#but id want to have this idea way more planned out and written before then. but OUGH WRITING ANOTHER SCREENPLAY???

[carcarrot]

well everyone now that sparkstember is over i can now devote my energy to being insane in other still sparks-related ways

[lunarmoves]

Man, when I wrote that ask, I thought Sun’s reaction would be along the lines of ‘feeling betrayed and angry over his favourite human’s perceived abandonment of him, either doing his best to right them off or creepily tracking them down to confront them and maybe even forcing them somehow to never leave him again,’ or even ‘realizing how he had been treating y/n was hurting them and he wants to fix it.’ Starting a whole robot apocalypse hadn’t occurred to me.

When reading a few of your previous drapples from before this Bleeding Wires au all started, I had imagined that Sun was somewhat already aware of his feelings for y/n and that he cared for them, but he didn't know how to express that without his grim thoughts and tensely charged anger getting in the way. Most interactions were usually friendly, but y/n had come to believe that those weren't really genuine considering all the occasions of hostility Sun shown to them. This idea greatly contrasts though in how you explain that Sun only begins to understand his feelings for y/n long after the uprising.

Now that he has y/n, will Sun be able to realize why they are scared of him? And why they left the pizzaplex in the first place? Will he be able to recognize the part he did in making them feel this way? Or is that amount of empathy still out of his reach?

TO BE FAIR i didn’t expect it to segue into a robot apocalypse either LOL. id been throwing out small ideas and answering asks abt a sun who believes in robot superiority beforehand and i guess my brain just connected it at an instance where it saw an apocalypse could be started?? i think it was just heavily on my mind beforehand ngl. i do plan on answering an ask i received about what wouldve happened if the apocalypse aspect was cut completely LMAO

i WILL say tho that yeah, a lot of my drabbles before bleeding wires was started DO involve a sun who is more accepting of his feelings. and that’s because i like writing multiple versions of sun LMAO. you’ve nailed that sun completely correctly! those drabbles are not related to bleeding wires bc the sun in them does not have a superiority complex. he’s more… aware that he is a robot, afraid of being replaced should he be found broken, slightly unhinged, and waaay friendlier. all the relevant asks and writings to ‘bleeding wires’ (aka where sun has that robot superiority complex) should be tagged accordingly! anything outside of that involves different flavors of sun that i like to play around with c: like— i have definitely written nice sun before LOL, one who isn’t unhinged in the slightest, bc i do like that version of him as well. it can get confusing keeping track of it all, so i apologize if things get mixed up or if i say stuff that doesn’t align ! i’ll go back and double check tht everything is tagged appropriately. and maybe ill make a masterpost sorting out the different sun types LMFAO (i.e. nice yet sarcastic sun, nice yet unhinged sun, robot superiority sun, etc)

back to bleeding wires— in arc2 i like to imagine that sun gets better with emotions to the point where he IS able to empathize to an extent. at some instance, him and reader will have a conversation about why you left, bc that’s something sun has thought about a lot, and he’s definitely not going to let you off the hook in terms of answering him. in that conversation, you will for sure talk about the issues you had/have with him. because explaining to him why you left would involve you mentioning that you thought he didn’t like you. that now you are scared of him and what he has done.

and by then sun has seen his fair side of fear and anger and stuff in humans, making him able to better identify such emotions. and he knows he has caused it all. so he will be able to look at himself in the mirror and think about how he may be seen to others and why, precisely, you are so frightened of him. while he definitely won’t be the best at empathy at the start, he’ll learn—as his AI was designed to do. just… he’ll learn a little bit too late

[i-just-want-to-destroy]

Thank you for walking study in demonology! Reading it brought me all the way back to the 2019 bnha era. Even tho im a chronic fandom hopper, every once in a while i got pulled back to the bnha fandom like a clinging abused ex gf, cause i feel like no other fandom has given me the same feels as bnha on ao3. It's probably partly because of bnha being a perfect sandbox for ficwriters, but damn you bnha writers are really sth else.

Your work is such an exquisite, heartfelt love letter to the fanfiction medium in general, and the bnha fandom in particular. I hope your pillow is always cool and your socks always come out of the washing machine in pairs.

What's your favourite part about the fic?

hi thanks so much for this ask! super appreciate the kind words :) i agree wholeheartedly i wldnt have started writing my bnha fics if not for the amazing fics ive read from this fandom.

short answer: my favorite part is the process.

super long answer:

(spoilers below fair warning)

demonology has been a learning process for me and also a very strange experience.

ive always been more of an improv writer where i dont really know where a story is going when i write it. with demonology being the way it is, you can surmise that its been a really crazy ride.

ive mentioned this before but it started as an idea of deku being just your typical satanic style exorcist, and as it is a crack fic, i did write it — at the beginning — purposefully to be nonsensical. all the made up “significant” stuff like affinity, authority, even the importance of names and all that — i didnt know what they mean and i didnt care either, i was just making them say whatever that sounded ominous and ridiculous. (often this is for the sake of comedic timing. it is crack after all.)

some comments say the fic didnt make sense, and i agree bc it didnt to me either. but then it DID start to make sense to me. whenever i started to write a new chapter id read back to whatever bullshit i did the previous chap and only then i understood what the hell the characters r talking about. if you look back to the earlier chapters there’d be a lot of foreshadowings, but they werent written to be foreshadowings at the time. its kind of foreshadowing in reverse, bc i only knew what they meant after i wrote them. i didnt know i was writing a meta multiverse time travel fic, but since i did, i had to commit and go crazy.

(in retrospect i think it rly did begin with hitoshi and that cat in ch 3. i didnt even know hitoshi was the “main character” until that chapter. i didnt know that cat was schrodingers cat until i wrote ch 8.)

so u can see how crazy, nonsensical and haphazard the entire writing process of this fic is, which in return gives birth to a crazy, nonsensical and haphazard fic. until its not nonsensical anymore. somehow, there actually is a clear logic in the mechanics of the universe. the cats are schrodinger cats, the demons are maxwell demons, entropies are plotlines which are often riddled with plotholes, the hell is production hell, to be in heaven is to be canonized — and lorem ipsum is the empty blank slate state of the universe. authority actually is authority. the fic gave meaning to itself by the end of it all.

comments ask if i waited for bnha to end — i didnt. bnha ending actually fucked a past version of ch 8, now scrapped. but then it actually … made a better version? and made more sense? its weird.

i did know about some things that were going to happen though. since the first time i had izuku do the “you believe [object] exist,” i always knew i wanted it to be turned back to him (“midoriya izuku doesnt exist”). after i wrote ch 6 i also knew i wanted them to “go back to the beginning” with izuku’s “fall” on the rooftop. but i didnt know until i wrote it that hitoshi was going to choose to fall, too. i know im the author but him choosing that shocked me and i found it moving.

if i had written this “properly”, if i had planned it all with better structuring and better pacing and emotional beats and all that — this might have turned out to be a better written story, in another world. as it is right now there are a lot of flaws that it has. but it wldnt have been the same fic. if not for this fuckass writing process, it wld never have reached the form it takes as of now.

and although it was a very difficult road, i can say wholeheartedly that this strange process has been my favorite part. im doubtful ill ever experience a writing process like this again. the story kept surprising me. a part of why i wanted to finish it was because i wanted to know how it ended too—bc i wldnt know until i wrote it.

of course, at the end of it all, none of us know what their ending is. in the end the story still didnt share its secrets with me and i really really love it for it.

haha this is so long sorry i guess this fic really means a lot to me after all. but yes, thats my answer.

i would also like to thank every reader and commenter once again bc i can honestly say without the feedback and support, this would not have been finished either, or become the way that it is. man. fanfictions, huh?

[ugotnojamzzz]

Rulers of Ruin

Chapter 3

Alright so I’ve been toying with this mafia!au fic idea for a long while and I guess it’s time to give it a whirl. I already have about ten chapters written out (I’m expecting it to be at least 20 chapters), but I want to test out the waters first. I’ll start posting more if some of you are interested in knowing what the hell is going on.

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: um, tf is going on??? Stay tuned for more chapters to come.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 2.6k

Chapter 2

Masterlist

YN lay sprawled across the plush bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as she counted the tiles for the umpteenth time. For the past few hours, boredom had been her constant companion, proving far more excruciating than distress.

A soft ding interrupted her silent count—the distant sound of the elevator door sliding open. Her ears perked up, straining against the quiet that followed. The scrape of porcelain against silver floated through the air, and her heart quickened.

Someone was coming.

YN rolled off the bed, her movements swift and silent. She was on guard; every new sound or presence was a potential threat—or opportunity. Peeking through the slight gap in her bedroom door, her eyes narrowed on a figure maneuvering a trolley into the living area.

The visitor was a woman, short and stout, moving with an efficiency that belied her old age. She was quiet, her feet barely making a sound on the lush carpet as she pushed the laden trolley towards the table. The woman seemed unarmed and alone, an ID badge swinging gently at the side of her uniform.

There was something almost laughable about the situation. An old lady, really? YN thought wryly. You’d think Namjoon would at least have the decency to throw an actual challenge her way.

Still, here was an opportunity. The woman looked harmless, her back turned, fumbling slightly with something on the trolley. YN felt a pang of something akin to guilt—she didn’t particularly enjoy the thoughts crossing her mind, but survival in this world rarely came with the luxury of choice.

Meh, YN reasoned, she must’ve had a long-enough life, anyway.

Shaking off the hesitation with a cold snap of resolve, she slipped back towards her bed and grabbed a pillowcase. Simple, effective. It would have to do. Clutching it tightly, she stepped out of the bedroom, her presence as discreet as a shadow trailing across the moonlit floor, her movements honed by years of training to leave no trace.

The old woman’s back was still turned, her attention focused on arranging the items on her trolley with meticulous care.

Creeping closer, YN's hands tightened around the fabric, her every sense heightened. The soft rustling of the woman's uniform was like thunder in YN's hyperaware ears. Just a few more steps and she could reach out, seize control of the situation, and who knows, perhaps even secure her escape.

Just as she was about to make her move, a steady voice broke through the silence.

"Young lady,” the old woman spoke without turning around, “I would advise against whatever it is you’re planning on doing with that thing."

Stunned, YN halted in her tracks, her grip on the pillowcase loosening. "How d—"

“I’ve been weaving through the shadows of this house since before you drew your first breath, my dear,” the woman said, finally turning to face YN. Her eyes, a sharp contrast to her gentle demeanor, bore into YN’s. "And I have seen more than my share of young folks convinced they could outmaneuver their fate."

Once thing was clear: this was no ordinary maid.

“But you’re smarter than that, I’m sure.” The woman's eyes flickered to something behind YN. Following her line of sight, YN glanced at the security cameras mounted on the walls.

“You must be Mrs. Shin,” YN remarked with a resigned sigh.

“And you,” she replied, lifting the silver cloche to reveal a steaming plate of food, “must be famished”. YN's stomach betrayed her with a timely growl. She couldn't quite remember the last time she had eaten. Still, she remained rooted in place while the older woman arranged the tray meticulously on the table.

“It’s not poisoned,” Mrs. shin commented, catching YN’s hesitant glance, «if that’s what you’re wondering.”

YN maintained her silence, her eyes lingering on the food.

“In any case,” Mrs. Shin added, a twinkle of humor in her eyes, "I can assure you, wasting away from hunger is a far duller end. Still, the choice is yours."

Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills. Finally, YN's resolve softened, her survival instincts kicking in. She seated herself slowly, her movements measured.

“Wise decision,” Mrs. Shin noted with a nod, her lips curling into a faint smile.

YN's eyes scrutinized the tray, noting the absence of any cutlery except for a single spoon. It seemed impractical, almost mocking in its simplicity. She met Mrs. Shin's gaze, an unspoken question hanging between them.

“Well, you couldn’t expect a knife and fork,” the woman said, her tone light but her eyes sharp. “And while we do usually allow chopsticks, Namjoon insisted on something less- pointy for now.”

“Usually?” YN echoed, her tone sharpening with curiosity, as she started digging into the food. “How often do the Kims bring outsiders into the family estate?”

Mrs. Shin looked back at her, amusement painting her features. "Who said anything about a family estate?" She sat down across from YN.

“It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” YN remarked, her mind flicking back to the meticulous arrangement of personal artifacts she had glimpsed in her brief walk through the house—distinctive heirlooms and portraits that seemed too imbued with sentimental value for a mere operational base.

“Still observant as ever, I see,” Mrs. Shin commented.

YN’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Still?” she asked.

“Ah,” Mrs. Shin paused, a knowing smile creeping across her face. "The eye of the raven with the memory of the goldfish—quite the combo you’ve been given."

YN’s response was an irritated scoff. She wasn’t accustomed to being on the less informed end of conversations, and Mrs. Shin’s insinuation chafed at her pride.

"I don’t blame you, really" Mrs. Shin continued gently, a thoughtful pause punctuating her words. "You must’ve been… 9 or 10, that day, always hiding behind your older brother," she added, her tone softening. A flicker of irritation crossed her features as she recalled, "That rascal," she muttered under her breath, "kept scraping his teeth on the silverware like a wild thing."

As YN processed her words, she absently glanced at the silver spoon in her hand, its tiger motif strikingly familiar. Mrs. Shin watched with a knowing expression as YN carefully traced the spoon's design with her thumb.

"I believe it was black sesame pudding," The old woman said nonchalantly.

Her words seemed to trigger a cascade of half-buried memories, recognition slowly dawning on YN’s features.

She finally spoke. "It was here," her voice barely more than a whisper. "wasn’t it?" she paused, looking up to meet the old woman’s gaze, “The Summit.”

Mrs. Shin didn't reply directly, but her lips curled into a slight smile as she rose from her seat and walked to the tea set. Her wrinkled hands gently lifted the delicate porcelain teapot, steam swirling up as she poured the fragrant brew into two matching cups.

Yes.

The Summit.

Once every decade since the Mutual Prosperity Charter had been signed, the five original clans—each a pillar of clandestine influence—would congregate to reaffirm their tenuous truce with an event known as the Unity Summit.

 It was nothing short of a grand ballet of diplomacy, a way to remind everyone of the precarious balance of power that held their world together. And, while the gatherings were designed to celebrate peace, they were also used as an opportunity for each clan to showcase its strength and splendor.

YN had been to just one such event in her youth, hosted by the Tigers—the Kim clan. Only now did she realize these were the same walls that had encircled it. She was astonished she hadn't realized sooner. Her recollections of that day were still crystal clear.

After all, it was the first and only time she’d met Namjoon before.

***

The grand hall itself was a testament to the event's significance, draped in rich banners and ancestral crests. Conversations dwindled into silence as YN, squeezed between the towering figures of her brother and father had walked in, their footsteps echoing through the vast space.

The crowd of dignitaries and delegates parted to make way, acknowledging the family's authority with nods and murmurs. Eyes filled with respect and a hint of fear turned in their direction as they strode towards their host.

Once they reached Kim Eungsoo and his wife, YN felt her father's grip tighten on her shoulder—a silent command for unwavering propriety. She straightened her back, drew in a breath, and lowered herself into a deep bow before the imposing figure of the Kim patriarch. Her eyes briefly met his, lingering on the nasty scar that ran across his stern face. A chill brushed her spine, and she quickly shifted her gaze down in respect.

Drawing herself up, YN’s eyes shifted to the boy who stood confidently besides the leader.

Only 12 at the time, Namjoon already carried the air of someone burdened with expectations, a seriousness far beyond his years coloring his features. Awkwardly caught between boyhood and the precipice of command, he was unusually tall for his age. His face was conspicuously smooth, freshly shaved, though there was no stubble to speak of, and his suit a miniature mirror of his father's. He was quiet. Focused. YN remembered seeing his eyes darting towards his father throughout the day, his young mind already threading through the maze of clan politics, yearning for a seat among the decision-makers.

YN had been similarly ensnared in the silent dance of expectations. Her hair was woven into a braid so tight it seemed designed to squeeze any hint of rebellion from her skull. The stern eyes of her governess loomed at the periphery of her vision, a silent sentinel ensuring her posture remained as straight as her lineage.

They both spent that banquet afternoon ensconced in the polite but distant company of the other clan leaders' children.

The Kang quadruplet daughters, with their sharp whispers and mean-spirited giggles, huddled together like a litter of scheming mice.

The Choi brothers were in their own world, it seemed, their boisterous energy manifesting in endless arm-wrestling matches, while their infant sister slumbered undisturbed, a serene island in a sea of chaos.

The Lee siblings stood apart, a trio of statuesque figures, their expressions unreadable and their poise as perfect as porcelain figures on a mantelpiece. They carried themselves with the regal aloofness of royalty mingling with commoners, watching the festivities with an air of superiority and detached amusement.

Amidst it all, the Park heir, YN's older brother, moved with newfound importance. At only 17 years of age, he had freshly been inducted into their clan's inner circles, earning him a coveted spot at the adults' table alongside the eldest Lee son. He wore his responsibility like a mantle, his young features set in determined imitation of their father’s grave expressions.

YN, from her distant vantage point, watched them with a detached curiosity, wondering about the weight of the conversations that included him and excluded her.

Overall, that day had been an absolute bore.

The one highlight of the day came when dessert was finally served, gleaming invitingly in delicate bowls accompanied by shiny silver spoons.

 Black sesame pudding.

She indulged with the enthusiasm only a child could muster, her lips and tongue turning a dark grey color. Her governess, less amused, delivered a swift reprimand—a slap that stung far more than the fleeting embarrassment of being scolded. Tears welled up, not enough to draw attention, but sufficient to send her seeking solitude.

Hidden away in a secluded corner, nursing her bruised pride more than her reddened cheek, YN was startled by a presence next to her. A lady had knelt beside her, eyes soft with concern. “Everything alright, little bird?”

***

YN glanced up at Mrs. Shin, who returned to the table, setting the teacups down with practiced ease.

“You gave me a sweet that day,” YN recalled, her tone casual yet pointed, as if to underscore the precision of her memory, “the chewy, ginger kind.”

“Never seen a teary eye that couldn’t be fixed by Jocheong taffy,” she replied warmly, pushing a cup gently towards YN. "Go on, now, drink up."

YN obeyed, the warm liquid sliding down her throat soothingly. She set the cup down with a deliberate clink, “So,” she broke the silence, her eyes hardening, “this is all Namjoon could muster?” she asked, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Send the meek, old lady to tame me?”

“I may be old,” Mrs. Shin retorted, her voice steady and her back straight, “but I am certainly not meek.” Her eyes flickered briefly to the faded clan tattoo peeking out from under her uniform—a relic from a past that whispered of untold stories and battles fought. Clearly, the old woman had earned her stripes one way or another.

“And Namjoon didn’t send me,” Mrs. Shin continued, her tone turning wry. “I changed that boy’s diapers. He knows better than to give me orders.”

“So, you volunteered?” YN’s eyebrows rose slightly, intrigued. “How sweet.”

“I must have a soft spot for outcasts," Mrs. Shin admitted, her gaze softening just a touch as she considered YN, seeing perhaps a reflection of someone else. “But truth is I’ve simply always taken care of the attic,” she added.

« Not exactly much to take care of, up there," YN sent her a confused look, “It’s an unoccupied suite.”

"Appearances can be deceiving," Mrs. Shin replied, her eyes twinkling, “you ought to remember that.”

"Oooooh,” YN mocked, a light laugh escaping her despite the slight heaviness beginning to cloud her mind. “Are there ghosts roaming around I should look out for?"

“I guess you could say that," Mrs. Shin said with a cryptic smile. “Of course, ghosts aren’t the only lost souls lingering up there.”

YN took another sip from her cup and tried to focus on Mrs. Shin’s face. The edges of her vision blurred slightly, and she felt a growing fog settling in her mind. "So… what-» Her words felt thick, her tongue growing sluggish.

YN's head began to feel heavy, her thoughts muddled as if fog was rolling through her mind.

Mrs. Shin tilted her head ever so slightly. "You’re looking a little pale, dear," Mrs. Shin remarked in a gentle tone that carried a steely undertone.

YN tried to focus, but the woman’s face seemed to blur and swim out of focus. She felt a strange heat rising through her chest and head and opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come out right. Her hands felt strangely detached from her body, her fingers tingling as she gripped the edge of the table. "W-what the fu-"

"I said we wouldn’t poison you," Mrs. Shin interrupted calmly, her words echoing through YN’s brain like a distant lullaby. "Not that we wouldn't- temper your spirit."

YN glanced down to the bottom of her teacup, her hand trembling. It was then she noticed a faint residue, something she hadn't seen when she first started sipping.

"Son of a bitch," YN muttered, her voice fading as darkness crept in at the edges of her vision.

Mrs. Shin’s tender voice echoed through her mind just as everything went black.

"Sleep tight, little dove."

--

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters!

Chapter 4

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

[winchester-girl67]

Imagine… Stealing Candles For Dean’s Birthday Pie

Pairing: Dean x Sister!reader (platonic)

Square: Impala @supernatural-jackles​

Word Count: 895

Warnings: theft, implied arrest, a little angst, Dean being adorkable, fluff!

A/N: Happy Birthday, Dean! This is just random fluff. Also written for @supernatural-jackles​’ Tell Me a Story bingo. Enjoy!

_____

"I don't wanna talk about it, Dean." You mumbled as you joined him in the Impala. 

You could feel your big brother's eyes boring into you and you huffed out a breath as you buckled up your seat belt. Getting picked up from the police station for shoplifting and having to call Dean to bail you out was the complete opposite of what you were planning for tonight. 

It was supposed to be a surprise and a nice one. 

Dean started the engine so the heat blasted in your face and you could hear the lego pieces, that the three of you shoved through the vents when you were younger, rattling in the wind that warmed your cheeks. There was snow falling heavily on the windshield and the thick silence was cut by the wipers sliding over the glass every few seconds. While you just sat there, in the parking lot, until Dean was calm enough to speak. 

"Dammit, Y/N," he growled and hit the steering wheel with an open palm, "What the hell were you thinking?!" 

You shrugged and sniffled from the brief walk to the car in the cold. The snowflakes in your hair melted and wet the strands so some straggly hairs stuck to your cheeks. 

It was Dean’s birthday and Sam was counting on you to get the candles for the pie he was attempting to make in the motel microwave.

You hung your head and gripped the excess jean material on your thighs, the jeans didn’t fit well, they were Dean’s hand-me-downs. You often got his clothes before Sam since girls matured and grew faster than boys. Then your jeans went to Sam when you grew out of them so you couldn’t cut them to length and instead rolled up each leg so that a heavy cuff sat on top of each boot. Snow always got into the top of the cuff this time of year and soaked through the layers, especially when the heat in the car started to melt it. The tips of your fingers grew numb with the longer and tighter you held the fabric between them. 

If only your father let you run a credit card scam of your own, except he said there was no point because Dean had one and anything you needed you could ask him for. And you were underage so you'd need a fake ID too and the only one of those you had were school IDs. Nobody would believe you were over eighteen anyways. You just turned thirteen, only a year older than little Sammy, and you looked it. 

"It's your birthday," you muttered and side-eyed your brother. "I couldn't afford the stupid candles." 

His expression softened, "You could've asked me. That’s what I’m here for.” 

You shrugged, "Would've ruined the surprise." 

"Y/N, do you really think I had no idea what you and Sam have been planning for the past week? Subtly is not your strong suit, kiddo.” He chuckled. 

"I'm sorry." You shrugged and kicked your boots together, trying to knock off the snow that hadn’t melted into your pant cuffs yet. 

"It's okay,” Dean said and reached over to tousle up your hair. 

You whined and shoved away his arm. Dean laughed at the frown you wore as you fixed your hair. 

“Are you gonna tell dad?” You asked, nervously gripping your jeans again and chewing on your bottom lip. 

You’d seen the amount of trouble Dean had gotten into with John growing up and you didn’t want any of it. You didn’t have the strength Dean had when it came to standing up to him. Except Dean never talked back, he just took all of his soldier up crap and kept going. You didn’t know how he did it. 

He was different when your father was gone, he was lighter and way more fun. He’d joke around and let you get away with almost anything so long as you flashed him a smile. All Dean ever wanted was for you and Sammy to be happy and when you were, so was he.

“Hmmm,” he pretended to think about it as he made you sweat, “Nah, it can be our little secret.” You matched his smirk. “But the next time you kick off your boots in my car, you get last dibs on the shower for a week.” 

“Ew, gross!” You scrunched up your face and pouted. Your brothers always made a mess of the motel bathroom with wet towels thrown everywhere, toothpaste and hair in the sink, not to mention the misadventures of aiming at the toilet. How hard was it really?! Not to mention the amount of times you’d fallen in because they couldn’t grasp the concept of putting the seat back down. “But-“ 

Dean cut you off talking to the Impala and patting the dash, “Sh-sh… It’s okay, Baby, she didn’t mean it.” 

“Are you done, dork?” You tried to hide your amusement and raised your eyebrows at him. 

He snorted and nodded as he shifted the car into drive, “Mhm.” 

“Happy Birthday, Dean.” You said, unbuckling your seat belt and sliding across the bench seat to give him a hug when he stopped at the light. “…You know, I love you. Right?” 

“I know,” Dean sighed into your hair and hugged you back even as the light turned green. “Love you, too, kiddo.” 

_________________________ Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28

Forever SPN: @hobby27

Tell Me a Story Bingo: @princessvader15

[kosmicdream]

the way i think of the "3 arcs" in ffak (i am not sure i will end up with 3, btw, its possible i might cut one in half or something else..) is basically that.. arc 1 was the unplanned improv adventure that developed everything, taught me how to draw comics, write a story, ect. arc 2 is the ~actual~ story that i "originally intended" to tell with FFAK (although a lot of that is also in ARC3 too), before it was made into this big sprawling story - and has developed all this time and taken me years to write and prepare for. so im excited and interested in reactions to that. and arc 3, well, arc 3 is something else entirely, but i don't want to say too much about it yet.. it is weird to have the entire story written out though. it feels both big and so small vrs the days id spend building up more and more for the world. i don't think about it like that anymore, even though i think about it a lot every day still. I feel pretty satisfied with how the first chapter of this arc has gone and I hope the next four of this arc will also go well too. yes, im only planning this arc for five chapters. can i do it? idk. it wont be a big deal if it needs more. in a weird way, it means more to me to finish the 2nd arc than the entire story as i've waited so many years to draw the scenes in it. its kinda amazing how long it takes just to develop a story, and in a way 10 years does not seem that long at all. before FFAK, i basically gave up my dream of making comics/writing because of how "disorganized" and crazy my ideas felt.. it has always been the story that FFAK was kind of something i threw myself into, but since it worked at all i was not going to ever let go of it. Still haven't.. yet. But i feel ready to let go when its time. Now, I feel like the work of making a comic its not all that hard even if it is very tedious. sure id love to draw and write better, but that feeling will always be there. I am just grateful to see the ideas come out at all feels a lot better than being creatively constipated and feeling miserable about it, like its bad to have "too big" of plans and be "too ambitious" like its a negative thing, cuz it might not be achievable - what? i love to try. just a sad place to be as an artist, to shame yourself for your own natural creativity and curiosity and pity yourself for not being good enough to make a fool of yourself for trying. pride is such a stupid thing to stop yourself from drawing your own ocs LOL. either way, id rather have it out than just have them sit inside and not ever be shared or seen for myself. every time i think i could have done something better, in the end i just feel relief i managed the miracle of making it at all. its weird to think that i can see an end to this story too and im still getting used to that feeling. i can see all the stories i want to get to beyond it, but Im patient and i know they can wait. i am going to really enjoy my time with it while its all still here. Just felt like sharing some of my feelings as this chapter gets closer to its end and i finish the first step of this new adventure of FFAK!

[euphreana]

The Shape of Truth - Chapter 4: All Sworded Out

Masterpost

-

‘ACCESS DENIED’ flashed on the lock readout.

“Try it upside down?” Nimona suggested.

ACCESS DENIED.

Ambrosius narrowed his eyes at the ID card reader. He was a knight now - shouldn’t that let him into the archives? Maybe the systems hadn’t been updated yet…

“Hey, you’re not allowed back here!” the voice of an archives worker made Ambrosius jump, “This is a high-security area. You need special clearance to be here.”

“I’m a knight. Isn’t that clearance enough?”

“Not for there.” The worker jerked his head towards the locked door. “If you want to retrieve something, you can fill out a request form with the receptionist.”

Ambrosius grimaced as the worker shooed them from the room. Not more paperwork…

The pink, dog-shaped hallucination by Ambrosius’s side spoke up as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Go wait for me outdoors - I’ll look around back for any windows.” she said with a wink before trotting off around the corner.

Ambrosius wondered what she’d say if she returned - since she was a figment of his imagination, she couldn’t know anything he didn’t, windows included. He glanced back at the room he’d come from. What was he doing anyway? Sneaking into the archives was a bad idea. He could ‘dig’, as Nimona had put it, another way. And he could figure out that other way over breakfast at the tea shop across the street.

~ ~ ~

Ambrosius tried to ignore the judging glances from the other patrons when he entered the shop. No doubt his appearance at the execution yesterday had made the news. He knew he’d hear it from The Director when he went in for work tomorrow - stuff about ‘damage control’ and ‘keeping an appearance worthy of the Goldenloin lineage’, yadda yadda. It was stifling.

He scanned the tea shop menu. Ballister had always ordered the same thing whenever they’d come here; earl gray with milk (not creamer) and sugar. Nobody else Ambrosius knew used milk - his mom had liked it that way and gotten Ballister hooked on it the first time he’d visited. Ambrosius had thought Bal was just humoring her at first, but he’d continued to order it after she’d died. Now there was nobody left to order it...

Ambrosius ordered the earl grey with milk and sugar. He may as well have ordered nothing; once he got it, he couldn’t bring himself to drink it. All he could think about were the two people who used to order this very thing, both dead and gone. The last time he’d seen either of them had been distressing - his mom sick in bed with her hair shorn off, Ballister being dragged away after shooting the queen…

Eventually, Ambrosius reached into his pocket and pulled out a paper packet the size of his fist. ‘Bal’ had been written on it in ink - the only label he could think to give the handful of ash. He held it in his hands. He and Ballister had been inseparable since childhood - even now, Ambrosius couldn’t leave him behind to sit on a nightstand.

His thoughts were interrupted by a woman in a lab coat sitting down opposite him.

“I got it.” She grinned at him. She had Nimona’s voice.

Ambrosius shoved the ash packet back into his pocket, curious about this new form.

“Got what?”

Nimona held up a matching ID badge. “I’m the archives manager! I’ll just walk you in - the real manager’s out and won’t notice her badge is gone for at least an hour.”

It would have been a good plan if Nimona had been real, Ambrosius thought. Just then, a man in a matching lab coat walked up to the table.

“Oh, Priyanka, I thought you were in your office.”

Ambrosius blinked in surprise. He looked up at the man.

“What did you call me?”

“Not you.” The man looked at Nimona. “I could have picked up your order for you.”

Ambrosius’s jaw fell open.

“You can see her too?!”

The man gave Ambrosius a confused look.

Nimona spoke up. “I’ll let you know next time.” she said in what Ambrosius guessed was the manager’s voice.

Ambrosius’s head was spinning so hard, he didn’t notice the man leave. He reached across the table and prodded manager-Nimona’s shoulder.

“You’re real?”

“What, did you think you were imagining things?” Nimona snorted, back in her original voice. “Hooo boy, that explains so much.”

“This doesn’t make sense - you were a girl, then a dog, then—”

“Don’t forget the cat. You gonna drink that?” she pointed at the tea.

When Ambrosius didn’t answer, Nimona popped off the lid and guzzled it down.

“Hoo yeah, good combo. Anyway, you coming?”

“You… what are you?”

“I’m Nimona.”

“But you—”

“Listen, we can sit here talking, or we can get into the archives before the real manager gets back. Are you coming or not?”

Alarm bells were going off in Ambrosius’s head. Nimona was Wrong. He’d never heard of anyone in the kingdom able to change form at will. Where had she come from? From outside the wall? Impossible. Nobody could live out there because of the monsters - huge, hulking creatures with ravenous hunger - and the wall hadn’t been breached for as long as it’d stood. By all logic, Nimona shouldn’t exist. And yet here she was, offering him a chance to get some closure about about the man he’d loved. That couldn’t be wrong… could it?

~ ~ ~

Sure enough, Nimona was able to waltz right into the high-security archives with Ambrosius in tow. Ambrosius tried to play it cool as best he could, but guilt and anxiety pounded in his head. This was a security violation. A necessary one, he told himself - he was doing this for the good of the kingdom. If Bal had been telling the truth, then there was still a murderer on the loose. He couldn’t let that happen, right? And it wasn’t like he could have stopped Nimona from breaking in if she’d wanted to. He was just taking advantage of the situation.

The vault was bigger than he’d expected - rows upon rows of tall shelving units and cabinets labeled from ‘A’ to ‘Z’. There were several windows in one wall letting light in, all of them close to the ceiling and looking securely locked. Otherwise the only source of light was the old buzzing lamps above.

The sword was in a drawer in the B section, under ‘Boldheart’. The charred pieces were laid out on white felt, easy to see even in the flickering lights. Ambrosius carefully picked up a piece of the hilt, remembering the clang it had made when he’d knocked it from Ballister’s hand. He could remember it clearly now, the way the sword had fallen to the ground, shattering into pieces. The way Ballister had looked at him in shock - not the eyes of a murderer, but the eyes of a man horrified.

“Anything jumping out at you?” Nimona interrupted the flashback. She was back in her original form - the punk teenager one.

Ambrosius set the piece down, trying to calm his anxiety jitters.

“Honestly? I don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

Nimona looked down into the drawer.

“Well by the looks of it, it wasn’t a real sword in the first place. Someone took a sword-shaped shell and stuffed a blaster inside.”

That’s what the official write-up had said too. The write-up hadn’t mentioned how realistic the shell had been. The lengths the maker had gone to make it look like the original was phenomenal. Despite it's broken state, Ambrosius could see everything, right down to the scratches on the pommel, had been duplicated perfectly. The only difference was that the replica was hollow inside.

“There’s no way this was a store-bought prop,” he mused, “It had to have been commissioned from a workshop or something.” That didn’t sit right. Where would Bal have gotten the money to pay for it?

“So we are looking for a third party here.” Nimona said gleefully. “A whole workshop of people trying to overthrow the monarchy…”

“Unless they didn’t know what the sword was for. With that many people, someone would have gotten caught by now.” Probably.

“So if they didn’t know when they made it… maybe there’s a maker’s mark or something somewhere?”

It was as good a hunch as any. Ambrosius pulled out his phone and switched on its flashlight. He shone the light on the drawer as Nimona examined the pieces one by one.

“They really did a good job collecting all the pieces.” She muttered. “There’s almost too many to- HEY!” She held up a piece triumphantly - a chunk of the base of the blade. Sure enough, there was a tiny logo stamped into the metal - a crossed hammer and sword. It was just small and faint enough to be missed if you weren’t looking for it.

Nimona held the piece under the flashlight.

“Look familiar at all?”

Ambrosius had no idea. He did a search on his phone for logos matching the description… Bingo.

“‘Arms & Hammer’ - it’s a workshop in the shopping district. By the looks of it… custom swords are their specialty.”

“That’ll be a lot of orders to sort through.” Nimona huffed, “But if we find out who commissioned it, we find the perp.”

Ambrosius was still mulling over the question of who could have paid for the sword. Someone with money had to be behind the assassination. Or maybe several middle-class people. Suddenly, Bal being innocent like he’d claimed seemed less far-fetched.

Ambrosius was about to mention it when the sound of a door banging open echoed through the vault.

“I could have sworn it was you!” the voice of an archive worker resonated off the walls. “She had your ID and everything!”

“Well it wasn’t me.” said the voice of the real manager. “And whatever prankster it was is in a world of trouble.”

Chapter 5

[hearthouses]

top 4 works of 2023

I was tagged by @nameslikeguns and also @preseriesdean was an inspiration, but I modified it to four because I'm not super proud of any of my edits this year and I wasn't able to squeeze out another fic before the end of the year, so we're going with top four! I am also not going to rank them, but list them in chronological order from their posting date.

This year was a better year than the last two in terms of writing output, I had a rough 2021 and posted nothing, and only posted one fic in 2022, so four is a massive improvement, even if it feels miniscule compared of other people's outputs. The Fall was when I was most productive and I am very proud of what I wrote then, exploring concepts I was particularly interested in, even if it's not the most popular and putting myslf out there regardless.

I think I would have continued that streak had I not gotten covid, then 2+ months of complications from covid, but I am trying to drag myself out of that funk. I am hoping to write more in 2024 as I have so many WIPs I want to get to and finish.

Anyway, here's the list:

1. when you're smiling and astride me

This was the first work I posted this year. It felt good to write it, but it also came with some challenges because I wrote it for an exchange and I was very nervous with some of the concepts and how they would go over. But the exchange itself was based on the idea of freeing your id and going wild, so I eventually just went with it and this was the result. I really love exploring Dean's feelings about his body and gender expression, and how Sam helps with it, and my only regret is I wish it was longer.

2. you say, go fast (i say, hold on tight)

This was written in a haze of early Fall because of another exchange that created a level of freedom that unlocked something in my brain that kept me from second guessing myself. It sprang from a concept fanvid and I came up with the idea wholesale from some mental images and let the story happen. I'm very fond of the result, even if it feels saccharine and too sweet and romantic for some. I really love the vibes and the imagery, plus how in love Sam and Dean are.

3. the landscape after cruelty

The process for this fic was grueling. No idea was working the way I wanted, so I needed to come up with a new idea altogether and at times, I almost didn't finish this fic. I have no playlist because I needed quiet to work on this. None of my usual preparations for writing fic worked for this one. The subject matter was daunting and I'm still unsure if I accomplished what I set out to, but I am proud of it. It's not very popular and I wonder if I hit the wrong notes often, but I'm also very protective of it. It's a weird fic that I'm not sure how I feel about the end result 100%, but I had to at least try and explore my feelings around the subject matter.

4. we could live forever in each other’s faces

This fic was written during the height of my illness. It wasn't supposed to be the fic I wrote because I had bigger plans (longer, more complicated fics), so I needed to scale them down to something more managable. How I did that was I chose to write the scenes in a series of drabbles, double drabbles, and triple drabbles, so I could focus on the preciseness of the word count. While this style of writing might feels limiting, it helps me to focus. I really love the dreamy, fairytale-like result of this. I still want to write a longer fic about these themes, but I am glad I wrote this all the same.

[popcornforone]

FEBRUARY

From the Marcus Pike Fan Fic Diary

Masterlist

January

Time for extract number 2 from your diary. The first one seemed to go down well & I have a few months now preplanned so I hope these all really do deliver. Well I’m enjoying writing them, they are a nice little distraction.

Synopsis:- Marcus has to work late on Valentines night, so how will this effect your plans for the most romantic night of the year

Word count:- 1800

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! PIV Sex, established consensual relationship, sex in the work place, swearing, teasing, spanking, mentions of pregnancy. Remember this is a diary so it’s written as I.

Thanks as always for the read peoples, all feedback is welcome. I hope you enjoy.

My hand still trembles when I think back to Wednesday. Valentine’s Day. I know it was only a few days ago but I am still amazed how well it worked. I’ve replayed it all in my mind countless times. So much so that this morning while I thought he was asleep, I was thinking of it as I touched myself. Marcus was playing possum & I didn’t notice until his thumb slide over my clit.

“We’re we that good beautiful?” he said with morning breath before he pulled me on top of him. My pussy was filled & oh my did he feel good. Morning kisses & gasps filled the air but oh fuck he knew what to do this morning, he always makes me cum.

Wait this is for valentines not today.

We never do anything on Valentine’s Day. First year I was sick, second year he worked late & last year a friend got married on Valentine’s Day.

How “original” is that?

But this year I had a plan. I wanted to do something we’d both remember & give him a gift he’d never forget.

I had to act naive when he said on the 10th he was on the late for the 14th. Usual patter flew out my mouth of “I don’t need a day to tell you how much I love you” & “as long as I get morning sex it’s okay” he blushed. He liked that I’m so open & honest with him about sex & our preferences. He likes that once I have said everything though, that he gets to take control. Those hips have a power over me as I quiver beneath him, be it slow & sensual or blistering passion. I’m his, my body is too.

What Marcus had no idea about is that this was all planned. Id contacted his supervisor & asked if he could work late & promised to not make a mess. Ha! Surprisingly it was all approved & allowed.

So in I sneak into his office at 6pm on valentines evening . Oooh the morning sex was wonderful before I went to work by the way. He’d got me a bunch of 13 roses & took one to trail over my body as I sat in his lap riding his cock. The way the petals felt over my nipples had me grinding harder.

“So beautiful” he whimpered as my head rolled back as he looked at my strained body about to explode in sexual desire. I knew he was going to think about the way I moaned his name as I came, for the rest of the day. I had the look from his dilated eyes imprinted in my memory. God he was good.

Sorry but it adds to the surprise.

So I crept in & set up his office & got changed & put a little recorder I had to the side to hear it all back. I wanted to get it right word for word for you my diary & so I could listen back to our flirting. I made sure his desk was clear & organised. I’d even sent him an email as to where his paper work was so he could find it the next day. As much as the fantasy of papers being thrown over the office is a romantic, it’s not practical.

I hear his tones come from down the corridor.

“I’ve just got to sort 1 more thing out & then I’m clocking off I’ve got a 7pm talk in my office & then I’m done.” The door clicks at 6:55pm & it swings on & Marcus jaw hits the floor. “I’ll call you tomorrow”

“Hi baby” I giggle as I twist my hair which I’ve slightly curled for him. He likes that. I’m sat on his desk.

“What on earth?” Hes stuttering. “You can’t just rock up here like this, I have a meeting in…” I tut & wave a naughty oh no finger at him. His eyes went from shocked to suddenly surprised.

“I’m your 7pm meeting” i lick my lips.

“How”

“Your supervisor approved it, I think he’s a romantic deep down”

“Well I’m very happy he did” I hear Marcus lock the door & hit the button to close the blinds. He takes off his jacket & stands hands on his hips. “So a valentines surprise?”

“Exactly & your gifts you are going to love.” I smirk.

“Oooh morning sex wasn’t enough”

“Never Marcus,” I giggle & stand up & start to unbutton the long coat I am wearing. I stand next to Marcus. A soft but rich kiss encapsulates us both as his hands plunge into my hair. I wriggled enough for the coat to drop to the floor. “This is your gifts baby” & I step back.

Now I know what your thinking diary & I think so was Marcus when he opened his eyes. I wasn’t just standing naked infront of him. Quite the opposite.

“I’m confused” he asked & then he looked me up & down once again.”wait is…” I nod.

“Your valentines present is all the clothes I ‘borrow off you’ baby, for you to have & so they smell a bit more like you again” he chuckles.

“You know I have no problem with you…” his voice trails off as I slowly remove his long thick football socks I wear in the winter & i seductivly remove them from my legs & feet flinging them at him. “…. Actually…” he gulps down undoing his top button”… maybe I do need them all back, urgently right now” he grabs the second sock I throw & sniffs it. “Oooh cheesey”

“Marcus!” I joke back “so you want your big comfortable captain america hoodie back then, it will make me cold when I take it off, I might need extra warmth”

“Oooh I need it” I slowly peel it from my body & Marcus blushes even more.

“What’s the matter baby?” I asked “you often see me in just your blue shirt & your boxers in the morning”

“T…t…true” he’s losing composure & his hand is trying to palm his erection but it failed. I mean Marcus should always be so proud with how big he is. “But not before sex”

“Who says we’re having sex tonight” I raise an eyebrow at him as I unbutton the shirt I’m wearing. His face burrows & he pouts. “Well maybe I need to swap this shirt for a new one.” I take a few steps towards Marcus & start undoing his own shirt. Kissing around his chin & neck. Both shirts fall to the floor at the same time.

There’s something about the way he sucks on my nipples. It’s every time. I moan. Even if I’m not in the mood or not up for it, he twists, licks, cups & then sucks. I’m instantly an aroused feral mess all just for him.

“Marcus” I groan. A feeing I adore but always has me being vocal. He whispers my name back before moving onto the next breast. My nipples are erect as I start to undo his belt. I then push away from him. He doesn’t look shocked he knows where this goes.

I step back & twang the elastic in the boxers & then turn around & shake my bum. I hear his trousers drop to the floor as I climb into the empty desk. As I do so I peel the boxers off showing him my arse. Peachy & ready.

“Don’t be shy baby” I moaned.

Slap.

The feel of his palm in my buttocks sends shivers down my spine & I gasp. He’s not into spanking, but when we were seeing what we were both into he loved the little squeak I made, it makes him throb. So he does three spanks to hear the noise each time which is his turn on.

I then turn around & open my legs, spread apart, completely vulnerable & my pussy is in need of satisfaction. He has a brief look at the state of me in front of him before he shimmy’s his boxers down. Stroking his long veiny meaty length, in his large hands, he makes the 5 paces towards me. I quiver as it glides across my clit, no lube needed I’ve been aroused for a while. He fills me in one jolt still standing.

“Fuck Marcus” he’s hit the spot already on the second thrust. His teeth grind as he growls as he fucks me into the desk. I eventually end up lying on my back on the desk, screaming his name.

“Fucking tight” he stammers “best cunt, my cunt, gonna fill you til you can take no more”. Marcus didn’t know this was how his day was going to go but he was loving it. So caught up in the moment enjoying as I clamp around his penis.

We don’t just fuck on the desk but against his filing cabinet & in his office chair.

“Fuck” we scream in unison, our final orgasms hitting. I’m in his lap. Both our bodies spiralling out of control. It was pure lust & desire. He squeezes my bum as I breathe into the crook of his neck.

“Do you know that lots of babies come from office flings?” I lift my head up eventually & look into his deep brown eyes.

“Really?” He smirks, he’s now wondering if this is a coded way of me telling him something.

“Good job this isn’t a fling & a real deal” I say as I stroke his face & he sighs. We need to have the future conversation soon.

“Well when it happens it happens & I just know if we do decide to try, our kids will be loved” his hand stroke down my arm as we suddenly then both realise the time & should probably be heading home.

Marcus was impressed I did have a change of clothes that I got dressed in, & that I brought a gift bag for all of his “gifts”.

“Baby you know you can keep these?” He says as he puts his shoes on.

“Oooh I know I just want you to wear them for a while so they smell if you again”

“All an alternate motive” I roll my eyes “hey don’t do that I mean technically you were my 7pm meeting”

So yea that was my Valentine’s Day surprise for my man. We finally got to properly celebrate one together. He has already asked if he can see my at 7pm in his office next year, I’ve said it’s a date…

March

[gardenoblues]

Fic Tag Game

tagged by @iamfandomcrazy @therulerofallpotatos @dark-visitors sorry it took time to reply, y'know uni stuff and shit <33

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? -8 2. What's your Ao3 word count? -46,208

3. What fandoms do you write for? -Wednesday, ENHYPEN (and Raise Tanin ga ii tho i doubt id write for this again) 4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? gee this is embarrassing i really dont have much 1. BloodyLocks (311) 2.Hyde The Past (74) 3. The Pastor's Son (50) 4. you never forget your first (63) 5. Who doesn't love The Smiths? (39)

In Wednesday? -its the same fics above 5. Do you respond to comments? -I try to reply to all as much as possible but if they aren't positive comments i just erase them lol. But I do appreciate the comments (not like I have a lot but nonetheless they make my day) 6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? -It's not written yet, still in the drafts and I won't spoil >< but to answer that question, I don't think I have written angst, I'm still figuring my way as a writer and if I will to write angst I want it to hurt but with purpose, and I'm not sure how to do that yet. 7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? -all my fics aren't done yet. except for you never forget your first. that's pretty happy, well the Wyler version of happy.

8. Do you get hate on fics? -So far so good. But I do think that I hold back my ideas because I'm still so scared in writing them. Maybe someday when I get bolder I'd get them. Can't wait actually lol. 9. Do you write smut? What kind? -Yes. But it's just light smut. I just begun writing so I'm still exploring myself in that area.

10. Do you write cross-overs? -No, but it sounds interesting. Maybe when I get the idea. 11. Have you ever had a fic translated? -Not that I know of. Prob not. 12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before? -Nope. But I would love to if chance comes! 13. What WIP you would like to finish, but doubt you ever will? -My Reaper and Hyde The Past I have a whole plan laid for these 2. Both drained me until now, but I don't think I'd want to die while they're still unfinished. I will finish them as I promised myself no matter how long that takes. 14. What's your all-time favorite ship? -Wyler! It's more likely that I won't find another ship that tops them. (Just last night I wrote like 2 story of drafts abt them lol they're my favorite brainrot)

15. What are your writing strengths? -Narrating and dialogue. Having tons of ideas for a fic.

16. What are your writing weaknesses? -Thinking for the fic in the long run, and missing out some of the details that can make the fic more, not sure how but just more, and this factor makes me write slower. As well as being too self-conscious and ending up complying to the safest choice. Oh and fight scenes, they just seem like fairies fist-fighting when I read them lol makes me laugh. 17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? - I've thought so much about Wyler in Filipino. Somehow they can fit, but I don't think I have the determination for that yet. This made me remember @ablatheringblatherskite idea for Filipino/cultural mythological creatures for some reason, I want to write a fic about that someday as I know a lot about Filipino folklores.

18. First fandom you wrote for? -WYLER. It's BloodyLocks I had my ao3 acc made months before just so I can comment to the fics I liked with ease. But when Wednesday came out, I suddenly became a fic writer lol. Thanks to their dynamic, I have one more hobby that drives me slowly to insanity. 19. Favorite fic you've ever written? -Hmm, I thought of Hyde The Past right away, (I have a lot, I mean A LOT, that I have written for this fic, but its hard to connect them now) it pushes me to the edge of burnout. At the moment The Pastor's Son is the easiest to write and I'm personally liking where it's going.

20. What fic would you want to rewrite one day? -Hyde The Past If I can rewind time, I would write it so much better and wouldn't rush. You can say that when I wrote that fic I was in my lowest, and it hurts my eyes and brain when I try to read it as I think of what should happen next. It's probably one of the reasons why it's taking me so long to finish it.

I'm tagging @tastethesetears @cosmic-lullaby @nouklea @lovepoison9 @writerrose1998 @chinita-inzunza @ablatheringblatherskite @anotherbluesunday @chaoticstupiddm i don't know who was been tagged and if you have u can just ignore this <33

[charlottesbookclub]

I just read ur alistair x reader piece where hes worried about the reader not eating breakfast and like bro im honest to god fucking swooning. The way u wrote him was SO cute and endearing but it also felt so real. A lot of x reader stuff can be a bit ooc or extreme vibes imo but it just felt so laidback and like just realistic and nice to read. Ty for writing and sharing it! Id be so interested to read more alistair pieces if u have anymore u plan on writing and sharing!

hello my dear! 💖

I literally cannot thank you enough for sending this ask!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 this is such a huge huge huge compliment and I'm and literally truly so happy and thrilled that you enjoyed it so much!!!!! ☺️💕☺️💕

I also get very in my head about whether or not I'm portraying characters accurately (esp. ones that don't have a lot of book/screen time) so this was super reassuring to hear and def makes me feel more confident about continuing to write for him!! ☺️🥰

in terms of future alistair plans, I have a lot lol 😅😅 right now I'm working on a long-form project for him called "king of all birds" that follows his story from learning his brother is going to be executed up through his transformation and probably a little after that too. that one doesn't have a pairing though; I'm using it more as a character study and also because I've always wanted to explore his backstory. the twilight guide gave us so much about him, and yet so little at the same time, since we never see that story actually explored. so now I guess I'm just doing it myself lmao 😅

but I also have ideas for 2-3 more one-shots that would exist in the same universe/timeline as "like real people do," and those would be alistair x reader. they aren't written yet, but I do have at least one of the plots fully fleshed-out, so now I just need to actually sit down and write lmao

I'm also super open to taking requests for him if you have something specific you'd like to see! I'm happy to do headcanon lists and other more miscellaneous stuff as well, since I can often get through those faster than things where I need to construct a plot lmao, but they can also serve as nice ways to explore a character further before I write a longer piece 💕💕

I also want to shout-out @frodoshaggins (I hope it's okay if I tag you here, if not, just let me know and I'll remove it! ☺️☺️) because it's their incredible work that inspired me to start writing for alistair myself!! I would highly recommend their stuff if you're looking for more alistair content!! 🥰🥰

anyway, I just want to say such a sincere thank you again for this ask!! I'm genuinely so flattered and touched that you liked my writing and I'm always excited to meet other alistair fans!! 🥰💕🥰💕 I hope your day is absolutely fantastic!! ☺️💖☺️💖

[gingerpeachtea]

20 questions for 20 writers !!

ty for the tag @aaronstveit :D <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 13 so far

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 19,163

3. What fandoms do you write for? graceland, braindead, and whatever musicals have crawled into my brain like a parasite and won't leave. i used to write a lot more for aos but i've been slacking </3 daisy johnson i miss u!!!!!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? i already know exactly what these are gonna be lmao

sweet words and fevers (143 kudos, aos, quakerider) lose your faith in me (67 kudos, aos, staticquake) somewhere in the haze (43 kudos, graceland, mike sickfic) wrap it in gauze and light the way home (29 kudos, graceland, mike whump, 10 year anniversary fic :3) if i make it to the morning (28 kudos, graceland, mike/charlie/briggs ot3, mike whump)

5. Do you respond to comments? yes!!!! i looove comments i love talking to people about my fics!!! i love fandom i love community!!! peace and love on planet earth!!!!!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? out of what i've posted so far, definitely trial by fire, because the point of conflict between mike and paige/their guilt doesn't really get resolved so much as just...they go on with their lives. almost all my fics are hurt/comfort but tbf leans more towards hurt/no comfort. HOWEVERRRRR i do think that once i post something's in your eyes then that will be the angstiest bc i just find the last scene to be really sad

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? not an option for me NEXT! jk it's pillow

8. Do you get hate on fics? naur <3 yay

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? yes. gay👍. if the characters are a man and a woman no they aren't. not to me. also it has to involve some kind of deep psychological issue or else i get bored LMFAO

10. Do you write crossovers? naur

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i'm aware of !

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? nope, but i would absolutely be open to it if someone offered

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? no BUT there is a doc titled MIKEJOHNNY FOREVER where reese (@cemeteryklaus) and i planned out a co-written mikejohnny fic and even started it but she is lost to the depths of my google docs </3

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? you absolutely cannot make me do this. if there was a gun to my head and u asked me this question i think id just let you shoot me

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? OH GOD. UM. to be so honest........ bus kids existence of all time :( just because SOOO much of it has to be rewritten since i started it YEARS ago and have changed soo much as a writer. i love her so much like that's my BABY that's my actual physical tangible child in a bassinet but....... goddd it's just sm longer than my fics usually are so there's so much to do and so little time </3 and even if i finish it the sequel is definitely not seeing the light of day just bc there's like three missing scenes i still have to write and have 0 ideas for lmao

16. What are your writing strengths? LOOOOOOVE a good metaphor. so sexy so fun to write etc shes my best friend. my silly rabbit. i also think i've gotten really good at showing and not telling :)

17. What are your writing weaknesses? keeping dialogue in character!!! the way i speak irl is so specific and strange and i usually tend to default to my own voice and then i have to go He Would Not Fucking Say That and fix it. also i am so violently indecisive, i usually have 9238642879845 versions of the exact same paragraph or phrase and i can never choose which one i like the most. 70% of the editing process for me is choosing between different versions of something

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? i don't know any other languages so i can't rly do this lmao. i like it tho!!

19. First fandom you wrote for? h*rry p*tter WE DONT HAVE TO TALK ABOUT IT!!!!!

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? FUCK um. okay so like. let me do one per fandom because i am so violently indecisive.

for braindead it's a no-brainer (hehe) it HAS to be when memories snow bc i LOOOOOVE giving characters my very specific issues and writing laurel's recollection of her finding abby's body and writing the last two paragraphs literally felt like unlocking something in my soul it was so much fun!!!

for aos, bkeoat (bus kids existence of all time) is so self-indulgent and every time i read it it's like OGH OGH OGH OGH OOGA BOOGA AWOOGA many consecutive shots to the chest etc etc and so on and so forth. bc i cooked it specifically to have that effect <3 but out of currently posted fics it has to be lyfim <3333 for the same reasons.

for graceland TRIAL BY FIRE!!! i'm so proud of it and it turned out basically exactly how i wanted it to and i just!!! aaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!! HOWEVER something's in your eyes will in fact be tied with it when i post it so. get scared

i don't know 20 writers so i'm just gonna tag a random number of mutuals: @emeraldelysium @dandelion-writes @the-sparkling-diamond-satine @jortspheus @wheelsup-sevenup @acerobbiereyes @cemeteryklaus @saint-ossifrage <3 and anyone else who wants to do this!! :D feel free to tag me if u do!

[dwarfsized]

tagged by the beautiful and amazing @aevallare thank you!!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

9!

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

63,696

3) What fandoms do you write for?

it's all bg3 right now, but I've also written for critical role and the arcana (visual novel)

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1 - that's the kind of love ive been dreaming of (bg3, astarion/f!tav)

2- ain't it warming you (the world goin' up in flames) (critical role, jester/caleb)

3- Liebe ist Fürsorge (critical role, jester/caleb)

4- Fighting the Hurricane (critical role, jester/caleb)

5 - true colors shine in darkness and in secrecy (bg3, astarion/f!tav)

5) Do you respond to comments?

yes! i try to do the "comment when you upload the next chapter" thing but sometimes its been a while since the last chapter and i get embarrassed and just respond to everything in one big rush

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

where i left Fighting the Hurricane probably combined with the (checks notes) 1+ year long update hiatus, i am coming back for you baby i promise. i have plans for it. i just. god. so much happened to me right as i was working on it.

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

All of my fic ends happy (this will not always be the case, eventual AA!AU will be. well. i shan't say.) BUT, and this might just be because its my most recent finished work, i think new steps might end off on the most hopeful note.

8) Do you get hate on fics?

this has never happened to me and id love to keep it that way lmao

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

yes :) the only real posted smut ive got rn is that's the kind of love ive been dreaming of, but i have other smut in the works

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

Fighting the Hurricane doesn't count, really, but that's the closest we've got: its a Critical Role/Pacific Rim fusion.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope!

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

i have nooooot, but i am not sure that the way that i write (terrible first draft and then editing for 1000 years) is very friendly to co-writing. I'm not against the idea at all though, its just. you know. i wouldn't want to torture a friend with the everything about me. maybe someday though!!

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

in this house we multiship, peace and love. :) though honestly i made a joke once about retiring kira as an oc after bg3 bc of everything im putting her through after becoming so enamored with kirastarion so maybe that? sorry blorbo from my brain, enjoy the conciliation prize of elf dick.

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

stares guiltily at Fighting the Hurricane ch 2, languishing on my wip pile. listen, i still fully intend to finish that story. i was doing cool stuff in there. the only problem is that my brain exploded while i was writing ch 1, and this wasnt supposed to be more than 2k words but i am myself, and i didnt use outlines then, so my notes are a mess.

also i cannot possibly underline enough the bit where my brain exploded. this is an exaggeration only in that none of it came out of my head, but i was Not Myself for a Long Time.

16) What are your writing strengths?

i think my internal monologue bangs. this is because i agonize over it.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

moving characters around in the space is like pulling teeth and i feel like a solid 30% of my editing is focused on that. getting someone from point a to point b elegantly and without it feeling like "astarion got up. he moved his feet. he sat down. he looked out the window" makes me feel like walking into the sea

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

I like it when it makes sense! Why does this character use another language? Does the reader need to know what they're saying? Is the POV character unfamiliar with the language? Does the reader learn anything from this? If you don't have good answers, why do it?

I find tieflings really neat, and bg3 does the typical dnd thing of "tieflings are looked down on," without, like, doing much with tiefling culture. So Ive had Kira use Infernal as a shortcut to create familiarity with other tieflings, and use it to have private conversations bc why would anyone but tieflings and people living in The Hells know that language--this solves some problems for her! And it creates others.

19) First fandom you wrote for?

Naruto...... once upon a time i wrote shikamaru/sakura fic. i was going to make a joke about that being my actual first longfic but i just checked and it literally isnt, i worked on it for a year and if you dont count the in-text authors notes (it was a different time) the whole thing is shorter than true colors chapter 4.

can you imagine me, now, updating something for a year and it being less than 11k. lol. lmao, even.

20) Favorite fic you’ve written?

eldath's mercy is my darling right now who also scares me to death. update coming soon (this week? i hope?)

i will tag @simon-says-nothing and @raccooncrimes and @septemberskye and YOUUUU reading this if you want to do it, tag me if you do!!

[myarmsaretoolong]

20 questions (for fanfic writers)

cheers for the tag @sarah-sandwich <3

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

57.

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

412,260

3. what fandoms do you write for?

mcu but mostly just irondad, though i stopped writing that for a bit when a small (large) marauders obsession hit so now i write both depending on the fic im working on. also taken a side step into parkner recently

4. top five fics by kudos:

A Different Future - peter snaps one-shot

Futures are Made to be Broken - more in depth follow up to peter snaps one shot

The Best Day of Harley's Life (and the worst of Peter's) - classic field trip fic only harley is like the tourguide and makes it his mission to ruin peter's day. not actually parkner but for sure the beginning of my growing love for harley

Not my First Time - part of webpril challenge one-shot, tony and peter are stuck under a building, conversation ensue

Where Do You Think You're Going - urrrmmmm good question. its a whumptober one-shot so peter must get beat up. pretty sure its by quentin beck and his drones, lets assume tony finds him and saves the day (its less than 2000 words i could read it and find out but im lazy)

5. do you respond to comments?

i do my best!

6. what is the fic your wrote with the angstiest ending?

ermmm *checks notes* Is This It? springs to mind first. you know the deleted scene of tony snapping and seeing morgan? well in this one he sees peter, only peter is a good few years older and has sorted his life out a bit. its sad obvi, but also kind of happy? the end lines are sad sad though :( so either that or 01/11/81 (if you're a marauders fan you already know that date) which basically very closely follows remus throughout the entire day after james and lily are killed etc. its very angsty all the way through, mary is a sweetheart, and at the end he's left all alone...

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

most tbh. im going to say Past, Present, Yet to Come because that's my baby. (peter is the ghost of christmas present, tony is scrooge, only its like the ryan reynolds film spirited, very good)

8. do you get hate on fics?

nope! (and please dont :) )

9. do you write smut?

nah

10. craziest crossover:

well ive only ever written one and it was mcu/glee and there's a reason i never finished it (nor am linking it [insert skull emoji])

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that ive noticed

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

nope!

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

nope! im a solitary kinda guy

14. all time favourite ship?

what a question... wolfstar is a classic, ineffable husbands are precious to me, doctor/rose is nostalgic... i can't pick favourites

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

besides all of them? all of them.

no but really there are so many and i have this problem of thinking of idea -> getting excited -> writing beginning -> not knowing where to take it -> get excited by new idea -> repeat. im working on it though and do genuinely plan to finish them all

16. what are your writing strengths?

yknow i honestly think my general writing is at a pretty good level. defo room for improvement but there always it, int there? id say that's a general strength, but specifically i think im goooood at making things angsty. and i love doing it so win win

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

well... finishing anything. plotting out full stories is a big problem. (though ive recently started a notebook for random ideas for fics and its helping) um... tbh i can struggle with everything from time to time. i think getting characters voices right can be hard cos i often find people saying things they would never say and having to go back and and put them straight. er,,, action can be next to impossible if The Vision isn't there.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i dont have many. if its a language i cant read i just skim past and sometimes read an end note translation but if there's too much im just going to go with the flow

19. first fandom you wrote in?

mcu

20. favourite fic you've written?

again, Past, Present, Yet to Come is my babygirl. love him to pieces. can i say fics ive not finished yet? because parkner hunger games au and marauders doccy who are fire and one day will see the light of day (and get names)

tagging @winter-turtle @helloliriels erm ive forgotten everyone who has ever existed... @ anyone who i followed in the boopening who writes and @ anyone who just wants to (no pressure at all obvi)

[dekusleftsock]

I am begging you and every other MHA fan to raise your standards cause Kohei gave everyone a yuri couple only to immediately kill one off.

…how many times has horikoshi faked deaths in this series. Because it’s A LOT. Afo, allmight, izuku losing his arm, bakugou, touya, Ochako literally last chapter, like… the story isn’t done yet my dude.

BUT HEY IF YOU WANNA ACTUALLY CRITIQUE HORIKOSHIS WRITING THEN IM ALL FOR IT HAHA

So how do I think horikoshi has seriously failed mha… hmm…

1: her

Her entire character. Well, not entire character. She GOT a lot of screen time and development don’t get me wrong, especially later in the series, and yes I love the fact that bakugou and dekus relationship was more prioritized than Izuku and Ochakos, but does that mean he prioritized her character? No! Nope! NADDA! Ochako is repeatedly sidelined throughout the story, and is also somehow excluded from a lot of arcs that SERIOUSLY RELATE TO HER CHARACTER.

Imagine if ochako was a part of the stain arc at all. She joined for selfish reasons like iida, he has a blood quirk like toga (which could’ve EASILY been foreshadowing to her not being freaked out by blood like most people), could’ve been a great way to show some nuance to her character….

And yet… AND YET…

That brings me to mistake number 2: Shoto Todoroki

Do I think shoto’s character is written badly or wrong? No! Of course I don’t! The entirety of the todoroki storyline, especially with its connection to hawks and the dirty parts of heroics, is really really good! I think it’s one of the most well handled abusive families in all of fiction. It understands EVERYONE in the family, and horikoshi is still able to show so much character and development in just a few scenes, like Natsuo or Rei.

So what IS my problem?

The fact that Ochako, her story, her CHARACTER AS A WHOLE… becomes sidelined due to horikoshi’s choice to prioritize his character over her’s. Again, it’s a great story and I wish he could balance both of them in mha, but he COULDNT, and he made the choice to sacrifice a woman’s character over a man’s.

Though I will say, a note on how ochako could’ve been in the stain arc: toga as a concept was created later and for ochako specifically, so it does kind of make sense as to why she wasn’t involved. Plans change and writers change, their ideas for their characters and what direction they go will ALWAYS change, and sadly you can’t predict that you won’t change a character or it’s direction at any point. It sucks! But that’s how a lot of these really long manga’s go. They have to write and then draw it pretty fucking fast.

And tbh I don’t really know what id do in horikoshi’s shoes with ochako and shoto! But it is definitely a critique we can acknowledge. It would take some seriously extraordinary writing skills to be able to balance, what, 3 deuteragonists? Katsuki, Ochako, AND Todoroki? Especially since one of those characters has a very complex trauma storyline that involves like five other characters? I honestly wouldn’t know what to do in his shoes!

I just wish he had picked the woman out of the two of them, but I think everyone knows that his manga wouldn’t be half as popular were he to have made it focus on two guys and a girl, instead of three guys, one of which is conventionally attractive and has major main character energy.

Anyway number 3: the overhaul arc

Ugh I have such mixed opinions on this arc. On one hand it has some really interesting storylines… when they’re on their own.

From what I understand, horikoshi did this arc because he wanted to try his hands at a longer arc and he had never really done that before. And while it’s great and very obvious he learned things from this arc, it just… takes up so much god damn space and gives us absolutely nothing long term.

Like yeah it makes a few points, like how high schoolers shouldn’t be involved in all of this and kinda sets up the ending rn where the actual adult heroes are sacrificing themselves for the next generation (ex: the guy that I forget the name of who’s now bakugous heart, allmight for deku, midnight for Mina/all the other kids, Mount lady, Aizawa for deku and all the other kids, Mirko for bakugou, etc etc), where as villains sacrifice the next generation for THEMSELVES (ex: afo and shigaraki, overhaul and eri, the gun arm girl for deku, also afo for dabi, etc etc) which is really good to do!

It’s just. Yk. Done by basically every other arc.

AIZAWA REPEATEDLY SHOWS THIS, ALLMIGHT REPEATEDLY SHOWS THIS, ENDEAVOR REPEATEDLY SHOWS THIS. Like it’s the entirety of Mount ladies arc, learning to be a hero and sacrifice for the next generation. Sacrifice and the fact that we forget 1-A are high schoolers is constantly shoved down our fucking throats; we don’t need this arc that takes so god damn long, only adds more characters that aren’t that important, TAKES AWAY FROM YOUR MAIN CAST OTHER THAN DEKU AND ALLMIGHT, JUST for it to tell you explicitly that “kids shouldn’t be fighting the battles of the previous generation, but they have to”. It just. Ugh.

There’s so much time in that arc fucking WASTED on nighteye or mirio’s character. Do I think the big three are really interesting? Of course! The contrast between mirio to deku is fascinating! It really shows how much deku can’t become allmight.

But you know. We talked about that a season ago mha. Yk. When he learns to use kicks instead of punches. Or yk. Gran Torino’s entire arc surrounds that. Everything about deku is nothing like allmight. That’s the entirety of their characters together. It’s repeatedly shown to be dekus biggest insecurity. He’s not allmight. YOU DIDNY NEED THIS ARC TO TELL YOU THAT AGAIN.

It’s like, everything that matters in this arc has already been shouting at you throughout the entire show, and everything else is never really used again outside of a mention here or there. It’s REALLY CLEAR Horikoshi was just doing this arc to try doing a long arc, not thinking about the long term of said arc.

Hmmm what else is there to complain about…

Eh, I guess the fan service? Which is, yk, in every other shonen anime/manga out there. Sometimes with people far younger than anyone in mha.

Ugh it’s like people like you just want me to be screaming “horikoshi did this! Horikoshi did that!” Every five seconds. I read the manga, I’ve talked about these flaws before on my account. Sorry if I… enjoy the manga???? Wait… omg!

It’s almost like I’m an mha account and it says RIGHT HERE IN MY BIO! Crazy!

Like seriously, what was your point? You were mad at drawings on a screen and someone enjoying that story and just… wanted to make someone’s day worse?

Did you expect me to heave over and be like “yes master anon! Toga is the worst written character in mha and horikoshi is a bad writer!” He’s a capable writer who understands his audience more than people give him credit for.

EVERY story has flaws. Every. Single. One. And because mha is literally everywhere and the fandom can get annoying because, it’s literally everywhere, I can understand getting annoyed sometimes. But you can’t sit here and expect me to solely focus on how bad horikoshi’s writing is because you’re mad at one thing. Toga SHOULD be selfless for ochako, sorry that it means thinking that she’s going to die???? What do you want from me?

I don’t have to “raise my standards” because horikoshi uses a lot of subtext and symbolism. I have other gay media I watch or read.

But like every single lgbtq movement that’s ever happened, it takes BABY STEPS. There aren’t many, if any, gay shonens out there, and if mha wants to be the first one it has to play by the rules. It has to make you think this is every other heterosexual shonen ever.

Shojo didn’t just become gay, it had to have shows like sailor moon censor a lesbian couple to be “cousins” so that other shows could exist. Madoka had to be at least semi subtle about its queer coding.

That whole meme where it shows one show saying “x show walked so that y show could run”, yeah that’s how every gay genre was made. Horror didn’t just become gay, it had to have community and relatability build up over the years, along with those new gay writers remembering where they came from, who paved the way.

My point being: I don’t give a shit if you think horikoshi is an awful writer who you think I can’t criticize. However I DO KNOW that if toga and ochako fully get together you’ll NEVER be able to avoid mha. And that thought makes me smile so much more than just the fact that they’re canon.

[aelaer]

⛓

Okay so. THREE YEARS AGO, back in early 2020 before The World Went To Shit, I posted a "whump prompt request" thing with icons to basically request fics based on the whumpy icon. I answered 2 or 3 of them before I basically stopped writing for like, over a year.

This year I'm doing my damnedest to finish the 6 whump prompts I have from early 2020 and the last (anon) prompt I have from 2019. That's my goal. (If I can get to the 2022 user-submitted prompt as well this year, that's an extra bonus).

I don't think this user is even in the fandom anymore (possibly not even on tumblr), but I'm still doing the prompt fics. As always with tumblr prompts, my tumblr followers get them first, and I'll post it on AO3 at a later time.

Obviously the prompt is chains. For 2 years I was trying another fic to fill this, but when it just wasn't happening, I threw out the original idea for this new one below.

So I've done alternate meetings between Stephen and various Avengers before, but I wanted to try something different and have a different set of Avengers meet him in different circumstances. Well, not that different because I just enjoy seeing Stephen suffer. Sorry love. But it's a different crew of Avengers, so it's at least a little different. I don't think I've seen this particular group meeting him before in this timeframe, either.

This fic stars Steve, Nat, Sam, and Stephen, and is actually written from Steve's POV! First time writing from Steve's POV so it was a lot of fun. Not betaed, but this is still about 7,000 words long, so enjoy!

—--

Ever since aliens attacked New York in 2012, alien technology was a major part of the arms dealing scene in the black market. Nuclear missiles were old school; Chitauri-powered weaponry was the cream of the crop. And as the United States' Department of Damage Control seemed to have done a very lousy job at controlling all the weaponry leaving the country the last several years, Steve Rogers figured he'd put his time out of the country to good use and clean up for them.

From all the people that came back from the Raft, only two were with him now. Clint and Ant-Man—Scott, nice guy—had families back home and went for a plea bargain. Wanda asked to be dropped off in Europe and Nat provided her with a new ID and enough money to get by for a couple months without any sort of job. Bucky—well, Bucky was getting help in Wakanda.

That just left him, Sam, and Nat. When he told them what he planned to do, they were fully on board. Nat even had some old KGB connections to get them started.

And that's how they had spent the last year, going from city to city, country to country, chasing leads on illegal alien weaponry across Asia. They started in Yemen and Oman, then went north to Syria (where they got into a tight spot and found Nick Fury of all people waiting for them. How he got to Syria in the first place, Steve had no idea.) After a tense conversation with him, he parted with him in Lebanon, then they started their way east to Iraq, Turkmenistan, and Afghanistan.

It was another old contact of Nat's that pointed them to their next destination: the state of Uttar Pradesh in northern India.

With most of their hits, it was clear that terrorists, insurgents, and other sorts who dealt with black market arms were getting types of Chitauri weapons. With their information out of India, it was less clear what the nature of the weapon was.

"From how they're discussing it, it sounds alien," Nat said as she read over her contact's notes. "And they're guarding it fiercely. But it appears they don't know what to do with it."

"Who has the weapon?" Sam asked. "Lashkar-e-Taiba? ISIS?"

She shook her head. "It's a small splinter group of revolutionists. No household names here."

Steve frowned; these small groups were more difficult to determine how to respond to. "Are they considered terrorists by the United States?"

Nat shook her head once more as she looked through the notes. "Strictly Indian. This group doesn't go beyond their borders."

"Then let's go for a nonlethal encounter, as much as possible. We're not here to say who's right and wrong about such things, so long as they're not hurting anyone in their actions."

She half-smiled. "They do have a weapon, Cap." They've likely hurt people, she didn't say.

He quirked his lips in return. "And that's why we're going to relieve them of it." In the end, it was up to the local authorities to take care of the people themselves and to put them through due process. If Steve could, he'd do the same for every terrorist, too—but he didn't have that luxury when they were caught in the middle of a gunfight, or when it was just the three of them versus dozens in enemy territory.

He wasn't happy with the fact, but he made do with what he could. He didn't particularly enjoy killing others in the war, either—and the fact that he still had to from time to time was an unhappy reality.

So when he could get through an incident without death, he gladly took it.

"All right," Sam said. "Next stop, India."

—--

Nat's connections made getting the quinjet from country to country actually possible. From there, they paid someone enough cash to both keep an eye on the jet and to keep quiet about it. These people made a living on such gigs, so after a year of seeing such deals, Steve was a lot less worried about it than when they first started.

Their contact got them a van and from there, they fit everything they needed into it to get to a safehouse and gather more intel from there.

Uttar Pradesh was a land of extremes. As the most populous state of India, it also saw some of its richest and poorest citizens, some great beauty and great ugliness, and both wondrous joys and terrible suffering. Steve didn't interact with the locals—Nat did all that if they had to, as she somehow knew Hindi as well—but he could see it in the people's faces as they went from city to village, and back again.

It took them a couple days to secure their safehouse to their liking, then another few days to find the location of their target. It took Nat and Sam another 48 hours to break into their security and tap their communications, and it wasn't too long that they got the location of the weapon.

"They're not giving any further description on what this weapon is," Nat said with a grimace as she leaned back in her chair. "I don't think the guys we bugged actually know what it is, just where it is as they were guarding the building. On the second floor, so that narrows it down further."

"That's annoying," Sam said. "I'll look up the address and see what I can find on the building. This city's large enough to have blueprints."

"Not sure how much you'll find," Nat said. "I'll drive out there and scout it out tonight."

"You can add it to what I do find," Sam said, grinning.

—---

When Nat came back from her scouting just before dawn, Steve woke up to find her thoughtful. "What happened?"

"The building was unusually busy, considering the time of night," she said. "The good news is that I found the most likely room in which they're keeping the weapon."

"Should be an easy snatch and grab?"

"Absolutely; this is a group of amateurs. You and Sam can probably stay in the car."

Steve snorted. "Well, if we would just get in your way."

Nat smirked, then went to get herself some breakfast. "I'll listen in today to see if anyone says anything more about the weapon."

About two hours later, Sam and Steve were mapping out their route away from the building once Nat had the weapon. From the corner of his eye, Steve saw her frowning as she listened to the tapped broadcast. He did not like that frown. "What is it?"

She listened for about ten more seconds. "It sounds like they have a prisoner."

Sam jerked his head up. "What?"

She paused as she listened, then after two minutes she shook her head. "These idiots know nothing. They think he was after the weapon, naturally, but for all they know he could be a political prisoner or hostage." She sighed. "Should've bugged someone more useful."

"This changes things," Steve said.

"A rescue mission makes this more complicated," Nat pointed out.

"Are you suggesting we leave him?"

Nat smiled slightly. "Just making sure you were aware."

"Well, I've never been one to back down from a challenge." He looked at Sam. "You'll be fine alone in the car?"

Sam shrugged. "I can keep the engine running. You sure you won't need help with sneaking in?"

"No. Show me what blueprints you found again, Sam." He had learned several things about subterfuge and stealth over the last year from Nat. He had to.

With their combined intelligence gathering, Steve was able to map out his own route to search for this prisoner. It was likely he was being kept in the basement level of the building, so Steve would start there and work his way up, if need be. As decided before, Steve wanted to go for the non-lethal route, and they had just enough drugs to knock people out to make it happen (one of the good things of running into Fury all those months ago was getting supplies of that nature).

With their plan set, all they had to do now was wait until nightfall.

—----

Nat was right: these guys were amateurs. Steve was certain that she'd be in and out of the building in five minutes, tops. He had the longer route here just because he had to find the room this prisoner was actually being held.

Half the people in the building were asleep on the second floor; those awake were either guarding the mysterious weapon (Nat had them handled) or posted around the perimeter. He only encountered one other guard on the first floor before making his way into the basement. Those he did encounter he stashed away in dark corners so they weren't easily spotted by anyone passing by.

The basement was a little busier. The stairwell led to a long hallway filled with several tiny rooms, one of which was easily seen as occupied the moment he came to the floor. Steve took out two guys in a room at a pair of computers and kept them propped in their chairs. The other rooms in the hall were empty of people, largely filled with storage and detritus.

At the edge of the corridor was another hallway and Steve carefully peered beyond the corner to see if anyone was there. There was a man sitting outside of a door playing on his phone; that was very likely the door Steve was looking for. It was child's play to sneak up at him and jab him in the neck just as he had done with the rest. 

He lowered the guard to the floor before he could fall out of his chair, then peered through the small window—hole, really—within the door to take a look inside.

Well, he had definitely found the prisoner. While the light in the room was dim, he could tell that their prisoner didn't appear Indian; his skin was just too light. Steve frowned; what was a foreign national doing dealing with a group that largely dealt with Indian affairs?

It appeared that he had crossed them in some way because the man looked terrible. Bruises and bloody scrapes blossomed across his face; they appeared to be recent hurts, gained in hours or days rather than weeks or months. His dark hair was pressed damp against his head, though from sweat or water, Steve did not know. His clothes were unlike anything Steve's seen in the future so far, at least outside of movies. 

Despite his poor state of being, this group had considered their captive enough of a threat to chain him to the wall itself. Steve had no idea wall fetters like that still existed. The man was leaning his head against one of his arms pulled up, though sleeping or unconscious, he couldn't say.

Steve soon discovered neither. As soon as he took the cell door key off the unconscious guard and slotted it into the lock, the man's eyes snapped open and he straightened his position as much as he was able to. And he didn't appear afraid at all. Resigned, perhaps, but not afraid. Interesting. Nat would have quite the analysis on him from just this.

The man's grim resignation turned into outright confusion as Steve opened the door to reveal himself.

"Keep your voice down," Steve warned as he dragged the guard's body from the hallway and into the cell. He carefully shut the door to make it look closed, but left it open a crack in case it locked from the inside. He turned back to the hostage. "We'd rather avoid a full on confrontation if we can."

"Captain America?" Disbelief dripped through every syllable, but he kept his voice low. And he sounded American; that wasn't expected at all.

Steve could not help his unhappy smile. "Not so sure I can call myself that anymore."

The man remained still as Steve closed the distance between them. "Let me get these off," he muttered as he brought up the key again. But he could see the problem immediately—the key was too large for the manacles.

The man was watching him and seemed to catch his realization. "I imagine that one of the leaders has that key," he said, voice flat. Not panicked at all like many others would be if they thought they were so close to freedom and were stuck.

This man was no normal civilian, that much was clear.

Steve, though, had another idea. "Hold on." He took hold of the left manacle and chain, then paused as he caught long scars on the hand accompanied by a tremor that certainly wasn't fear. "This might pinch. Brace yourself."

The man said nothing, but hissed softly as Steve snapped the chain from the manacle as the rough metal scraped against him, despite Steve's best efforts.

"Okay?" Steve said as he slowly let go of the manacle still around his wrist, allowing the man time to gain control of his arm.

"Fine. Don't worry about it."

Steve moved to the other manacle and saw the same patterns of scars on his right hand, as well. He broke the chain with as much care as he could, and this time the man remained silent at the break.

"Can you stand?"

The man was already standing—or at least attempting it. He managed to get up to his feet, but he was leaning heavily against the wall. His eyes were focused on the corner where Steve had deposited the unconscious guard near the door. Steve followed his gaze and saw that beyond the guard was some sort of red fabric in the corner.

"I need that," the man said, leaving no room for argument in his voice. With some bemusement, Steve gathered the long length of red fabric in one hand (a coat?), and with the other dragged the guard to where the hostage once sat so anyone looking in the dimly lit room would make out the figure of a body. So long as no one took a closer look, it would hold until morning.

The man took the red fabric as soon as Steve offered it to him and slung it over his shoulder. Steve caught the glint of silver of what he assumed was some sort of clasp on his coat, and while he was no expert, it looked like the real deal. 

"Surprised they didn't take those," Steve said as he nodded to the ornamentation. "Lean on me."

The man did so without protest. Steve couldn't see what was causing the other's inability to fully stand, but that would have to be examined later. He did mutter, though, "They couldn't rip the clasps off. Then they thought they were maybe cursed." For some reason this seemed to amuse the man.

Right, then. "Follow my lead," Steve murmured.

He locked the door behind them and dropped the key in one of the storage rooms within the basement. Steve was slower going out than coming in, but he had been thorough in jabbing everyone and placing them in either hidden areas or in discrete positions, should anyone pass. But for all the rumors of having a powerful weapon, as their security personnel was not what Steve would consider top-rated, he wasn't expecting any change of guard anytime soon.

The building was thankfully small enough that the journey from the cell to the exit was less than five minutes, even at the slowed pace they were forced to go. From the corner of his eye Steve saw the man turn his head at the sight of one of the men stashed on a chair, positioned as if he were asleep rather than drugged.

It wasn't until they were past the building's outer fencing and around a corner that Steve breathed more easily. Perhaps the man sensed it, because he spoke for the first time since they left the cell. "Did you kill them?"

"The guards?"

"Yes."

"No. Just drugged."

Steve felt the man exhale beside him. "Good."

That… wasn't expected. But then again, nothing about this man met any of the preconceptions he originally thought about the person he would be rescuing. "What's your name?"

"Strange."

They turned another corner. "Your name is Strange?"

"Yes."

Fair enough.

"How far are we going?" Strange asked. Steve was supporting more of his weight now, his hidden injury seeming to do a number on him.

"Not far," he assured him. "I've got a car waiting."

"Great." The 'great' sounded oddly sarcastic.

The van was only a couple minutes further, which was good because Strange only seemed to be getting weaker with every step. By the time they turned the final corner to meet it, Strange's left leg fully gave out on him. Steve caught him before he could totally collapse, but he noticed Strange's attention was fully on the van.

"I'm not the only thing you're taking from that building, am I?" he asked between clenched teeth.

How could he possibly know? Steve didn't know how to answer, but before he needed to, Sam was stepping out of the van to assist him. He took in Strange's interesting fashion choices with a raised brow, then took on the role of medic immediately. "Where are you injured?" he asked as he took Strange's other arm. He spared a look at the hand and the manacle, then gripped him on the forearm as he slung it over his shoulders.

"It's complicated," was Strange's cryptic answer. "Nothing you can—" He sharply inhaled, "—help right now."

Once they loaded Strange into the back seat (with his coat on his lap—though it was rather large to be a coat, now that he took a longer look at it), Steve asked Sam quietly as they rounded the car, "You found the weapon?"

"Well, we definitely found what they were hiding, though I'm not so sure I'd call it that," he replied.

What on earth did that mean? Steve sent Sam a look, but held off on any further questions until they were out of immediate danger.

Nat had slipped into the driver's seat as soon as Sam was out of the van, and Sam gave it up with the roll of his eyes. Steve decided to sit in the back with Strange to keep an eye on him as they drove back to their safe house about thirty minutes away. Somehow Strange seemed worse resting in the van than moving. Yes, the road was bumpy and unpaved in many spots, but he would have thought walking from his prison would have been more taxing on him. 

As he eyed Strange's clenched fists, tight eyes, and pallor face, he wondered where these hidden injuries lie—and if they were all physical in nature.

Perhaps more importantly, he was wondering what on Earth another American was doing all the way out there in the middle of Uttar Pradesh and far away from any sort of tourist destination (and they had done their research—this was absolutely not an area for tourists). 

Apparently he wasn't the only one wondering about him. "So, you gonna tell us who you are and what on earth you're doing all the way out here?" Sam asked, turning himself partially around to look at him.

"If we could save the interrogation for when we're stopped, I would greatly appreciate it," he said without moving his eyes from the center of the windshield.

"Carsick?" Nat asked in that casual way that was anything but casual. 

"Yes," Strange said, but Steve wasn't sure if he fully believed him. It was the tight anxiety in his gaze that pointed to something else. 

But what it was wasn't important for him to know. Every man had his demons. So Steve said, "His name is Strange."

Sam looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Strange. "Seriously?"

"Yes," Strange said, curt and tense.

"Right," said Sam. He cleared his throat. "Well, Mr Strange, when we get to our little base, we'll take a look at you and see what we can do for your injuries."

At first, Strange didn't seem like he would reply. Then a moment later, after Sam had already turned around and Steve was getting ready to settle in for a long, silent trip, Strange said, "Doctor."

"Pardon?" Steve asked. Sam slightly turned his head.

"It's Doctor Strange."

Well, that just created more questions than it answered. 

—---

Doctor Strange could barely walk by the time they made it to the safe house. His lips were pressed tight as he contained what appeared to be excruciating agony. Steve had seen that look on men's faces before in war as they lost limbs and burned from napalm fire.

What sort of wounds was he hiding underneath all his clothing?

"He can take my cot," Sam said. The cots were in a separate, smaller room to the side of the larger room that held their base of operations. Their vital equipment didn't exceed what could fit in a single van should they need to leave fast, but at this point they had acquired decent bedding, more fresh clothing, and a mini-fridge alongside the basic necessities of the trade: their tech, a well-stocked first aid kit, non-perishables to last for several weeks, and a few weapons.

Sam already had their first aid kit by his side as they got Strange to the cot, and Strange collapsed as soon as they let him go. However, when Sam started to undo his belts to his—robes, Steve guessed—to get access to whatever hurts he was hiding, Strange stopped him by grabbing at his arm. But the grip was minimal; Strange's hand was shaking badly enough to continuously jiggle the ugly manacle still there. 

"Not—not hurt—physically," he panted.

Sam raised his eyebrows incredulously at the comment. "You've got bruises all over you. Look, with this weakness, you could have a bad internal bleed—"

"No," he hissed. "Listen." His weak grip readjusted itself on Sam's arm. "Move the statuette—away from me."

Steve turned a confused look to Sam, but Sam had stilled and was looking at Strange with narrowed eyes. "How did you—"

"200 feet," he interrupted. "For an hour. You'll see." With that, he finally passed out.

"Statuette?" Steve asked. 

"It was what they were protecting." Nat appeared at the door and frowned at Strange as Sam, obviously, ignored his protests and started stripping him down to both attach him to a BPM and to look for any signs of massive trauma. "He shouldn't know that we took it."

Steve frowned. "He said something of the same just as we got to the van."

Nat's eyes narrowed. "Did he, now."

Steve shook his head. "But that doesn't make sense. They were supposed to be holding onto some powerful weapon."

"Whatever our intel, the statuette was definitely the only thing they were truly guarding," Nat said. "Had two men at the entrance and one on the ground below—even more than last night." She kept her narrowed gaze upon Strange. "Maybe he is what caused all the disturbance last night, too."

Steve frowned at the information. "Did anything about it seem suspicious?"

Nat shook her head. "Not from a cursory look. It's just a rather ugly statue made out of stone. Weighs no more than 10 pounds. I was saving the closer examination for when we got back here, though."

"This makes no sense." It was Sam this time, and he was looking at the diagnostics on his small handheld that he had hooked up to Strange.

"What is it?" Steve asked. 

"His vitals are not what I was expecting. His blood pressure is higher than normal, which is opposite what you'd see with internal bleeding, and none of this bruising is severe. I mean, he should still get himself to a hospital when he can to double check, but I'm not seeing any obvious signs of hemorrhaging."

Nat looked back at Strange. "He's not faking it. He's out."

"I know." Sam worked on cleaning up some of the cuts on Strange's face because they were, apparently, the worst wounds they found. "But from what I can see, he shouldn't be unconscious. I found no head trauma, no major blood loss, and his temperature's stable."

Steve pursed his lips together in thought. The world had gotten very weird the last few years.

Nat read him like a book. "You're going to entertain his idea?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, the world isn't exactly what it used to be," Steve said. "We can try for an hour. Just to see what happens."

Nat canted her head, then nodded slowly. "I know a spot. Be back soon."

—--

Fifteen minutes later, Steve had his chair at the doorway between the beds and the rest of the space as he kept an eye on Strange. Sam was working on repairing some of their surveillance tech while Nat was looking up something at the computers after having returned just a couple minutes ago.

"He said Doctor Strange, right?" Sam asked. "You think, being an American with robes and a cape and all, that he's playing at being some sort of superhero with a secret identity or something?"

Steve blinked and took another look at the red pile of cloth resting at the foot of Strange's cot. Huh, yeah, he supposed it could be a cape. A red cape like Thor's, to boot.

"I'm not so sure," Steve said as he eyed the man. "He didn't act like a civilian playing hero that got in over his head when I found him."

"Not a fake name, either," Nat said, causing the both of them to turn her way. She recited, "Doctor Stephen Vincent Strange, MD, PhD. Neurosurgeon. And yes, I found images. It's him, just without the beard and a little less grey hair."

For some reason the name sounded familiar, though Steve had no idea why. He definitely hadn't met the guy before; he was pretty sure he'd remember him if he had.

Sam raised his eyebrows high. "What in the world is a neurosurgeon doing dressed like that in the weeds of Uttar Pradesh?"

"Former neurosurgeon, actually," Nat said with a thoughtful frown. "Last news I can find of him is from early 2016 after he got into a bad car accident. His hospital doesn't list him as a doctor there, anymore."

Steve frowned softly as he looked back at Strange. That would explain his hands. But as Sam said, it didn't explain what he was doing all the way out here. Then he narrowed his gaze as he saw Strange stir—or he thought he saw him move.

Then Steve blinked as he saw the edges of the red cape start rising upward. It reminded him of a cobra. He blinked again, and yea, it was definitely moving a bit like a snake. It was slinking.

"Hey uh, Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Clothing generally doesn't move on its own in this century, right?"

"Uh, what?"

"You better come see this."

Steve felt both Sam and Nat beside him as they watched the cape—definitely a cape, not a coat—extend itself upwards until it was no longer a bundle of cloth at the edge of the bed, but fully extended and covering Strange from the bottom of his neck to his feet.

This cape might've been bigger than Thor's cape.

"So that's definitely not normal, yes?" Steve reiterated.

"Yes, Steve, that's not normal," Nat repeated. "You two sure there wasn't any sort of tech embedded within it?"

"Surveillance would've picked up something," Sam said, which Steve knew that Nat knew.

"Right," she said. "I'd ah, I'd keep my distance from it, gentlemen."

"Right."

"Yep."

—------

Another twenty minutes passed before Steve heard a groan coming from the cot. He looked up from his sketch to watch a minutiae of expressions cross over Strange's face before it settled on the blank expression of a man who woke up in unfamiliar, potentially dangerous situations. Steve saw that expression all the time once, a lifetime ago.

Strange was not just a neurosurgeon, no matter where his internet trail ended. Nearly two years had passed since early 2016, after all—and much of the world had changed since then.

Steve pushed away the troubling, all-too-personal train of thought before it went somewhere dangerous. "Welcome back, Doctor Strange," he said. He kept his distance.

Strange glanced his way with a furrowed brow before a light of understanding came to his eyes. "Ah. Right." He slowly sat up, grimacing softly, frowning down at what was obviously rumpled, disturbed clothing. Speaking of clothing—the cape was floating a bit more now, its collar at the same level as Strange's head.

"Oh, good, I'm glad you're starting to feel better," Strange said, and he was definitely talking to his cape. Steve was certain about it.

"Uh," Steve started, causing Strange's eyes to focus again on him. They were no longer clouded in pain, and he could see the man had an unusually sharp gaze. "Nat was going to remove those manacles off you, but then your cape started moving…" He trailed off.

"It's a cloak," was Strange's absolutely absurd reply.

Steve was saved from replying by Sam joining him. And just out of sight of Strange, Nat lingered, listening. "Hey, doc. How're you feeling?" Steve was pretty sure Sam was mostly staring at the half-floating cape—cloak.

"Much better. Thank you for moving the statuette." He frowned at the manacles on his wrists before making something of an effort to straighten out his robes. The red cloak moved behind him and settled itself upon his shoulders with Strange saying nothing about it.

"Uh, you wanna tell us what that is?" Sam jerked his chin to the cloak as it moved.

"It's a cloak," Strange replied. With eyes that sharp, Steve knew the man was being purposefully obtuse.

"Funny." Sam crossed his arms. "You wanna tell us why it flies?"

"It's called the Cloak of Levitation. That's what it does."

Steve wasn't sure if he should be annoyed or amused by the obfuscation. He settled for something around the realm of exasperation. "Doctor Strange, please." Strange stilled his adjusting and settled his gaze on Steve. "If you would sit down with us," he gestured past his shoulder to the main room, "Natasha can remove the manacles while you answer a few questions."

Strange pursed his lips. "I don't suppose you'll let me go without answers," he said dryly, but he stood up. Steve stood as well to give Strange ample room to pass.

Steve could feel Nat stepping into line of sight just behind him. "Consider it payment for us getting you out of there."

Strange huffed as he stepped through into the main room; with his so-called cloak, his whole ensemble had an odd feeling of completion that was missing prior. "I thought the Avengers were meant to be altruistic." Steve had been pretty certain that Strange knew who the other two were, but that at least confirmed it.

Nat smiled. "Some of us are more altruistic than others." She nodded to the table where the laptops were sitting a minute ago, but were now closed and set aside. "Sit."

Steve was more than happy to leave the bulk of the interrogation to Nat. He retook his chair and Sam went back to his tech maintenance corner while Strange sat adjacent to Nat at the center table.

With her left hand, Nat slid her fingers underneath the manacle to offer some cushioning between the metal and Strange's skin, certainly raw from the metal and more sensitive with whatever lay underneath his skin now. Steve knew, only after being with her for so long, that it was yet another way she could better tell truth from lies by being right on top of his pulse.

She had never forgotten her years and years of training.

"Why were you being held in that building?" she started as she flicked open the pick.

Strange narrowed his eyes at the question. "The same reason you were drawn to it."

"And you were caught trying to take it."

"Well," Strange said, "I was not expecting to have such an adverse reaction."

Nat kept her gaze on the manacle, seemingly. Steve wouldn't doubt that she was looking up at Strange through her lashes at pertinent moments. "We came because we heard there was a powerful weapon being held there," she said slowly, "but it seems only to affect you."  

Strange didn't reply, at first. "Was there a question in that statement, Miss Romanoff?"

Nat smiled. "You know my question, Doctor Strange."

Strange, again, considered his words. "And what would you do with that knowledge?"

Something that looked like true confusion flickered across Nat's expression. Steve doubted Strange caught it, but after all these years, he did. "What do you mean?"

"Don't be obtuse," Strange said, and there was an edge to his voice, suddenly. "After all, it was not even four years ago that the very agency you worked for created a weapon to kill millions. What am I to think of a person who worked for such an organization?"

The flash of something real crossing through Nat's eyes was so fast that Steve wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't just imagined it. "And all of us here were part of the team that exposed that plot." The first manacle clicked open, and Nat removed it, allowing Strange to take his wrist to rub it. "And when the worlds' governments tried to force us to sign a document that we believed endangered the world's freedom, we ran. And here we are."

Strange stared at her wordlessly, and they held a battle of wills. He had seen this expression on Nat very few times. The first she started showing it to him was when they really started working together, when—

Steve suddenly remembered. "Hydra!" At his exclamation, the battle of wills was dropped as everyone looked to him, but his eyes were again on Strange. "During Project Insight—one of their high level goons mentioned your name, your name and a few others—as he explained exactly what the algorithm was written to do." He looked at the other two. "Sitwell on the rooftop, remember?"

Realization came to them and they looked again at Strange, perhaps in a different light. "He did mention you," Sam said, pointing a screwdriver his way.

Strange cleared his throat. "That was in 2014, years before… this. They couldn't have known this would happen to me."

"And what is 'this', Doctor Strange?" Nat asked. She gestured for his left hand, and Strange gave it to her wordlessly. As she slipped her fingers underneath the metal and against his wrist, she asked, "What makes you different from us that the statue would only be an effective weapon against you?"

The silence sat. Strange said nothing, and it remained steady until the second manacle clicked open. Natasha removed it and stared at him for a moment, but when he remained still, she simply nodded and stood. "Steve can help you make arrangements to get back to where you need to go," is all she said, and turned to leave.

"Magic."

Nat stopped mid-step.

"The statuette has an adverse effect upon people who practice what you would call magic."

Sam was the first to break the silence. "Wait, do you mean 'You're a wizard, Harry,' type of magic?"

Strange's carefully blank expression fell away into a look of distaste. "The preferred term is sorcerer."

"A sorcerer is just a wizard without a hat," Sam said in return, and Strange's expression went through the whole range between gobsmacked and irritation, and back again.

Steve stepped in before Sam was completely eviscerated. "Right, so the statuette's bad news. What did you want to do with it?"

Strange seemed surprised by the question. "If it were up to me, I'd have it destroyed; were that impossible, burying it several miles deep or throwing it into the Mariana Trench is a good alternative. I'd say it could be placed in another dimension, but I'd be worried about another intelligent species potentially coming across it."

Right, dimensions. That was—something. Steve just nodded, as if all of that sounded perfectly reasonable and not completely insane.

Still, there was something Strange wasn't saying, and Steve had to make sure. "And these adverse effects—they're not permanent?"

"They're not."

"You sure?" Sam asked. "You were pretty badly off there for a time."

Strange cleared his throat. "I had been within near proximity to the object for almost a day, and the car ride's enforced closeness simply exacerbated the symptoms. They were unpleasant, but not permanent for the length of time I was exposed."

Steve narrowed his eyes; 'unpleasant' was a soldier's word for 'agonizing, but it didn't kill me so I'll be fine.' And Strange had the gaze of a man who had seen battle.

The other two noticed, naturally. They were both soldiers too. But it was Nat who prodded, to see just how much she could glean. It was almost instinctual for her to do so, Steve thought. "Sam is right to be concerned. You were near catatonic by the time the drive was through."

Strange's lip twitched upward in displeasure. He would allow some prying to establish—what? Some sort of basic trust? Whatever it was, it only went so far, and when Strange said, "I'm fine, thank you," Nat laid off with a raised hand and a slight smile.

Steve switched topics. "If you knew this statuette was so dangerous, why did you go in alone?" At Strange's quirked brow, Steve explained, "I assume there's more than one sorcerer around. You had to learn it from someone. You needed backup." Steve allowed a tone of disapproval to shine through his last sentence.

Strange heard it and rose up to it. "The statuette hasn't been encountered for quite some time, so its intensity wasn't known to any living sorcerer. Besides, we thought it was something else entirely here. If we'd known it was the statuette, we would have used a completely different strategy in retrieving it. On that note," he said, tone moving to decisive and unrelenting, "I'd like my phone call, now."

"Your what?" Sam asked. 

"Well, Miss Romanoff said you'd be assisting me in getting out of here," Strange said. "To do that, I need to call somebody."

Steve nodded, though that statement led to more questions as to how Strange got out here in the first place. Did that mean there were other sorcerers in the vicinity?

They had several burner phones as part of their stash. Nat selected one not on their persons, so not yet in active use. Depending on what happened here would determine if they kept it or threw it out after this.

Strange nodded in thanks and dialed a number slowly enough that it didn't take a spy to read his movement, should he decide to steal the phone for some reason. Steve didn't think he would. Besides, if he was more concerned about keeping the number private, he certainly wouldn't have dialed it in front of Nat.

Regardless, it took about ten seconds from Strange lifting the phone to his ear for him to start talking. He stood as he did and began to slowly pace during the conversation.

"Wong, it's Stephen. I have good news and bad news." A pause. "The good news is that it wasn't the Jade of Antioch. The bad news is that it's the Empirikul Statuette."

Another pause. "Oh yeah, it's as bad as the books say it is. Can't say I recommend the experience." His cloak was swaying quite a bit. Was that natural? "The Avengers. Or, well, three former ones, I guess." Another pause. "Yeah, them. And yes. Where do you think I found a phone?" Pause. "Why would I have my wallet on me? That's an awful idea. It would've been taken from me if I had brought it."

Strange paused mid-stride as the response on the other side went for a few seconds longer than the other replies. "It wasn't—you're exaggerating. No, it wasn't that bad. The issue was the Empirikul Statuette, not the guys holding onto it. It wasn't even a day. I'm fine. But they did take my sling ring, so."

Strange rolled his eyes after another pause. "Look, it could have happened to anyone. It was just my luck that I went searching rather than someone else." He huffed in annoyance. "I just need someone to pick me up. Can you do that?" Another pause. "It's not in my immediate vicinity, but it's still too close. Give me ten minutes to walk—not going to chance the Cloak right now." A beat. "Yep. Right. Bye." He snapped the phone shut and looked at Steve. "If that's all, I should be on my way."

That phone call had only made him more curious about Strange. And when Steve exchanged looks with Sam, he could see the same on his face.

And apparently Nat wasn't going to let it go so easily, either. "This area can be dangerous at night," she said. "We'll escort you to a safe spot."

"That won't be necessary," Strange said. He set the phone back down on the table. "I can take care of myself."

Sam asked, "Your powers are fully back, then?"

Strange pressed his lips together at the question. He answered, "As I said, I can handle myself."

"So that's a no," Sam supplied.

"We wouldn't want anything to happen to you," Steve added.

Strange looked between the three of them, then exhaled in resignation. "You'd follow me regardless, wouldn't you?"

Nat smiled at him. "Wouldn't want our hard work to go to waste."

Strange rolled his eyes and gestured to the door. "Lead the way to this 'safe spot', then. Away from the statuette, if you would."

"Gladly." Nat headed to the door and Strange followed. Sam followed and Steve did as well because of course he wanted to see where this went. Before leaving, he swiped the burner phone Strange had left and slipped it into his pocket.

Nat led them through the dark back alleys southward of their hideout. In a few minutes, they were at a dead-end corridor nestled between three silent industrial buildings. "How's here?" she asked as she looked at Strange.

Strange's brow furrowed and he looked at his hands and made a gesture, then suddenly a bunch of golden sparks appeared on the tips of his fingers. "Here is far enough," he said.

Steve exchanged a look with Sam, and the latter asked, "So… what exactly can you do with magic?"

"Many things," Strange said as lowered his hands again.

Steve frowned at the vagueness of the answer. "And what is it that you do use your powers for, doctor?"

Strange looked at Steve again, his gaze considering. After a moment, he said, "When I was still learning the Mystic Arts, I was told that the Avengers handled physical threats to the world, while sorcerers handled more mystical threats—a countless number of them."

Sam folded his arms. "And that statuette is one of these so-called mystical threats?"

"In a way. In the wrong hands, it could cause a catastrophe." Strange waved his hand. "But I was thinking more along the lines of extra-dimensional entities that would enjoy consuming the Earth."

Nat tilted her head. "And do you come across those often?"

"More often than you would think," said Strange. 

Suddenly, golden sparks appeared in the air behind Strange up against the wall. Nat took a step back, hand on her holster, and Steve felt Sam tense beside him. Strange, however, just turned and said, "And here's my ride."

The golden sparks widened into a circle large enough for anyone to walk through it. On the other side was a room and another man, Asian, dressed in brown robes and looking exasperated. "Strange."

"Wong." Strange stepped through the circle to the other side.

This so-called Wong glanced at Steve, then Nat and Sam. "Thank you for the assistance. We'll take care of the relic from here."

"Relic?" Sam asked.

"The statuette. You won't find any use for it, I assure you."

Nat narrowed her eyes but didn't argue. Steve decided to keep it simple. "Happy to help. You can, uh, call on us if you ever need assistance." He held the burner phone up.

Strange shot him a raised eyebrow. Wong's expression, however, remained even. "You should hope that day never comes, Captain." With that, the golden circle closed, leaving the three alone in the dark once more.

"Are we just gonna let them take the statuette?" Sam asked.

Nat's lips were pursed. "They may already have. He was able to get to Strange without knowing where he was physically. And if they were able to find the statuette in the first place without any sort of scouting and they now know it's in this area, I suspect that they could have moved it since they can travel with portals like that."

"He was right in that there's not much we can do with it," Steve said as he opened up the burner phone. "We can take a look to see if it's in the hiding spot or not anymore." He pulled up the last called number. "Either of you know what country code +977 is for?"

Nat was faster with searching. "Nepal."

"Huh. They're right next door." Steve closed the phone. "Still, I'll keep this phone handy. They may prove to be useful allies in the future."

Sam sighed. "So I guess it's now the big three rather than the big two that we gotta keep an eye out for."

"What?" Steve asked as they headed out of the alley.

"Well, it was just robots and aliens before. Now it's robots, aliens, and wizards. Or at least magical 'entities', whatever that means."

Steve huffed in amusement. "Well, we certainly do live in interesting times."

"Can't argue against that."

—----

The history of going after weapons in Syria then Lebanon, and getting picked up by Nick Fury are actually from the MCU Prelude comics! Those are considered backstory canon so I definitely recommend giving them a read, they're really interesting and fill in some holes for a lot of Avengers-related stuff around AOU, CW, and IW. (The Doctor Strange ones are really great, too.)

According to Wiki, Nat spoke *at least* 11 languages. I'm not sure how much of this is from the MCU or not. But I figured her having another language under her belt wasn't the most insane thing in the world.

The "jab to instant unconsciousness" isn't a thing in the real world, but it was established as existing in the MCU in FFH, so it makes these non-lethal special ops missions much easier. It's a fun trope so I certainly don't blame Hollywood for having it.

Finally, the Empirikul Statuette is a made up item, named as a nod to the Empirikuls, who in the comics kill all magic—items, books, users, etc. So an item that makes magic inert and makes magic users suffer in its presence seemed an appropriate item to name after them.