#but my tag has the acronym for this show in it and i don’t want posts like this one to just. be in the show tag | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years ago

Note

Do you know of any fics that have John at the Surgery in them? It wasn't really explored in the show so... it can be just like one scene within a larger fic, but I haven't been able to find any fics with this. TIA

Hey Lovely!

Ahhhh you know, I have a lot of fics where he’s at the surgery, but I’ll be damned if I can remember them all!!! Here’re the ones I do remember! <3 Please add your own fics, my friends, if your fic is in the Surgery!

JOHN AT THE SURGERY

See Also:

Hospital Fics

Hospitals Pt 2

Doctor / Caretaker John

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 2

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 3

Doctor / Caretaker John Pt. 4

Excerpts from Purgatory by reapersun, what_alchemy (E, 5,829 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Doctor John, Reunion Fic, Rough Sex, Angry Sex, Bottomlock, Fic with Pics) – John serves community service in homeless shelters for chinning the superintendent. Unbeknownst to him, the Homeless Network has his back.

The doctor is in by PlainJane (E, 7,581 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Sex Therapist, Anal, Hand Jobs, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock is a young alpha with an aversion to his cycle. John is a gender medicine specialist. Nothing could possibly go wrong... Part 1 of Doctors and detectives

The Acronym by DancingGrimm (T, 15,057 w., 12 Ch. || Humour) – "'Bee Ay Em Eff'. Hm, that's a new one on me. Do you know what it means, Sherlock?" John might not know what it means, but there are many little ways in which he proves the acronym suits him.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It's a lot less cracky than you're probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

The Hollow Woman by ScopesMonkey (M, 51,335 w., 22 Ch. || Post-TRF, Major Character Death, Mystery, Romance, Friendship, Family, Angst, Crime, Reunion, First Kiss / Time, Nightmares, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Jealous John, BAMF John, Angry John, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Villain Mary, Open Ending) – Forced to return to London sooner than expected, Sherlock falls into a case too close to home. Part 1 of the Hollowverse series

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

The Quiet Man by ivyblossom (E, 157,369 w., 58 Ch. || Post-TRF, John First POV, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Present Tense, Imaginary Sherlock) – "Do you just carry on talking when I'm away?"

MARKED FOR LATER (tagged with “Surgery”)

Milk, the Flu, and Harry by Inactive Account (sassybleu) (M, 1,609 w., 1 Ch. || Insecure Sherlock, Understanding John, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock’s Called ‘Freak’) – John leaves Sherlock for a few days (angsty) John says things he doesn’t mean (“you’re a freak”) Sherlock thinks he deserves it (he’s insecure) and packs John’s bags for him while he’s gone. John is to blame (bad day at surgery-Sherlock being Sherlock; he’s frustrated and snaps)

Inhale With Ease by Vulpesmellifera (E, 25,989 w., 8 Ch. || S4 Divergence, Covid-19/Quarantine, Jealous John, Love Letters, Victor Trevor, Divorce, Angst with Happy Ending) – In the years after Vivian Norbury's capture, life seems to work out just as John planned. He's got that respectable job at the surgery and goes home to his wife and child. He joins Sherlock on cases a couple times per week. It's a rhythm he can live with - just enough adrenaline highs to balance out the drudgery of a normal bloke's life. Until a pandemic, and Victor Trevor, arrive in London.

Turned - Part I : Queen and Country by saintscully (E, 76,008 w., 20 Ch. || HLV Divergence / No TAB, Graphic Sherlock/OC, Spy Sherlock, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Army Homophobia, Emotional Infidelity, Physical Infidelity, Slow Burn, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Johnlock) – Moriarty’s message never gets broadcasted. The airplane taking Sherlock away never returns.As rumours begin to swirl about a British POW found alive in Gaza ten months later, Mycroft shows up at John’s surgery with some good news: Sherlock is alive, and he’s coming back. In this story, inspired by ‘Homeland’ and ‘Prisoners of War’, John and Sherlock are left with no choice but to re-examine everything about their relationship since Sherlock’s fall. Part 1 of the Turned series

You Go To My Head Series by 7PercentSolution and J_Baillier (E, 937,347+ w. across 22 Stories || Series WiP || Surgeon AU || Medical Realism, Autism Spectrum, Anaesthetist John / Neurosurgeon Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Addiction, Angst, Slow Burn, PTSD, Pining, Insecurity, Additional Tags Under Link) – This series is an alternate universe one, featuring the exciting medical and romantic adventures of doctors Watson and Holmes. (I haven’t read this one, but JUDGING by the topic of these stories, I imagine there’s a lot of surgery scenes lol)

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #doctor john #help steph find fics #john at the surgery #cateye-glasses

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tmngoose · 3 years ago

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Some Assembly Required: a Rottmnt story

Remember this post? Well, I decided to clean up what I had and show it to y’all. This was supposed to be a much longer story, but back when I was writing it, I jumped ship for a different fic I was working on and never came back OTL Characters: Donnie, Mikey, Raph, Leo, April, Shelldon, Draxum, Huginn & Muninn (albeit super brief) Tags: Lab accidents, fires, minor injuries, hurt/comfort, obscure UHF reference I won’t be uploading this to Ao3, so you can read it under the cut :U

For the longest time, Donnie dreamed of the perfect lab partner. Though Shelldon was an impeccable assistant, there were moments where Donnie longed to work side-by-side with another scientist. Someone with a thirst for knowledge! Someone who shared his passion for all things technical and methodical; a scientist, just like he considered himself to be!

To think Baron Draxum would be Donnie's long-awaited lab partner was not a scenario the Softshell had ever fathomed. Still, it was one he accepted with great enthusiasm.

Draxum and Donnie saw no reason to doubt their capabilities. However, the rest of the family remained wary whenever the two of them went off meddling in the lab. With April's help, Raph, Leo, and Mikey devised a strict set of guidelines to ensure Donnie and Draxum wouldn't get into too much trouble.

"Scoff!" Donnie threw the hefty packet of rules down at his feet, offended. "What do you take us for: a pair of unhinged Frankensteins? Y'know, it'd be nice if, just for once, you guys would have a little faith in our scientific endeavors!"

"It's not that we don't trust you guys," April explained, "It's just... you guys tend to get a little carried away with your projects, that's all!"

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"The last time Barry was in a lab, he created the Oozesquitos," April folded her arms, "And don't get me started about the time you messed with your brother's brains."

"Okay! I get it!" Donnie sighed. He picked up the packet of rules and flapped the dust out from its pages. "We won't get carried away: Todd scout's honor."

April smiled, "Thanks, Dee."

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, Draxum and I were just about to partake in our latest scientific acquisition: Professor Philo's Chemistry Set for the At-Home Scientist!" Donnie started off for his lab, tucking the packet into a compartment in his battle-shell.

April shook her head, smiling as she headed inside the living room, where the sounds of 8-bit gaming welcomed her. Raph and Mikey were too invested in whatever racing game they were playing to notice April.

"Soo, how'd it go?" Leo asked from his beanbag chair. "Is Donnie mad that we're afraid he'll bring Potatozilla into existence or what?"

"I say he handled it pretty well!" April plopped herself down in the recliner. "I told Donnie that we just wanted to make sure he and Draxum toned it down a bit, that's all."

"See? I told you he'd listen to April!" Mikey grinned smugly at Leo.

Leo rolled his eyes, "Whatever." He went back to scrolling his social feed on his phone, "I'll believe it when they don't create a giant mutant potato or somethin'."

"Be nice, Leo," April swung her legs over the armrest. "We've gotta have a little faith in 'em. Besides, I've never seen Donnie this happy since-"

KA-BOOOOOOM!!!

A powerful tremor shook the lair, taking everyone by surprise. The trinkets Splinter's 'Do Not Touch' cabinet rattled and shook, a few of the lighter items clattered to the floor. April held onto the armchair with Raph steadying it before it could topple over backward. Mikey hid inside of his shell out of reflex as Leo jumped to his feet, prepared to face whatever threat was upon them.

"Omigosh!" Mikey exclaimed, popping his head out of his shell. "What was that?!"

"You don't think DIGG's tryin' to take down the Kaufman Coliseum again?" Raph frowned, trying to rub the ringing out from his ears.

"Um, guys?" Leo sniffed the air, "Does anyone else smell something burning, or is that Raph's 'Taken-By-Surprise' stink?"

Raph sniffed at his underarm, "Nope. It's not me!"

April and Mikey took a moment to smell the air, their noses wrinkled at the familiar acrid odor of smoke.

And smoke could only mean one thing: something was on fire.

Oh no! Donnie! Barry! April's stomach dropped over the thought. She bolted out of the living room with Raph, Leo, and Mikey right behind her. "Please let it be a giant mutant potato!"

It wasn't a giant mutant potato.

By the time they entered the atrium, a thick cloud of smoke had spilled out from the mouth of Donnie's lab, billowing up into the rafters above. Although they couldn't see it, they could hear the fire roaring from deep within the lab.

"Mad Dogz!" Raph barked, "Initiate ‘Fire Safety Plan Alpha!’" “FSssPAH!” Mikey pronounced the acronym from the back of the group.

But before Raph could lead the rescue, Draxum leaped out from the smoke carrying Donnie in his arms; their matching lab coats singed. Shelldon flew out, not too far behind, with Huginn and Munnin holding onto his back.

"Barry!" April ran up to the soot-stained alchemist. "What happened?! I thought y'all we're gonna take things easy? Didn’t y’all read the packet?!"

"We were," Draxum rasped, passing Donnie's limp body into Raph's arms. "If it weren't for a pair of idle hands." He gave his gargoyles a sharp look while removing the safety goggles from his face, leaving clean rings around his eyes.

Munnin's wings sagged, "The instructions weren't joking when it said 'everything in this chemistry set is a fire hazard.'"

"Yeah, including the instructions," Huginn hung his head, "Our bad."

"So, how're we suppose to handle this whole situation?" Leo asked, gesturing to the raging inferno that was (formally) Donnie's lab.

"I'm on it, dudes!" Shelldon replied, concentrating on his emergency protocols hardwired into his drives.

The fire-alarm system blared to life. Then came the hissing of the sprinklers going off and the gush of extinguishing foam spraying deep within the lab. Slowly, the smoke was beginning to ease up, much to everyone's relief.

Slowly, Donnie began to stir, groaning as he slowly regained consciousness, "Ugh... what? M-my lab..." His confusion morphed into panic as he realized the severity of the situation. "My lab!!" He squirmed feebly in Raph's arms, mortified.

"Woah, take it easy," Raph held Donnie against him, firm enough to subdue him yet careful not to hurt him. "That chemistry set of yours nearly got you guys barbequed."

Donnie frowned, "No, you don't understand!" His eyes stung with tears as he thought of his life's work gone in a blaze of unsupervised stupidity. "Everything's ruined!"

"Hey, you don't know that for sure!" April gently touched Donnie's shoulder. "Besides, what's important is you're both okay!"

"April's right," Mikey agreed, clinging to Draxum's side, "We're glad y'all made it out safely. A little flamb��ed, but you get the idea."

"But my lab," Donnie emphasized.

"Lab shmab, we can worry about that later!" Leo nudged Draxum with his elbow. "For now, let's focus on getting you toasted marshmallows taken care of."

"Yeah, what Leo said!" Raph adjusted Donnie in his arms, heading for the bathroom where the first aid kit was kept. "Just you wait; maybe it's not as bad as you think!"

-x-

Raph's sense of judgment was always a mixed bag, and this time, he couldn't have been farther from the truth.

The lab was a smoldering mess, virtually unrecognizable to the Turtles, Draxum, and April. The walls were blackened, and the smell of burnt wiring and computer parts hung sourly in the air. Puddles of foam and water gathered in parts of the floor, adding to the disarray.

Donnie searched desperately for anything salvageable, but the prospects were slim to none. The bandaged Softshell approached the remnants of his workstation, absolutely gutted. He reached for what was once a prototype for a new battle shell, but it crumbled into ash in his hands.

"Alas, this must've been what it felt like to lose the Library of Alexandria," Donnie mourned poetically, sinking to his knees. Shelldon drifted up to his heartbroken creator, pressing his head against Donnie's side like the loyal drone he was.

"Okaaayyy, so it's a little charbroiled in here," Leo cringed. "But if anyone can fix this, it's you!"

"Do you have any idea how long that'll take me?" Donnie moaned, overwhelmed by the daunting task. "It took me years of refurbishing junk and computer parts, and now I have nothing! Zilch! Nada! No equipment, no materials, no anything!"

Donnie's outburst left the others speechless. They had seen him upset before, but nothing to this extent.

Quietly, Draxum approached Donatello, "As someone who has lost their life's work twice, I understand your plight," he said, joining the turtle on the floor. "However, unlike myself, you are fortunate not to face this endeavor alone. You have your friends, your brothers, and... your lab partner," Draxum looked off to the side, somewhat flustered by the sentimental mushiness his words implied.

"Draxibald's right, Donnie!" Mikey beamed. He was so proud of Barry for stepping up to the plate. He popped up in between them, slinging his arms over their shoulders, "You've got us to help you! We'll have your lab up and running in no time!"

Leo smiled, "Yeah, with you bossing us around, we can totally get the job done!"

"But a total rebuild of this scope requires a certain level of technological sophistication!" Donnie deflated, "So unless you know of any tech-savvy geniuses out there, I don't see how any of this is possible."

"Oh, I know a guy," April answered, "And I'm lookin' right at him~" She smiled at Donnie, who didn't know how to process the compliment. "Have a little faith in yourself, Dee!" Donnie blinked, stunned that his own words were used against him.

"Yeah, you said so yourself!” Raph joined in, “You and that big brain of yours built this lab out of nothin' but junk! If there's anyone who can build back better than ever, it's you! So whaddya say, Don?"

Donnie looked at Raph's hand extended out to him. He then glanced over at Leo, Mikey, and April, all eagerly awaiting his response. He turned to Draxum, who gave a curt nod.

Touched by the support of his family, Donnie wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye, "I say let's order some pizzas and chop-chop! Rome wasn't built in a day, people! We've got our work cut out for us!" He took Raph’s hand and was lifted up from the ground. Yes, Donnie supposed he could have a little faith in himself, and everyone else as well.

#rottmnt #tmngoosepost #abandoned fic #rottmnt fic #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt april #rottmnt draxum #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt shelldon #huginn and munnin #I was going through my old WIPs and decided to show y'all this one

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jwillowwolf · 3 years ago

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Magic and Miracles - Prologue

Tag List: @sandersidesbigbang @thomassanderssidesbigbang2021 @theimprobabledreamersworld

First Chapter > | Masterlist

This is a multi-chapter fic I've been working on for the last couple of months as a part of the 2021 Sanders Sides Big Bang. The original idea came from this post by @remy-please-come-back [thanks again for letting me use the idea 💜].

Summary: Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings. The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone. It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone. Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained. In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind. In the veins of all creatures, including humankind. For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

For the longest time, Logan wanted to learn magic. So, when he was offered the chance to study it at a new magic school, he decided to follow his dreams. Along the way, however, he'll learn about so much more.

Warning/s: food mention.

Characters: Logan, Emile, Remy, OCs.

Read on AO3

0 | The Underdog's Debut

Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings.

The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone.

It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone.

Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained.

In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind.

In the veins of all creatures, including humankind.

For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.

Perhaps this was why people found it so intriguing from such a young age. They wanted answers to what magic was, and while they didn’t find what they sought, they did learn how it could be used to their advantage. Spells were created to do anything that their caster’s heart desired. From creating a small orb of light for reading in the night to manipulating a tidal wave that could crash down on your enemies.

Magic was something not easily understood, which was one reason why the Council of Wizards evaluated all potential magic users. They wanted to gage that these young mages could safely use the power they were wielding. If not, then they needed to be properly dealt with before things got out of hand.

This was a good thing, but also not because to learn magic safely you would need someone else to teach you first-hand.

Now that doesn’t seem like much of an obstacle, except the only established wizards were of the nobility, and therefore only worked with nobility. The system was pretty much rigged to make it hopeless for average people to learn and use magic. Or it was until our protagonist came along.

He rose from poverty to royalty, became a hero among heroes, and faced off against one of the greatest threats to humankind that ever existed! But I’m getting ahead of myself -sorry- let's start from the beginning, shall we?

Oh, but where to begin? Ah! We’ll start from his first test with the Council of Wizards when he was only a young lad of 15. It was the beginning of spring, which is when the COW always held the learner’s test. This test evaluated your magical potential and gave the council a heads up on how many new mages there were. Yes, COW, don’t ask me why they went with that acronym.

The ceremony was being held in the grand hall of the palace, and it was open for anyone from the Srednas Kingdom to come and watch. The test itself was rather simple but the festivities that came with it made things feel like a special holiday. Nobility and common folk alike were gathered to watch and see what new wizards would be taking on learning magic. There was even a small market of sorts set outside the palace to take advantage of the crowds and sell foods, drinks, and commemorative merchandise.

Inside, people were everywhere, talking excitedly to one another and trying to find good places to view the proceedings. At the end of the room, there was a dais with two thrones where King Thomas and his husband, Prince Consort Nico, sat to watch. In front of the dais were nine chairs for the COW members, who talked with the royals and amongst themselves. Even they seemed eager for what was about to happen, and yet no one knew truly how monumental today was going to be.

The event had begun the same as any other year. Noble children from across the land showed off whatever three spells they’d learnt for the test. Most were common tricks like lighting candles or making plants grow. A handful showed off with advanced versions of these spells, such as holding the flames in their hands or making entire trees grow. Still, regardless of how many times these spells were cast, the crowd watched in awe with each new user who passed their test.

And then a young man in a simple navy tunic and black trousers stepped forward. He looked to be in his mid-teens, the same as most of the young mages and walked with an air of subtle confidence. He had a slender form and soft features that pronounced his youthful appearance. His hair was raven black, swept neatly to the side, and his eyes were such a dark brown that they seemed almost black.

“Please state your name and title.” Silvia, the eldest council member, said.

“My name is Logan Picani.”

“Title?”

“I don’t have any.”

Silence fell over the hall. “Pardon?”

“I don’t have any titles.”

“How do you not have any titles?”

“I’m not a noble.”

Some people audibly gasped and began whispering conspiratorially to one another.

“Young man, you do understand what this test is, correct?” Allen, another council member, asked with a thinly veiled look of disgust.

“Yes sir, I do. I also know for a fact that there are no rules against my taking the test because of being a commoner.”

Allen frowned and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Silvia. “I suppose not. Well then, let’s see what you can do.”

Logan took a deep breath and then held up his hand, “Ignyght.”

The tip of his little finger began to glow with golden light. The crowd watched on in silence as he carefully moved his hand to draw the necessary rune with the trail of light that flowed from his finger.

Once the rune was complete, he spoke again. “Solhart.”

The rune turned stark white and then disappeared. For a moment nothing happened, then a small white orb appeared where the rune had previously been floating. This earned a few excited claps from the crowd and an approving nod from two council members. But Logan didn’t stop there.

“Groh.” This time the light from his fingers was bright green. He made a different rune then repeated the sealing word, “Solhart.”

The orb multiplied until nearly fifty of them were floating in a cluster before Logan.

“Stahwynd.” A deep blue light flowed from Logan’s finger as he drew the final rune. “Solhart.”

The orbs burst apart from one another like birds flying off a tree in fear. Some people from the crowd shouted in shock as the balls of light zoomed off in all different directions until finally, they stopped. Now they were floating all around the room above the spectators who gasped as they realized what Logan had done. The hall’s ceiling was pitch black, so the lights looked like stars in the night sky. It was a breath-taking sight that inspired many to cheer and clap for the young mage.

“Alright, please settle down,” Silvia called over the noise before looking at Logan with a thoughtful expression. “Where did you learn this?”

“I taught myself.”

Silvia nodded then turned to talk with her fellow council members in hushed tones. Allen and two others seemed upset, while the rest of the council were neutral if not mildly impressed. After a few minutes, she looked back at Logan with a soft smile.

“Mr Picani, you are officially granted your learner’s license. I hope when we see you again in a few months time, you will once more surprise us all.”

The crowd cheered and Logan nodded before walking away with a look of pride. As he made his way through the crowd, he received congratulations from many strangers. And then he was tackled to the ground by an enthusiastic brown-haired girl.

“You did it! You did it! I knew you could do it!”

“Everleigh, my ribs.” Logan wheezed, causing the girl to release him.

“Oops, sorry. My bad. Is your chest okay?”

“It’s fine.” Both youths got up with smiles on their faces. “I did it.”

“Yep. In a couple of months, you’re going to be an official grand wizard.”

“Considering I just got my learners, I don’t think I’ll reach such a title that quickly.”

“You just created a night sky in the palace ballroom! I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

Logan smiled softly, “Come on, we should head back to the bakery to celebrate.”

Everleigh nodded in agreement and linked their arms so they could walk side by side. As they walked, Everleigh excitedly told Logan about how incredible it had looked from the crowd, and what kind of reactions the people around her had had.

Logan was uncharacteristically grinning by the time they’d reached the bakery. Walking inside only made his smile widen as the smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries filled his senses. It was after all the smell of home, so of course, it made him feel warm and welcomed. His father, Emile Picani, was standing by the counter helping an elderly customer when Logan and Everleigh walked in.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Oh, I should be the one thanking you, Mrs Goldstone. The brownie recipe you gave me has become a bestseller.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Have a nice day dear.”

“To you as well, ma’am. Oh, Logan, Everleigh, you’re back. And smiling,” Emile gasped, “did you get it?”

“He’s a wizard!” Everleigh dramatically announced.

“Not yet, I still need to finish the second test in a couple of months. I do have a learners’ license though.”

“Well, I think this calls for some celebratory tarts,” Emile said, ushering both youths into the back of the shop where the Picani’s sitting room/kitchen was located. “I’m proud of you logan. That hard work really paid off.”

“Speaking of hard work, you are going to take a break, right?” Everleigh asked.

Logan looked away from her sheepishly. “Well…”

“Come on, Lo. You’ve been working hard non-stop for months.”

“Yeah, kid, you work with me in the bakery all day, then study well into the night. And don’t think I haven’t seen you pull an all-nighter here and there.” Emile chastised.

It was true that Logan had worked long hard to get to where he was. it wasn’t exactly a simple task when books on magic were hard to find, and what knowledge they had was even harder to grasp. Figuring out pronunciation for the initiation/sealing words and learning to keep his hand steady as he drew the runes.

It had taken him many long nights of studying by candlelight to figure out the spells he’d performed. But with Everleigh’s library apprenticeship and his own persistent nature, he’d managed to learn a good deal about the basics. And now it was paying off. He officially had a learner’s license and would get a chance to become a genuine wizard.

Then he could use magic to help so many of the villagers who couldn’t afford the high-priced assistance of other magicians. Medicinal potions? Enchanted prosthetics? Transition spells? He would be able to give all this and more at prices his peers could afford.

Logan knew that what he was doing seemed near impossible, but he was going to do it or die trying! …okay, so maybe Emile and Everleigh were valid in their concern for his health, but this was his best and only way to study magic.

Before Logan could argue this, however, a stranger walked into the bakery. He was tall and slender, with a bronze tan and confident bearing. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a clean white tunic, black trousers, and dark brown riding boots. His short curly hair was the same dark brown shade as the boots, and his eyes were hidden by black tinted glasses.

“New customer, how do you how do?”

The stranger smiled. “Hey there, gorgeous. Sorry but I’m not a customer today. Is this where Logan Picani lives?”

“Yes, that’s my son.”

“Son? No offence honey but you look too young and handsome to be a dad.”

“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Logan asked, taking over the conversation for his blushing father.

“Ah, yeah, I’m here to offer you a very special opportunity on behalf of the crown prince.”

Logan and Emile gaped. “The crown prince?”

The stranger nodded. “My name is Remy Animosni, and on behalf of his highness, I’m here to extend an exclusive invitation to the Srednas Magic School.”

Logan frowned. “I wasn’t aware that there was a magic school here in Srednas.”

“Well, that’s because there wasn’t, not until now anyway. It’s something that the prince arranged to start this year with a few students to show how good it could be to the council. You particularly caught his interest today with your starry spellcasting, hence the personal invite. You would learn alongside six other students under me about everything there is to know concerning magic, from the full basics of spells to how you can modify your own enchantments.”

“That sounds incredible,” Emile said.

Remy nodded. “Yep, and not only that but you will be given your own room at the school and anything you may need or want during your stay will be provided by us, free of charge. The location of the school is just an hour out of town, so you could visit home on weekends if you desired. So how about it, kid?”

Logan was gobsmacked. The crown prince had not only seen him but was impressed enough to send an invitation to learn magic at a special new magic school.

“Wait, what do I have to do for the prince in return?”

“Absolutely nothing. The offer is completely free of any fees or deceptive dealings. I promise. The prince even sent this with me to make sure you could have physical proof if so desired.” Remy stated, producing a scroll from inside his jacket.

Emile and Logan both looked over the document and found no problems. It was a straightforward invitation for Logan to study magic at the prince’s new school, with promises to provide anything he could need while he was living at said school, and nothing more. The father and son shared a thoughtful glance. It was definitely an opportunity.

Emile smiled. “Do it.”

“Really? You think I should accept?”

“A chance like this only comes around once, and I can always hire someone if I need the help. Follow your dreams kiddo.” Emile said with an encouraging smile.

Logan bit his lip as he considered things. He really hadn’t thought today could get any better, then this happened. He was worried about leaving his dad, but Emile had told him to take this chance. And he was right about this being a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides, Remy had said he could still visit the town on the weekends…

“Okay. I accept.”

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask. [Also, here's a link to chapter 1]

I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

#sanderssides #sander sides #sanders sides fic #logan sanders #ts logan sanders #ts logan #remy sanders #emile picani #fantasy au #Thomas Sanders Sides Big Bang 2021 #food mention tw

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thewidowsghost · 4 years ago

Text

The War Gone Wrong (Obviously) - Stark! Reader x Steve Rogers

This is written for @rogersrogers334.

3rd Person POV

Tony and (Y/n) Stark, the father-daughter duo, stand in the shadows as a projection shows Maria, Howard, and a Younger Tony talking.

After the projected scene is over, both Tony and (Y/n) walk out, side by side, to the front of the stage.

"That's how I wished it happened," Tony says softly into the microphone. "Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, or BARF."

"You really need a better acronym," (Y/n) teases which makes the crowd laugh for a minute or so before the attention turns to the two Avengers. "An extremely costly method of hijacking the hippocampus to . . . clear traumatic memories."

Tony blows out a candle, "Huh." The whole scene around Tony and (Y/n) dissolves. "It doesn't change the fact that my parents never made it to the airport . . . or all the things I did to avoid processing my grief, but . . ." Tony takes off his glasses. "Plus, six hundred eleven million dollars for my little therapeutic experiment? No one in their right mind would've ever funded it.

"Help me out, what's the MIT mission statement?" (Y/n)'s voice echoes through the hall now. "'To generate, disseminate, and preserve knowledge.' And work with others," she adds, "to bring it to bear on the world's great challenges."

"Well, you are the others," Tony picks up (Y/n)'s words - the two having rehearsed this. "And, quiet as it's kept . . . the challenges facing you are the greatest mankind's ever known."

"Plus," (Y/n) says, amusement lighting in her eyes, her voice taking on a teasing tone, "most of you are broke."

The crowd chuckles again and after a moment, Tony says, "Oh, I'm sorry. Rather, you were. As of this moment . . . every student has been made an equal recipient of the Inaugural September Foundation Grant. As in . . . all of your projects have just been approved and funded."

The crowd of college students breaks out in applause and cheers.

"No strings, no takes . . . just reframe the future!" (Y/n) says over the cheering. "Starting now!"

Above the audience, the teleprompter now reads: Tony: Now I would like to introduce the head of the Foundation, Pepper Potts

Tony stares at the words sadly and then says, "Go break some eggs."

The two exit the stage, side by side.

Ignoring one of the teaches and one of her father's assistants, (Y/n) walks over to the bathroom and changes into a pair of casual clothes for the mission she was supposed to be on.

Approaching her father, (Y/n) says a quick goodbye, and the twenty-four-year-old woman closes her eyes and disappears, arriving in Lagos, Nigeria.

(Y/n), like her mother, was a mutant. (Y/n) had the powers of teleportation, absorption, and the ability to control elements, as well as the ability to shape-shift.

Glancing around for a moment, (Y/n) pulls on a pair of sunglasses, places her COM set in her ear, and walks over to the Black Widow, who is sitting by herself with a tea in her hands.

"Morning, ma'am," (Y/n) greets Natasha Romanoff, "you mind if I sit here? There are no more open tables."

"Sure, go right ahead," Natasha says, hiding a smile at the sight of her best friend. Natasha and (Y/n) had been friends since Natasha had joined SHIELD, as (Y/n) and their partner, Clint, had recruited her.

A waitress walks over and (Y/n) orders a coffee, listening in on the conversation between Natasha, Wanda, Steve, and Sam going on.

"All right, what do you see?" Steve asks.

"Standard beat cops," Wanda murmurs around her cup of coffee in her hand. "Small station. Quiet street. It's a good target."

"There's an ATM in the south corner, which means . . ." Steve begins but Wanda cuts him off.

"Cameras," Wanda says.

"Nice Wanda," (Y/n) murmurs, and Wanda smiles softly at the approval in the older woman's voice.

"Both cross streets are one way," Steve says into the COMs.

"So, compromised escape routes," Wanda guesses.

"Means our guy doesn't care about being seen, he isn't afraid to make a mess on the way out," (Y/n) says softly.

"She's right," Steve says and (Y/n)'s cheeks dust a slightly darker color. "See that Range Rover halfway up the block?"

"Yeah, the red one?" Wanda asks. "It's cute."

"Looks like my first car," (Y/n) says with a soft laugh.

"Not the point," Natasha says and (Y/n) grins. "The point is, is that it's bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guys, which means more headaches for somebody."

"Probably us," (Y/n) adds. "I should have stayed with Dad.”

Wanda laughs but then says, her voice more serious, “You know I can move things with my mind, right?”

“You know I can set things on fire, or freeze them, or throw them at people?” (Y/n) says.

“Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature,” Natasha and (Y/n) say in unison.

“Anybody ever told the two of you that you’re a little paranoid?” Sam asks.

“Not to my face,” Natasha scoffs, exchanging an amused glance with (Y/n) for a moment.

“Nor mine, probably cause my Dad could sue anyone for some odd reason, but, you know, whatever,” (Y/n) says. “Anyway, why?”

“Did you hear something?” Natasha asks.

“Anybody tell you that you two are perfect together?” Sam asks and (Y/n) holds back a fit of laughter and from the expression on Natasha’s face, she was doing the same.

“Eyes on the target, folks,” Steve says, keeping Sam from saying anything else. “This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. I don’t want to lose him.”

“Oh, that’s why we’re here,” (Y/n) says. “Watch me get deaded by Rumlow if he’s here.”

“Okay Crazy,” Wanda says, holding back a laugh as the sound of Natasha smacking (Y/n)’s arm sounds through the COMs.

Unknown to everyone but Steve, a garbage truck begins pushing its way through traffic, showing no regard to pedestrians or other vehicles.

“Sam, see that garbage truck?” Steve asks. “Tag it.”

There is a moment of silence before Sam speaks, “That truck is loaded for max weight. And the driver’s armed.”

“It’s a battering ram,” Natasha realizes and (Y/n) sets a twenty on the table and stands up, heading for the alleyway where she’d teleported from MIT.

(Y/n) teleports on top of the truck then just outside the Institute for Infectious Diseases Ward.

Soldiers in black armor emerge from two trucks that had driven through the entrance to the Institution.

“Go now!” Steve orders, readying his shield.

“What?” Wanda asks.

“He’s not hitting the police,” Steve says.

“Yeah, no kidding,” (Y/n) grumbles as one of the soldiers shoots where she’d been standing a few moments before, while some of the soldiers shoot gas bombs into the building above (Y/n).

Her fists lighting on fire, (Y/n) knocks out a few of the soldiers before Steve shows up.

“Nice of you to show up,” (Y/n) says with a warm smile towards the super-soldier.

Steve smiles and says into the COMs, “Body armor, AR-15s. We make seven hostiles.”

Sam flies in and up to a rooftop, spinning and using his wings to block the gunfire, taking out two soldiers in the process.

“I make that five,” Sam says.

Wanda arrives and flies over a rooftop into the courtyard, blocking bullets with her powers. She takes control of a soldier and lifts him upwards. “Sam,” she calls, and the Falcon flies down and catches the soldier with one of his wings.

“Four,” Sam says with a grin.

One of Sam’s drones flies by, scanning the inside of the building. “Rumlow’s on the third floor.”

“Aye Wanda,” (Y/n) says, running towards the girl. “Just like we practiced.”

“What about the gas?” comes Wanda’s questioning voice, her Sokovian accent thick at the moment.

“Get it out,” (Y/n) says.

Wanda uses her powers to lift (Y/n) up and through a window.

(Y/n) grabs one of the soldiers and pulls off their gas mask.

(Y/n) advances, taking out about five solders before making her way to the Bio-Hazard area.

“Rumlow has a biological weapon,” (Y/n) warns.

“I’m on it,” Natasha tells her, riding in on a motorcycle. She turns it on its side and skids it towards a soldier, taking out a few more in hand-to-hand combat. Rumlow comes up behind her, dragging her onto an armored vehicle. Natasha tries to electrocute Rumlow but it doesn’t work.

“I don’t work like that no more,” Rumlow taunts. He throws her through a roof hatch into an armored vehicle, drops in a grenade, and shuts the hatch. “Fire in the hole!”

“Get out of there Nat!” (Y/n) calls, moving to stand on a balcony.

Rumlow catches sight of her and sends a bomb her way and (Y/n) gets blasted back into a wall.

Scrambling her feet, (Y/n) presses a hand to her bleeding forehead and breaks into a run as another blast shakes the building behind her.

Another blast sends (Y/n) through a window and she falls over the side of the balcony, onto a metal container, and down onto the concrete below.

(Y/n) groans, rolling over and staggering to her feet, her arm pressed tightly to her ribs, guessing some had broken. “Oh man, those are broken,” (Y/n) grumbles and Wanda rushes over, throwing an arm around (Y/n)’s shoulders, taking some of her weight. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Wanda says.

Steve, Sam, and Natasha rush after Rumlow and the soldiers, Steve finally pinning Rumlow to the ground.

“Something’s about to happen,” (Y/n) says, her eyes widening, hearing the conversation between Steve and Rumlow over the COMs. Then she turns to Wanda, “You gotta trust me? All right?” Wanda nods and (Y/n) teleports them to where Steve and Rumlow are.

(Y/n) wraps her arms around Rumlow and nods to Wanda, who shoots the two into the air, not a moment too soon it seemed, because Rumlow explodes, (Y/n) screaming as she absorbs half the blast. The remaining energy hits the side of the building, shattering glass windows and setting the building on fire.

(Y/n) drops back towards the ground, her eyes blurring slightly and Wanda shoots her arms up, catching (Y/n) and lightly lowering her to the ground before the Scarlet Witch looks up at the building in flames and covers her mouth with her hand.

“Oh my . . .” Steve’s bright blue eyes, wide with shock, his mouth hanging open murmurs, “Sam . . . we need . . . Fire and Rescue . . . and a MedEvac team . . . on the south side of the building. We gotta get up there.”

Wanda glances down at (Y/n), whose forehead was bleeding, her right arm resting on her stomach, and the side of her face slightly burned, the woman’s (E/c) eyes fluttering shut.

Natasha and Sam show up a few moments later and Natasha stares wide-eyed at her best friend’s unconscious body resting in Wanda’s lap.

Natasha rushes over and helps some of the medical workers lift (Y/n)’s body onto a stretcher.

The next day finds Natasha and Steve fussing over (Y/n) as she sits up in the Med Bay in the Avengers’ Compound.

“I love all of you, but stop fussing over me,” (Y/n) says, getting to her feet and shrugging off Natasha’s hand on her shoulder. “I’m injured, not dead.”

Steve smiles at the thought, the same words as he had said to Natasha and (Y/n) a few years back when they were on the run from SHIELD, well, HYDRA.

“Steve,” (Y/n) stops the super-soldier as she, Steve, and Natasha walk out of the Med Bay together. “Would you check up on Wanda? She probably feels responsible for what happened.”

Natasha turns to (Y/n) as Steve walks away, towards Wanda’s room, (Y/n) guesses. “Don’t you ever do anything that stupid ever again,” Natasha scolds her friend. “You did it in DC and Sokovia before now. You’re going to kill yourself by the time you die.”

“That’s incredibly strange wording there Miss Romanoff,” (Y/n) says with a smile.

Natasha goes to say something but Sam walks up and leads Natasha down to the briefing room.

A few minutes later, after (Y/n) had changed into a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt, she makes her way down to the briefing room, leaning on the doorway as she listens to Thunderbolt Ross, the Secretary of State, speak.

“Five years ago,” Ross begins. “I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my back-swing. Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass . . . I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an un-payable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives . . . but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some . . . who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.”

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” asks Natasha in a falsely respectful voice.

“How about "dangerous"? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?“ Ross says and (Y/n) steps forward into the room from the shadows.

“You don’t think we’re unconcerned about what we leave behind, Secretary?” (Y/n) says in a soft voice, which still carries through the silent room. “I think the Avengers, above all others, know what it’s like to lose the ones they care about and the wreckage left behind.”

Steve and Natasha look over to see (Y/n) standing behind Sam’s chair at the back of the room.

“But,” (Y/n) smiles with a look of disgust in her eyes, “if you must, please, continue.”

“Thank you, Miss Stark,” Ross says, rolling his eyes and pressing a button on a remote in his hands.

News footage from past Avengers and SHIELD matters flash on the screen as he speaks, “New York.” A Chitauri leviathan. Terrified citizens. A soldier firing a gun. The Hulk smashing into buildings, sending dust clouds engulfing the camera.

Rhodey’s expression turns regretful and he glances over his shoulder at Natasha.

“Washington DC,” Ross continues. Three Insight helecarriers, firing on each other. The destroyed Triskelion. A helicarrier crashes into the Potomac throwing up a massive wave while in the background, (Y/n)’s body hits the river below.

Sam is the one who looks down this time, and Steve spares a glance at (Y/n), whose expression had hardened into one of carefully controlled anger.

“Sokovia,” Ross says, pressing yet another button on his controller. Terrified citizens running. The city rising. A building falling over. Wanda and Tony continue to look at the screen, Wanda swallowing thickly at the sight of her former home behind destroyed.

“Lagos,” The burning building. Paramedics moving bodies. A dead girl. An unconscious (Y/n) being lifted into an ambulance.

Wanda looks particularly affected by the footage from Lagos and (Y/n) steps forward to place a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. Steve also sees how discomforted Wanda seems and intervenes.

“Okay, that’s enough.”

Ross nods to an aide and the images disappear.

“For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” Ross receives a thick book from one of his aides and slides it across the table to Wanda. She picks it up and then slides it to Rhodey.

“The Sokovia Accords,” Ross tells the Avengers. “Approved by a hundred and seventeen countries . . . it states that the Avengers should no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary. You say that it's enough to be a man. But there are gods. And the rest of us, what are we? They’re giants, we’re what they step on.”

The conversation has (Y/n) remembering what Phil Coulson had told Mike Peterson before he had become DeathLok.

“The good ones, the real deal,” comes (Y/n)’s voice and everyone turns to look at her once again. “They’re, we’re, not heroes because of what we have that you don’t. It’s what we do with it that matters.”

Steve nods and sends (Y/n) an admiring glance. “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that,” Steve adds to (Y/n)’s words.

“Tell me, Captain, Miss Stark, do you two know where Thor and Banner are right now?” Ross asks, meeting Steve’s eyes.

“I have a guess,” (Y/n) says, meeting Natasha’s green gaze. “Asgard.”

Ross ignores (Y/n) and says, “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes . . . you can bet there'd be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So, there are contingencies,” Rhodey guesses.

“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.”

Steve glances at Tony as Ross heads for the door.

“Talk it over,” Ross finally says.

“And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” Natasha asks.

“Then you retire,” Ross says and Natasha stifles a smile.

A few minutes later, (Y/n) finds herself sitting at the counter in the briefing room, her fingers pressed to her temples as Sam and Rhodey argue behind her.

“I have an equation,” Vision interrupts.

“Oh, this will clear it up,” Sam says, turning to listen to Vision.

“In the eight years since Mr. Stark and Miss Stark announced themselves as IronMan and Phoenix respectively, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Steve asks his eyes remaining on (Y/n), whose fingers had begun tapping lightly on the countertop in front of her.

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict . . . breeds catastrophe. Oversight . . . oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

“Boom,” Rhodey says.

(Y/n) glances over at her father, who was lying on one of the couches, one hand on his face.

When Natasha speaks, he removes his hand to look at her. “Tony,” Natasha prompts. “You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.”

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind,” Steve guesses.

“Boy, you know me so well,” Tony gets up, wincing, rubbing the back of his head. “Actually, I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache.”

He walks over towards the kitchen and grabs a mug. “That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort. Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal” Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

Despite the negative thoughts running through her head, (Y/n) cracks a smile at her father’s question.

Tony sets his phone in a basket and taps it. The phone projects an image of a smiling young ham. Tony looks down, then back up, and pretends to notice the picture for the first time. “Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where Sokovia.”

(Y/n) swallows thickly and glancing at her teammates, she can tell that the others are also affected by this.

“He wanted to make a difference, I suppose,” Tony says softly. “I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.” Tony takes a pill with some coffee, then faces the others. “There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.”

“Well said,” comes (Y/n)’s quiet voice, though everyone in the room heard it.

“Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Steve says.

“Who said we’re giving up?” Tony asks.

“We are if we're not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blames.”

“I’m sorry,” (Y/n) says softly and the others turn to her once again. “Steve,” she pauses for a moment. “That’s dangerously arrogant,” there is an apologetic undertone to her words and now Rhodey speaks.

“This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA.”

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change,” Steve argues.

“That’s good,” Tony presses. “That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don't think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don't let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s the fact. That won’t be pretty,” Tony says, shooting an apologetic glance towards his daughter.

“You’re saying they’ll come for me,” Wanda’s gaze flickers to the others.

“Us,” (Y/n) corrects, meeting Wanda’s fearful green gaze.

“We would protect you,” Vision says.

“Maybe Tony’s right,” Natasha says, shooting a glance at (Y/n), then Wanda.

Tony looks at the former assassin, surprised.

“If we have one had on the wheel, we can steer. If we take it off -” Sam interupts Natasha.

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kick her ass a few years ago?” Sam asks as (Y/n) rises from her place slumped against the countertop and walks over to sit by her friend.

Natasha looks over at (Y/n) and sends her a comforting smile.

“I’m just . . .” Natasha begins but (Y/n) continues for her.

“She’s reading the terrain,” (Y/n) explains. “We have made . . . some -”

“Very public mistakes. We need to win everyone’s trust back,” Natasha finishes.

“Focus up,” Tony says, still staring at Natasha in disbelief. “I’m sorry, did I mishear you or did you agree with me?”

(Y/n) cracks another smile as Natasha replies, “Oh, I want to take it back now.”

“No, no, no,” Tony argues. “You can't retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case closed--I win.“

Steve’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out to check it. (Y/n) glances over at Steve, a question in her eyes.

(Y/n) knew that Steve had feelings for her - and (Y/n) did as well - and judging by the look on Steve’s face, she knew it had to be about Peggy. (Y/n) knew that, deep down, Steve still loved Peggy.

“I have to go,” Steve says abruptly, dropping the Accords onto the coffee table and going downstairs.

The others in the room glance at each other for a moment before Wanda stands up from her place next to Vision and (Y/n) stands up, following her.

(Y/n) jogs after Wanda, catching up with the young brunette. “Wanda,” (Y/n) places a hand on her shoulder, but the girl continues to walk. “Wanda, stop.”

“What?” Wanda snaps, turning on (Y/n).

“What are you going to do?” (Y/n) asks softly, her hand remaining on Wanda’s shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” Wanda asks in return.

“I’m going to sign,” (Y/n) says softly. “I think you should too. Like my dad said, if we don’t do this now, it’s going to happen later.”

(Y/n) gives Wanda’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before she turns, walking away.

A few days later, (Y/n) and Natasha walk into the cathedral where Steve had just been mourning the death of Peggy Carter.

(Y/n) smiles nervously at Steve as he speaks, “When I came out of the ice, I thought everyone I had known was gone. Then I found out that she was alive. I was just lucky to have her.”

“She had you back, too,” Natasha says, shooting (Y/n) - who was standing at her shoulder - a glance.

“Who else signed?” Steve asks.

“Tony. Rhodey. Vision.” (Y/n) answers.

“Clint?” Steve asks.

“Say’s he’s retired,” Natasha says, and (Y/n) and the redhead share an amused smile.

“Wanda?”

“TBD,” Natasha answers.

“We’re, well, off to Vienna for the signing of the Accords,” (Y/n) says. “There’s plenty of room on the jet,” she offers, hoping with all her heart that Steve would come.

Steve sighs and bows his head and (Y/n)’s composer seems to fall.

“Just because it’s the path of least resistance doesn’t mean it’s the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together,” Natasha tells Steve.

(Y/n) had the feeling that her best friend was trying to convince herself as well.

“What are we giving up to do it?” Steve asks, avoiding meeting (Y/n)’s eyes.

Natasha sighs and Steve shakes his head, unconvinced.

“I’m sorry, Nat, (Y/n),” Steve says softly. “I can’t sign it.”

“We know,” (Y/n) says softly.

"Then what are you doing here?" Steve asks.

"I didn't want you to be alone," (Y/n) says, stepping forward to wrap the super soldier in a hug.

(Y/n) pulls back after a moment, holding back tears as she says, "Good luck, Steve."

Natasha puts a comforting hand on (Y/n)'s arm and the two walk out of the cathedral.

A few hours later, (Y/n) and Natasha are standing in the UN building signing papers for the Accords.

"Excuse me, Miss Romanoff, Miss Stark?" asks a UN staffer.

"Yes?" Natasha responds.

"We need your signatures," the staffer says. (Y/n) and Natasha sign the papers.

"I suppose neither of us are used to the spotlight," comes a voice and the two women turn to see Prince T'Challa standing in front of them. "Though, Miss Stark, it seems to follow you everywhere."

"Well, it's not always so flattering," Natasha answers with a smile.

"You seem to be going alright so far. Considering your last trip to Capitol Hill . . . I wouldn't think you would be particularly comfortable in this company."

"Well, I'm not," Natasha replies.

"That alone makes me glad you're here, Miss Romanoff," T'Challa continues.

"Why? You don't approve of all this?" (Y/n) asks.

"The Accords, yes," T'Challa answers. "The politics, not really. Two people in a room can get more done than a hundred."

"Unless you need to move a piano," comes King T'Chaka's voice.

"Father."

"Son. Miss Romanoff. Miss Stark," T'Chaka's says in return, nodding to his son.

"King T'Chaka," (Y/n) says, nodding respectfully to the king. "Please let us apologize for what happened in Nigeria."

"Thank you. Thank you for agreeing to all this. I'm sad to hear that Captain Rogers will not be joining us today."

(Y/n) and Natasha share a glance. "Us as well," (Y/n) answers.

"If it is okay, I would like to have a word with Miss Stark," T'Challa says and (Y/n) nods.

Smiling at Natasha, then nodding to the king, (Y/n) follows T'Challa to the window.

Before T'Challa can say anything, T'Chaka begins to speak. "When stolen Wakandan vibranium was used to make a terrible weapon, we in Wakanda were forced to question our legacy. Those men and women killed in Nigeria were part of a goodwill mission from a country too long in the shadows. We will not, however, let misfortune drive us back. We will fight to improve the world we wish to join. I am grateful to the Avengers for supporting this initiative." (Y/n) spots something outside and she nudges T'Challa, pointing to a news van outside where several officers were milling around the back. "Wakanda is proud to extend its hand in peace."

"Everybody get down!" (Y/n) and T'Challa yell, sprinting towards where the king was still standing, giving his speech.

An enormous explosion goes off between the two buildings sending (Y/n) and T'Challa flying back.

(Y/n) staggers to her feet, her hand wrapped around her bleeding forearm, and watches, horrified as T'Challa finds his father lying on the floor with his eyes closed. The Prince grabs his father's wrist and feels for a pulse, but King T'Chaka lies still. Devastated, T'Challa lies across his father, then lifting him and rocking him.

Natasha darts forward and pulls her friend down onto the floor and rips off part of her sleeve to wrap around (Y/n)'s arm, (Y/n)'s eyes wide with shock.

The survivors are evacuated from the buildings and fire crews begin to hose them down.

Natasha and (Y/n) sit on the bench beside T'Challa's.

"I'm very sorry," Natasha says softly.

T'Challa glances at the two, holding a silver ornate ring which he toys with between his fingers. "In my culture, death is not the end. It's more of a . . . stepping-off point. You reach out with both hands and Bast and Sekhmet, they lead you into the green veldt where . . . you can run forever."

"That sounds very peaceful," Natasha replies, her voice still soft.

"My father thought so," T'Challa answers, placing the ring on his finger. "But I am not my father."

"T'Challa. Task forces will decide who brings in Barnes."

T'Challa clenches his fists, "Don't bother, Miss Romanoff. I'll kill him myself."

3rd Person POV

Steve - in his uniform - strides through an underpass, then jogs onto a private runway, heading for a grounded chopper. An electro-disabler slams onto the chopper and Steve looks up.

Above him, Tony and Rhodey descend, landing on the ground.

"Wow, it's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?" Tony asks, his helmet retracting.

"Definitely weird," Rhodey answers.

"Hear me out, Tony," Steve says. "That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this."

T'Challa, clad in his Black Panther uniform, leaps over a truck. "Captain."

"Your highness."

"Anyway," Tony says, walking behind Rhodey. "Ross gave me thirty-six hours to bring you in. That was twenty-four hours ago. Can you help a brother out?"

"You're after the wrong guy," Steve answers calmly.

"Your judgment is askew," Tony replies, some of his anger showing now. "Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday.

"And there are five more soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't."

"Steve . . ." It was Natasha's voice now. ". . . you know what's about to happen. Do you want to punch your way out of this one?"

"All right I've run out of patience. Underoos!" Tony calls.

A figure in blue and red spandex shoots what looks like a web, stealing Steve's shield and binding his hands, landing on a car.

"Good job, kid," Tony praises.

"Thanks. Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit… Well, it's nothing, Mr. Stark. It's--it's perfect. Thank you," Peter stumbles over his words.

"Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation."

"Okay. Cap . . . Captain. Big fan, I'm Spider-Man."

"Yeah, we'll talk about it later. Just . . ."

"Hey, everyone."

" . . . Good job."

"You've been busy," Steve interrupts.

"And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep . . . I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart," Tony finishes.

“You did that when you signed,” Steve answers calmly.

“Alright, We're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys . . . with no compunction about being impolite,” Tony scowls at Steve.

Steve holds up his hands and Clint shoots the web off with an arrow. “Alright, Lang.”

“Hey, guys, something . . .” Peter says.

He gets kicked back and a full sized man is now standing beside Steve, holding out his shield.

“Oh great,” Tony says. “There’s two in the parking garage. One of them’s Maximoff I’m going to grab her.” Tony flies off in his suit. “Rhodey, you wanna take Cap?

“Got two in the terminal, Wilson and Barnes,” Rhodey answers.

“Barnes is mine!” T’Challa shouts.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. What should I do?” Peter asks.

“What we discussed. Keep your distance. Web ‘em up,” Tony answers.

“Okay, copy that!” Peter uses his webs to swing away.

Scott Lang - Ant Man - faces Natasha. “Look, I really don’t want to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t stress about it,” Natasha replies. She kicks him in the groin and he miniaturizes, throwing her head over heels. She zaps him off her wrist and he slams into a nearby truck, leaving a small dent.

Tony is now hovering over Wanda and Clint. “Wanda, I think you hurt Visions’s feelings.”

“You locked me in my room,” Wanda retorts.

“Okay first, that’s an exaggeration. Second, (Y/n) wanted me to protect you. Hey, Clint.”

“Hey, man,” Clint answers, readying his bow.

“Clearly, retirement doesn’t suit you. You get tired of shooting golf?”

“Well, I played eightteen, I shot eightteen. Just can’t seem to miss,” Clint fires an arrow which Tony deflects.

“First time for everything,” Tony replies.

“Made you look,” Clint smirks.

“Suddenly a sar slams past Tony and he looks up as dozens more come crashing down. Wanda moves her glowing red hands until Tony is burried under a pile of cars.

Tony flies over to Natasha once he unburries himself and helps her up.

“Is this part of the plan?” the redhead asks.

“Well, my plan was to go easy on them. You wanna switch it up?” the billionare asks.

Clint spots the Quinjet. “There’s our ride.”

“Come on!” Steve calls.

Steve’s team runs towards the Quinjet but they are stopped by a fizzing stream of energy slicking across the runway and they stop. Looking up they see Vision hovering overhead.

“Captain Rogers,” Vision begins. “I know what you believe what your doing is right. But for the collective good you must surrender now.” As he speaks, the rest of Tony’s team arrives.

“What’d we do, Cap?” Sam asks.

“We fight,” Steve answers.

“This is gonna end well,” Natasha says.

The two teams stride towards each other with grim determination etched on their faces.

“They’re not stopping,” Peter says.

“Neither are we,” Tony replies grimly.

Steve blocks a punch with his shield from Tony as he lands. Clint fires an arrow at Vision as Rhodey flies after Sam and and Bucky, trading blows with T’Challa.

An explosive arrow hit Tony.

Natasha throws Scott as Peter wings through the air, struggling to evade flying vehicles.

Bucky lands punches on T’Challa.

Clint and Natasha battle with batons and eventually, Clint pins her down with his bow.

“We’re still friends, right?” Natasha asks.

“Depends on how hard you hit me,” Clint answers.

Natasha spins the archer with her legs and jumps to her feet. As she’s about to kick his head, her foot stops and glows bright red. With a wave of her hand, Wanda throws Natasha back. “You were pulling your punches.

As Natasha’s thrown back, someone catches her before she can hit the ground.

“Nice to see you,” the figure says with a ghost of a smile as she sets the redhead back on her feet.

“(Y/n)! What are you doing here?” the redhead asks.

“I’m making sure nobody dies today!” (Y/n) yells over her shoulder, running to where Steve was talking to Peter.

“Look kid,” Steve says as (Y/n) comes up behind him. “There’s a lot here that you don’t understand.

“Mr. Stark said you’d say that,” Peter replies. “Wow.” He fires webs which stick to Steve’s leg and shield. He pulls and Steve slides towards him. Peter kicks him backwards and then rolls clear. “He also said to go for you legs.” As Steve runs to get his shield, Peter webs his hands and pulls. Steve grits his teeth, spins and somersaults, propelling Peter through the air.

Steve catches one of Peter’s webs and tugs the boy near him, knocking him down with the shield. Peter recovers and pull himself on top of a gangway. “Stark tell you anything else?” Steve asks.

“How about don’t beat up kids?” (Y/n) asks teleporting in between the kid and Steve.

“Go,” (Y/n) tells the kid, then readies her fists at Steve.

Growling with frustration, Steve throws his shield at (Y/n) but (Y/n) stops it with a jet of water.

(Y/n) charges at Steve but is stopped by Bucky, who had launched himself at her and pinned her to the ground.

Bucky goes to punch his metal fist into her face but (Y/n) teleports away. “What the!” Bucky exclaims.

Vision had just shot a shining beam of energy at the control tower and it collapses towards the entrance of the hangar. Wanda holds other hands, keeping the tower from collapsing, letting Steve and Bucky run through it. Rhodey descends behind her and fires a sonic disruptor and Wanda holds her head and screams. The tower falls around Steve and Bucky but they make it into the hanger.

Natasha, who was in the hangar, catches sight of the tower falling on top of another figure. The two had made eye contact before the tower had collapsed on top of her, (E/c) on green.

“Tony!” Natasha yells, running past, completely ignoring Steve and Bucky, who run past her into the Quinjet. “We’ve got a big problem!”

“Romanoff, what is it?” Tony asks.

“(Y/n) . . .” the redhead trails off.

“What happened?” Tony asks frantically.

“The control tower, it collapsed on top of her,” Natasha breathes. “We need somebody who can lift heave things.”

Tony, Rhodey, Wanda, and Clint show up soon and the five dig through the rubble and Natasha heaves one chunk of rock, moving it.

(Y/n) raises up her arm, her hand trembling and everyone rushes over to move the rest of the rock. Her hand falls, palm facing up, and she exhales, her breath ragged.

“I hope one of y-you can c-carry me,” (Y/n) stammers. “Cause I think my leg’s b-broken.”

The last slab of rock is removed and everyone looks at each other. A sheet of metal was stuck in her abdomen, and blood was pooling under her.

“Y-you’re gonna have t-to c-carry me.”

Tony comes out of his suit and takes his daughter’s hand in his own. Natasha moves to take the other. (Y/n)’s eyes close in pain for a moment and then she opens them again.

“I-I think i-it’s bad,” (Y/n) voice trembles. “Cause I can’t feel it.”

Her eyes close once more and then she opens them again, looking at her father.

“D-dad? W-when di-id you get h-here?” (Y/n) stutters and Tony squeezes his dying daughter’s hand.

“Oh sweetheart, I’ll always be here.” Tony says, a tear falling from his eyes.

“T-that’s sweet,” (Y/n) slurs. Her head lolls to the side and she sees Natasha and Clint, the archer’s hand placed on his redheaded friend’s shoulder. “Nat. C-clint.” A tear streaks down Natasha’s face. “D-don’t c-cry. I-I’ll be o-okay.”

“Only you could comfort us like this,” Natasha says, tears falling onto her hands.

(Y/n) looks over at Rhodey, and his helmet retracts. “U-uncle R-rhodey?”

The man nods.

“W-watch m-my Dad,” she says. “H-he tends to be r-reckless sometimes.”

“I will,” Rhodey promises.

“Doll, that’s not every nice,” Tony scolds lightly and (Y/n) lets out a soft laugh.

“Wanda,” (Y/n) says, addressing the youngest.

Wanda looks up from her feet.

“Y-you’re so s-smart and t-talented,” (Y/n) tells the young girl. “And d-don’t le-et anyone tell y-you different.”

Wanda chokes down a sob as (Y/n) falls limp against the rocks under her.

Natasha runs her hands gently through her friend’s hair and (Y/n) jolts conscious once again.

“N-nat,” (Y/n) stammers.

“Breathe, just breathe (Y/n/n),” Natasha murmurs.

“N-nat, t-ell St-teve I’m sorry,” (Y/n) slurs.

Then she falls limp . . .

She breathes her last breath . . .

And falls silent, not moving again . . .

Well, this was, well, this made me cry writing it, so . . .

Word Count: 7,164 words

So yeah, I don’t know if this was what @rogersrogers334 was looking for, but here it is.

Anyway, Imma go cry in the safety of my bed now . . .

Love, Kaitlynn ❤️😍

#steve rogers #fem reader #natasha romanoff #steve roger x reader #dad tony stark #wanda maximoff #scott lang #peter parker #pepper potts #@rogersrogers334 #clint barton #best friend natasha romanoff #avengers x stark! reader

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fandom-sheep · 3 years ago

Text

MCC 18 SEP 21

Yellow Yacks and Cyan Coyotes with a little Aqua Axolotls. Part 1/1

The only reason I didn’t forget MCC was because I got the notification for Eret.

I have Wilbur on my TV. I’m going to watch Eret on my phone. And I’ll have Tommy on my iPad probably.

Wilbur throwing a tantrum and saying he won’t play.

I feel like a true Gen Z member with my multiple screens of minecraft.

I’m only just getting the Wilbur notification.

I love watching everyone run around before MCC and scale things.

Griefing the thumbnail. 😂

Wilbur just causes problems on purpose when it comes to group photos doesn’t he.

He just loves finding ways to cause problems.

Wilbur got a coconut!?!

I didn’t mean to type the question mark originally. But I am a bit confused.

Wilbur just stocking up on coconuts

True friendship is a quote book. I have several.

Baby banana boo.

Wait. I heard the word tumblr

Scott what did you do with tumblr?

I’m scared. Only Eret permitted on tumblr.

I remember watching hole in the wall as a tv show as a kid.

Wilbur’s glasses that don’t do anything.

There are September discounts for subbing?

Neato.

The conversations in my work discord are something else.

Not surprised that Wilbur is going for top swearer of MCC

But my residents are going to walk by my door and judge me.

Alright I apparently wasn’t signed in to twitch on my iPad and it took me entirely too long to learn to remember it.

Tommy looks like he’s really concentrating. Oh wait never mind.

Wow the yaks are in first currently. I might be cheering for a winning team for once.

Alright I have my iPad split screen between Tommy and the MCC website.

Everyone break the elevator!

In the game, not in the building I work. I don’t want that paperwork.

Stick together and place many block.

I’ve been in Wilburs position. “I’ll be captain” “yeah let’s let Wilbur be captain”

Not a single POV I have up is synced. But that’s life.

Oh not starting out strong.

Just keep going. Ignore the falling people just like ranboo last time.

We are at the absolute bottom for this game.

Where’s a bag of popcorn or something?

“Stay down there. That’s how I won that one time” -Ranboo

Down they go.

They didn’t have anywhere to run.

Second round!

Oh that wasn’t their best idea. It was fun seeing Erets POV of that.

Go Teams.

Turning down the volume on yellow yacks to listen to aqua axolotls.

Aqua please. You have so much potential.

Nope.

Switching audio again.

Yellow back at the bottom.

Ranboo ranboo ranboo ranboo

Down he goes. 😂 the timing of that was funny.

Please. Don’t die

Wilbur. Scott. Please.

Scott uncovering the creeper.

Their plan is literally just sit and be.

To be fair that’s my plan for everything I do.

Oh cobwebs are smart.

I’m eating very salty Chick-fil-A chips and need water.

We are still doing ok. Wow.

Cobwebs man. The real MVP.

They are still in 10th

COBWEBS!!! And Wilbur standing on the edge of a block.

THEY WON THAT?!?!!!!

It moved them from last to eight. But still. Wow.

Holy cow. How did that happen.

I always forget what the acronym game is.

Oh yeah. Wilbur snuck and found this. I remember.

Go team!

Oh the website updates faster than the game. But we’re starting off decent.

I’m going to have to take back that statement aren’t I?

Go go go go

Fly fly fly fly

Build build build build

Go Wilbur!

Rafter strat.

Wilbur found the rafters and everyone else loved it.

Blocking his own jump. 😂

I really should do the inside joke chair emoji thing for laughing. But I don’t care.

Tiktok is nice. Depends on the side you are on, but it’s nice.

We are doing halfway decent. I’m proud of us.

Wilbur is struggling and I think he might cry.

Not bad. I don’t think.

Power sweater.

This game in MCC has rainbow road vibes

I’ll have to make that it’s own post since I feel that’ll be popular ish.

Holy cow we hit first on the website!! How?

Ranboo sweet one.

They said no peaking to Wilbur.

Wilbur making them block stuff off and the like is so funny.

Run yaks run!

I missed the moment Wilbur just mentioned. Oh well I’m sure I’ll see the clip.

First last first.

Hey 4th overall. Look at em.

Wilbur switching to full screen to show us his M&Ms.

Let me balance my water bottle on the bedpost above my head. No way this could possibly go wrong in multiple ways.

Double coins. Gorgeous.

Chickens are being sniped.

What’s going to work? TEAM WORK!

I don’t think I have ever watched a game of grid runners in my life?

Alright game should start any second because it started on the website.

Alright stream is delayed about 13 seconds.

Go teams go!

Wilbur just sniping targets.

We’re doing ok.

All this dirt.

Go go go

We’re completing things first.

Cake!

Wilbur got in!

Now they eat

Oh but they are falling.

Oh wow the painting is complicated. My friends and I would fail to communicate so fast.

Is this lever thing just find the button but complicated?

Go you got the levers!

Items grab!

My friends and I would seriously struggle unless I was allowed the lead. But I would lead us off a cliff.

Everyone get ready to go in as soon as the cake is done.

Exit! You guys are so close! Please!

Woohoo!

Go Ranboo! Go Scott!

Come on guys. Come on. Good communication.

I think I like watching Wilbur with MCC because he had a similar strategy to what I would do.

Wilbur why did you try to act cool!!!

They keep saying they are miles ahead but not according to that scoreboard.

You placed 3rd. Good job y’all.

I’m excited for bonuses.

They have another minute until the others run out of time.

Good soup.

Oh wow. Ranboo and Wilbur really are always totgehe.

We are doing well. I see the board changing on the website so much.

Where will they land.

Looks like 2nd or 3rd

Fourth overall. Not bad.

Lap time is logical.

Audience vote?

Look at me redownloading twitter.

Can you not see how others have voted on twitter?

Oh there it is. It only showed mine for a sec there.

Battle box looks close. I voted ace race.

Oh it all looks close right now.

Long break my beloved.

I don’t have time to start my laundry but still. My beloved.

Game 5/8 so MCC won’t be too much longer.

I look up and Wilbur is shaking his ass at George. I’m not surprised.

Phil and Sneeg judging Wilbur.

Wilbur twerking on Phil and Sneeg joining.

Poor Phil.

Wilbur just having visited so many random places with so many random words just gathered.

Oh wow parkour tag is low. But so is sands.

Oh wow it was a tie. Between Sands and Parkour

“Wilbur is Sand Daddy” -Scott and then all the agreement noises.

Sands of Time is my favorite practical game

Maybe because Wilbur is really good at it. And Ranboo had been trained by him.

This is just good.

I swear Sand daddy is going to kill me during this.

I am just going to pass away.

My stream delay though.

Wilbur who says he stays very quiet as he makes circus music noises.

Minecraft Rhinos. Because I can’t spell their real name.

I don’t quite understand sand of time. But I like watching. It’s like college football.

I am missing the only college football game I care about for MCC.

Go Team.

No blue yet.

All the mobs.

“You better not die” sung to the tune of Santa clause is coming yo town. -Wilbur

Keep it up guys.

Oh no. They lost the key.

Oh good they found the key.

You can tell Wilbur had a musicians brain. He just hears something vaguely lyrical and starts singing a song.

Gotta promote your band whenever you can I guess.

I listened to the last Ep for like an hour and a half yesterday while I went about my day.

I wonder how we’re doing?

Only a few seconds.

I could warm a heating pad in the amount fo time they have left.

Ranboo doing these puzzles so amazingly.

Quit caring about what others think. Just do your thing.

I swear the sand daddy thing.

I love the cage of shame for not tracking your sand.

I zoned out. Red cyan orange?

We’re almost 15 minutes into sands.

I want to play Minecraft on my iPad right now.

Wait the website updated. We were 6th?

Yikes. I thought they did better.

3rd overall though!

Wait what was that about most influential improv thingy? Good for them.

Build mart!

Oh Ace Race. Wilbur calling Ace Race his girlfriend now.

I want to see the enemies to lovers fan fictions of Ace race and Wilbur.

Oh wait I can do that. I can verbally tell one like I have others in the past.

I’m excited to watch this.

Wilbur flirt with the race.

I’m not mentally prepared for this.

Everyone just joined because they don’t want to miss Wilbur x Ace Race.

Oh no. He’s not doing so well.

Oh Wilbur is giving us more.

Complicated history…

Whispering to Ace Race and Solidarity.

You’ve got it Wilbur.

Keep on talking. Keep your brain busy while you play.

Mommmm Wilbur is flirting with Ace Race again!

He’s whispering though so I can’t quite hear it and will have to find a clip channel that added subtitles.

Oh teams are changing on the website.

“What are you doing in my women Philza?” -Wilbur

“I will end your bloodline which is canonically also me.” -Wilbur

I can not track all the quotes from this. That’s beyond my abilities.

Wilbur did halfway decent, but it still uncomfortable.

Ace Race is a person now. Also the fact that Wilbur compliments Ace Race so much.

Sally v. Ace Race.

I want to find that fanart now.

Scott honey. Confirmed cannon is everyone fancies the fish.

4th. Not bad.

We’re still talking Ace Race x Wilbur

Build mart! My dearest buildmart!

I miss them sliding around in the sleds.

Grab da flowers!

We’re in 1st at the minute.

Come on yaks!

No coyotes!

Hurry hurry hurry.

Work discord going it’s thing again.

Oh we’re dropping fast.

Move the redstone! Thank you

Alright back on top. Keep it up.

Nevermind.

I love the way the build spaces for the different teams work.

Who is the person on the build?

Oh first again? Nevermind.

Oh we popped up to second. We’re so behind. Come on.

Duck!

Good soup energy. Now all I can think is the bi wide energy song.

Time is running out.

Yeah we aren’t catching up to first. Just hold second.

Where is granite?

Game over.

Third overall now. Not bad. Last game time they can possibly pull it into dodge bolt.

I need to go get a picture with the President of the university for a game with my work.

Good Soup.

I’m sitting here making popcat noises while waiting.

Game time! Go team! Survive!

Wait where did the steamer go? I wasn’t paying attention.

He’s back.

He’s swearing for his points on the swearing list.

Is pee a soup? No. I don’t think it’s think enough under normal circumstances.

Karl is apparently swearing according to Twitter. Good for him. He deserves to swear some as a treat.

Everyone running and leaving shubble.

Oh good they are all together.

Just keep running.

4th so far.

Cars. Beep beep.

Ranboo breath child.

Calling Wilbur like some kind of golden retriever.

Bow boy

Scott is leader now. Because otherwise they are arguing.

We are playing the don’t die strategy.

Come on team.

Did I put my cut in this post? I did.

Ranboo having stolen the airdrop. And he has a thing!

Oh the boarder is right behind them.

They are fighting Dream?

Nice Will.

We’re in fourth.

Boarder is right there.

Sapnap? Nope.

Pink attack and they book it.

Oh no. There goes Wilbur.

Is it just Scott?

Scott vs the world.

Just Organe and pink. They came third.

GO ORANGE!

Please. Please let us do it.

Overall third. Pink overtook yellow.

Sadness.

Ranboo has achieved: Found Hated Game

Ranboo has been hit by Survival games so many times now.

If they had just lasted a tiny bit longer they would have come second.

Cheering Orange I suppose.

I have no skill at picking winner POVs.

I have 3 teams I was at least kinda watching. And none of them are in dodgebolt.

Gosh can hear Ranboo tweaking.

Wow. Yellow yaks just as a team twerking.

What is Wilbur chewing on? Wilbur don’t chew on things that probably aren’t meant to be chewed on.

I can hear the band outside of my window. I think my campuses football game is starting.

The drum line practiced outside my window all the beginning of the semester so it’s fun seeing them march to the stadium.

Oh and there are the cheerleaders.

Oh right I was watching MCC! Who’s winning?

Come on Orange. So close.

Wait I looked out my window. Why is the band walking back to where they were?

Along the sidewalk?

I thought it was game time for a minute.

Oh dodgebolt could go either way.

Distracted by Jesus.

Grian! You got this!

Nice Grian.

Oh Grian has a chance!

Oh!

It’s so close!

Ooo ooo!

I’m so invested.

I SEE THE CONFETTI IN THE SITE! But I don’t want to miss the shot.

Come on Grian.

I know you do it. But you’ve got this

YESSSSS

Woo hoo!!

That was a good MCC. Now to do the chores and homework I originally planned to do today.

That was a nice stream.

Scott is separating Ranboo and Wilbur?

Please. Scott.

Don’t separate the beings.

You know. Twitter needs to politely bully Scott into keeping Ranboo and Will together.

Oop and that’s Wilbur done. That was fun.

See y’all next time!

#mcc #wilbur soot #ranboo #Scott #dangthatsalongname #shubble #yellow yaks #delayed liveblogging

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tsaritsa · 3 years ago

Text

tagged by the beautiful and sexy and successful @fullmetalscullyy + @megthemighty. ty babes ur both fergalicious mwah how many works do you have on ao3? 40

what’s your total ao3 word count? 275,381 words

what are your top five fics by kudos?

may i feel, said he

for the serpent has died and i’m leaning by your side

enthrallment

against the run of play

a strange fate with wandering limbs

i’m really proud of each of these pieces for different reasons. mifsh is a love letter to mar and to the fandom generally; ftshdailbys (what a fucking acronym lmao) was one of the first pieces i did with the intention of hitting a specific word count; enthrallment is a reminder to myself that pain does eventually pass (and that riza/bradley is sexy af); atrop definitely helped develop my love for multimedia fics and playing around with how we show information to the reader; and asfwwl was as much a study of riza as the people around her

do you reply to comments, why or why not? absolutely — although i tend to wait for updates to reply to the previous chapters if it’s an ongoing piece. i’m always stunned by the comments i get and i treasure each and every one of them. ty for giving me a little joy in my daily life

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? i guess it depends on ur perspective. a strange fate is essentially dead dove on arrival — and bellyache deals with some unsavoury themes as well

what’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? prolly that v saccharine valentines day fic. personally it makes me cringe a little now, but if that’s what floats ur boat, then go for it

do you write crossovers? if so, what’s the craziest one you’ve ever written? specific aus are as close as i’ve gotten - the crown!au would be the best fit. the concept of doing a marvel-esque endgame showdown has never really vibed with me; especially for the fma universe, which is incredibly niche and unique in a variety of ways

have you ever received hate on a fic? hahahahahah remember the time when ppl were bitching about mifsh on here bc it was ‘everywhere’ and we were ‘no better than rcyeddies’ with the power imbalance and it was a ‘glorified self-insert fic’ and we were deviants for sharing it and had made the royai fandom ‘cheap’ and ‘an awful place to be’ bc they were so much more than fucking?

yeah me neither lol. i’d also like to state that i’m not bitter about this anymore — but it really did feel awful to read those things, and for ppl to judge us and the substance of the story without ever bothering to talk to us before doing so. i’d like to think the fandom is a kinder space now, where we can just. move on if we don’t enjoy something, instead of sniping about it publicly and deliberately trying to make ppl feel bad

and if u were one of those ppl who were mean: either die mad and jealous lmao OR write something better and more engaging if u want ppl to shut up about may i feel. that’s literally all u have to do 🤷

do you write smut? if so, what kind? i write sexy smut. sometimes it’s an au where they’re in a ballet company. sometimes they’re at university. sometimes i forget to finish them in a timely fashion

have you ever had a fic stolen? not lifted verbatim. but there have been a few times where — and it’s not just my gut feeling, others have brought it to my attention — ideas and phrases align a little too neatly for me to brush it off as mere coincidence. at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter

have you ever had a fic translated? i’ve been very lucky to have a few translated: a few in spanish, russian, and mandarin as well, if memory serves me right

have you ever co-written a fic before? y’all know i have. may i feel and starstruck are the published ones, but maybe more will surface. we’ll see

what’s your all-time favourite ship? royai for sure. they just tickle a very specific part of my brain

what’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? won’t say i can’t finish any of them bc there’s always the chance i will — just a matter of sitting down and figuring out what needs to happen

what are your writing strengths? this made me pause for a bit bc in truth i’m not terribly sure. i’d like to think my dialogue is strong — not only in terms of characterisation, but in the ability to move the plot forward without having to simply tell the reader what is going on. y’all know i love making things sound pretty as well — assonance my beloved

what are your writing weaknesses? it’s a double-edged sword. as much as i love writing to a particular aesthetic, that definitely hinders me too when i get too involved with the details rather than examining my writing from a birds-eye perspective. i also know i struggle with keeping things simple — from explaining something as just. as it is as well as bigger issues like “let me just tell y’all about the history of the economy of resembool from the years 1872-1911 even though this was meant to be a throwaway sentence″

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i think it can add a ton of depth to a scene — it’s more a case of ensuring that the context around the dialogue can help the reader infer meanings without feeling so unsure they want to go search the translation. for the most part in may i feel, i think readers have been able to understand without too much hassle when a character uses spanish (but also we all know enough rudimentary spanish that it’s not utterly foreign). using a non-latin written language like mandarin or thai would definitely take me out of the fic more — but again, it’s all in how u apply it

what was the first fandom you wrote for? fruits basket! i never published it tho

what’s your favourite fic you’ve written? currently it’s my piece that will be published for this years fma big bang. i’m really excited to share more about it next month (and publish it on october 3rd!!)

tagging @firewoodfigs, @royai, and @bringingglory if y’all haven’t already gotten around to it

#would u believe i'm writing fic again?#who would've thought lockdown would give me time + space to do so hah

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iceshard1011 · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Unrequited Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders Characters: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Orange Side (Sanders Sides) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders And Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Car Accidents, Precognition, Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Background Orange Side (Sanders Sides), Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Needs a Hug, Logic | Logan Sanders Is A Good (Boy)Friend, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is So Done, Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), Mentions of various mental illnesses, (none of which any of the characters have) Summary:

"You know when people say your life flashes before your eyes? Well, it doesn’t. You don’t have time."

---

In which anyone who has ever hurt Remus immediately pays for it thanks to his menace of a brother.

4k word fic is below :)

Remus had always had rotten luck. Wherever he dared to have the audacity to step, utter chaos followed. Whether it was a punch to the nose from an asshole trying to mug him or a woman ranting at an accidental spill of coffee on her new shirt. Whether someone walked away with a soured attitude or broken leg, anyone who came in contact with Remus had their entire day — and sometimes their entire life — ruined, simply for looking at him the wrong way. Remus figured this recurring curse nipping at his heels was the reason he had no connections with his family, the reason no co-workers wanted to be around him, why no one in his classes stuck around long enough to know more than his name.

Oh, also, he was crazy.

If everything aforementioned wasn’t enough to push someone away, announcing that he had a voice that told him This person talks behind your back was a sure-fire way to send anyone scrambling.

At first, Remus thought it was normal. For a thirteen-year-old boy growing and changing and dealing with significantly more stress and grief than other people his age, hearing things like Your friends are toxic and This teacher sucks and You don’t need school didn’t seem so crazy.

Besides, he’d approached his parents exactly once about leaving school, and got his answer swiftly and harshly. He’d never asked again, too distracted with trying to help Mum when she came down with a sick spell for the next week and the way Dad’s car kept breaking down.

The thoughts didn’t cease.

It’s not wrong to like boys.

You’re not in love with your girlfriend.

You could anonymously key your English teacher’s car after school. The bitch deserves it.

Sometimes, Remus did stupid things like listen to the ridiculous thoughts that hummed in the back of his mind.

When he fled from the car, stuck in the middle of congested traffic just before a truck ploughed through the vein of vehicles and landed his father in hospital for days, his mother had slapped him upside the head and grounded him for far longer. Remus still wasn’t entirely sure why. He wondered if she blamed him for not warning them. He wasn’t sure if that was justified, as he hadn’t been thinking much else other than the GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT that had been ringing in his ears.

When the thoughts had mused, seemingly half-heartedly, that his father was going to trip down the flight of stairs if he went without his crutches, Remus’ attempt at a warning had earned him two weeks of dabbing foundation over the bridge of his cheek so no one at school would ask questions.

“Stop acting out!” his mum had screamed once as she pinned him to the wall, her nails digging into his throat and her expression blurry from his stinging eyes. “It won’t change anything!”

His parents’ breaking point was when Remus freaked out the entirety of his chemistry class when his mind insisted that the method the professor was teaching them was going to cause fire to catch on the hair of the girl at the far end of the classroom. He was called into the principal’s office during that class (escaped the smoke alarm going off and the screaming from someone who was going to have an unexpected style change, which was good) and then again at the end of school, with the addition of his parents, neither who were very happy about it.

It was then that he revealed, in a humiliated mumble, about the odd thoughts that continued to prove to have some truth.

The money for a doctor got on his parents’ nerves. He stopped visiting the therapist before any diagnosis could be determined.

Remus did his own research. Schizophrenia, bipolar, DID, OSDD, OCD, every relevant acronym and mental illness under the sun, yet nothing answered all of his questions. There weren’t any odd dreams, multiple voices weren’t clogging his mind, he didn’t feel out of place in his own body, he never saw anything that wasn’t really there.

Nothing explained the odd precognitions the voice gave him, the strange accusatory claims made of the people around Remus who he personally thought he was quite fond of, the baffling times where the voice tried to talk to him like it was any other casual conversation. Even things like how Remus was told not to cross that section of the road, or was mentioned a pretty-looking butterfly behind Remus that he hadn’t even seen yet.

Nothing ticked all the boxes. Nothing gave him all the answers.

Remus was in college, low grades, a shitty apartment, few friends who hated his boyfriend and a boyfriend who hated his few friends, when he reached his own breaking point with himself.

His boyfriend walked into the apartment, expression bored and eyes uninterested. Remus smirked over at him.

“You get my deodorant?” he asked, standing from the couch.

He didn’t, the voice said.

“No,” said Neroli. Remus wasn’t disappointed.

“I guess you’ll have to deal with the consequences of not entertaining me, then,” he said with a sharp grin, gripping Neroli’s shirt and tugging him down for a kiss. His boyfriend responded, suitably fervently. Remus was just getting to the point of reaching for his boyfriend’s belt when the voice growled, quietly, as if it hadn’t meant for Remus to hear, Cheating bastard.

It startled Remus so badly he yanked back from Neroli like he’d been scalded. He earned a bemused look from his boyfriend.

“Why, uh— why didn’t you drop by the shops?” Remus asked, hating himself for considering listening to the menace inside his head. Neroli shrugged dully, moving into the kitchen. He peered into the fridge.

“Got caught up.”

“With what?” Remus blurted, then screamed at himself for opening his mouth. Neroli shot him a dirty look.

“What, do you expect me to explain every second of my day to you?” he asked irritably.

“Only the fun parts.” Remus shot him another suggestive, toothy grin. It was ignored.

Don’t listen to it, whispered Remus to himself. Don’t listen to it.

Ask him where he was on the night you were studying with Logan, the voice said in reply. Remus growled and shook his head. The voice persisted; Ask.

“You look distracted,” Neroli noted, but he sounded detached.

“Maybe I’m thinking about you under the sheets,” Remus said.

Neroli didn’t entertain him.

“Maybe you’re cheating on me,” said Remus with another grin, waiting for Neroli to give him a reaction. His boyfriend merely glanced over at him with a considering look.

“Actually,” he said, and Remus’ heart dropped against his will, “I’m going to my friend’s place. I made plans with her instead of getting groceries.” He walked past Remus and took his car keys from the entry table.

Remus still remembered the way he had felt nauseous, and the ferocious feeling that had washed over him that somehow felt like the voice sounded when Neroli had said, “By the way, I’m breaking up with you,” without so much as a glance over his shoulder. “And I want you gone from the apartment by the time I come back.”

Remus had found himself with his head in his hands on the couch for the next few hours, going through the motions. He didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried for a long time. He had felt numb, even as the voice had murmured apology after apology.

Eventually, Remus had got himself and his things together and moved from the place, a worn backpack all to show for his possessions. He had ignored the voice ordering him to find somewhere to eat, some shelter to sleep, the demands to call his friends and ask for help.

Remus had spent the night of Christmas Eve shivering on a park bench, bag for a pillow and his own arms as a blanket.

(He couldn’t deny that it was his fault when Neroli got into a car crash on his way back to his apartment that morning.)

Over the following years, with more scenarios such as that, Remus learned that it was best if people knew he was insane. If they knew that, if they knew he heard things, and caused horror everywhere he went, they would stay away. If people stayed away, they saved themselves from a bad time and Remus from having to watch anyone he’d gotten attached to leave.

He was sick of people leaving.

Somehow, amongst this mindset, he hadn’t quite managed to shake a scattered few of his old college friends.

Logan, a nerd with a prime attitude and punchable face and also the least emotionally available person Remus had encountered, was somehow one of Remus’ main sources of support. He had taken up tutoring Remus, against Remus’ better judgement, and he had constantly offered his own house as a place for Remus whenever he needed it. Not that Remus ever accepted any of this, mind you.

The only problem was — Logan was feisty. Almost as feisty as Janus, and just as feisty as Roman. His stubbornness matched Remus’ and it was near impossible to shake the guy from an idea once he was fixed on it.

It was kind of endearing.

(It was also very difficult, given Remus’ goal in life had become to stop hurting people he cared about.)

Logan also rambled a whole lot, which Remus liked. It drowned out the voice, still present after all these years. It had quietened considerably, if Remus thought about it. It seemed to have a strange opinion on Logan. Remus ignored it, nonetheless.

This particular afternoon, Remus found that he couldn’t keep ignoring the cursed phenomenon following him.

“Are you paying attention?” Logan asked.

Remus smirked, keeping his eyes on the path in front of him. He kicked the stone again, and it skittered up the pathway then waited like a faithful dog for Remus to catch up. “More or less. Meteorology, right?”

He could tell Logan was looking at him. He probably looked outwardly annoyed, but there would be an amused spark behind the rim of his glances that never escaped Remus. “More or less.”

Remus bobbed his head. “Then yeah, I was listening.”

Logan hummed in agreement but didn’t resume the conversation. They walked in companionable silence along the street path, accompanied merely by the padding of their shoes and the tap-tap-tap of Remus’ stone. The road beside them was quiet.

“Remus?” asked Logan.

“Hm?” Remus said.

Tap-tap.

“Why don’t you come to my house tonight?” Logan asked. “It is New Year’s Eve. The others will be there. I would like for you to have some company.”

Oh, I have company, grumbled Remus. And it won’t shut up.

The voice, as if to solely prove him wrong, remained silent. Remus may have felt some indignation on its behalf, however.

Tap-tap-tap.

“Maybe,” said Remus, which meant No.

“Please,” Logan said, because he knew.

“Logan,” sighed Remus, “you know how I—”

“Yes,” Logan interjected. “I know it distresses you to have companionship, but truly, it is not such the awful venture that you have convinced yourself it is.”

Remus sighed again, his shoulders sagging. He stopped walking and edged away from Logan, no longer happy to be alone with him. He didn’t know what to say.

He was too busy formulating some semblance of a reply to pay attention to the rising anxiety in the back of his mind and the distantly increasing screeching sound.

By the time the speeding car spun around the corner across the road, he was too slow to react.

MOVE, the voice screamed.

Remus couldn’t.

Logan might have shouted, but he sounded like he’d moved — further away from where he had been standing. Probably to somewhere safe. That was good, at least. Logan had something to offer the world, with that big brain of his.

The car skidded across the road, moving too fast to regain control. It sped forward, wheels rolling along the path, barreling towards the spot Remus was standing.

MOVE, his voice was shrieking. Crying. Begging.

Remus didn’t.

The car, by some logic, didn’t hit Remus.

The car didn’t hit Remus, because it hit something — Remus didn’t see what, and later Logan would agree — first, and flipped like a goddamn pencil being flung across a bored classroom. The hunk of metal flew into the air, the bottom turning to the sky and the roof glinting down at Remus beneath it—

And crashed to the asphalt metres away from where Remus was standing, completely unharmed.

He and Logan stood there, speechless, for a very long time.

The police, once having caught up to the hit-and-run escapee, deemed it an accident on the driver’s behalf. Remus and Logan were dismissed from the scene without being asked any questions. Remus hadn’t spoken a word since it had happened, anyway. Logan had been the one to text their friends and talk to the officers. He had then guided Remus back to his apartment, where the others were already hanging out. They greeted Remus at first but left him alone once being waved away by Logan. He was brought into Logan’s bedroom and set on the bed.

“Now,” Logan said without wasting a beat. “What. Was. That.”

Remus blinked up at him. He worked his jaw. Nothing came out.

Some expositional bullshit? he mentally asked hopefully. The only answer he got was what vaguely felt like the embodiment of a winded wheeze of an exhausted runner. Fantastic help.

“I would like some answers, Remus,” Logan said, and he looked almost angry. “Odd things have happened in your presence before but nothing like this. I watched a car run into nothing and flip as if it had crashed into a row of bollards. You otherwise would have been flattened. You should be dead, or at least in the hospital.” Cool hands cupped Remus’ cheeks, and steel blue eyes bored into him. “I am eternally grateful that that is not what has happened, but I need answers.”

Remus tried to talk but didn’t. Logan pulled back and began to pace.

“We already checked the surrounding area,” he began to mutter. “There was no lip on the pavement, nothing to cause such a graphic result. The car’s wheels aside from being burned from skidding were not damaged. I don’t understand what—”

“I’m cursed,” Remus finally croaked. Logan paused to look at him. “It’s me, I—”

“No,” Logan said. “You have tried to tell me this nonsense before, I will not—”

“It’s true,” Remus said vigorously. “It has happened for years, Logan. Every time something mildly inconveniences me, everything goes to shit. Someone on the other end of the street could look at me the wrong way and suddenly they’re tripping over their untied shoelaces and dropping their groceries into the road. My boss doesn’t give me enough hours and suddenly she’s firing the co-worker I hate and giving me their pay. I don’t understand it, Logan, but you can’t keep denying it.”

“Remus—”

“There’s a voice,” he blurted, because he never had much of a filter. “There’s this voice, too. It’s the same one, but I can’t really hear it, you know? Imagine a single intrusive thought, but it’s always saying different things and some of them aren’t even bad.”

Logan now looked concerned. “Remus—”

“It acts like it’s my friend. Like we’re old pals looking out of each other. I hate it, Logan! It’s the reason no one wants to be around me! It’s the reason I can’t trust anyone I meet, because either they’re going to find about me and leave or the voice will tell me something about them that I don’t want to know but it’ll end up being true—”

“Remus.” Logan was crouched in front of him, his hands squeezing his shoulders. “Please breathe. We will work this out.”

“You can’t,” Remus told him. “I have already gone to every doctor, every psychiatrist. The moment I was free of my parents I went to every damn qualified person in this place, for years, and none of them know what it is.

“I went to a goddamn psychic, Logan.” Remus laughed wetly, shaking his head. “That’s how desperate I was. Dumb, right?”

“You are not dumb,” Logan said, and he said it with so much ferocity that it took Remus a moment to realise the voice had said the same thing, much quieter. “You’re troubled. You’re— you just need to find the right answers.”

“I don’t even know what questions I’m asking, anymore,” Remus said, and hated how broken he sounded. He pressed his forehead to Logan’s chest when he stood. “So I don’t know what answers we’re talking about.”

“We’ll figure out something,” promised Logan. “I promise.”

Remus closed his eyes, so tears wouldn’t get past. They stayed like that until Patton tentatively knocked on the door to ask them if they wanted to count down for the new year.

They did. They counted down, and cheered, and danced and sang and Remus drank until he passed out on the couch, snuggled between Janus and Logan. He didn’t even mind waking up the next morning with a throbbing headache.

Virgil referred Remus to his therapist, a cheery moron with an obsession with pink and cartoons. He seemed less focused on diagnosing Remus and simply talking. He referenced a lot of things Remus didn’t know. The voice seemed to like him — not that Remus cared about its opinions. Remus thought that maybe he liked talking to him.

Somewhere along the line, Remus and Logan started dating. Remus wasn’t sure how it had happened, either. He was fairly sure they had been reading on the carpet, and then the next moment they were pressed against the wall, down each other’s throats, so… Remus wasn’t exactly complaining.

There were bad days, where the voice hadn’t even done anything wrong and yet Remus clawed at his skull. Bad days, where he and Logan fought for real, which scared Remus (he wasn’t easy to scare, either.) At one point, Janus had picked a fight with the wrong group of people and got himself a concussion, which he recovered from fine, but sent Remus to bed with nightmares of blank eyes and bloodied skin for weeks after.

Eventually the dreams stopped, but Remus knew he hadn’t completely recovered when he found himself in the bathroom of an empty apartment, watching white porcelain run red.

Stop it. Remus still had little to no clue how so much as a voice could sound as if it was an aggravated wolf pacing in a tiny metal cage. You need to stop.

Don’t tell me what to do, Remus thought.

Don’t make me stop you myself.

Yeah, Remus thought with a scoff to himself. Good luck with that.

Remus. Please.

Remus shook himself, as if he could physically shake the voice from his head and continued. The voice went quiet.

Time passed, peacefully, blissfully quiet. The sink was stained further.

Remus was almost letting himself relax, but then the door slammed open, somehow, in the middle of the empty apartment, and Logan was standing in the doorway, looking furious, in the empty apartment.

“You said you were fine,” said Logan. Remus felt like a child caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. Crusty, bloody cookies. “You. Said—” Logan crossed the room and gripped Remus’s slick wrist in his— “that you were fine.”

“I am!” Remus protested. “I’m just—”

“You are NOT!” Logan roared. Remus flinched back. Logan stilled, then paled. Remus squinted at his far away gaze and wondered in horror why Logan looked as if he was listening to something. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he said quietly, “but you are not okay.”

Remus scowled and looked down at the sink he had ruined.

Logan hummed softly. “I’m going to call your therapist.” Remus whirled on him. “Just to book an earlier appointment, okay? I know you don’t like anyone helping you clean up.”

Remus scowled again. Logan brushed a cool hand across his chin and kissed his cheek. He pulled the medical kit from the cupboard and unpacked the bandages and antiseptic. He instructed Remus he was going to leave the door open. Remus silently got to work cleaning himself up.

Once Logan was out of sight (though Remus could hear him in the kitchen), Remus thought accusatorily, What did you do?

The voice said, without an ounce of regret or pride, I stopped you.

Stop interfering with my life. Whatever-the-fuck you are.

Somewhere, you’ve confused ‘protecting’ with ‘interfering.’

Remus threw the bottle of antiseptic across the room. It smashed against the wall and spilled across the bathtub. “SHUT UP,” he roared.

“Remus?” Logan called.

Get the fuck away from me, Remus growled before Logan hurried into the room.

“What is it?”

Remus shook his head. He couldn’t answer. He never did.

One night, Remus sat on the edge of his bed, staring across the room. The wall was bare. It let him concentrate on what he was thinking. For once, he started talking first.

You’re not a guardian angel.

No.

You’re not a demon, unfortunately.

Certainly not.

Then what the hell are you?

As usual every time Remus asked, the voice did not give him an answer. Remus ground his teeth until his jaw ached.

If there was one thing Remus had been certain of in the duration of his entire life thus far, it was that the voice in his head was nothing but trouble. Irritating, infuriating, no-good trouble. It only ever ruined his relationships, got him into sticky situations, told him things that he didn’t want to hear, even if it seemed to think it would help.

The first time the voice was helpful, Remus also felt like his entire mindset had been flipped.

Remus and Logan had been fighting. Worse than usual. Logan was blinking faster than he normally would. Remus was chewing his lip to bloody tatters. He wasn’t sure who had yelled, or what had been yelled, but suddenly it was silent. Logan and Remus stared at each other. Then Logan inhaled shakily and turned.

Remus’ arm shot out and gripped Logan’s wrist. Logan shot him a dark look, but Remus couldn’t explain himself. His voice had completely abandoned him. He worked his jaw. Logan’s eyebrows drew further together.

Remus, for the love of the clovers we picked and weaved as children, kiss him dizzy before I send you both through the window in a fit of pent up frustration-driven rage.

Their lips clashed and locked in a startling display of star-danced vision and warm hands linked at the fingers.

Remus forgot about the voice, about the curse. He forgot about every time he had let someone in only to be hurt, every boyfriend who had taken his heart in their hands and clenched their fists. He forgot every time he and Logan had fought; every time Remus had told himself that it was all a mistake. He even forgot about the constant buzz in the back of his head.

For once in Remus’ life, his mind was quiet.

It was that night, with Logan’s body pressed against his side, staring up at the ceiling, that Remus wordlessly reached for the voice in his head. Somehow, even though he felt nothing and heard no voice, it seemed as if his hand had been grasped.

Remus lay there and maybe for the first time, wasn’t entirely sure he hated the voice in his head.

The voice didn’t remain silent after that night, but it did quieten slightly. Remus made no move to communicate with it.

One day, though, when it was storming outside and Remus needed a distraction because his wrists were itching and his eyes were seeing blood every time he blinked, he spoke.

“You picked clovers.”

We did.

“You did,” Remus corrected, not quite ready to have it spelled out for him.

Yes, said the voice quietly after a moment.

“You’re a voice.”

I have a voice, yes.

“In my head.”

Well, technically—

Remus clenched his fists, frustrated. It seemed to get his point across.

Yes. I suppose.

For a moment, they were both silent. Remus didn’t outright state what he was thinking, but he wondered if something with connections to his mind could work it out.

I can try and prove it, the voice said dubiously. Remus didn’t reply. Lightning flashed outside, accompanied by a low rumble that ratted the house.

Then, from within the bedroom, a low creeeeeak.

Remus looked around dully, too apathetic to be disturbed. His eyes widened, however, when he watched the bedside table’s top drawer sliding open.

“That was locked,” he said. He stood up, his heart beginning to lodge itself in his throat. He staggered around the bed towards the drawer. “No, wait— Not even Logan can get in there— Stop it!”

Something, somehow, slipped from the drawer. Remus practically dove for it before it could crack against the floor and shatter irreparably.

“What do you think you’re—” Remus’ voice swallowed itself back into his chest when he made the mistake of looking down at the picture frame. He snarled against his lumpy throat and tore his eyes from the pair of younger, happier, brighter twins printed on paper. He shoved it back in its drawer and slammed it closed. He pulled himself up to lean against it.

The thunder rumbled again. Remus needed something to ground himself.

“You never told me who you were.” His voice cracked.

A pause.

You never asked, the voice said weakly. Remus felt something inside him erupt.

“What sort of BULLSHIT REASON—”

There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Rem?” called Janus’ voice.

Remus shook his head. “Just— give me a second. I need to uh—” he laughed nonchalantly, “yell at my thoughts for a bit.”

Janus sounded hesitant when he slowly said, “Okay,” but he didn’t press anything.

Remus listened to his fading footsteps and muffled conversation before whirling around as if he were actually facing someone and hissing venomously, “You are very lucky you’re incorporeal otherwise I’d— I’d—”

Kill me over again? the voice supplied.

Remus broke down. Completely against his will, if he had been able to add his own input between the sobs tearing from his throat.

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, bad wording, horrible word choice, I—

“Why didn’t you SAY ANYTHING?” Remus roared.

What would you have liked me to say? That apparently one accident is enough for a spirit to form and develop a connection with their only blood relative?

“Better that than all this— this— mysterious bullshit my entire life!”

You already thought you were crazy! Roman yelled, a little hysterically. How do you think that would have helped? ‘Oh hello, don’t mind me, just your dead brother’s ghost haunting you through your grief.’

Remus wasn't sure how he’d never noticed it before — maybe he wasn’t paying enough attention, maybe now that he knew he was actively listening for it, or maybe he had even subconsciously suppressed thoughts like the one he was about to admit to himself — but now if he listened, really listened, he could hear Roman in the voice. The way his voice would get higher when upset, and the baritones of his indignation.

Remus didn’t realise he was sobbing harder until he heard both Logan and Roman’s voices overlapping, concern and worry swimming in his head.

Please breathe, Remus, you’re working yourself into a panic attack.

Like you would know anything about that, Remus said.

I would, retorted Roman’s voice, without fire.

“What is it, dear?” Logan was asking, his cool hands tracing Remus’ face. “What’s happened?”

Remus looked up at him, tears rolling down his cheeks, and said with a wet laugh, “I’ve worked out what the asshole voice is all about.”

Logan had led Remus into the kitchen and pressed a warm mug into his hands. Remus had absentmindedly wiggled the cup, watching the dark liquid inside ripple. After making sure Remus was recovering, Logan had ducked from the room to talk to Janus.

“Tell me,” Remus growled quietly. He didn’t elaborate. He knew that he was understood. Still, everything was quiet.

You know when people say your life flashes before your eyes?

Remus did. He didn’t say as much, but he did.

Well, it doesn’t. You don’t have time.

Remus tried not to think about how little time there would have been. How scary it could have looked, could have felt. His clasped hands turned white at the knuckles. “What did you think about?”

A sizable pause, but not one without the comforting ever-constant buzzing hum of the voice’s presence.

You, was the final admission, with no preamble. Logan, too, I think. Our family must have a thing for hot nerds, eh?

“You had a crush on Logan,” Remus said hollowly.

Only a little one.

“That’s… That doesn’t help.”

Sorry. He sounded genuinely apologetic.

“You’ve been fucking with me for years and you don’t seem to have much to apologise for it,” Remus mused.

Sorry, Roman said again, sounding even more like a remorseful kicked puppy.

Remus sighed long and low. His mug tapped roughly against the table as he shoved it away from him to bury his face in his hands. “I can’t believe any of this.”

He wasn’t sure that thinking the weird phantom warmth was ghosting over his shoulders was going to do anything good for his deteriorating sense of control over his emotions.

Tell me what to do, said Roman. Please.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. He swallowed.

“Stay,” was all he could say. “Just. For a while.”

Unfortunately or not, you’re going to be stuck with me for quite a while.

Remus sniffed.

Very unfortunate, he agreed with a hint of a smile.

#sanders sides #remus sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #creativitwins #intrulogical #background virgil sanders #background patton sanders #background janus sanders #tw car accident #tw self harm #tw mention of mental illness #ghost fic #fanfic #long post #cross posted on ao3 #mentioned one-sided logince #tw language

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actualbird · 4 years ago

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nobody asked but here i analysed polygon’s “unraveled” and bon appetit test kitchen’s “gourmet makes” and i think they are similar and use three key story elements to their success | a 1.9k word long analysis by an unhinged creative writing fresh grad trying desperately to use their degree to connect two dots

If you asked me who my favorite internet celebrities are, I would not hesitate for a second to answer. Brian David Gilbert from Polygon and Claire Saffitz from Bon Appetit Test Kitchen. They’re awesome! They both host popular YouTube webshows about video games and cooking respectively, two things I am terrible at and don’t do very often. And yet I am enraptured by every episode of their shows. Why? How?

My thesis is this: Polygon’s “Unraveled” and Bon Appetit Test Kitchen’s “Gourmet Makes”, while wildly different shows on many levels, are extremely similar in how they use three key story elements very, very, well.

These three story elements are 1) Plot, 2) Character, and 3) FAWWIEOT (it’s an acronym, I’ll explain it later, I promise)

Let me start with the first and most basic story element these two shows wield amazingly: Plot.

Plot is, in simplest terms, what “happens” in a thing. This is what you’ll find on a movie’s Wikipedia page summary, the details of what went down, the events that took place, the things that occurred. There are many different types of plots because there are many different types of stories, but one of the most basic kinds of plots is very clearly illustrated by something called Freytag’s Pyramid.

Freytag’s Pyramid is a very simple plot that is moved forward by a non-negotiable in many, many stories: conflict. All is well, the line is straight, then a challenge arises and things start to escalate. At the climax, a decision or a group of decisions are made that leads to a de-escalation of the conflict, bringing things down until we are back at a flat line and the conflict has been resolved.

Every single episode of Gourmet Makes can be plotted onto Freytag’s Pyramid

Nearly every single episode of Unraveled can be plotted onto Freytag’s Pyramid too (with the exception of some, like a number of the categorization episodes, the Kojima name generator)

I know what you’re thinking. “So what if Gourmet Makes and Unraveled fit on some funky pyramid? What does that mean?” Well, dear reader, it reveals to us just one of three reasons why these shows are so enjoyable.

Freytag’s Pyramid is basic as shit, and yet it is one of the first plot structures taught to fictionists because people, up to this day, like it. Why? Because Freytag’s Pyramid fulfills two very important desires that we, as humans, love. 1) The desire for there to be a problem and 2) the desire for that problem to be resolved. It scratches our eternal itch to want to watch shit go down but doesn’t leave us up on a cliffhanger, it gives us our catharsis.

Gourmet Makes gives you the entertainment of watching Claire struggle with her task. Then Gourmet Makes shows you Claire slowly and surely rising above the challenge (notable in literally every episode of Gourmet Makes). Unraveled makes you watch BDG work himself up into a frenzy trying to do something stupid, but then Unraveled shows the payoff of...of watching BDG do something stupid, but this time towards some kind of resolution (very notable in the latest Unraveled “How to increase your stamina with terrible video game tactics”).

It is clear to me that Gourmet Makes and Unraveled both use plot in a way that gives viewers satisfaction. But what keeps them coming back for more?

Well that leads us to the second story element: Character.

People love Claire Saffitz and BDG.

Don’t believe me? Look through the tags of literally any gifset of either of them. Here, I did it for you. Here’s some tags for Claire:

And here’s some tags for BDG:

It’s pretty obvious to see that these two are well loved, but why? It’s not just because they’re both good looking, it’s because Claire Saffitz and BDG, with how they are presented in their shows, are good characters.

Claire Saffitz in Gourmet Makes isn’t scripted. She brings her own human frustration, determined hard work, and joyous glee to the show and it makes watching the show all the more enjoyable. BDG in Unraveled, however, is scripted, but he brings to the table his chaotic performance and ‘off the shits’ lecturer energy that brings the viewers in. Regardless of their differences, Gourmet Makes and Unraveled are similar when it comes to character because of one thing: they actually have characters.

What am I talking about? Well, for a period of time on the internet, people in the cooking media sphere and the video game media sphere settled for video content that was divorced from who was presenting the information. Videos like the ones from Tasty where everything was filmed top down and you only saw two hands perfectly putting ingredients into a bowl. Videos like the myriad of video game walkthroughs or video essays that are presented only by a disembodied voice who also seems allergic to actually having fun. This is content that hinges on the fact that people like seeing cooking or video games and that the presenter will mostly just be a background thing.

Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and Polygon both did not want to succumb to this style of presenting information. They both made the decision to bring their presenters into their video content, highlighting their respective presenters’ personalities, quirks, and styles. This is evident in all of Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and Polygon’s video content, not just Gourmet Makes and Unraveled. Do I watch Bon Appetit's show It's Alive because I want to actually make foccacia? No, it's because I love how Brad Leone mispronounces words and makes me laugh. Did I watch "Fixing Anthem’s boring mech’s with ballsy design" because I actually give a shit about video games? No it's because I love how Pat Gill jokes about fake testicles and also I think he's hot.

The fact that there are actually characters for us on screen to see, makes Gourmet Makes and Unraveled good shit. We’ve got a plot with clear conflict, but that means nothing if there are no personas for us to root for. Gourmet Makes and Unraveled gives us these personas. They give us Claire Saffitz whom we want so desperately to see smile and succeed. They give us Brian David Gilbert whom we want so desperately to see go a little bit crazy. They give us people to connect to, and that often bridges the gap to viewers who honestly don’t give a shit about cooking or video games. Viewers like me who just keep coming back to Gourmet Makes and Unraveled because of the fact that these are characters I care about, these are characters who I want to see smile after finally nailing the recipe or slowly take off their suit as they tell me shit about Zelda I don’t understand.

Gourmet Makes and Unraveled utilize plot in a way that makes these webshows satisfying, and they use character in a way that makes these webshows accessible and keeps people invested.

But they go further.

This brings us to our last story element, not exactly a common or rudimentary one, but an important one nonetheless: Fucking Around With What Is Expected Of Them.

(I know there’s probably a legitimate literary term for this, but sue me, quarantine has kept me stuck in my house since March, so I may have forgotten the exact words I learned in class. FAWWIEOT will have to suffice.)

The gist of FAWWIEOT is that stories have been around for fuckin ever, and because of that, there are clear patterns and tropes that stories follow. FAWWIEOT is the recognition of those patterns and tropes, using them, but finding a different outcome or flair to make themselves special, to make themselves stick out. Kinda like when you’ve got a fic on AO3 tagged with ‘friends to lovers’ but also tagged with like, I dunno, something completely random like ‘character is also a dragon’. Use the tropes, but do something different. Give the audience something they already know, then throw in something new to make them remember your content specifically.

Gourmet Makes and Unraveled FAWWIEOT (I’m using the acronym like a verb now, this is my post, I’m allowed to) very purposefully using an important technique: Flaws.

The standard trope of a cooking show is the chef easily talking to the camera as they perfectly put the ingredients together. All the food comes out perfect on the first try and everything is heavenly and wonderful. Classic cooking shows like Barefoot Contessa (hosted by Ina Garten) and Everyday Italian (hosted by Giada de Laurentiis) followed this pattern, and it made for good television.

But who fucking watches television these days? Everything is online now, and the internet is vicious. If you aren’t interesting, the internet will throw you out to the gutter. So how did Gourmet Makes set themselves apart?

By showing you that things aren’t perfect after all. Gourmet Makes shows you every trial that Claire tries, they show you her successes, but also her failures. They show you when she gets tired and hopeless, they show you when she bounces back and tries again. Gourmet Makes made a cooking show that was flawed, and people loved it.

And what about Unraveled? The design of Unraveled, from BDG’s suit and mug to his presenting style, key us in to the fact that we are watching some sort of lecture. Some kind of educational performance. Personally, this makes me think that Unraveled is FAWWIEOT-ing academia and basically any other media where an “expert” talks at you.

The standard pattern of experts talking to you are basically like TedTalks. You have somebody very well versed in the topic trying to explain to you something, showing you their hypothesis, their process, and their findings.

Unraveled FAWWIEOTs expertise by making BDG research the most crazy shit like OSHA regulations or the Geneva Convention, make the wildest hypotheses like ‘Monster Energy in the morning will be a good idea’ or ‘Sonic is blasphemous’, and then, ultimately, completely unravel himself. The expert in Unraveled isn’t an all knowing being who is always right, he is flawed (and loses his marbles, more often than not.) And we love it.

FAWWIEOT-ing is key because of how it gives us a pattern we know, and then does something new. Novelty is important on the internet, and Gourmet Makes and Unraveled have made a name for themselves on the unique way they Fucked Around With What Was Expected Of Them.

Gourmet Makes and Unraveled are two of my favorite webshows on the internet as of now, and there are many reasons why, many reasons I didn’t include in this post. What I wanted to do here is to highlight how these shows use story elements to be good content because at the core of these videos, even if they aren’t literary fiction, they are good stories. Good stories with a plot that satisfies us, with characters we can see and love, with new twists that keep us on the edge of our seats.

Good stories make for good content, and Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and Polygon have me as a subscriber for as long as they continue on this road.

Thanks for reading!

(Read my other Polygon-adjacent analysis essays at actualbird.tumblr.com/tagged/nobody-asked-but

If you have any suggestions or ideas for more Polygon-adjacent analysis essays I can write, send me an ask!)

#polygon #batk #bdg #unraveled #nobody asked but

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yakityyaku · 4 years ago

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Probably because you guys are absolutely twisting what Kahlem has said into something she hasn't said. She literally said she supported you guys and you deserve equal rights. You guys are throwing hissy fits over being able to say ACAB, which cursing has always been against the rules, and not having a same sex leaf/pride items, and then twisting it to be Kahlem is a homophobe in which she is not.

*cracks knuckles* ok let's do this

First of all, what words are being twisted? She never said she supports the LGBT community. She was asked several times to say the specific words "I support the LGBT community and believe they should have equal rights" and she never said it. She just kept saying everyone was welcome on Mweor. Those are not the same thing. There's no valid reason to not say specifics.

"But she was being bullied into saying it!"

If you asked me if I think homeless puppies should be given a home, or that kids with cancer should get medical support, or whatever else and told me to say those things word for word, I'm not going to get pissy and tell you no and say I'm being bullied. I might be concerned that my stance on those issues wasn't clear! But I'd still say it. It's not bullying to ask someone to speak up.

You shouldn't NEED any level of force to say something that should be very much be supported. The fact that she danced around a human rights question, considered being asked to answer the question bullying, and then NEVER made the actual statement we wanted is exactly what happened and if she won't tell us verbatim that she specifically supports our community and our rights NOT just our use of her website that she makes at LEAST a year's worth of minimum wage on per year as profit alongside her actual sources of income then what else are we supposed to assume? Words and actions correlate anon.

A company will not say it doesn't want x minority buying their product because they want to profit off of them, but that doesn't mean they're not supporting people and other businesses who directly lead to the hurt and discrimination against said minority.

Nobody is twisting her words, we made a pretty fucking easy conclusion based on logic, our experiences as a community historically, what we DO know about Kahlem, and just common sense.

Give me one good reason why you wouldn't specifically say you supported a marginalized group if you actually did support them. Explain to me how a simple request being repeated over and over is bullying. Explain why she wouldn't comply before it even became a big deal.

Next, I don't know why you're throwing this out to me because A I never posted ACAB anywhere on the site and said in an answer I understand why using the acronym caused warnings. You're lumping all of us into one group and not bothering to read anything anyone is saying to you because you made your mind up a long time ago yet still have the gall to pretend you're being rational and logical when you refuse to absorb a single word of new information that doesn't support your opinion.

I already discussed my stance on the ACAB issue and what the actual problem with it was, so you're welcome to search for it in the tag it shouldnt be too far down. I'm sure you won't though because you're just baiting.

Also, again, I dont give a fuck about the items. I don't make pairs. I suck at it and don't like my mweors looking similar. I would have likely never used the breeding leaf to begin with. Pride items are cute and should exist, but they don't fit my aesthetic and I don't even use the Lioden ones and likely wouldn't use any on Mweor either.

You once again have made a broad stroke assumption that this is about items. It isnt. The problem is it took several years for her to address one of if not the most supported suggestions on the site and only chose to when someone tipped her off thay people were sick of 0 transparency from her and felt her utter lack of engagement with the site and it's posts showed her inability to run the site efficiently.

Derivative from that were the years old rumors of her homophobia fostered by the furry paws incident which stoked fear that she was denying the leaf for homophobic reasons. Then she decided she couldnt say she supported the lgbt community. Dots are connected. It doesn't take a detective to see how this all correlates

And best for last, her husband. Yeah, people who aren't racist, homophobic, ableist, and otherwise bigoted morons LOVE neonazis! Her marrying someone who posts and is active in neonazi communities and the horrible branches of their beliefs is pretty obvious evidence she is at least ambivalent to these issues which is just as wrong as actively engaging.

This information is laid out everywhere for you. Again, I'm not going to keep repeating myself. If you have specific questions you are welcome to ask, but if you're going to decide my stance on everything and ignore easily accessible answers then you're clearly sealioning and I'm not going to waste anymore time trying to get information into your thick skull. If you don't think shes in the wrong, fine, but you're not convincing anyone else here of that and frankly I don't give a frogs fat ass

#mweor #mweor drama #can you guys read #like can you actually read #not even trying to be mean this is all right there

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skullrock · 4 years ago

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the campers, chapter two - Steve x Reader

gif by @harringtown

chapter two: the trainee

series summary:Steve gets a job as a camp counselor at Camp Know Where, intending on using the summer to discover himself. When things start to go wrong at camp, the only people that can help him are the Party, Hopper, and his mortal enemy - you. [Enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort]

chapter summary: Steve gets in the swing of things quickly, much to your dismay.

warnings: swearing!

word count: 2.7k

a/n: you can catch up on the series here! hope you enjoy this chapter!

===

Dustin and Steve are luckily paired into the same cabin, but they have different rooms. Steve’s roommate isn’t in when he goes to drop off his things, but Dustin assures that the man, Nico, is a cool dude.

“Not as cool as you though, Steve,” Dustin says, giving him a firm pat on the back. Steve smiles slightly and nods, appreciating the sentiment. Especially after being blasted by you.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up with you and Y/N?”

“No,” Steve says curtly, shutting and locking his room.

Dustin waits a few moments to see if Steve will fess up, but he doesn’t. Actually, Steve sets his jaw tightly, making Dustin even more curious. “I guess you guys don’t like each other, huh?”

“No,” Steve says again. He runs a hand through his hair. “Well - she doesn’t like me.”

“She knew you as Asshole Steve?”

Steve sighs heavily. “Yeah. She knew me as Asshole Steve.”

Dustin shrugs as they start to make their way to their orientations. “You’ll just have to show her how you changed, that’s all.”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head. “It doesn’t even matter.”

Dustin knows he doesn’t mean that, but he stops prodding for answers.

They continue their walk down from the cabins to the activity center, filled with classrooms, the cafeteria, and research labs. Steve enjoys the area already, happy to see the sun glistening off of the lake and the large hemlocks and oaks. The wind smells like pine and juniper, even in the summer, relaxing Steve’s mind. The woods do scare him now, there’s no denying that. But these aren’t the sinister woods behind his house in Hawkins. These woods are welcoming and cheery, bright and charming. Steve loves the open fields for archery and tag, the courts for basketball and tennis. He decides he’d really like to help out with the intramurals, giving up on the science aspect before even getting the chance to explore it.

Steve’s train of thought is derailed when he hears a sweet voice call out, “Dusty-bun?”

Dustin turns on his heel, a smile spreading widely across his face. He runs to meet her halfway, picking her up and twirling her. The girl laughs happily, and they kiss for a moment before Steve clears his throat. “Is this Suzie?”

“It’s Suzie,” Dustin says, sighly happily. “Suzie, this is Steve.”

She extends her hand and Steve takes it, surprised by how firm her grip is. She’s alright, Steve thinks. She’s got this Mormon vibe going on, but her smile is bright and her personality is welcoming. Steve’s happy to find out that Suzie is an actual person, and while she has no Phoebe Cates in her at all, she’s a perfect match for Dustin.

Steve third wheels as they continue to walk towards the activity center, again being pulled back to his thoughts. His mind falls on what you’d said earlier.

It feels like a rock sits in his gut when he thinks about camp when he was younger. He knows he was an asshole, he can feel it in his bones. He knows he hung out with Tommy H. and some other dickheads, and he has glimpses of memories of tripping, pushing, and pranking. But he really doesn’t remember a lot. He’s not sure if he’s from the concussions or because he willed those thoughts out of his memory - but they aren’t there. Only insignificant ones remain. Like how his bedsheets in his cabin were blue and red plaid; how he would wake up at 7:15 to take a walk before Tommy would wake up; he even remembers the bitter taste of the orange juice hitting his tongue at breakfast. It’s like his mind zeroed in on the insignificant things so that the hurtful memories stay in the back of his mind, sitting like a cobra, waiting to strike.

The trio arrives at the activity center.

“I’ll see you tonight, Steve,” Dustin says. “Don’t worry - you’ll do great.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Steve mumbles, anxiety twisting in his gut. “Nice to meet you, Suzie.”

She smiles brightly and starts off, but Dustin stays behind. “Hotter than Phoebe Cates, right?”

Steve forces a smile and nods, giving him a thumbs up. “You really did it, man.”

Dustin winks and walks away, leaving Steve alone and sweating bullets. He hates being alone - he can’t stand being by himself anymore. Especially now that he knows you’re on the loose here, probably plotting some sick pranks. But he forces himself to move his feet up to the orientation check in.

“Name?” a man with the nametag Josh asks.

“Uh, It’s Steve. Harrington.”

He gets his bundle - a nametag, a hat just like Dustin’s, a few lime green and yellow Camp Know Where shirts (reading LEADER on the back), a drawstring bag, some pens, and a notebook. Steve forces himself to not make a face at the shirt - it’s disgusting and it will certainly ruin his chances with the ladies. He’ll wear it - he’s just not happy about it. And, besides, the first girl he interacted with at camp nearly bit his head off, so maybe he shouldn’t be so worried about his chances. Maybe he should be worried about not fucking up this time.

He takes a seat in one of the large lecture halls, sitting as far away from everyone as possible. Nearly everyone who walks in waves at him and sits close, making Steve clench his fists and bounce his legs. He literally does not remember how to be social - it’s like a second language that he forgot. It pains him that he can’t strike up conversations like he used to, but those around him help.

“Hi, I’m Kara,” a girl his age says, sitting down right next to him. “Who are you?”

Steve blinks. “Oh - I’m Steve.”

She reaches out and shakes his hand, smiling. “You’re new, right?”

“Is it that easy to tell?”

Kara laughs. “Don’t worry, Steve - you’ll get the hang of the flow soon enough.”

Okay, maybe he does have a chance with some ladies.

You come into the room, eyes searching for Steve. You see your buddy Kara talking to him and you curse under your breath. She’s not supposed to be friends with him - she’s probably going to try to bone him in the next week, too, and you don’t want that either. You march up to Josh, the leader of leaders, and pull him down to your level. “You cannot - you will not - pair me with Steve Harrington.”

Josh’s brows furrow and he looks up at Steve, remembering him from earlier. “What, you scared of that dork?”

You groan and roll your eyes. “He was such an asshole to me - we used to go to camp together. He made my summers hell, Josh. I can’t be around him.”

Josh pauses and shrugs. “Okay, no problem, I’ll pair him with someone else.”

You sigh in relief and take a seat at the front, where a panel of veteran counselors sit. You try to be social, but the bile keeps rising from your stomach to your throat. You feel sick. You feel like this summer is going to be an absolute nightmare. And while you’re so far beyond who you used to be - that kid who couldn’t even look people in the eye - you’re scared that his presence will revert you back into that little girl. And it’s the last thing you want.

Josh claps his hands a while later, signalling the start of orientation. Steve shifts in his seat and pulls out his notebook and a pen. He doesn’t know shit about note taking, but he reckons he should try. You grab your notebook too, excited to learn and meet with the new folks.

“Welcome to Camp Know Where!” Josh says.

The room erupts in cheers and Steve can feel his old self creeping back in, the insult of dorks running through his head - as if he isn’t clearly one himself. But he composes himself, clapping lightly along with everyone else.

“Here at Camp Know Where, we want to create a welcoming, safe environment for our kids to explore the world through science, math, engineering, and technology.” Steve writes it down quickly, forming the acronym “SMET”, and giggling to himself.

“It’s our job as counselors to facilitate learning in a fun, positive, and energetic way. Through orientation, you’re going to meet your fellow counselors, learn some things, and find a designation at camp. We work with you! If you think you’d be better at doing science, we’ll help you find your place in the classroom. But if you’d like to work with intramurals, we can place you out in nature. However, we still want to make sure everyone has a good grasp at all activities, so you’ll be cycled through everything we have to offer at Camp Know Where.”

Steve writes down “science - intramurals - whatever - know it all.”

“Today, though, we’ll be doing some icebreakers, and then some brainstorming.”

The room erupts in groans, Steve’s perhaps being the loudest.

“Relax, they’re fun.” Josh beams and holds up a clipboard. “I’m going to split everyone off with a partner now. This will be your partner all through camp. You’ll do something with everyone, but your partner is like your mentor. The newer folks will be paired with someone who’s been here a while to help you get in the swing of things.”

You shift in your seat. Maybe you’ll make a new friend - maybe you’ll get along famously - it was an exciting concept.

Or, it is, until Josh calls out, “Y/N and Steve.”

The shit eating grin on his face is unimaginable. He looks down at you, smiling, eyes shining, as if to say, get over it. If you had a bat, you would have hit him with it. Your stomach sinks, it rolls, it twists. Your palms sweat, your head races, but it stays forward, eyes trained on the podium in front of you.

Steve feels the exact same, except his legs are telling him to get the hell out of there. He knows his protests will fall on deaf ears, and who would accommodate him, anyway? He rests his head in his hands as Josh continues to read off names.

“Alright, get with your partner. We’re going to play two truths and a lie!”

Phenomenal, you think. The worst icebreaker of all time, and it’s with Steve Harrington.

You push yourself up out of your seat and force your legs to move towards him, sitting down next to him but a chair away, keeping a distance. Steve’s okay with it - it actually helps him breathe.

The rest of the room fills with laughs and chatter, but you both stare in silence for a long while. Finally, Steve says, “So -”

“We aren’t friends,” you interrupt. “We aren’t friends now, we weren’t friends then, and in the future, we won’t be friends. Got it?”

Steve swallows hard and nods. Despite the dryness in his throat, he tries to apologize. “Look, I know I wasn’t nice when he were kids -”

You scoff. He continues. “But I swear to God, or whatever, I’ve changed. I’m not like that anymore. I - I don’t even hang out with Tommy. I just hang out with Dustin and this girl called Robin, you don’t know her - she’s pretty cool -”

“Save it,” you say harshly. “We can talk since it’s our job, but I don’t care about your life now, and I know you don’t care about mine.”

No icebreakers are played between you - the only thing played is an intense staring contest, which makes you angry and Steve horrified. Finally, Josh claps again, and then the real orientation begins. Josh hands out papers with scenarios on them, the goal being to brainstorm ways to demonstrate good leadership. Things like, a camper is obviously intoxicated - what do you do? and what’s the best way to improve a camper who isn’t doing well?

“Wait,” Steve says as Josh places the paper down. “Are we sw- switching partners?”

“Nope!” Josh says, popping the ‘p’. “Not yet.”

Steve wants to die.

To your surprise, Steve has some pretty phenomenal ideas for how to be a good leader. He even delves into how he would bond with the campers - he’d play sports with them, facilitate idea generating, become someone they can come to and confide in. He wouldn’t shut down their ideas, but rather help them expand on them. You think that he actually has some really good concepts.

“I just want them to trust me, you know?” he says quietly. “I want them to feel like they have a chance and that they can come to me for anything.”

You furrow your brows. “How’d you get these good ideas?”

“Dustin,” he admits, a bit sheepishly. “And some of his friends, too. They’ve helped me understand how to be better at listening and helping and understanding.”

You nod stiffly, not wanting to become too impressed with him. “Well, you have some solid ideas.”

Steve’s eyes widen and brighten. “You think?”

You shrug. “They’re not bad.”

And just like that, Steve feels like he has a purpose.

The room forms back together to go over their responses, and for the first time in his life, Steve offers his perspective in a public setting without being condescending or rude. The feeling of raising his hand was awkward and unknown, but he kept doing it, in love with the nods of support from the other counselors. Someone said he must have a knack for being a leader, and Steve beamed brighter than he had in months.

You, of course, hated it, but you had no authority to tell him to shut up. To you, it seemed fake and, frankly, out of nowhere. But you couldn’t help to agree with some of his points and ideas. You hated it.

You all break for the day at five. You practically run out of the room, gasping in the fresh air outside quickly. Josh walks past you and slaps your back, turning around to smile at you. “Have fun?”

“I will kill you.”

“Can’t wait!”

You’d lost your appetite after the hours spent with Steve, so you stay outside, sitting on a picnic bench and contemplating. You wonder if Steve is right when he says he’s changed. Past Steve would never say such things, would never even bother to put in an effort. But he was giving more of an effort than most people in that room, and it genuinely shocked you. Maybe Dustin had something to do with it - but that seemed improbable, too. The whole thing was so bizarre that it made your head spin and your knees weak.

You see Dustin heading inside and call out for him, beckoning him over. His brows furrow tightly but he walks over, sitting down across from you. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“What’s Steve’s deal?”

“Look, I hated him too,” Dustin says. “I mean, I really hated him. Like, I wanted to punch him -”

“I get it.”

“Right. But he’s changed. He got sober really fast a few years back and he hasn’t been the same since.” Dustin pauses, choosing his words carefully. “A lot of stuff has happened to him… and I think it’s changed him for the better. He’s been through a lot. He’s just trying to find himself now. That’s why he’s here.”

You sigh heavily. “You think he’s better?”

“I know he’s better.” Dustin smiles. “And that’s why I think you should give him a chance.”

“No way,” you scoff. “He never gave me a chance.”

“Shouldn’t stoop to past Steve’s level.” Dustin’s smile widens. “You’ll hurt your back.”

You roll your eyes. You don’t want this kid to be right, but you know he is.

“Just - give him a chance, please? He really deserves one. He’s my best friend… he deserves a shot.”

You sigh again. “Fine.”

===

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