!! How are you? How’s your day been?

Girl I was STRUGGLING today I think I’ve built a caffeine tolerance because I had two energy drinks and was yawning ALL. DAY. Anyway, I think I’ll take a caffeine break and hopefully my celsius will work its magic again haha

ATKH: the update was wonderful I’m always rooting for Fictional!Matty and George in every fic but this fictional!Matty to not immediately forgive and/or beg for Fictional!George back.. I’m so sad for our sweet Matty because I’m sure he’s trying so so hard to not disappoint everyone and do good at the competition but the fact that he’s SELLING SALLY and MOVING BACK HOME??? I really hope we get to see how this is going down from Mattys pov and I need both George and Mattys reactions povs in the next chapter because GEORGE IS SURPRISING MATTY IN PERSON??? (I hope Matty punches him lol not really but maybe) 😭

MWFD: I’m also so sad for this fictional!Matty too :(. I’m happy he’s decided to work on self healing to be a good parent and I hope he can do it with George in his corner as well. I can’t wait for the other guys in the story to come back hopefully and everyone talks and everyone is happy (if that’s the path this story takes) I just wanna say again that I love this fic sm and I had never read mpreg before because I never thought it would be something I was into. Soooo infinite kudos to you for writing this I’m so glad I found it!!!

Talk shop Tuesday!

What’s does Infection!Verse George and Mattys wedding look like? Do they elope and have it be private and quick? Did they go all out and have a wedding? How would that work w the best man situation? Who asked Ross and who asked Adam to be their bestmans?

Which side of the bed do your George and Matties sleep on?

🥤

AHHH Hello My Dearest Smoothie Anon!! As always it is an absolute joy to hear from you!! I'm sorry to hear that today was a struggle 😭 I think I would actually cry if my Celsius stopped working... with how early I have to wake up to ride Pop before it gets too hot it is sometimes the only thing getting me through the day 😭 I hope tomorrow is better!!

ATKH: Poor Fictional!Matty he really tried his best and just couldn't get a break. He's trying SO HARD at the show, he doesn't want to disappoint anyone but he really is crumbling emotionally and physically. He's hit his breaking point and even though it's absolutely destroying him, horses are expensive and he doesn't know what else to do - Sally deserves more than he can provide at the moment and he needs to go crawl back to his father and regroup LOL sometimes I wonder if I should write a few one shots / a prequel of this universe from Fictional!Matty's POV but I know this fic is super niche so the fact that anyone is reading it in the first place is wild to me (and I feel like I can only have one super niche self indulgent fic at a time and em... I have another one of those in the works...) BUT AH Fictional!George is flying to Canada, we will see how Fictional!Matty feels about his arrival...

Ducklings: AHHH thank you so much for giving this fic a chance, especially if mpreg isn't your usual thing! Hey, Fictional!Matty might be really sad at the moment BUT at this point it can only go up from here right? Everyone knows now... which means Fictional!Matty (and everyone else...) can focus on healing! It's really gotten away form me and has turned into much more of a beast than anticipated and I'm so grateful for everyone that has stuck with it (and me!!) I hope you continue to enjoy how it all unfolds!

Talk Shop Tuesday: They have a small wedding, close friends and family (minus most of Fictional!George's family) only! It was very them. Fictional!Matty was slightly hungover after getting drunk the night before and showing up at Fictional!George's hotel room door sobbing that Fictional!George needs to leave while he still can, before it becomes official. Fictional!George obviously just tucks Fictional!Matty into bed because he's never leaving Fictional!Matty again if he can help it. Fictional!Hann originally stood with Fictional!Matty and Fictional!Ross originally stood with Fictional!George but because this is a fictional wedding and rules don't have to apply they switched halfway through. WOW this is making me really want to write the wedding oneshot...

I feel like I answered this already before a while ago but I can't find it or remember what I said 💀 BUT they don't necessarily have *sides* but rather Fictional!George sleeps closest to the door so that if someone where to break in he would be in the way to protect fictional!Matty. Fictional!Matty doesn't realize THAT'S why fictional!George always insists on sleeping closest to the door... he thought it was so he couldn't sneak out.

Thank you SO MUCH for sending me this ask, and for reading and for the continued support and being so all around wonderful!! I always smile so wide when I see you in my inbox!! I'm so grateful that you take the time out of your day to not only read my fics but to send me these kind of wonderful asks, just thank you SO MUCH. I hope the rest of your week goes better than today did, and that you're able to get some rest!

❤️Ally

[adickaboutspoons]

List five of your least-popular fics, as well as when/why you wrote them. Tag five people to play. Shamelessly stolen from someone foolish enough to say they were tagging "anyone who wants to play." I'm going to go ahead and interpret "least-popular" as "has received fewest hits"? I mean, I have a (prolly unhealthy) spreadsheet with data like the ratio of kudos:hits, which is PROLLY the most accurate way of determining what was well-liked by the people who read it, but that's also possibly just speculation (except Like I Want to be Awake, my beloved. It's got the lowest ratio of them all, and even the people who were nice enough to comment have mentioned that the ending is a bit of a downer because it's canon-compliant. So I can easily imagine that readers getting to the end of 16K and being mad about the "downer ending" that I didn't warn for). Anyway. Unbelievable: written in August 2023 in response to @ofmd-dailyquest prompt: Make Up Unbelievable Stories about The Most Fearsome Pirate. I'm not surprised this one has so few hits. It's T-rated (generously, could easily be G), and Jeffery Fettering is the POV character. Who's that? Exactly (The answer is the guy who approached him in the tavern in Bridgetown). Just because I like to imagine the string of repressed white dudes inspired to piracy that Stede leaves in his wake doesn't mean it's gonna be everyone's cuppa. It's about Jeffery and his tavern buddies making up nasty stories about Blackbeard's exploits to entertain themselves and Jeffery realizing that they're all full of shit and he's bored out of his skull and hitting much closer to the truth than he knows.

Hook Head Man Tale: written in April 2023 in response to another @ofmd-dailyquests prompt: Learn the Hook Head Man Tale (Bonus: Discover how he Eats and how he Kisses). Another one I'm not surprised about. It's G-rated, and it's kind of bad on purpose (from a technical writing stand-point; it's written in the style of Young Stede's first self-insert fan fiction, so it's pretty self-indulgent and overwrought). It's the story of Young Stede meeting a creature with a hook for a head because he's under a curse. And breaking that curse to reveal it was really a fairy with long black hair and big brown eyes all along... When a Good Plan Comes Together: written in September 2023. Ed and Stede plan a fuckery together for the first time after the reunion, and get caught up in the giddy euphoria of it and wind up making love on the paper-covered table. I've talked smack about it before. It's fine, and there's actually some pretty excellent metaphors and lovely turns of phrase in there, but mostly I'm cross with myself for lazily glossing over both the actual plan of the fuckery and the actual sex. Stede Sonnets: started in December 2023, but I add new ones every now and again when the fancy takes me. Exactly what it says on the tin - sonnets either about or from the perspective of Stede. Poetry isn't everyone's jam, so yeah - another one that I'm not particularly surprised it's not popular. Under Par: written in June 2023. Stede is golfing with the Badmintons and hating life. Ed is a flirty cart-girl (delivering beverages and snacks to golfers on the links) to the rescue! Remember when there was that 2-second clip of Taika in his Blackbeard get-up riding around in a golf cart in the bts footage from a Rita Ora music video? And we were so desperately starved for any news at all about the second season that we all lost our minds? So this is a little modern AU based on that clip and comments it inspired. It was v. much an "of the moment" fic, and now that we've all moved on from the moment, I'm not surprised there's not any interest in reading this one anymore. Ironically, this has the highest kudos:hits ratio of all my fics, so even though it's not been read by many, I guess those who did read it generally liked it? Tagging @bizarrelittlemew, @chocolatepot, @emi--rose, @epersonae, & @forpiratereasons

And, of course, anyone who wants to play 😉

[cannibalinc]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

I was thoughtfully tagged by @racfoam! Thank you <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

25 works

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

318,492 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly HP and Teen Wolf. I also used to write a lot of Naruto about fifteen years ago.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Rigmarole Dance - Harrymort soulmate AU

Gentle Roar - Steter omegaverse mating run AU

As Portioned from a Whole - Harrymort dystopian Voldemort raises Harry AU

Anthropological - Steter xeno wolf rape oneshot

Id Est - Steter smutty 800 word drabble. Surprised this one is on the list lol

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

Sometimes! If someone asks a question or comments something particularly conversational. I go through waves. 

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

Uuuh this is hard. Angsty for who? hahaha

Based on reader response and bookmark notes I've noticed, either Paradisus, a Harrymort Volddmort wins AU in Draco Malfoy's POV, or Be Thyself, a soulmate AU in Lily's POV, seem to be the endings that bother people the most. I get a lot of 'this was great, I'll never read it again' lmaaooo

But a LOT of my works are open ended or end with one half still in captivity/unhappy. The other half is happy though! :D

Honeyguide, splits your skin, Research and Development, etc all have this "bad ending."

(*The angiest ending I'll ever write is still a WIP, but it's coming.)

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

The Rigmarole Dance for sure. It's light, funny, has the happiest feelings.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes.

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

I write mostly smut. Lots of non-con, lots of wet and messy, lots of monster cocks.

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

I don't think I've ever written a crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah, a few times unfortunately.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep

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

I had a really fun steter omegaverse dystopia project with a friend that we discussed heavily but never actually started. We called it the trash diamond. It involved amputation, conditioning and programming, you know the fun stuff haha. I still hope to write it.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Harrymort <3

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

...I will finish all my WIPs gdi lmao

16. What are your writing strengths?

Atmosphere/prose. Recently, dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action. I struggle between pretty phrases and conveying immediacy.

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

Yes! It's great for making the POV character and readers feel alienated when they can't understand what's being said. Also if you want to establish a character is pretentious.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Ooooh. I think InuYasha in the 2000s.

20. Favourite fics you’ve written?

I'm a self-indulgent writer, so pretty much everything I write is for me.

Research and Development was an experimental challenge for me that I'm really proud of. It's told in a dissociated first person POV through "scientific" logs and follows Voldemort's experiment on Harry and the deterioration of his indifferent observations as he becomes more obsessed with Harry.

I'm also really proud of Embryo, a fic idea I've been writing and rewriting for over ten years that I've begun to actually post. I've put a lot of work and research into it in order to capture Tom Riddle's voice and intelligence. It's in his POV, in the 1940s, and Harry shows up as a mysterious student no one can seem to explain or even remember long enough to answer Tom's questions about him.

I think racfoam already tagged a lot of other writers I know. Tagging @vdoshu @metalomagnetic @lordansketil @crowcrowcrowthing @vestiges-of-light and anyone else who wants to!

[amrv-5]

7, 8, 10 for the asks! <3

HELLO HELEN!!!!! and thank you!!!!! last one of the morning before I get back to moving thank you!!!!!!!

7. How many ideas for fics do you have right now?

Uncountable. Help. (and always soliciting more.........by the way........) In addition to the ones mentioned below, I've still got noir!Hawk hanging out in the back of my brain. I like the images I have on the page but I think I need to read/watch some more noir before I feel capable of actually tackling it again. Need it fresh on the brain. Also I want to go back to my fandom roots and play with something a little eerie / creepy / supernatural again (halloween coming up again soon....) but I haven't decided what. Maybe it's BJ's turn to be a creature of some sort. I don't know. I look forward to being surprised.

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

Actively? Radar oneshot and S2G2 sequel. Trying to get those hammered out before I let a new idea drag me off somewhere. Well at least the S2G2 sequel. That's priority 1 right now but it's fighting me, a little bit. Still. I wrote about 140K of S2G2 in the time it's taken me to chop out 40K of S2G22. I don't know what's going on except that it's going slower. Or alternately S2G2 was insanely fast. That might be it.

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

mmmmmmm all of them I am always surprised when anyone reads anything I write because it's all very silly and self-indulgent!!!!!! S2G2 did surprise me most, maybe, though, because it isn't exactly fun or happy or reassuring or hopeful or funny or even that easy to get into. Thematically it's kind of a bummer, actually. And it's also fucking massive. Plus I wrote it mostly without an audience in mind. Way more of a response than I anticipated, given all that. Even if I'm still not 100% sure what people are getting out of it, I'm glad it's being enjoyed! Nice when something kind of centrally about aloneness ends up connecting more widely than ever anticipated. By which I mean immensely affecting. ouughhh.

[fivekrystalpetals]

Not having your live reading of Pandora Hearts will be sad ! I loved seing your analysis, I'm happy you enjoyed it :3

Awwww thank you so much ❤!! yes it’s gonna be so sad for me too to not have my weekly live screaming sessions,, nooo this masterpiece of a story got over ;_; as they say, every good thing has to come to an end (nooooo~) so we gotta enjoy it till it lasts ;_; [I want to reread it again, but not anytime now... I need time to recover, sadly it seems I am getting increasingly upset and frustrated seeing A Certain Someone’s logic and arguments so I need some time to get over it and read again with a clearer mind; lol I generally don't get this upset over a fictional character but this guy’s character resonate a lot with someone ik ig that’s why I associate one with the other in my mind idk]

Break continues to be my favorite character which is honestly a surprise bc I tend to change my favorite midway through the series (I am not faithful shhh); Lottie and Lacie come a close second (well-written female characters tho they had not enough screen time (at least not for me, I wanted to see more of them!), they have lots of gaps and flaws I can develop on in my mind and in my fics if I ever post anything) 

The two Alices, Oz and Gil: they are my babies now I adopted them, already signed adoption papers and all 💪 (once again, a surprise bc I hardly ever care about the main characters but these four are just... made-to-be-loved how dare anyone hurt them?!?!? *looking at a Certain Someone 🔪🔪* I just wish we saw more of Alyss and her thoughts, likes, dislikes etc. before the end. Since Cheshire loved her but was dead scared of our Alice, Alyss must have craved for meat less lol) 

Fun fact: my favorite arc in Pandora Hearts still remains *drumroll* Headhunter Arc my beloved <3 

not only was it mochijun’s super self-indulgent glamorous-makeover-for-all-my-characters arc but also has some of the best cliffhangers, plot twists and lore—humpty-dumpty (this chain damn!), Fianna’s house and their eerie ritual of making contractors out of little homeless kids, the doings of Isla Yura, his cult of Jack worshippers and the Nightrays (except Elliot ofc) all gave me chills and thrills, kept me to the edge of the seat,, say, if you see, I have less live drafts for that arc, it’s because... I was so invested in the story I couldn't even bother to pause and log on to tumblr; I just had to get to the end. It was like a standalone, little whodunit+thriller story arc with Eliot as the detective/protagonist set out to investigate his family’s curse ;_; and then the final reveal of the actual criminal (Retrace 61) 😭 (something I had guessed at in the beginning from Lottie’s words but the rat is just that good at distracting us from the truth =_=)

The rest of the story is, well, do I need to explain aghfhshfg why is this story so compact and coherent and filled with so much foreshadowing right from the first panel of the Retrace 1 that it still gives me goosebumps (I was actually talking about Retrace 76/77 with my friend (no, not specifying names or giving out spoilers, she hasn’t read PH yet and I am slowly luring her in with a carrot into this rabbit hole)—kinda like: See? I think I have uncovered a huge conspiracy theory— you know the suspected immortals in our world? I think they never die but go full Benjamin Button mode back and forth! She is super interested to know more and I am waiting to cast The Question: *conspiratorial tone* Do you wanna read something with a plot like that?)

ahhhh lol I was rambling but thank you so much for sticking around with me til the end, reading my analysis and posts (most of them were my incoherent screams fgsghghsj) and for this ask! It was so sweet of you <3 <3 And although I ran out of my live drafts, I do plan on writing a lot on the other characters too (in fact, I have three posts—character analysis of sorts—about Oswald, Gil, Vince and the Baskervilles in general—in my drafts and then, a few others in plans.) I will also be screaming (and probs writing fics bc what else to do when a ship takes its roots inside your head) about my favorite ship ahem ahem, which no one but me likes 😭😭, so that too.

So no worries, PH brainrot is going strong! my reactions on tumblr is actually minimal,, only about 10% of how much of a nuisance I was with people here irl at Certain Points in the story lmaohgjsgj

[izupie]

😈💖👀✅🤭✨

Ahhhh so manyyyy !!! Thank you !! <3 <3 <3

this one got long so it's under a cut ahaha

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

Ohohoho yes. I remember writing the cliffhanger in Beep Beep Beep where I deliberately kept it vague over whether something terrible had happened to Ochako, and then just cut it off mid-sentence. That was delicious.

Actually, thinking about it, I've done the cliffhanger ending to a chapter in quite a few fics - not even just to hook readers in, but specifically because thinking of it made me cackle like a disney villain so I had to do it !!!

💖 What made you start writing?

I read a story on Neopets that somebody had written and it blew my tiny little Izupie mind because I realised that, hey hang on a minute, anyone can write stories??? And then as a kid you have no concept of Cringe and you just want to hang out with your favourite characters, and thus, my cringey fanfiction writer self was born. I wrote so much self-insert fanfiction as a kid because I realised I could read it back and it was like I got to hang out with my favourite characters and have adventures with them over and over! any time I wanted!

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

Talking about cringe *finger guns* (man that was a good bridging answer actually)

I'm still in my Supernatural Era, so I have a bunch of Supernatural wips that I'm trying to wrangle into coherent stories like herding cats. Exciting for me because ohh these are some truly self indulgent and delicious tropes <3

But! I also have the next part of my bnha/Izuocha collab fic with Encyclopika that is ongoing and that is! exciting! Seeing it evolve and our writing styles mesh has been sooo much fun!!

Did I really even answer this question??? lmao asdfghjk

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

am I self aware enough to answer this question? hmmm...

Banter-y dialogue? like, flirty back-and-forths?? I do that a lot. I suddenly realised the other day that my stories keep having these little flirty banter sections, no matter what fandom or ship it is. And I was like, well let's not examine this too closely

Also just, so much focusing on eyes. I'm surprised nobody has ever pulled me up on it honestly. I'm always writing what people's eyes are doing, but that's how I read expressions the most so it's how I represent them the most! does that make sense? !?

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

Fluff

*ding* next question!

(I answered a question in one word, what is going onnnnn)

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

listen. guys. how dare. how dare you all gang up on me in this way

adsfdghjkl

ummm, okay, it was hard enough to think of the first one - how about.....

I love the way that some people have said that my writing has cheered them up, or given them a boost. That really warms my heart. It's so special to know that something that came out of my brainworms has actually affected somebody's mood. and made them feel better! I made them smile with my words and weird tropey stories that I thought only I would enjoy! That makes me proud of myself and this weird lil hobby

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Appointment Scheduled

Summary- 2.7k Ransom Drysdale x Reader. Since that night at your parents, you haven't been to see Ransom. Not that he wasn't always on your mind. But you continue to defend your 'FWB' term that is all he is. Ransom gets tired of receiving physical silence from you.

So he made himself an appointment.

Warnings- somewhat mad mean Ransom, reader in denial of her feelings, some in the office over the desk sex. This is a cheater fic, the reader is cheating on her boyfriend and Ransom is encouraging this. Please if this bothers you, do not read it.

A/N- another self-indulgent fic featuring these two? Yes please, it's what I wanted, so it's what I wrote. As always, thank you for reading, comments and reblogging. You all have to thank @sagechanoafterdark for Ellie showing up in the story. We were talking that the reader needs a best friend who is like "Duh, you two are meant to be, it is so obvious." to our reader.

Masterlist

“Ellie no I haven't seen him since my dad's birthday party. I mean a few messages here and there, but nothing more about meeting up.”

You hear your best friend scoff on the other line. She was your confidante, your tried and true, better or worse, the bitch who will help you bury the body friend.

She also lacked sugar coating anything.

“Well, you two are just dumb. One of you has to open that line of conversation, might as well be you.”

You hit the button to the lift, sighing into the phone as you watched the numbers ding. “I don’t know what conversation you are talking about El.”

“Uh, the one where you two have been in love with each other since basically middle school? The one where whenever you feel lonely, that's the man you call? Or how about the one how he runs to you whenever you even put out a HINT that you might need him? That one Y/N.”

“We are just fuck buddies-”

“Really good, rock your world, the best sex and head you’ve ever gotten, buddy. Right?” Ellie’s tone is dripping with sarcasm now and you pinch your nose in aggravation while stepping onto the elevator.

“Exactly like that.” You go a bit quiet. “Listen, I’m at work, so talk later, okay?”

“Sure, I miss you. I wish you would move back to the city.” Ellie softened her tone a bit. “Girls weekend soon? I love you.”

“I love you too and of course!” You hit the end button and stuff it in your bag, staying quiet the rest of the ride up.

Working as a lawyer's assistant wasn’t too bad. Although it's often said couples shouldn't work together, you hardly saw Neil while you were there. He was usually in some kind of pissing match with another DA in the building, which made for some interesting rants from him when he got home.

You dutifully listened, but with little interest. They got old and boring, which was how you were feeling in this ‘safe relationship.’

Really you felt something must be fucked up with you. Neil was a good guy, supportive, he didn't have much of a jealous streak, although you wished once in a while he would get a bit riled up about when someone was checking you out when the two of you went out for a date night. Everything was stable in your relationship, aside from the fact you basically were away to Ransom's bed any chance you could.

Then there was Ransom. The man you were able to actually swear yourself off from two years straight and got your life in order.

So you thought. It took one drink and conversation to fall back to where you two were two years ago. Only this time you found him missing him while you were away, thinking about him more.

You opened your office door and propped it open for your boss's clients to come inside and wait, your boss's door opened on the other side. Shaking off your over-the-top feelings going on, you went to pour Johanna's coffee and grab the files for today's cases. She was on the phone, so you just set them down with a small wave of your hand and settled behind the desk to get started transferring her notes into the system.

Ransom though was never far from your mind when you gave your cell the occasional glance.

Lunchtime approached which meant you would meet up with Neil and head to the small cafe on the corner. He would ask you about your work, you would ask him about his. There would be pleasantries shared. You sighed once more to yourself at the thought of it.

Johanna closed her door with a sudden click. You jumped a bit in surprise as she shouldered her handbag. “You okay Dear?” The woman asked kindly and you smiled, brushing it off.

“Caught up in these files.”

“Ah, yes there is a lot with this case. Sorry about all the extra notes. I know it's a tad boring. But take your break, stay out with Neil a little extra. It's a nice day and you've earned it.” She smiled kindly.

“I will be sure to, maybe Neil and I can breeze around the park before returning.” Fat chance… you thought as you smiled kindly at your boss as she took her leave. You picked at your cell phone, working your lip about to message Neil that you would meet him when a rather loud distinctive tone filled the entryway to your and Johanna's office.

“I have a meeting lined up with Johanna Klein, if you could let her assistant know that Ransom Drysdale is here to see her.”

Dropping your cell phone, forgetting about Neil, you rise out of your seat and go to your door, peering out. Ransom is leaning against the desk to the receptionists of the lawyer's offices explaining how it was your lunchtime and you were out of the building.

Ransom’s voice was about to release, you could see him drawing in the air to make himself a bit more imposing at the idea that he wasn’t allowed to see you when his icy orbs lifted from the receptionist to you, a perfect smirk crossing those pale pink lips that could be so soft at the moment while dropping venom just as easily. “She looks like she is available to me.”

The receptionist spun her chair to see you in the doorway. “It’s okay, Johanna booked him as the last one this morning.” You lied while Ransom made his way around the desk to enter your office. The receptionist looked like she was about to say something more when you quickly clicked the door closed and pulled the shade over the frosted glass to keep from anyone seeing the two of you in there.

“What are you doing here Ransom?” You ask yet again, while he was leaning against the desk with his arms folded over his chest.

“I have an appointment. Seems it's the only way to properly see you again.” He pushed up the sleeves of his long sleeves over muscled forearms. You being you, was absolutely unable to take your eyes off that action.

“Well, I’ve been busy and you never made mention of it again.”

“Kitten…” His tone lowered with a warning. “I didn't think I had to imply that you could come over whenever. But if I'm going to have to do it this way from now on.” He pushed off the desk to stalk the small space to you. “Guess that's what I will do. Book my appointments between-” a slight snarl darkened his face, the crease between his eyes deepening as his hand rested in your lower back and pushed you closer to him.

Overwhelmingly closer. His muscles through the shirt flexed under your hands coming to rest on his pecs and his cologne made your mouth water with the familiarity. The scent of bergamot and cedar gave an almost smoky scent, a touch of sweetness with vanilla had you inching closer to Ransom. “- your time with Neil.”

Your eyes flashed angrily at him then, pulling back a bit in his hold. “What does it matter to you, Ransom?”

“It doesn't. Like I told you before Kitten, you and I will never be over.”

“Feels a lot like jealousy to me then.” You spat a bit. “Since we're just this.” You shrugged a bit, now your temper is getting the best of you. “What was it that Ellie said to me this morning. Fuck buddies.”

“Your term, not mine Kitten.” Ransom yanked you in close again, this time his kiss was a lot different than that night in your bedroom. It was harsh and demanding, forcing you to open your mouth to him and swallow his passion. “You know fucking Neil is skating on thin ice, keeping you all the time.” He shoved you roughly against your desk, your hands flying to the paperwork you were working on before and it went flying for the most part. Some of it fisted in your hand as your ass arched out and pressed against Ransom's groin, making you hiss when he jerked your hips further back.

“Neil is technically my-” You started when a hand slapped over your mouth, fingers digging into your cheeks roughly.

All of it was turning you on, making your thighs squeeze together and you breathe harshly through your nose the more excited you got. “Don’t say it Kitten. Not right now, this is my time. Remember. I made an appointment.”

You felt your skirt get rucked up around your hips and Ransom leaned over, his chest pressing into your back as he flushed hot kisses on your neck, a yank to your shirt dragged your shirt over your shoulder. It wasn't gentle kisses, it was deep leave his mark there that was making you tilt your head and push back into him once more while he fumbled with his own pants to yank them open.

“Yes, yes your appointment. Did you miss this pussy?” You purred, mimicking the nickname you had earned. His fingers pushed aside the bit of cotton that was now sticky clinging to your folds and he stroked you with precision, spreading your slick all around till he swirled a finger against your clit.

“Enough to come searching your ass out.” He remarked when you felt his cock take over where his fingers were, thicker, velvet hardness in your soft folds make you mewl while gripping your desk's edge.

It was the right call, as soon as Ransom felt you start to take him, he pressed harder. Making you both hiss, your head falling against your desk as he stretched you open, his cock filling you quickly. His teeth sunk into your shoulder, registering the sting of it when he rutted into you, slamming your hips into the desk suddenly. “Fuck Ransom,” You hissed out and bit your lip to stifle a moan.

“This perfect round ass that is so fuckable.” His hand came against a cheek while his hips slammed into you steadily. Jerking you on the desk. But it all felt so good, the stink of the slap making you tighten around his cock while you gave a yelp in protest.

Again his hand came around your mouth, stuffing fingers in your mouth which you wrapped your lips around and sucked on them, making your eyes roll when you tasted yourself on them. “Shut it Kitten, suck yourself off me like a good girl while I fill this perfect cunt.” Ransom snapped his teeth near your ear. You moaned, trying to confirm that you would, you would do just as he said while he fucked you harshly from behind.

It clouded your mind, forgetting everything you had been stressed about all morning. Ransom's cock pounded into your wanting body like it was all you ever needed. Your smooth walls flexed around him, tightening till you felt the throbbing ridges that dragged and pulled through you.

It wasn't just his cock driving you mindless. It was the grunted words in your ear. “Perfect little clock slut, Kitten you love getting fucked on your desk don’t you?” He hissed in your ear as another drive made you moan incoherent at him. “Just so cock drunk slut, who is too stupid to answer me.” A tongue was dragged on your tongue, kisses right at the hinge of your jaw made you whine and press back against him. He knew that it drove you crazy to feel the flush of his lips along your neck, driving you mindless. “Just my sweet little Kitten taking it so well.”

All you could do was mewl around his fingers stuffed in your mouth, drool escaping from the corners of your stretched lips and dribbling on the paperwork you had crumpled in your fists. Your chest pressed harshly against the desk, making you wheeze under Ransom’s weight. It was smothering, him all over caging you against the furniture, pumping his cock harshly into your core and your mouth stuffed with his fingers keeping you quiet.

It was too much and not enough, cause you still weren't quite there. The heat burned in your belly, wanting to implode you into oblivion. Ransom gritted his teeth as he wedged a hand under you, fingers feeling for your throbbing clit that ached for his touch.

The roll of his fingers made you moan at the tension. The rush made your spine snap and fight against Ransom, which he felt as you squealed in protest, his teeth snapping near you while he sputtered.

“Just fucking cum Kitten, then you can relax. Your boss will be back any time now.” Nearby you glanced at your phone that somehow was still on the table, the time wavering in your sight, as well as some ‘Where are you?’ texts from Neil.

Ransom wanted you to relax and cum, which is what you wanted as well. The numbing release was right there with his help and you let go. The wave was mind blanking. You sagged under Ransom, and he tightened his hold on you as he used you. But you were in bliss as he grunted over you, hot shots of cum filling you while he sagged in relief against you.

Jerks of his cock still quivered your sensitive walls as he took a few last slow pumps into you before he plated his hands against your messy desk and pulled himself up, pulling out of your messy cunt.

“Gonna have to go the rest of the day like that Kitten.” He chuckled as he straightened your panties back in place and pulled your skirt down over your ass. His hand went around your waist and he helped guide you back to a stand to face him. Brushes of his thumbs over your face was an attempt to fix your makeup which made you wince while you rubbed the drool from your chin.

“How bad is it?”

Ransom winced when you asked. “Pretty bad… looks like you've been crying… or got properly fucked. Take your pick.” He said as his hands dropped to pull his pants back in place and zip them back up, the button going back through the loop.

It was unfair that Ransom didn't get completely ruined like you did when this sort of thing happened. You rushed around your desk to grab some wet wipes to wipe the smudged lipstick and mascara off.

‘You know… I never have this problem with Neil.” You muttered and Ransom snapped back as he watched you, leaning down to pick up some of the papers that fell and shuffle them together while you did a quick reapplication so no one would question it.

“Kitten, obviously the man isn't fucking you right then.” A smirk flashed up at you as he handed you your papers and you were quick to tuck them away.

You broke into a small dirty smile, a roll of your eyes playing with him. “Well… you are correct in that Ransom. Now split, Johanna will be back soon.”

“Nope." A pop of the p that made you huff at him. "I have an appointment Y/N.” He swept down into a seat just as Johanna clicked open the door and stepped back in.

“Y/N, did you have a good lunch? I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. But I was told my next client is here.” She glanced towards the corner of the room where Ransom was picking at his sweater. “Mr. Drysdale, come on in with me, please? We will get started.” She smiled warmly as she went around your desk to let herself into her office, Ransom moving to a stand with a chipper.

“Absolutely, thrilled to get started. Y/N here has been a perfect host in the meantime.” He winked at you with a light brush of his fingers along your arm before disappearing into Johanna’s office, the door shutting behind them.

You could only begin to guess what Ransom was up to coming all the way here. Which you would find out later, either from Ransom or Johanna.

Right now you had to deal with standing up Neil, which when you picked up your phone, chewing your lip that you still could taste yourself on from Ransom’s fingers, you read the message.

Y/N, where are you? I have been waiting for an hour for you.

You started to text out your lie of an excuse hoping that this wouldn't be the day it would all blow up in your face.

[runicmagitek]

2022 Writerly Year Review

tagged by @frozen-fountain (many thanks!!) not gonna tag anyone, but if you're a writer and are reading this and feel like giving this a go? Consider yourself tagged! 💖

Total number of completed works. Posted to AO3? 62 🙃 I guess it's technically 61, as What Leads You Here is still in progress, being a longfic and all.

Total number of WIPs worked on this year. Oh lord, hold please as I count all the drafts and partially done stuff in Scrivener.... 7 total. 8 if you include What Leads You Here, which fully drafted, but in the editing phase.

WIPs neglected this year. I honestly don't know djsaklfdjslkfjkldas I continue to neglect my one Celes/Terra fic I abandoned when 13 Sentinels hijacked my brain, so there's that 🙃 I promise I'll return to it one day.

Fandoms I've written in. 13 Sentinels, Critical Role, Final Fantasy (VI, VII, IX, and X), Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch from Mercury, My Dress-Up Darling, and Pyre

Total word count. Uh, posted to AO3? 287,882. Written? A little over 500k

Looking back, did you write more than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you expected? MORE. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY MORE.

Did you take any writing risks this year? There were a handful of fics that I banged out in a single day, quickly edited them, and slapped them onto AO3. Are they amazing works of literature? Hell no. Were they super fun to write? Hell yeah. I need to just… relax with editing more and let myself do this more often. I swear some of my better-received fics are when I go "you know what? fuck it" and release it into the world.

Do you have any goals for the new year? Not write as much lolsob. Also finish What Leads You Here along with a handful of WIPs. Maybe even revisit that Celes/Terra WIP if I have time/energy!

Biggest disappointment? Not so much in my own writing, but just lack of engagement with some of my fics. Then again, that's par for the course when you write A) not-so-popular characters, B) gen fic, and C) stories involving death and angsty bits. Also seeing my fluffy G fics doing better than my smutty fics in the 13 Sentinels fandom just… continues to baffle me to this day. It's LITERALLY the only fandom I've ever been in where smut does worse numbers-wise and I don't get it.

Biggest surprise? I wrote something for Critical Role!! I've been a longtime watcher and enjoy the show, but I've done my best to staaaaay away from the fandom 😰 plus I tend to wait until I finish something before I ever consider writing a fic for it, just so I can have the whole picture, so to speak. But one particular episode just set me off and I had to write something to hold me over until the next episode 😭

Most popular story of the year? Most hits/bookmarks? For the Ones That Feel It the Most

Most kudos/subscriptions? Sweet Dreams (why are people subscribing to a oneshot lolsob)

Most comments? What Leads You Here

Ahhh the power of posting fics near the release of a popular thing. And also longfics lol.

What's your own favorite story of the year? I feel like this changes on a daily basis lol I love all of them for different reasons. Lucid has a close place to my heart bc I was Very Upset to find close to no m!Byleth/Gatekeeper fics in an incredibly popular/active fandom. Also really love how Like You, Only Sweeter turned out, which was an incredibly self-indulgent story for me (I just wanted them to smooch)

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion. Nearly all of my 13 Sentinels fics bc the fandom is small and niche lolsob. But also Marinate, which granted, I posted the last week of 2022, but still.

Most fun story to write. What the Water Gave Me, which very quickly snowballed out of control into its own thing. I had a blast writing this mermaid AU and thinking of lore for this world!

Most unintentionally telling story. I'm not sure if this means like… a story that utilized more telling as opposed to showing or just… telling about me as an individual. Either way, I'm genuinely not sure? A lot of aspects of myself are sprinkled across my stories, but isn't any work of art?

My favorite part of fandom this year. WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO PICK ONE?????? Meeting so many cool and incredibly talented people. Starting a Discord server with good friends. Applying (and getting accepted!) to a bunch of amazing zine projects. Participating in all the secret santa events and fic exchanges. Being late to a fandom and getting to experience things for the first time. Watching my friend react throughout their 13 Sentinels playthroughs. Collaborating with a lovely art friend to make our own damn zine. Getting to share my longfic with the small, yet vastly passionate community. And just… so so many more moments that made me smile and be forever grateful. If we've interacted at all, even for a brief moment, thank you for making 2022 a little brighter.

[galvanizedfriend]

Director’s cut of The Wolf please!

Omg, anon! 🤣🤣 That is so broad! It's hard to talk about _The Wolf_ because it's like 800k words long? lol If there's anything specific you'd like to hear about, let me know! I'll try to think of some general aspects.

Under the cut because, as always, I don't know how to shut up. Apologies. 🥲

I started writing that because I was one day watching some reruns of The Originals, can't remember what season, hating everyone's reactions to whatever was happening, and started thinking 'If Caroline was there, she would say this, and this would be different, and Klaus wouldn't do that' etc, etc. And then I was like 'I'm gonna make that happen' 🤣🤣 I wasn't going to post it, though. It was more like a very self-indulgent writing, and I was in a particularly bad moment in fandom, I had just gone through The Big Purge and all, but @definedareasofuncertainty asked to read it and then encouraged me to post it and the rest is history. 🤣🤣

That story has caused me to feel the most joy and also the worst things since I joined fandom. But at the end of the day, I do love that universe. I love their dynamic, I love the relationships built, I love how they grow and develop over the two stories and I love how realistic (in a canonical sort of way) it all feels. It's believable to me that Caroline and Elijah would love each other like family at the end of the story, that Caroline and Cami become so close, that Klaus and Bonnie would have a conversation that is only mildly hostile in which they agree to be cool for the sake of Caroline. All those things bring me immense joy and I feel proud of them because it took a lot of work to get there. Almost a million words of story, actually. 🥲 I've come to a point where I can just replace canon in my heart and just pretend that TO never happened, and that's all I wanted tbh. 🤣 I was watching TO yesterday and thinking 'wow, this is so much better with Caroline there' and for a small second I was very happy that my past self decided to write that story. 😂

I never had any plans to actually fix the parts of canon I hate (there's a bunch of dumb stuff there I would've never done if it had been my story), I just wanted to stay close enough to the show that it could feel *real* and like something that could've actually really happened. At the same time, I DID make considerable changes, some more subtle than others, and if anyone comes at me again saying Caroline and Hayley are the same or that the story is exactly like the show, I WILL DIE. I can only be responsible for what I write, not for what people understand, and if someone doesn't *get* what they're reading, it's their own fault, not mine.

I could name a thousand differences between show and fic, but the most important one, that I think makes the biggest difference, even though it might not even be the most obvious, is that this story, unlike The Originals, is not about the baby. The baby is an artifice, an excuse, just a prop (look away, Ennie). Nothing Klaus does or doesn't do is about the baby. The story is about *Caroline*. She's the one at the heart of absolutely everything. I had no shame whatsoever in making her the center of all attentions, a legit special snow flake, because I love her and that's the place I wanted her to occupy. She has agency, she pushes the story, she motivates everything, she forces Klaus' hand time and time again - not because she's pregnant, but because she is her. Caroline has the same kind of sway over him she had in TVD, which is one of my favorite things about them actually, and I wanted that to be very much the thing that moves the story forward.

Caroline grows into herself and her own influence, and by the time I got to the end of TW2, she was absolutely my favorite in the whole fic (Elijah was my favorite at the beginning lol though I hardly think that's surprising to anyone who read it). I just loved to see how far she'd come, how strong she'd become, how she'd turned into everything I wanted her to be in TVD: someone who was sure of herself, in charge of her destiny, making her own choices, demanding the kind of care and attention she deserved, fierce and loyal still, but more importantly able to put herself first, all the way being put first by others. For me, it's natural that she'd start as someone who gets a little swallowed by the Mikaelson orbit, because they are these larger than life creatures and New Orleans is their kingdom and she's just overwhelmed by the situation she's in. But it doesn't take her long to start carving out her own space, showing them under no uncertain terms that she is not an orphan who's just glad to be taken in by someone like Hayley, neither is she just a baby growing inside of her. She has a family, friends, a whole life that she was taken away from, and for that reason Klaus and Elijah have to make it worth her while to stick around. They have to prove that with them is where she belong, but not by treating her like a princess, but rather taking her seriously, listening to her, compromising, empowering her so she can find her full potential. Stakes are just different, and Caroline's standards are a hell of a lot higher. But at the same time, Klaus does care a hell of a lot more as well. lol He couldn't give a flying fuck if Hayley lived or died for most of TO. With Caroline, he's in it for her from day one. Figuring out how to navigate all that is impossibly hard for him and he makes mistakes, but he loves her, pure and simply, and Caroline has always been the one person who gets him to consider consequences and actually develop a modicum of conscience. Slowly bur surely, they grow into a family. So yeah, my friends say that I can't take a compliment and can never say good things about my own stories and they're probably right. 😂 The kind of awfulness I've had to read about TW made me terribly self-conscious and also made me doubt myself as a writer a lot. But I think I've come to a point where I can just embrace the fact this is a *good* fic that might not be for everyone, but that I am very proud of.

Also, I have like 100k words worth of headcanons for what would happen if I kept writing seasons 3 and 4 of TO. 😂😂

And this has probably NOTHING TO DO WITH WHAT YOU WANTED. 🤣 I'm sorry, anon! But thank you very much for your ask!