#but i was revisiting an old fic idea i had a while ago and i think i struck on something good

[carlyraejepsans]

ohghh i have a REAL fun idea for a fic but now I'm too excited to actually write it i just keep pacing around my room instead

[notjustjavierpena]

Parents

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Merry belated Christmas from me! I know this is my second Christmas fic this time around but I finally got the courage to write about Wife’s awful parents. 

Summary: Javier puts his foot down during Christmas with your toxic family. 

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Toxic family dynamics, psychological abuse, childhood trauma, Christmas, conflict and confrontation, sobbing, declarations of love, hurt/comfort, body/fat shaming

Word count: 5.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61942318

Parents

You get a call from your parents’ home number a few weeks before Christmas. Your mother and father haven't actually bothered seeing you since your wedding day last year but Lucas is four months old now and there’s suddenly a strange interest from them in being grandparents to your firstborn. Somehow, they talk you into spending Christmas with them and reassure you that they’ll take care of everything as long as you bring their grandson. The whole idea causes a ball of anxiety to settle in your stomach, almost imitating getting hit right in the solar plexus with how much your breath struggles to even out as you tell Javier about it. Your husband agrees reluctantly but not without raising a concerned brow, asking you several times - and with days between each time - if you are absolutely sure. 

He even asks you now as he parks the car in your parents’ driveway, looking at you with a serious expression, brows furrowed while you sit stiffly in the passenger seat. You glance towards the front door, trying to act casual as if you’re staring at a wild animal who might pounce if it notices your anxiety. It is an odd feeling you get, staring at your childhood home but feeling more as if it is the scene of a crime. This house is not a memory of warm and fuzzy feelings but rather a place of constant criticism and unjust pain. 

Javier says your name softly beside you. On the backseat, Lucas hiccups.

“Do I look okay?” You quickly ask instead of acknowledging the tone of his voice, fixing your hair without changing anything. 

“Yeah,” he answers and tries not to comment on your nerves, “You look beautiful, mi amor (my love).”

The call from two weeks ago had your shoulders tensing up before you even answered the phone but the way they had reasoned you into revisiting the place of your hardest years has made your shoulders not come down again. 

You sigh gently and unbuckle your seatbelt, “Okay. I can do this for just an afternoon. Let’s get this over with.”

You climb out of the car, Javier following you after carefully unbuckling Lucas and cradling him in one arm while balancing the diaper bag on the other shoulder. You leave his car seat, knowing how much easier it would have been to transport your son inside in it but Lucas has been fussy all night. You really wish he hadn’t because you don’t want to go inside with only half the energy that a good night’s sleep could have provided. 

As you ring the doorbell, you take a look at Javier one last time, “Please don’t interfere. I don’t want to make everyone uncomfortable.”

“Baby, are you sure that—“

“Oh, there you are!” Your mother exclaims when she opens the door with a syrupy smile, “We were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Sorry. Life with a baby and all,” you shake your head with an embarrassed chuckle and try to ignore the tension in your muscles, shrugging your coat off your shoulders to reveal your wine-red button-up and dark skirt. 

“Honey, I thought you knew we always dress up a little during the Holidays,” your mother says while glancing at your outfit with veiled disdain, “Where’s that nice blue dress? With the ribbons?”

“This is all that fits me right now, that isn’t maternity clothes,” you answer apologetically at the first jab of many. Beside you, Javier takes a step closer to you without saying anything. 

“Anyway! Where’s the little man?” Your mother chirps, already having moved on and looking to Lucas who has started stirring in Javier’s arms. When she gets closer, about to reach out to run a hand over his little head, Lucas immediately starts whimpering as if he is aware of the unpleasantries that his mother has had to endure at the mercy of this woman. He knows the culprits before they’ve even revealed themselves. 

“Oh, he’s a little fussy, isn’t he?” She laughs it off and retreats much to your relief, letting Javier bounce your son to make him settle down again. When he quietens down again, you share a glance with your husband who signals that everything is okay. You take a deep breath and let him handle the situation. 

“Where’s Dad?” You ask to turn your attention away from your crying child, smoothing out a nonexistent crease in your skirt. 

“I think he’s just about to get the turkey out of the oven,” your mother says, wagging a finger in Lucas’ face with a little smile, “Why don’t you go say hi and I talk to my grandson for a moment? Oh, look at you, Lucas! You’re just perfect, aren’t you?”

You reluctantly leave the three of them to head for the kitchen. You can feel each family photograph staring back at you as you walk through the hallway to your destination; a picture of your five-year-old self on a bike but somehow no picture of your graduation ceremony as if it has been decided where things went wrong before you could acknowledge it yourself. 

“Hey Dad, smells so good in here,” the kitchen does indeed smell wonderfully as you walk through the door. Your father looks at you over his shoulder, giving you a little smile and you try not to think about how he didn’t bother to come out to greet you. 

“Mom and I were wondering if you were ever coming,” he notes while plating pieces of turkey meat. In the hallway, you can hear Javier striking up polite conversation. He’s handling your mother with his usual calmness, and you feel grateful for his presence yet embarrassed that you aren’t strong enough to handle it yourself.

You shrug a little, Javier’s presence giving you the courage to try and mirror said calmness, “Newborns, you know.”

“He’s four months,” he corrects. 

“Right, time flies,” you reply with your confidence fading fast, the words coming out in a way that doesn’t quite carry the quick wit that Javier usually loves about you. You touch your arm, standing awkwardly by the counter, “Still figuring it out as we go.”

Your father doesn’t turn around, “Parenting’s not rocket science, you know. Your mother and I managed just fine without all the made-up nonsense you young people talk about these days.”

You jump a little as your mother puts a hand on your shoulder and says your name to get your attention. You look back at her, “Can you set the table? I put the tablecloth ready on the silverware cabinet.”

“Sure, Mom,” you smile, already heading for the dining room to escape from your father’s subtle judgments. You find Javier has already gone, an irrational thought popping into your head of how he has bolted and left you to deal with your mom and dad by yourself. 

You glance into the kitchen as you start placing the plates in each of their respective places, “Where’s Javier?”

“He went to get the presents from the car,” your mother replies from the kitchen. You hear her take out a serving bowl from a cabinet. 

“Oh, I should go help him wi—“ 

“He’s your husband, sweetie. Let him handle it. There’s no need to emasculate him like that,” she is suddenly in the doorway, staring you down in a way that makes your hands shake. Her gaze drops to the table and her brows furrow, “You’re using the wrong plates!”

You look up with a racing heartbeat, “What?”

She sighs your name audibly, “These aren’t the Christmas plates. We don’t use regular plates for special occasions. Honestly, I thought you’d know better.”

The words sting and you set down the plates you have been holding in case the littlest twitch will make you drop it onto the floor, “Sorry, Mom.” 

“Ah well, now you’ll never forget it,” she jokes without humor in her voice as she opens the door to the china cabinet, pulling out the plates adorned with what you recognize to be hand-painted holly. You shamefully realize you know them from childhood Christmases and that they are exactly where they’ve always been. 

Automatically, you gather the wrong plates to make room for the right ones. It’s Christmas, you remind yourself as you do it. It is one day. You can survive one day. 

“See? Isn’t this much better?” She says cheerfully when your mistake has been corrected and while you nod, Javier reenters the house. 

He joins the two of you, carrying a large gift bag in one hand and holding Lucas on the other arm. You immediately go to take him, doing a careful transfer until you can lay his tiny body against your shoulder while supporting his bottom. 

“¿Todo bien? (Everything okay?)” Javier asks quietly when you follow him into the living room where the tree stands. He sets down the bag and tries to act casual, laying out the gifts and waiting for your honest response in the meantime. Apparently, you haven’t been as successful in hiding the distress on your face as you thought you had. 

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and Lucas starts whining again. You bounce him gently, “It’s nothing. Just… Christmas stuff.”

Javier glances toward the hallway to the kitchen where your parents’ voices can be heard faintly over the sounds of cooking. His jaw tightens slightly and his mouth becomes a thin line. 

“Don’t,” you say as firmly as you can muster because you wish he would, “It’ll only make it worse.”

“Dame un beso (give me a kiss),” he says instead, and you shyly lean in to peck him on the lips. Afterward, he pulls back but only after stroking Lucas’ back, “You’re both doing great, okay? Don’t let them get in your head.”

You are interrupted by your mother’s voice ringing out from the dining room, telling you that dinner is ready. Javier kisses you one last time before reassuring you that everything will be okay and that he is in your corner. You try to smile, tense as you take a seat with Lucas still in your arms. 

The Christmas meal begins with polite conversation, your father asking Javier about work and your mother telling you about neighbors that you haven’t spoken to in years. You mostly just speak when spoken to, having decided to focus on your baby as he keeps wriggling in your arms in discomfort. You try to rub his belly, try to make him settle by giving him your attention but still, his tiny face crumbles and he lets out a string of small complaints. 

“Maybe we could open presents while he naps?” You suggest hesitantly when your mother has given you enough judgemental advice, “He’s been so fussy all night, and I don’t want him to get more overwhelmed than he—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” your mother says your name with a sigh. You hear Javier’s chair scrape against the floor, almost as if he is about to get up and get ready for a physical altercation.

“Let’s do whatever is easiest for the baby,” your father interrupts, placing a hand on your mother’s wrist. Her annoyance shines through her eyes but she nods with a smile nonetheless. 

“Of course,” you hear her grit out, “It’s just… We’d love to spend time with him. We’ve already missed so much, and Luke needs his grandparents.”

“We’ll see,” Javier answers for you. 

The dinner continues in mostly silence with turkey being substituted by pie, cutlery clinking against plates, and glasses being lifted and set down again. There’s tension so thick that it can be cut with a knife, your mother glancing at Lucas with a smile before it disappears from her face when she shifts her gaze to your direction.  

Mercilessly, she finally speaks, “So, honey, have you thought about when you’ll start losing the baby weight?”

“Mom!” You exclaim in shock, surprised that sound comes out when your throat feels like it is about to close up completely.

In the same manner as one would spit out a drink in shock, Javier’s fork scrapes unpleasantly against his plate, and suddenly, your mother’s name falls from his lips like the sound itself leaves him with a bad taste in his mouth. She looks startled by the interruption, almost like a deer in the headlights of a car, but it doesn’t faze your husband, “My wife looks beautiful and she has just given me - us - the greatest gift which is our son. Let’s not diminish that, shall we?”

You try to feel the weight of Lucas against your chest instead of how you don’t feel safe within this house, with its bruises on the walls and its ghosts of a youth spent walking on eggshells. Lucas’ body is warm, a reminder that this doesn’t matter. He matters. 

“I’m focused on taking care of my son right now, Mom,” you reply coolly with your lips resting on the soft hairs on Lucas’ head. 

“Right, of course. I didn’t mean anything by it,” your mother argues, clearly flustered, “You know how important it is to stay healthy for the baby.”

“Your mother just wants what’s best for you, honey,” your father intervenes, trying to steer the conversation onto friendlier and safer topics but she has already gotten up from her seat. 

“Why don’t I clear the table so we can move into the living room and open presents?” She mumbles, putting on a show by letting her voice waver. She has begun stacking plates before anyone can even say anything, practically fleeing the room and leaving you all looking slightly sheepish. Javier hides the roll of his eyes exceptionally well and he smiles when you catch him.

“I’ll put Lucas down for a nap,” you announce to what is left of the party.

Javier gets up alongside you to help you. He walks upstairs right behind you, a calming presence with the diaper bag in hand as you head for the guest room.

When you close the door behind the three of you, the tension seeps out of your body at having a quiet moment with your boys. The lighting in the room is soft and calming, almost making you want to lie down to nap with your son. 

“There we go,” you say as you gently place Lucas on the bed while Javier rummages through the bag for his pacifier. Lucas blinks up at you, his tiny fists balled and his chubby legs kicking excitedly. He lets out a happy gurgle.

“Oh, now you’re happy,” you tease softly and kneel by the bed to rub his tummy, “Picky with who we’re smiling at, are we?” 

Javier joins you by the bed and offers Lucas his pacifier. Your son stretches his arms and reaches for his father, letting out a high-pitched giggle around the pacifier. However, as he suckles gently, accompanied by your soft touch that has now moved to his chubby cheeks too, his eyelids start to grow heavy. 

When his breaths have slowed, you do whatever you can with the pillows to create a safe space for him to sleep. You create a barrier around him, ensuring as well as possible that he won’t roll over. 

“You know, you’d think that they would have set up a crib for him if they’re so desperate to see him,” you murmur bitterly as you adjust the last pillow.

“You sure you want to go back down there?” Javier asks carefully. 

“Can you grab the baby monitor?” You ignore his question at first but Javier is already handing you the monitor, ruining your attempt at not addressing the situation further. You sigh and get up from the floor, “I can get through it. If it’ll make them stop pestering me for a visit for a while.”

“I swear, one more word out of her mouth and I’ll open my own,” Javier says with anger simmering just beneath the surface. He drags you into his arms when you stand up again, hears your sigh of relief at being squeezed. It calms your nervous system so effectively that you slump. 

“Believe me, I feel like I am going insane,” you whisper into his neck and shoulder, grabbing aimlessly at his strong frame and inhaling his scent. He returns the desperate touch by simply rubbing your back in slow circles. 

“Yeah, I don’t know how you stay so calm,” he kisses your temple a few times. 

“Trust me, humans can endure a lot when they know there’s a time limit,” you chuckle humorlessly and pull away, “Let’s just do the gift exchange and leave.”

Downstairs, your parents are waiting for you by the tree. The collection of presents is sparse this year due to the short notice but you find it relieving to know that the gift exchange will be over quickly. 

Placing the baby monitor on the coffee table, you sit down on the sofa but don’t allow yourself to relax into it. Javier drops down beside you but leans back into his seat, his hand resting casually on your thigh to ground you. 

“Let’s get to the gifts. It’ll be nice to end this day on a happy note,” your mother says overly cheerfully, pretending to have forgiven and forgotten all about the situation earlier. She reaches for the first gift under the tree while your father stands ready with a bag for the wrapping paper. 

“That’s mine,” Javier tells her with a little smirk in your direction. He holds out his hand until she gives it to him, “To my beautiful wife. Merry Christmas, baby.”

“How thoughtful,” your mother mumbles and sits on the edge of her armchair. 

“Javi, I thought we weren’t on gifts this year,” you scold playfully but there’s no seriousness to your voice. You finally smile and this time it is genuine, feeling his gaze on you while you impatiently rip the wrapping. 

“I know what I said but I know you’ll love it. It’s more for Lucas anyway,” he informs you shyly. 

Inside, you find two pairs of identical fuzzy and comfortable socks with a dinosaur print on them. However, one pair fits Lucas’ tiny feet and the other fits yours. Your whole demeanor changes with the sight of your gift, your face lighting up with a bright smile, “These are so cute!”

“For your cold feet. Thought you could use something cozy while you take care of Luke at home,” he moves his hand to rest just above the small of your back, his palm smoothing over you on top of the fabric of your blouse. 

Your parents sit idly by. They stare at the gift with confusion and arrogance, clearly holding their tongue over how ridiculous they find it. Your mother picks at her fingers, “Interesting.”

“Interesting? Aren’t they adorable?” You hold the matching socks up happily, not sure what to expect but not even your mother’s judgmental expression can bring you down right now. To really rub it in, you kiss Javier’s mouth gently in front of them, “Gracias, esposo (Thank you, husband).”

But the happiness is short-lived as your father goes to get the next present from the small pile. He searches for a moment amongst the few there are, deliberately seeking out the present that you have brought them, most likely to be able to leave the room soon due to the obvious tension. He has never been one to intervene. 

“You shouldn’t have,” your mother tuts with a small smile as she carefully unwraps it in her lap, her fingers doing everything they can to not tear the paper so she can reuse it. 

When the framed picture of Lucas is revealed - a photo taken during an afternoon when he was particularly happy and smiling - her smile develops into a slightly wider one even if it looks against her will. She studies the picture with your father looking over her shoulder. 

“We thought you’d like something to remember him by,” you encourage her to say something. 

Your mother places the photo on the coffee table, her hands smoothing out the wrapping paper while she talks, “It’s lovely, sweetie. Though I’m sure we’d have more memories if we got to see him more often.”

You tense up beside Javier. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him do the same but he squeezes your hip to tell you that he is right there. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into your skirt but your mother isn’t finished.

“I just don’t understand why you’ve been so distant,” she continues, cold in her tone. “You hardly call, which would be fine but you visit even less than that, and now you’re letting Lucas sleep through his first Christmas. It’s not like you’ve gone back to work, so what is it?”

“Mom, please,” you say quietly but it doesn’t veil the wavering of your words, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” She challenges, “Lucas has been fussing all night, hasn’t he? Maybe he’s picking up on your stress.”

You hear Javier say your mother’s name as he had during dinner, low and with warning. At the same moment, the baby monitor crackles with the sound of Lucas’ tiny complaints. The sound pulls you from your seat, your instincts to go to him overriding your desire to defend yourself from further abuse. However, your mother’s voice rings out behind you just as you take your first step.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, just let him cry a little. You’ll make him clingy if you keep running to him every time he whimpers.”

You stop in your tracks, finally turning around to look her in the eye with your own eyes narrowed. You can see Javier watching you closely while you talk, “Mom, if he cries, he needs me.”

According to you, she has already gone too far but it seems that she cannot stop once she has started, “You know, you really should stop babying him so much. He needs to learn to self-soothe.”

Tears of frustration start to build in your chest and you can feel the muscles of your throat start to tighten as they rise to your eyes, “Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m not going to stop babying my baby.”

Her final blow comes out with a deliberate intention to hurt you, “There you go overthinking again and snapping at your mother. He is whimpering. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how Javier puts up with it. You can be such a bitch when you’re stressed.”

The room falls dead silent and the first tear escapes your eye at the cruel nickname… then a second and then a third until you start to cry silently and hopelessly. You suddenly feel like a teenager again, suffering from forced proximity. Your father opens his mouth but nothing comes out, seemingly not able to figure out how to defend his wife for once. It is the final straw for Javier.

“What did you just say?” He firmly cuts through the silence. He has gotten up from his seat and has stepped in front of you to shield you protectively from your mother’s line of sight. His nostrils flare with anger that might explode into rage at any moment but he keeps his voice steady, “You better not have said what I think you did or I am wondering why you haven’t apologized already.”

Your mother’s eyes widen at the idea of consequences. She splutters, caught off guard, “Apologize? Javier, don’t be ridiculous! I’m her mother—“

Javier laughs dangerously and condescendingly and looks away with a roll of his eyes. He shakes his head, not afraid to let the room know that he thinks she sounds pathetic without even calling her out on it. He crosses his arms over his chest, “You got a hell of a way of showing motherly love then; all you have done is tear her down today.”

“Javier,” your father tries to interject, “Let’s not make this into a scene.”

“No,” Javier turns to him, his jaw muscles flexing slightly underneath his skin with how much anger is flowing through him. The simple word makes your father sit up straighter than before - a testament to Javier’s days in Colombia - but Javier is not done, “You don’t get to lecture me about making a scene. Not after sitting there and letting this happen. She is your daughter.”

When your father has shut his mouth, looking uncomfortable by his defeat while he leans back into his seat with no intention to follow up on his words, Javier’s fury settles on your mother once more, “What’s your goal here, exactly?”

You’re aware that it isn’t just a simple few tears falling from your eyes anymore but rather a silent stream that has your face puffy and sensitive. It is accompanied by grief over your younger self not having had someone like Javier in her corner. You sniffle audibly, feeling as if you have been punched in the gut with how much it hurts and humiliates you to sit idly by. Your mother catches a glimpse of you behind your husband but it doesn’t seem to have any effect whatsoever. 

“There’s no secret agenda here, for God’s sake. I didn’t mean anything by it,” she sneers, trying to keep her demeanor straight despite the humiliation of getting called out being evident on her face. 

“Yes, you did,” Javier argues immediately and fiercely, pointing his index finger at her in an accusing manner, “You knew exactly what you were saying. You wanted her to hurt. Well congratulations, you’ve succeeded. Unfortunately, your daughter is a lot nicer than me and handled your words with a lot more grace than you deserve. I will not be doing the same thing.”

Your mother’s composure falters. She says your father’s name helplessly but he looks at her with tired eyes, full of quiet disappointment. Even if he is absent and passive like always, his refusal to intervene further is a sign that he would never go as far as his wife has just done. He shakes his head in disapproval, “Why’d you do it? We were having such a nice time too.”

She gapes at your father while his gaze drops to his lap, shrinking herself slightly at the realization that she is outnumbered and has to face your husband alone. Javier takes a step closer, radiating authority when she tries to avoid further confrontation, distaste so clear on his face for how he has lost her attention for a moment. When you let out a quiet sob, too paralyzed in your spot on the couch to go to your whimpering child, his face hardens further and he continues, “Listen to me.”

Your mother looks up reluctantly. She appears to be on the brink of an attempt to turn his words against him and argue right back once more, but Javier cuts her off before she can even start. 

“You don’t talk to her like that again. Ever. And you most certainly do not question her ability to be a mother. She is a perfect mother and God knows, she hasn’t gotten it from you. Lucas is a happy, healthy, and thriving baby because of her,” he takes a breath, and for a second, it seems like he might be done but then, “You hurt my girl, you understand that? And if you ever speak to her like that again - actually if you even speak about her like that again -  I will personally make sure you don’t get to have Lucas in your life.”

“Are you threatening us?” Her composure slips even more. 

“No, ma’am, I am instructing you,” he replies coldly, “If you can’t respect his mother, we’re done here.”

Javier turns to you now, his face softening immediately at the sight of you sitting teary-eyed on the couch with your hands clutching the baby monitor. He says your name so softly, a sound that has always felt like an unfamiliar and unwelcome sound within this house, and gently pulls the piece of technology out of your hands. 

“Listen to me, baby. Go wait in the car. I’ll get Lucas and his things,” he instructs you, placing the baby monitor on the coffee table behind him without looking away from you. He helps you to stand when you find yourself nodding. 

When you’re up from your seat, he puts a hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the door. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let you linger in the room. 

“You don’t have to leave,” your mother protests with obvious surprise that you and Javier are carrying out the promise of consequences. She begins pushing herself to stand. 

“Sit down, I will not let you disturb any of the peace she has left,” he commands harshly when she tries to take a step toward you. 

Your mother falters, stunned by his audacity, and sinks back into her seat.

The moment you’re out of the front door, your legs start shaking so badly beneath you that you aren’t sure if you’ll even make it to the car. The walk feels endless, like climbing a mountain, the neighborhood surrounding your childhood home quiet because everyone is inside with the happy family that you never got to have growing up. 

Until now. You have it now. However, you have left them to fend for themselves on the battlefield to slide into the front seat of the car. You rub your chest as it feels tight but it soothes nothing and suddenly, the tears come harder than they had in the living room. You rest your head against the glass window, screwing your eyes shut and feeling drips of hot tears on your cheeks.

Memories come flooding and you have no power to stop them, pictures of many nights spent in solitude in your room because it was the only illusion of sanctuary in the house before you. The sound of your mother’s scoffs, her unbearable ability to make you feel small, inadequate, and unwanted. Her year-long cruelty feels like a knife in your chest but your father’s silent complicity twists its blade too, makes you think that you were never worthy of defending. 

Yet Javier had done it so effortlessly, had done what you’d wished someone would have done for you in your entire life, and he had done it without any hesitation. You are shattered by another night believing the worst about yourself, yes, but you realize that a part of your sobs comes from relief too. Suddenly, it all feels silly and you don’t know why you have always stopped Javier from speaking up for you since you met because his words - she is a perfect mother - have taken the power out of your mother’s incredibly fast. 

You hear the front door open and a shaky sob leaves you at seeing the two of your boys approach the car. Javier has the diaper bag over his shoulder whilst cradling Lucas against his chest, his face serious. He moves in long strides to get to you fast, not saying anything as he buckles Lucas’ sleeping form into his car seat before climbing into his own seat in the front. 

You sit up again, eyes still brimming with tears that streak your face. You feel overwhelmed like you have run a marathon or fought a bear or a monster. 

Javier puts on his seatbelt but doesn’t put the key in the ignition yet. He looks out of the windshield for a moment, breathes a sigh of relief. The car is quiet except for Lucas’ soft breaths as he sleeps.

Right until Javier says your name when you don’t automatically turn your head to look at him, ashamed of how the day has progressed. It is Christmas, after all, and Lucas’ first one ever too. 

“Mírame (Look at me),” he says in a gentle murmur. 

You shake your head, unable to answer with how tightly wound you are. You feel his hand under your chin, carefully pulling you by your chin until your eyes meet his. His outline is blurry from all the tears but his voice cuts through the fog in gentle firmness. 

“I love you so much, and I love our son, okay?” He says it like it is a promise, “They aren't ever gonna to talk to you like that again because I won't allow them to. Do you understand me?”

You silently look at him through your tears, nodding weakly. He reaches to brush your tears away with a knuckle. 

“Everything’s gonna be okay because you don’t have to see them if you don’t want to. You just have to let me take care of you,” he continues and cups your cheek instead, “And right now, I say you’re done with them for tonight. Actually, for as long as you fucking want.”

“I want… I don’t…” You say at first but then, “I’m sorry.”

Javier furrows his brows, “Why are you sorry?” 

“Because that’s my mom,” you try to speak around a fresh sob, “And you married me and I trapped you with my fucked up family.”

“Hey, heyheyhey,” he shakes his head, moving his other hand to cup your whole face now. He leans over the console of the car and rests his forehead against yours. When you simply cry harder, he pulls you into a hug, “You didn’t trap me, okay? You didn’t. I’m here because you make me happy. You make me so happy, baby, and Hell knows, I needed a bit of taking care of when you met me. Let me return the favor.”

His body is warm, soothing, and grounding. His embrace squeezes you hard enough to make you calm down, giving you a moment of quiet peace in your mind as you begin to take in his words. You feel the same. You want to say it but you’re afraid that you’ll never stop crying tonight, so instead you find the courage to say those words that you should have told yourself years ago, “I don’t think I want to go back.”

“What do you want to do then?” Javier pulls back to look at you. He moves back into his own seat again and starts the car to give you time to think clearly about his question. 

“Can we go to your dad’s?” You ask hesitantly. 

Javier’s brows rise slightly but he doesn’t argue, just nods as he puts the car in reverse. Before reversing out of the driveway, he pulls you in to kiss your forehead softly. 

“Claro, mi amor (Sure, my love),” he says simply, “He’d love to see us.”

.

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[arithmonym]

20 questions for 20 writers!

thanks to @accidentallyadorable for tagging me! this was fun. :3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

30! only 20 are visible from my profile, though. my older fics and drabbles are quarantined to a separate account, and a few things are posted anonymously.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

113,190 words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

it’s mostly the locked tomb these days. i also have a few old works for the penumbra podcast, the magnus archives, and the adventure zone—and a few even older works for harry potter and percy jackson, but those are on ff.net so i can pretend they don’t exist.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

it’s familiar (but not too familiar) - fluffy griddlehark time travel fic. this was my first attempt at writing them and i could definitely do a better job now, but the prose still holds up.

alive, barely breathing - post-canon griddlehark first time fic that’s fucked-up and sad. sometimes i look at the comments when i want to feel good about my writing. :3

bring your hunger - post-canon griddlehark grief/relationship study. also a WIP. (honestly, this one might go on anon for a bit—it’s vulnerable in ways i don’t want to explain, and i’m shying away from writing the next chapter because the Fear of Being Known got to me a little.)

it’s not unusual - fluffy modern AU where team 69 go to a bar and play catan. palamedes has an oral fixation, because of course he does. this one is campal with background griddlehark getting-together, but i might write a sequel from harrow’s POV someday.

bad idea right? - modern AU chatfic inspired by this post by eskildit. it’s about camilla dealing with the paldulcie situationship™️ & enduring so much dyke drama thanks to the nature of her friend group. it received a podfic recently, which is fun!

(… i also want to write a camdulcie sequel for this one. i’ve been rotating the idea frequently.)

5. Do you respond to comments?

almost always. there are a few scattered comments i haven’t replied to yet, but i like responding! it’s an excuse to drop more lore about the fic and the writing process, IMO.

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

the ace cam fic i haven’t finished yet, which will probably be posted on anon. (i feel like people are going to attack me for poor representation or something, but it’s inspired by my own experiences, so. can’t win them all. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

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

something sweet is pure, uncomplicated fluff, so i guess i’ll go with that!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not really. i’ve blocked a few people for being rude, but i haven’t gotten hate in years.

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

occasionally. i’ve only posted 4 explicit fics, but so far it’s a pretty even mix of f/f, f/m, and other.

10. Do you write crossovers?

i have a tlt/w359 fusion AU i want to pick up again! i need to untangle some threads of the metaplot, though.

(also, the first fic i published on ff.net was a harry potter/rise of the guardians crossover. yes. it was cringe. yes, it’s probably still posted on the internet if you want to find it.)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

nope.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes, actually! a few of my old hp fics were translated into spanish or chinese.

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

i wrote a round-robin fic with the campal server once. i also started co-writing a fic with quinn a while ago (before we both got busy with school) that i’d like to return to at some point, because the concept still makes me vibrate with glee.

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

i’m not sure that i have one, actually? i’m a multishipper to my core.

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

i have so many WIPs in my google docs that i’ll probably never finish.

i’d like to revisit my fic about necromancers & dysautonomia some day, but my writing style has changed so much since then. i might have to rewrite what i’ve posted.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i’m frequently complimented on my worldbuilding. i’m good at examining the implications of things that other people might not think about, so my plots are original even when i’m writing a fandom trope. (i can’t wait to post my harrow nova AU for this exact reason.)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

sigh. pacing. i write from very close POVs, but sometimes i get too far into the character’s head, and it drags the story down. i’m trying to write sharper prose, but i’m going through an awkward growth phase as a writer—i know the structure i want, but it’s a struggle to get there concisely.

also, i over-edit instead of writing new words, which does me no favors.

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

i guess it depends on context? i have a pretty good grasp on code-switching from being bilingual but not quite fluent, but the memory of that one klance fic haunts me.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i mentioned my first published fic earlier, but the first fic i wrote was a percy jackson self-insert fic when i was twelve.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

indelible! cam and pal figure out that dulcinea isn’t who she says she is at the fifth’s anniversary party, but it doesn’t change anything. <3

///

tagging @harrowharkwife @friendamedes @cindthia @logicbutton @thewinterstale @sluggydrabbles & anyone else who wants to participate!

[suffarustuffaru]

I think I read a while ago on reddit that you had a madoka magica au for re zero, do you still think about it? I can Imagine Subaru taking the place of Homura but the rest of the cast is harder to place. It's a fun thought exercise though.

WAIT wow your ask sent me down memory lane wkdndn i forgot i even had a madoka magica au in the works for a while. i made it in like late 2020 and last worked on it in early-mid 2021 hah mostly bc my skill with writing and art didnt match with how big of an idea a multichap plotty crossover/fusion au was and i was still just dipping my toes into more ambitious ideas!! but id love to revisit it again now that i got more practice 👍

i like read your ask then went WAIT A MINUTE I DO HAVE A MADOKA MAGICA AU and then i skimmed through my old google doc plot outline for it in a frenzy. but also i used to write in yellow comic sans at the time so i wont subject you to my old terrible (affectionate) writing habits too much. but i think its funny how i had some notes on vague (and Dead Serious) ideas for witch form symbolism and i just found this yellow comic sans monstrosity:

2020/21 me was on some drugs probably LMAO 😭😭 but given madoka magica’s canon content that is probably a good thing if youre writing serious madoka magica fic.

also i did have a tiny bit of finished writing for it. here is the old synopsis past me came up with:

Stumbling across magic and witches, fourteen-year-old Natsuki Subaru follows his new friends and a mischievous cat spirit into a world where a single contract could grant you your greatest wish.

And at the end of it all, he really should’ve known this from the start: wishes always come with a cost.

i think that currently id probably change up this synopsis a bit if i worked on it again but it aint bad i think 👍 and yes youre right subaru would def be in homuras role for this fic… 😔 anyone whos seen both madoka magica and rezero would immediately make that connection i think hah they have. Similarities, as we know 😔

and i deaged some of the rezero cast as you can see hah. not sure if id keep that but i think an important aspect of madoka magica is that the main characters are that young. it helps add to some of their decisions and adds to the tragedy and whatnot. that and like. targeting vulnerable young girls, Literal Children, knowing that most would make a wish and sell their souls in a heartbeat and then easily be crushed by trauma without being able to fight back much, you know? :,) and then theyd make Lots and Lots of despair to harvest… and madoka was meant as a magical girl deconstruction and magical girls iirc tend to be arounddd early teens/preteens!! ill talk a bit more later on how id try to do this au with deaged rz cast hah.

also i did have a small drabble written for this au!!

The boy, no older than fourteen, stands there with an eerie sense of calm.

His frame is seemingly scrawny and lean, dawning dark clothing reminiscent of a mixture between a tracksuit and a school uniform - even if it’s adorned with golden ribbons and stripes - with a whip attached to the belt at his waist. Draped over that is a cloak, the hood of it casting a shadow over messy black hair and a cold expression. His keen eyes, emphasized by the deep bags underneath, narrow at the sight of Puck, mean and brimming with distaste.

With a steady hand, he raises a pistol to Puck’s head.

The moonlight shines dimly through the broken windows and onto the shards littered all over the floor. A beam illuminates a metal contraption, its appearance similar to a shield, strapped to the boy’s forearm.

“You know, I don’t quite recall making a contract with you,” Puck muses cheerily, though an undercurrent of a threat weaves itself into his tone. He stares down the barrel without fear, his sharp teeth revealed in his smile. “Who are you, really? And why are you so upset that I’ve been getting close with Lia? Jealous much?”

“Don’t you dare call her that,” the boy replies instead, bitterly spitting out each and every word. “Don’t you dare pretend that you only have her best interests at heart, or that you really care for her like a father figure would. It makes me sick.” He sneers as he digs the cool metal of the gun harder into Puck’s fur. “Because if you make even just one mention of creating a contract with her, or if you even come near her… I’ll definitely make sure that you regret it.”

yeah so. past me made puck kyubey apparently 😔👍 and if i revisited this au im not sure if i would keep subarus character development to be Exactly the same (ie it was very greedbaru/pridebaru/homura inspired) but this drabble was a fun exercise at the time!!

but anyway i will ramble about some more ideas i had for this au under the cut!! turned out past me had A Lot of ideas.

yes so this au was like. a fusion of sorts so yes i was assigning rz characters certain roles, blending worldbuilding together, etc etc but the general plot sort of followed the general story of the main madoka magica plot from the main show to rebellion!! it was like vaguely modernish too, but you know, madoka likes to be Creative with its backgrounds (see: the infinite amount of crazy chairs everywhere, which im still very fond of to this day) and also rz vainglory/school if has its fantasy world cast mixed in with subarus parents still being there iirc and a whole bunch of other details too (like beatrice being subarus adopted sister iirc?). so i was going the vainglory-ish route here in terms of “how modern is this world?” 👍

the main cast i was focusing on was gonna be subaru (homura), emilia (madoka), rem (sayaka), ram, beatrice, felt, and reinhard. also puck as kyubey haah and satella as walprugisnacht aka the giant witch at the end of the main show. i havent seen madoka in a bit wkdn i gotta rewatch. but anyway!! felt and reinhard got a mix of mami and kyokos roles narrative wise yeah.

quick rundown on their characters is that i wanted to stick to the rz cast’s canon characterization as much as possible while leaving room for fun experimentation!! and if theyre still younger than normal canon here—subarus still got his Big Ego/Im The Main Character mindset but in that way thats specific to his little kid self bc he hasnt gotten Completely Depressed yet (think like. arc 7-8 type stuff), reinhards still stuck in the middle of watching his dad gradually deteriorate, felts even Younger and still trying to find her footing a bit, rem is Guiltily and enviously trying to live up to ram’s Golden Childness (this is pre-Incident That Kills Their Whole Family). and emilia has lived a lonely life in the forest somewhere with no one for company :,) i cant remember if i had some Magic Mindfuckery ideas for her backstory here but ive definitely had ideas for modernizing her backstory for other aus like this!! but either way emilias family is still dead ;-; and i do consider like. the idea that modern emilia would have albinism, especially when there is discrimination in place against people with albinism that is a little similar to emilias canon struggle with her appearance so a modern take of emilia being that she is someone with albinism would be Very Relevant!! but!! not sure if id go all the way with that bc its a sensitive topic that needs to be treated with care and i dont personally have albinism 👍 or i could go the magic route and go “emilia looks like a previous magical girl thats become the most powerful witch yet….” ie satella ofc. so emilia would still be a bit of a “red flag” to other magical people.

but yes emilia wished for. im not sure but probably smth like “i wish not to be lonely anymore”…………. and then she got her wish granted via having magical girl/boy friends and puck!!!!! thisll totally end happily.

and quick note on reinhard is i didnt have much plot ideas for him yet but i considered different ideas for his backstory!! maybe theres some magic fuckery and theresia was a magical girl once? no clue how that works but it was an Idea i had for sure. also various ideas to modernize the Astrea Family Drama (dont worry the accidental indirectly/directly causing your family member’s death thing would still be there wkdndh this is an important detail to me.) but regardless of whats going on with reinhards backstory his wish was a naive little kid wish!! he wanted to be a hero who helps people ;-; good going reinhard ;-;

the entire plot of this au in general was divided in half, first half would be the first timeline where things go wrong. subarus gonna be the pov and hes the audience surrogate bc hes new to the world of magical girls/boys and no one in the group 100% knows the ugly truth yet!! and like in canon emilia/madoka has already become a magical girl here. emilia is also already close with puck—and emilia is the one person puck has genuine fondness for ;-; and i had a Lot of ideas for what exactly went wrong here—i had elsa and meili planned as witches? and i think i considered disemboweling felt :<<<< this is very sad bc her family gave her away to save her bc they were in danger (yes just like in canon rz) but then later felt had her life threatened or smth? and like mami, felt wished to keep living. but the wording felt used was wanting to “live strong”…………….. well she sure got it by fighting elsa valiantly but still losing 😔

also ok the first person to become a witch is beatrice. i had like wild ideas with beatrice—the possibility that echidna still made beatrice and puck and that beatrice couldve been a failed—whats the word for the creatures in madoka that collect/cause magical girls??? incubators i think?? yeah that. because whatre the two things a little kids gonna probably trust?? a cute cat creature and a tiny little girl offering free wishes, probably. and of course beatrice got assigned by her biomom echidna to look after echidnas library maybe. bc echidnas funny like that and beatrice didnt work out as an incubator so now shes gonna generate soooo much despair when she realizes that there is no That Person + the truth of magical girls/boys and what beatrice was meant to be used for….

yes more various shit hits the fan bc rem and rams canon witch cult backstory… i had plans to adjust it for this au and make it happen In Real Time. and also rem’s wish was probably something along the lines of wanted to be needed. and Better. so not just Like Ram. but rem wanted to be More than ram. which rem is guilty about but thats still what she wants so she wishes for it away from rams eyes. ofc rams feelings on this is that she just wants her sister to treasure herself and be safe and whatnot but rem is kinda in her pre-witch cult trauma mode and Oops now their town is destroyed in flames and their family is dead ;-;;; not sure how else id modernize rem and rams backstory but yes this is. this is how their plot went in that first timeline wkdnd. and ram is injured in some way ;-;;;

yes and then rem you know pulls a sayaka and goes a little crazy about everything bc beatrices whole ordeal already revealed how fucked they all are and then rem and rams Trauma just happened so rem feels like shit!! and then she becomes a witch too oops ;-; and then reinhard decides to be the hero and sacrifices himself so emisuba can escape ;-;; or at least that was my plan at the time. but yeah rem became better (a magical girl. bc ram didnt feel like making a wish bc her only wish would be wanting rems happiness but she didnt want to Cheat That. she wanted rem to find it on her terms. except rem became “better” and bigger than ram by being a witch also oops. also i think i still had vague plans to include rem being Obsessed with subaru to contrast what will later be subarus emilia obsession haha) and then reinhard. is the hero. </3

satella comes in somewhere at the end. she used to be a magical girl but she became a witch and shes Crazy Powerful for reasons i have forgotten now 👍 but i definitely wanted to have more shenanigans going on with her backstory to keep that sort of emilia-satella-subaru mystery connection. and theyre still connected anyway bc emisuba inevitably lose to satella bc shes too powerful ;-; emilia is gonna die and puck realizes OH SHIT I SHOULDNT BE FEELING LOVE BUT I DO GENUINELY LOVE EMILIA I CANT DEAL WITH THIS. WITH HER DYING. ID RATHER DESTROY EVERYTHING THAN LET THAT HAPPEN. and ofc subarus also in agreement bc oh god oh god—and yeah. subaru hasnt made a wish until this point but he makes a contract with puck to promise to save Everyone. like subarus promise in canon right before he dies for the first time you know? bc then he dies.

and wooooo the time loop officially begins!!! i had more ideas but i have typed lots on this post already akfnd maybe ill save it for another time if people are interested.

but yes thats all thats the au!!!! i am not familiar with stuff like magia record yet sadly ;-;; but if i ever wanted to expand the au thats def One option 👍 bc WOW the rz cast would be such a goddamn gold mine for those fucking incubators. little kid felix argyle would be a Top Tier candidate for them. like can you imagine???? thatd be the biggest disaster of all time ;-;;; and also theres Lots of possibilities for various witches the cast can fight!! very fun stuff its why i chose elsa and meili and satella :o !! but yes id consider exploring other candidates for magical girls and boys as well bc WOW felix would go insane here.

[gilbirda]

for the ask game: Danny Arkham Security Guard?

I've been curious where you're at with that for a while (I assumed the muse has fled and/or you're too busy with other fics), so had to pick that one when I saw it on the list 👀

From this WIP ask game

Haha! I knew someone would ask about it!

Honestly I have struggled a lot with picking this bad boy up... When I finally did a few months ago, the last edit was July 2022 😭

Long story short, summer 2022 was the time I really went down the spiral with Hardcover ship and literally every idea I had was for those two. I think what happened was that I realized there was an untapped potential and market for romance and all the classic romance tropes in DP fandom (I understood why that was the case, but still I was frustrated because I hadn't seen a single fic that made me crazy about any ship in DP) and it left me wanting.

Then I wrote Arkham Guard Danny and I did the bit where Jazz almost shoots Jason, and then I liked the dynamics between him and the siblings and I literally said in the AN if I ended up shipping him, I was debating between Jazz and Danny. *laughs in irony*

So basically I went "what if I write every romance story trope but Jazz/Jason?" and the rest is history.

And every damn time I went back to Arkham Guard Danny, I re read it and realized.... Is just so bad. I saw flaws everywhere. I saw bad characterization. I saw "angry robin Jason" and a bunch of things I don't stand by anymore and I felt like there was no way I could continue that fic and the difference wouldn't be felt. Was I too harsh with myself? Absolutely, but we are our worst critic.

Also? I felt the project running away from me. I started developing worldbuilding and ideas and I got mad because Arkham Guard is supposed to be simple. It used to be the "simple fic" I did while I focused on my magnum opus for DP fandom (Eldritch Ghost King Danny AU - "You and me and our best friend makes three"). If it got complicated I didn't want to write it anymore. And then it did and I dropped it.

Recently I went through a really bad situation and it kind of killed any want to write for dpxdc. I thought - why not go back to the basics? Revisit what really made me start in the fandom, what made me get a bunch of comments like "i got into dpxdc because of this fic". Took me back to when I started, how simple it felt to just write a fic and drop it to the ether and not worry about the things that made me want to stop forever.

So I did. Feels good to pick this up again!

I could go on forever but I won't continue rambling about this project (✿◡‿◡)

If you read up to this point, here's a little bit of what I have so far!

---

“Children,” Alfred stood from his seat, positioning himself between the brothers and their guest. “Let her breathe.”

“It’s okay, Mr. — uh…” She blushed as she realized she never asked for his name.

“Alfred,” the butler smiled, “Alfred Pennyworth.”

“Mr. Pennyworth,” she nodded politely. “I’m fine. I am aware that after that… theatrical spectacle, explanations are needed.”

“Indeed.” Batman cut in the conversation. “Proper explanations are in order. After I deliver the Joker to Arkham.”

“You can’t be serious!” Did the old man go crazy? Back to that wretched place?

Jazz frowned, seemingly sharing his thoughts. She leaned closer to the microphone and spoke in a controlled voice. “Where are you delivering him? In the hospital.”

Bruce took way too long to answer, so Tim did it for him. “Through the front door?”

Jazz didn’t find it funny. “Wait for me.”

“What?”

“I said, wait for me.” Jazz reached for her discarded jacket, eyeing the door to the elevator back to the manor. “Joker is my patient and I need to be there.”

“What for?”

She turned to look at Jason. “He doesn’t deserve to be left at the mercy of some of the people in the Asylum. They could—”

“He can rot for all I care.”

The vigilante walked up to her, getting in her way and using his height and build to scare her into submission. Jazz held his gaze, defiant, muscles tense and ready to throw down if needed.

“You don’t know that place like I do.”

Jason huffed. “Whatever the inmates want to do to him, he deserves it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the inmates.” Her teal eyes steeled with fury. “Arkham has a history of staff abusing their authority.”

[chockfullofsecrets]

Top Gun Maverick: Kid Shit

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: He scoffs. “I’m not ticklish anymore, Mav. That’s kid shit.”

Mav uncrosses his arms. “Yeah? Wanna bet?”

In the aftermath of the mission, Bradley and Maverick revisit some old traditions.

Wordcount: 1769

A/N: Yeah, this was just about the stage of the [watch the new Mission Impossible > start catching up on Tom Cruise movies > start looking for fic > read everything @ticklish-academic has ever written for this fandom > get ideas] pipeline I expected I'd get to. Feel free to hit me up if there's anything else you want to see for M:I/TGM while the hyperfixation lasts :P

--

After the crush of people on the deck breaks up, handshakes and hugs and general oh-shit-we’re-alive energy starting to fade back into the normal schedule of things, he and Mav get shuttled off to sickbay and told in no uncertain terms to stay put until the adrenaline wears off enough for them to tell exactly how bad they’re hurting. Mav puts up a fight, of course, but Bradley knows better - every aviator’s heard the horror stories, herniated discs and torn muscles from the force of ejection, and he’s got one that’s more personal than most.

Mav does too, to be fair, but it’s not like anything short of a direct chewing out from the Almighty himself would keep him from being stupid about his health. And even then, it’d be a toss up.

A week ago, he’d have pulled one of the staff aside and asked to be as far away from Mav as he could possibly get. The urge isn’t completely gone. Mav promised him they’d talk it out, when they got back, but after the mission - Mav saving his life and him saving Mav right back and sitting there in the backseat of that old as shit plane with nothing to do but trust him and try not to pass out - maybe they’ve bonded, okay? Maybe talking’s just going to make it worse. He’d rather wait until he has the option to walk away, if he needs to.

Really earning that Rooster callsign, huh. He’d be angrier at himself if he had the energy for it.

As things are, they’re pointed to adjacent cots and left to stew. Five minutes pass. Fifteen. He avoids looking at Mav like it’s his new vocation in life and starts counting wall rivets.

Half an hour in, he groans for the fifth time in as many minutes and slides down until he’s laid out flat enough to adequately convey his despair. “Come on.”

There’s a shuffle from the cot next to him. “I hope that’s not you realizing you broke something,” Mav says dryly.

He groans again. “I’m bored, Mav. Where the hell are the rest of the Daggers? You’d think they’d at least bring us a deck of cards or something.”

Mav makes a noncommittal noise. Emboldened, he props himself up on an elbow and dares to look over. “How are you okay with this, anyways? You hate sitting still.”

Mav’s reclining into the curve of his rickety half-raised bed, arms folded neatly over his chest like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Bradley’s struck by an intense, childish urge to get up and flip the whole thing. “Believe me, I’m not thrilled either. Not my first time playing the waiting game, though.”

Of course it isn’t. Come to think of it, he’d be surprised if a mission for Mav didn’t end in medical intervention.

He says as much, a little more snidely than he means to, and Mav turns his head with glacial indolence to raise an eyebrow in his direction. “Bad mood, huh.”

And doesn’t that just - it makes him feel like he’s a teenager again, gangly and sweaty and more upset about everything than he should be. Not the tone, even, just that Mav hasn’t been around to look at him like that in so long - and the words come out almost without his permission. “Yeah - well, I’m stuck in here with you, aren’t I?”

Mav’s bland expression flickers, just for a moment, and he instantly feels like the worst person on earth. The man saved his life less than twenty four hours ago, and here he is mouthing off like he’d used to when they’d known each other well enough not to take it seriously.

He lays himself back down, too much of a coward to see whatever else Mav’s face is broadcasting at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Mav’s still looking at him, he can feel it. The silence stretches out before them like a ship’s runway, pitching and yawing like he’ll launch straight off it and into the water if he’s not careful.

And then, like he always does, Mav takes the challenge and starts taxiing. “Lighten up, kid, or I’m going to have to cheer you up the way your dad used to.”

Bradley’s surprised enough to look back at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mav cocks his head, mouth twitching. “What, you don’t remember?”

Something about the tilt of Mav’s smile, the not-entirely-begrudging amusement in his eyes, registers somewhere in the back of his brain - and he does remember, then, though it’s not his dad he’s thinking of.

It’s Mav - Mav sneaking behind him and sweeping him up before he can run, Mav reaching over to him in the passenger seat where he’s buckled in and can only move so far before the seat belt catches him, Mav dumping him onto the couch and grabbing one of his legs before he can start kicking and-

He scoffs. “I’m not ticklish anymore, Mav. That’s kid shit.”

Mav uncrosses his arms. “Yeah? Wanna bet?”

He tells himself firmly that the reflexive flinch when Mav starts getting up is fear for the old man’s spine and absolutely nothing else. “Mav, come on, you’re not supposed to be moving around - Mav!”

He scrambles back the singular inch that his cot allows, barely managing to sit up before Mav’s perching on the edge of it and smirking at him. “Hey, you don’t look bored anymore.”

Well, Mav’s got one thing right. His entire brain’s diverted from boredom to run a diagnostic on what feels like every single one of his nerve endings, and he’s more than a little suspicious of the results. “You’re - I’m being threatened here, that’s not-”

Mav shakes his head disbelievingly, still grinning like the devil himself. “Threatened? What happened to ‘kid shit’?”

“I’m not ticklish,” he insists. He can almost make himself believe it, too, that his body’s just operating on decade-old instinct, responding disproportionately to a memory meant to stay in the past. “Try me, it’s just going to be awkward for both of us. You probably pulled something just coming over here, old man.”

It’s not a go fuck off and die, and Mav knows it - Bradley watches him pause for a moment and mull it over, grin softening into something warmer and less provocative, and has to consciously pull the corners of his mouth back into the stern line he wants them in to prevent himself from smiling back. “Bold words, kid.”

“True words,” he fires back, just before Mav’s wriggling fingers hit his stomach and prove him very definitively wrong.

He’s laughing before he can even try to stop himself, doubled over and curling up like he can somehow still manage to keep Mav’s hands away from the spot they’re already attacking. “Shihihit! Mav!”

“That’s me,” Mav says flippantly, sliding close enough to get an arm around him when his body makes a commendable attempt to escape by rolling off the far side of the bed. “Not ticklish, huh? Pretty sure things went in the other direction.”

Mav’s obviously messing with him, but he’s not wrong - Bradley doesn’t remember anything tickling as badly as Mav’s fingertips kneading into the bend of his waist do. “No!” he yelps anyways, smashing one arm over his mouth in a desperate attempt to stay quiet and throwing the other out frantically to get Mav the hell off him.

Mav’s arm tightens across his chest. He’s being reeled back in, forced out of the fetal position he’s locked himself into and giving Mav even more room to wreak havoc - it’s too much, all at once, and he squeals. Squeals, like he’s a teenage girl at a concert and not a naval aviator in his thirties. He has the sudden, paranoid thought that Hangman might hear him through the vents.

The thought of it makes him laugh even harder, frantic - smothering himself in his elbow is keeping him quiet enough for now, but if Mav keeps tickling him like this it’s only going to last so long. “Ha - ahaHA - quit it,” he pleads, sacrificing his assault on Mav’s iron band of a grip to wrap an extra arm around his face. “Ihihi - I can’t-”

Mav releases him almost instantly, letting him flop onto his side and curl back up until he can stop wheezing out giggles into his kneecaps. “Well, that’s different,” he offers - Bradley can hear him grinning, the bastard. “You never used to ask me to stop.”

Just the thought of being tickled more nearly sets him off again. Thankfully, Mav decides to shut up and wait for him to catch his breath before he coughs himself to death on Navy property.

He calms down. It’s easier, now, less charged, to roll over onto his back with his hip mashed up against Mav’s thigh and reach up to smack him in the shoulder. “Well, yeah. We’re in public, Mav,” he says defensively. “You can’t just go around doing that to people.”

Mav catches his hand before it can drop back down to his chest, squeezes it playfully with his eyes lit up like fireworks. “Hey, you asked for it!”

Bradley hasn’t seen him this happy in - well. That’s kind of his fault, isn’t it. He wrestles his hand free for a moment before thinking better of it, relenting and letting it fall somewhere in the vicinity of Mav’s legs. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Mav laughs to himself, then, just long enough that it’s worth Bradley cracking an eye open to glare at him. “What.”

“Nothing,” Mav says quickly.

Bradley glares harder.

“Nothing!” he promises, then just as quickly retracts it. Typical Mav. “It’s just - my hangar, I’m working on a P-51 Mustang out there. You could come out and see it sometime, if you wanted to.”

He’s not sure what’s so funny about it, but he lets himself grin anyway. “As long as we don’t have to dogfight in it - that sounds good, Mav.”

“It’s about as far as you can get from public, though,” Mav adds, teasing, “so I can go around tickling anyone I want. Fair warning.”

Oh, there’s the joke. He can’t even bring himself to pretend he doesn’t want to go, though, just scoffs and shoves at Mav’s arm again before letting his eyes fall shut. “Go lie down before I change my mind, Mav, I saw that wince.”

“Yeah, yeah.” A hand ruffles through his hair. It’s nice. “You look tired, kid, knock it off.”

Mav doesn’t move until he falls asleep. Maybe it’s not so bad being someone’s kid again after all.

[artinandwritin]

I dont think i ever mentioned it but ever since i started applying to art colleges I've been keeping up an art wall and since i just added some new illustrations to it, i thought it would be fun to explain some things on my wall and revisit some of my old favourites!

Going from left to right, we start with some more recent illustrations (featuring, ofc, gussiri, Niv, and a recent illustration of Cato from @otwdfanfic 's fic that i liked sm i just had to print and put up somewhere). Next to Cato, I put a gift i got from my dear friend @lt-catbolt of our bois Niv and Melatron and i cant remember if this was for my birthday or for fun, all i know is that i nearly cried when she gave it to me (go follow her now btw she's awesome and shes gonna become one of the most expressive storytellers of our generation i just know it)

Underneath Cato and Niv/Mel, we've got a huge pencil drawing I did 2 years ago to get accepted into an art college. It took me so. So long. I even begged my teachers from high school to let me follow classes online so i could continue working (they said yes lmao) and my mom even had to help. Worse, it wasnt the only assignment that particular art school had given me, no, they had given me a total of 6 assignments I had to complete. They all took a lot of time and didnt all turn out great haha. I didnt get accepted into that school (it was a fine arts study so im pretty sure i wouldnt have been happy there anyways) but that just makes me all the more happy i did get accepted into the one im currently attending

Anyway ive been too lazy to take it down so now itll be there until i find the willpower to take it down

The butterfly above it is a painting i did towards autumn of 2021 for my portfolio. I'm not the best painter (decent enough but its just not for me) but im still really happy with how this turned out. It was pretty fun!

Underneath that is an inkt print made from a stencil once again featuring Cato (i have. No idea why hes on my wall twice lmao i guess hes just a great muse). People who have been with me for long enough probably still remember this cuz i was superproud of how it turned out and plastered it all over my account (and my house. My mom wanted a copy as well)

Underneath the inkt print is a poster i got while visiting the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe stage play when I was in London in autumn of 2022 (take me back London take me back take me back). The play was absolutely stunning and the way everything was staged left me (as a life long narnia enthusiast) ecstatic and super excited. One of the best plays ive ever seen even if i had one of the worst seats in the theatre <3

Next to the poster is another little gussiri drawing i printed lmao. The little goobers show up so much

Above the poster is more of gussiri!! And above that is another painting i made, this time of some mushrooms. I made this during a party i threw for my 18th birthday, we all did some painting together and i remember my lovely lovely friend @allilcat painting with watercolours so well. That memory is just etched into my brain <333

Above that is a painting i made of the night sky! I used it for my portfolio and it was really cool to paint since i, not knowing basic painting techniques, could only really throw my own imagination into it which gave a really cool result. Still really love it!

Lastly, we've got a Siri illustration made by a classmate of mine for a secret santa we did last christmas! I was so happy with it and ofc it deserved a really good spot on my wall <333

Thats been a bit about my wall, if youve made it this far thanks for listening to me rambling <333

[onewomancitadel]

A smattering of general updates:

I played Tears of the Kingdom. I didn't really enjoy it. I understand why it was popular though; I'm just not the demographic for these types of video games anymore. I didn't find it creatively rewarding and after a time I sat there thinking 'I would rather be writing right now', and since then I have learnt that writing is made easier by doing things which are not writing, because it makes me miss it. My dad also doesn't really like it but for some reason has played hundreds of hours in it. I don't know either - I think he will take anything called Zelda at this point.

I spectated the Doctor Who David Tennant Special and watched some clips of the new season. I'm not a fan of RTD, and not a DW fan anymore (not for a long time), but it was an interesting study in how studios try to attract old and new fans.

I read a lot of books, and that lie people tell you about all books being good for you is a lie, because a cyberpunk anthology of short stories made me so angry I got heartburn. I think people who say that are saying so because they wish that they could read a lot, in which case I say, yes I think reading is a gift and we should engage with it, however, sometimes I get so physically angry from something stupid/bad I've read because bad writers exist that it gives me actual pain. I am reading Howl's Moving Castle right now and it's very joyful; I am very surprised by the liberties the animated film took! However so far I do think both experiences are worthwhile, and if you enjoyed the Ghibli film, I very much recommend checking out the original book if you want to revisit that world again. The prose is straightforward but a little whimsical, and Howl is very, very funny. I have laughed aloud a few times.

Well, you know I rewatched Dark, and it's funny that during my exile I said 'this is like if RWBY got the ending it deserves' and then, er, I found out it's not renewed yet, and that's still up in the air, which for the entirety of RWBY I have only had one true moment of doubt of such a thing, and that was a while ago.

On that topic, yes, I still ship Jaune/Cinder, believe Cinder's redemption is likely, etc., although there are some more external concerns I would wager now than before. Before I thought it very possible to do without any commercial influence, and it depends what compromises they do or don't end up making or having already made. My analysis of Jaune's arc in V9 may not hold water as much (e.g. if you lean towards the view there were rewrites to cater to growing the audience, or perhaps it's two ideas married? I'm not sure) so I'm going to think about it more, and there always has been a tension in RWBY between what is being expected/baited and what is foreshadowed/said/actually happens.

I figured out how to write again and what was blocking me, so there's that. To talk about it a bit more, since my break I have worked every single day on writing. My key takeaways are that you need a delicate balance of delusion and self-doubt to get anything done - you don't know you can do something until you actually do it - and every excuse I invented for not writing was not the reason I was not writing. I can write with a migraine beginning to set in on an uncomfortable desk where I can't even rest my elbows properly on the end of a bed with no back support without aircon in the middle of summer before I've even taken my hair out from bedtime plaits in my pyjamas. I didn't even expect to get my fic done right before midnight, actually I was like 'well lol that's not going to happen, I'll write anyway though, fuck New Year's' because I wasn't doing anything, and then I finished and looked at the time and was like ooooh. I actually completed my goal! So I'm very proud of that. Anyway writing is breathing, to me, I go crazy if I don't do it, no matter what it is, and every single piece of nonsense advice of productivity was not helpful, ever, but I did figure it out. Also admittedly I got a fire burning under me again because I found out I was actually right about Raven, in which case I took that as a sign from heaven I was on the right track. One should hope.

I am excited about Dune Part Two, yes, although I am trying to avoid Villeneuve talking about the film because I know all the marketing is basically directed at people who aren't Dune fans, and I have to see it for myself to see what it's worth. I enjoyed the first film, and Villeneuve seems excited to direct Dune Messiah, in which case I am willing to do whatever possible to make that happen. Because that's about as complete a story you're going to get in a major motion picture adaptation and it would be So Fucking Good.

[robotdragonfanatic]

Revisiting my old Immortals Start Aging on Earth due to Oxygen idea

just had some errant thoughts lately so I compiled them, this time more as fic ideas than the research based... thing... I wrote years ago.

Setting the stage:

Death saves Humanity at the Well of Souls. This allows the humans who fled with Fury to procreate again. But it'll take quite a while for them to have any hope of retaking their place in Creation. There's too few of them and they're essentially starting from scratch wherever it is that they landed. Fury is there to help.

Back on Earth:

Years pass. Then decades. At 100 years since the Earth was taken, War slays the Destroyer, but the demon hordes are many. Cleanup takes a while, but they notice something... odd.

Some of the warriors, both angel and demon alike, are slower than they should be. They tire faster. Rumors say Sloth has somehow come back, but without Humanity to corrupt what's the point of it?

Other creatures seem thinner that they ought to be. They don't eat as much anymore though they hoard food just the same.

Vulgrim notes an increase in demand for all sorts of potions and tonics - healing, wrath, vitality and even-

-pain relief.

Within secluded and well hidden encampments, an Angel stares in horror at a reflective surface. In his hand is a hair which lacks its former white sheen.

It is a dull grey.

Another notes his commander's stern face has gained yet another line. They dismiss it as simply the effect of all that frowning. So why do their thoughts return them to the day of arrival- when they'd struck down a similar lined face on a body a fraction of their size?

[boydcrowdr]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you @acorrespondence, my lovely mutual and writting buddy, for tagging me <3

How many works do you have on ao3?

6, under beezleebub (more under a secret abandoned account)

What's your total ao3 word count?

131,144 for my current account

What fandoms do you write for?

justified, primarily. with one deadwood fic, and a mcu wip in the works.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

"stay with me" is my most kudoed fic <3

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i try to! i never know what to say cus i'm always so blown away that anyone's reading my shit at all.

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i try not to end on a sour note, but i feel like everything i write carries a general blanket of angst through it's narrative

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

probably "stay with me" just cus i was feeling nice that day

Do you get hate on fics?

not these days. i feel like ao3 users have a generally laid back approach to fanfic these days. don't like? exit the tab, easy peasy.

Do you write smut?

no? i have included not overly explicit sex scenes in fics bcus they can be a great tool for emotionally charged moments, good character moments, etc. but nothing crazy.

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

never ever. they're not really my thing.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no lol

Have you ever had a fic translated?

nah

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, i'm a control freak

What's your all-time favorite ship?

charles xavier/erik lehnsherr. easy. full stop. don't even have to think about it. there's something about them. something about the 60s/70s. something about two sides of the same coin. something about wanting the same thing but having morally conflicting approaches. i think about magneto every single day of my life since i was 11 years old. next question.

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

"keep it near" had such a choke hold on me. it was born of an offhanded discussion in the justified discord so long ago and a love of southern gothics and detective stories. i still love it sm but idk if i'll ever have the steam to revisit it. maybe when i rewatched true detective s1 it'll just pour outta me tho, who knows.

What are your writing strengths?

dialogue. i think i'm pretty good at back and forths between two characters that are saying something other than what they mean. i enjoy writing dialogue that is more revealing in what isn't being said. p.g. wodehouse also taught me a lot about tone in dialogue and witty back and forths that i really enjoy and think i have a pretty good grasp on writing those sorts of exchanges.

i also like to think i'm pretty good at carrying a tone through a story. giving something a general vibe. usually a haunted angsty vibe but still, it's an energy.

What are your writing weaknesses?

probably so many things. i don't like most of my fics that are up currently (with the exception of "keep it near" and probably "stay with me"), but we're all our worst critics. I feel that i struggle with writing action, motion, etc. i never want a scene that lacks dialogue to come across as "and then," "and then," etc, you know what i mean?

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

iffy. i feel like it can come across as jarring to a reader if they have no idea what they're even looking at. i've included snippets of russian in a wip, which i have been studying for quite a while, but i still fear it might come across as clunky.

First fandom you wrote for?

uhhh... probably batman? or marvel? unless we're counting the self insert assassin's creed fanfic i wrote in 6th grade before i knew what fanfic was.

Favorite fic you've written?

oh probably "keep it near" but by far my unpublished fic i'm working on currently.

don't know who's been tagged yet, but @praycambrian @raylangivins @norgbelulah @eff41 and anyone else who hasn't been tagged yet <3

[ghostlynimbus]

Title: Homecooked

Main Pairing: Harringrove

Rating: T

Tags & Warnings: Billy-centric, Complicated feelings about parents, food, cooking, implied/referenced abuse, Neil Hargrove is mentioned but not present, other tags TBA, Rating May Change

Summary:

Billy hates apologizing almost as much as he hates cooking. So, naturally, he decides to apologize to the people he has hurt with some home cooked food.

AN: This is actually one of my oldest Stranger Things fic ideas, but because I ended up projecting a bit more on to Billy with this than originally planned working on it has been incredibly slow going. It's been nice having it on the WIP poll though, so here is the first 300ish words.

ART: Ihni made some wonderful art a while back inspired by an old post about this idea.

Part 1

Billy hates cooking, but maybe only because he once loved it so much.

His mom was never like… a chef, or anything. Billy never had any delusions about her being the best cook in the whole world or anything stupid like that. And to be honest, his mom didn't actually cook all that much.

But the times that she did, those memories stuck with him. 

Memories of how she would stand beside him in the heat of their narrow little kitchen, teaching him how to make recipes that she herself only half remembered. She always said she’d learned them from some cookbook or another that she had read years ago, and she had a special smile, one with just a hint of mischief to the quirk of her lips, that she would use only when she would make up parts of the recipe that she couldn’t remember. 

She would always hold her breath whenever she let him cut anything, the same way she would when they would go over bridges or through tunnels. For luck, she told him once. 

Billy never worried back then that she thought he’d mess it up and ruin the ingredients, at the time he was confident in the knowledge that she was just worried he might get hurt. 

And when everything was said and done Billy and his mom would go out and sit on the porch. They would watch the seagulls and the passing traffic and they would eat the results of their culinary efforts till they were both stuffed so full they couldn’t stand to take even one more bite. 

Billy has less memories of cooking with his mother than he would like, and the memories he does have have all gone hazy and rose colored with too much time. 

Thinking about them now is a horrible mix of painful and comforting that makes him not want to ever revisit them again, all while simultaneously also making him wish he could climb into the memories and live out the rest of his days there.

So, Billy hates cooking.

[spiritsflame]

I haven't seen any fic from you in the last few years and was wonder if you still write? I just revisited "Once More With Feeling" for my annual reread. To me, it is the Perfect Story and I was once again hit in the face with how amazingly talented you are.

Hello! Thank you!!

The short answer is that yes, I do still write (though it really has been awhile). I don't have any fandoms I'm big in right now, so I'm looking for something new to fall in love with, but I've also been revisiting old WIPs and seeing if I can pick them up again.

The slightly longer answer is that I got really, really sick a few years ago, and recovery has been long and slow. It's meant that I just haven't had the energy for things I used to love, like writing. I only recently started being back on Tumblr regularly again.

But while it has been slow, it has also been steady. I've had the energy to care about things again, and the itch to write has been simmering under my skin for weeks, waiting for the right idea. I keep pulling up old stories, picking up the threads where I left off and finding where to start again.

Thank you so much for reaching out and letting me know how much you liked Once More With Feeling; it honestly feels like a sign that it's time to write again, and that when I do, I won't just be shouting into a void. I can't say how much this meant to me!

[catelyngrant]

2, 8, 10, 15 - for the writer asks! XD

2. How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!) Oh man...I have notes and little bits of two paragraphs here, a page or five there, but most of those will never go anywhere and I'm sure I've forgotten most of those ideas already but for knowing that they're in the depths of my Google Drive.

I published 10 (which is way more than usual for me!) and I've worked on/started four that I feel committed to finishing and posting eventually, as well as one more that I'll either write in the next week or watch it disappear into the ether (pretty sure there's not gonna be an in-between option for this one). This has been a year of hyperfixation whiplash, which, combined with ADHD, has had me spiraling all over the place with ideas and then promptly getting distracted and losing the momentum.

8. Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year? You know, I didn't—this was actually the year of me returning to some very, very old roots! I've written and posted my first 24 fic since, Christ, idk...2006? And then my first BSG fic since 2011, my first Doctor Who fic since 2012, and my first Star Trek fic since 2013. I wasn't expecting this but it's been pretty wild and fun! The TNG cast reuniting on Picard and then having David and Catherine back as the Doctor and Donna on Doctor Who were extremely inspiring external factors, but BSG and 24 were basically whims. I signed up for a BSG exchange in honor of the 20 year anniversary because I thought it would be fun to dip my toes back in that pond and then absolutely panicked when I realized I had to actually write BSG fic in the year of 2023, and then I started the 24 fic during a rewatch awhile back and @starg8rocks reminded me of it a few months ago and inspired me to finish it.

So, in short: no new fandoms, but lots of old ones!

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on? I mean, the blood sacrifice (aka the Succession yacht vs. orca crack fic) was pretty entertaining to me personally. I'm also just having so many feelings about Doctor Who deciding that the 2023 message is "rest, recover, and reconnect with all of your friends". So, while it was quite bittersweet and partly the result of me actively rejecting the premise that Sarah Jane Smith is dead in-universe, it was mostly just lovely and cathartic to write what falls away is always and offer two characters I adore a soft, quiet moment of care and connection.

15. Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023. The two fics that I agonized over most this year were let your faith die, bring your wonder (BSG, Laura Roslin gen) and we even flew a little (Succession, post-s3 but pre-s4 Roman/Gerri). Between one being in an older fandom and being gen vs. shippy and the other being posted just before season four of Succession started and catapulted the entire fandom, me included, into a new era of fic, I'm not shocked that neither of them got as much love (comparatively) to others I posted this year, but I like them. They're both fics I'm a bit self-conscious about and felt unhappy with when I posted with but I think that's largely because they took so long and stressed me out more than anything else I wrote this year—I liked them more upon revisiting.

my fic from this year send me 2023 fic questions!

[dxppercxdxver]

tagged by @chiropteracupola a rather long while ago for this ao3 tag game (we are ignoring my play analysis teacher right now so might as well look at my fic writin' stats!)

ao3 name: mxpauling (tho this changes rather frequently!)

fandoms: in terms of fandoms Published On AO3, the greatest number are for detroit: become human and subsequent fan film detroit: evolution, due to my feverish participation in the deartfest fan event summer of 2020 (in which i wrote well over a novel's worth of words in. approximately a month.), but others represented include: team fortress 2 (specifically of the flintlock fortress variety), mystery science theater 3000, spies are forever, hadestown, the true lives of the fabulous killjoys, and some smaller one off fandoms (deathtrap, the moors, goncharov, the wolf and the watchman, and where or when)

number of works: 28! which is. a Lot higher than i remembered it being

work I spent the most time on: fairly certain it's 'leave your body at the door' as it was written over the course of about four months, which for me (guy with formerly wildly unmedicated adhd) was Insane

works I spent the least time on: oof uhhhh i mean i've written Several in the course of just a few hours, like 'cut something, kill something, eat something', 'i can't stand to see you bleed', 'don't give it a hand, offer it a soul', and 'old churchyard', amongst MANY OTHERS THAT ARE OLDER (and i didn't feel like copying)

longest fic: first place goes again to 'leave your body at the door' but coming as a close runner-up is 'Potentially Lovely, Perpetually Human', from way back in the de days

shortest fic: '(i feel) an overwhelming need', my recent the moors character study

most hits: this would be 'Out Of The Blue', due to its featuring in the octopunk monthly roundup at the end of deartfest. turns out, a built in Massive Stream Audience will bring people to your fic

most kudos: once again, 'Out Of The Blue', for much the same reasons

total word count: 144,556???????? (sorry this is NEWS TO ME)

favorite work of my own: a lot of them have already been featured in this list, so i will take this space to spotlight both 'Try Again, Die Again' (i am so proud of the premise) and 'Where the Sun Can't Find Me' (i really liked the prose in this one and am genuinely super pleased rereading it)

fic you want to rewrite / expand on: oof there are Several: i had a halfway plotted third installment of the killjoys: dead zone series about the girl and show pony settling into a new life in batt city that i'd really want to revisit someday; i'd love to restructure and rewrite 'Potentially Lovely, Perpetually Human' to make the pacing a bit more consistent; i have an incomplete fourth fic in the spytown logs series i want to come back to; and for the sake of space and time i want to redo the end of 'Out Of The Blue' because my God it's rushed

share a bit of a wip or story idea you are planning on: changing tacks Entirely. behold my bill & ted fanfiction you cowards

Everything is perfectly, totally sublime, another freakin’ awesome day in San Dimas. And Ted has a seriously heinous problem. “Dude,” he says before his brain really tells him to, turning to Bill, “this day is freakin’ awesome.” Bill nods, smiling most radiantly, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “Totally awesome.” It is. Today is totally, absolutely, one hundred percent awesome, but… Ted doesn’t feel awesome at all.

this is a fic about ted getting wild depression post excellent adventure and not knowing how to deal with it because uhhhh he does not know what depression Is (and also they kiss a little)

tagging: @natdrinkstea, @nico-demons, @wilhelmina-murray-harker, and @fix-fax-fuckyou :3

[lychniis]

💘💫🦋🎀🤲🪄

@gloomybow1

💘 - is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

*looks at all of them* i mean-

i'm always learning new things so i guess all of them? i'd love to work on old drafts or revisit them some time, especially ones i could never get through due to my own writing style ( trust me, i was such a goofy ass writer back then so writing pain was like...so hard. now? angst is easy XD ).

but if i were to pick names? it would be this old levi x reader i had posted on my wattpad three years ago ( then deleted ). while i am still not into attack on titan, i really liked the concept.

then there was a demon zhongli concept i was working on and whoo, okay yeah that needed a lot of brushing off too so never posted it ( help ).

in short...a lot...XD

💫 - what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

anything. keyboard smashing, plain old compliments, fangirling/boying, whatever it is, i will eat up.

BUT i am biased towards the tears of my reader ehehehehe.

🦋 - what are you most insecure about when you post a fic?

the grammar and sentence structure. it's always that, alongside the word count. i always try to push myself to write a little more ( and memory, my zhongli wip is a step towards that ). but yea, it's grammar, since english is not my first language.

🎀 - give yourself a compliment about your own writing.

i like how it makes people cry.

i am a sadist.

yes.

🤲 - what do YOU get out of writing?

honestly? a lot of things. satisfaction? check, and finishing a draft always made me feel really good about myself, so there's that too. that and it is a bit of a stress reliever and i genuinely love putting my ideas on paper.

...but...procrastination...

[sky-squido]

For the ask game: Q, X, and, Y?

HI YES THIS ASK IS FROM SEPTEMBER—ANYWAY MOVING ON

Q: Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects?

Yeah, actually! I never post anything to Ao3 unless I’m 100% sure I’m going to finish it (even if it takes me literal years). That means both that I’ve never gonna perma-hiatus/abandon a fic if it’s on Ao3 and also that there are a lot of things floating around that I’ve actually put some legwork into that haven’t really gotten anywhere and I doubt I’ll get around to, so they've never really seen the light of day.

i was gonna permadeath hyrule and then i didn’t, details here

i did some light drafting and outlining of a story where the Four Sword splits Sky. it’d have to be long to do it justice and i didn’t wanna commit to that with two active WIPS on Ao3 at the time. i have just finished To Isolate, but i have 30k words of celestial navigation nonsense to now balance with hey four so i doubt i’ll get around to this one

i’ve got 4k words of legend slowly opening up to sky and telling him things and growing much closer and then very belatedly realizing that he knows next to nothing about sky himself. i started it in someone’s discord dms, but it wasn’t really going anywhere that excited me so i dropped it. if people want me to slap what i do have of discarded sketches-but-writing like this one on tumblr, let me know, though i warn you that they’ll all cut off partway through and be deeply unsatisfying

i’ve got 2.5k words of outline for something that’s kind of the same idea i mentioned in bullet 3 but it pulls wind into the mix and instead of being an i-just-dove-in-and-started-writing, it’s a pretty solid outline of something i just didn’t feel like fleshing out. the working fic title was “don’t look at me, i won’t be able to smile for you.”

i have another doc titled “haha lol legend is a punching bag.” this is a very apt title. legend gets nabbed by a baddie, puts up a heck of a fight tryna get away, almost manages, and then gets caught for real, bonked with malice, and unleashed onto his friends because we love to see link v link combat and the old i-know-you’re-in-there-somewhere fight. kind of an extension of that Malice!Legend ficlet i slapped on here a long while ago, but it does way more things. this one’s just an outline.

i’ve got 1k words of legend on koholint talking to marin after realizing the island was fake. had a cool take on marin, but wasn't really the vibe

i have this vague, very fluid concept that’s just “five times legend was helpless and one time he refused to be again.” what those five times are vary every time i try outlining it, but it’s just a lot of legend running into different kinds of The One Problem He Can’t Solve and struggling to cope with not being omnipotent. might actually revisit this one cuz i still like it a lot and i think there were some good ideas in here. my biggest problem with it is the “and one time he refused to be again” because i don’t like the implication that the solution to not being omnipotent is just to Try Harder but “five times legend was helpless and one time he accepted it” just sounds depressing. i’m very open to suggestions on this one!

i’ve got 2k words (written, not an outline) of four coming back to camp one night with red Very Much In Charge so his eyes are very red and then hyrule thinks he’s possessed and draws his sword on him and red freaks out and ditches and the other three have to figure out what’s going on. i didn’t really think it was going anywhere interesting but what really stopped me from continuing was that i started writing four Very Much Like A System and it was cool but then i started researching the neuroscience behind it and psychologist brain went wheeeeeee and now thinking about the fic just makes me want to do research instead of working on it oop

this one venty thing of hyrule just having no energy whatsoever and not wanting to talk to anyone. then he climbs a tree and feels a bit better. that’s literally it, and this one is actually complete, i just didn’t feel like posting it anywhere, though i can plop it here if y’all want.

then i have a silly AU outlined where all of the LU boys are either students or instructors at a flight school (like for airplanes and pilots n stuff). it would have to be really infodumpy though and i’m doing enough of that with my celestial navigation fic. the characters and world are fun but i also didn’t really have a storyline i liked so this hasn’t gone anywhere

there are probably more kicking around but i can’t find them right now

as for discarded scenes and storylines within fics i have actually written, there definitely are some, but i don’t really have any way of keeping track of them. the one i remember most vividly is that there was gonna be a part in to isolate ch.8 where sky overhears legend playing ballad of the wind fish and wind asks him about it and legend says he was hoping this was all some bad dream he could wake up from, but it didn’t really fit in the flow of the narrative we ended up with. there are actually a lot of deleted scenes from chapters 8 onwards because the outline and the actual thing are virtually unrecognizable as being part of the same fic.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer. All of them, obviously, but Wind and Four have been climbing that particular ladder! we need more content of them being deep and interesting and mature together (and wind especially, solo) and what better way to explore that than through strategically deployed angst and suffering!! this bodes well for Hey Four >:3

Y: A character you want to protect. all of them, believe it or not, but right now it’s mostly Legend, shockingly! he’s been my favorite punching bag for a while, but i’ve also noticed myself growing increasingly gentle with what i put him through and how i have him take it lately because these days it's actually way more interesting for me to be kind to him than to bully him

thank you for the ask and i hope you don't miss my reply considering it's been several months sfkghskghsdlfgjsdkl take care!!