#coping though fanfic will get me though this hell

[drowninginblox]

Reminders

A group of drabbles that I wrote on a whim. Enjoy!

It's been some time since Tubbo last saw the morning crew altogether. It wasn't something he lingered on, he had plenty of machines to distract himself with. Yet every so often, the thought would seep in between the brief spaces between his geers. Lingering laughter intermixed fragments of English and Portuguese. The smell of coffee and oil intermixed with wine, dandelions, and sweat. Sometimes he would space out mid-experiment only to be taken out with the howls of his business partner or the reminder of his ever-sleeping daughter.

Forexample, just earlier today, as the young satyr was reading himself for the day, he passed a loose calendar on his way to the coffee pot. Most of the time Tubbo would pay it no mind. However, a day was circled in pink marker- marking the day as one sunny made sure to remember in the case Tubbo did, which he is always one to do. Ceasing his trip mid-step, he lingered on the brief note longer than he should.

"Fit's Arm"

A few charges in his brain fire, a smile, small and tired, slowly creeps onto his face. He didn't get to ask Fit about his arm. It must've slipped by with a myriad of things Tubbo's sure to have missed throughout his life. But, with this newfound vigor, he can't help but chuckle. Maybe later today he'll stop by Fit's place. Pac's too if he can't find the Florida man. A laugh follows as he gets back to his journey to the coffee pot at the realization that he'd give up an arm and a leg for his morning crew

------

Phil wasn't that worried when he saw his children still in bed. He made sure to check their temperatures, to which both were fine, and sighed when nothing changed after three days. This isn't anything new to Phil, Chyanne and Tallulah on separate occasions have had their bouts of long rests. Yet when Bagi and Tina reported that the other eggs were the same, Phil could only fear the worst. It was one thing for the Ender King to go after him, that's fine. But children? This was a new low.

Even though he was a vessel of the gods, he could only do so much when it came to their rights. So in solidarity, he lit some incense, burned a few roses, and prayed that his anxieties weren't reality. In the meantime, making medicine for the eggs when they were lucid enough to take some.

It's been weeks now, and nothing has changed. Phil was sitting on the fishing perch with a fresh cup of green tea in his hands, contemplating the horizon for the twelfth time that week. His eyes and throat stung and exhaustion was on the cusp of his soul. Yet he remained. "Darling, please," A voice he only heard in his dreams coaxed. One that was sweat like honey and dark as night. "You know I won't go down easily love," He relented. A shared sigh followed as a light touch made contact with his shoulder. "I know."

He turns his head. A form he knew too well greets him, veiled from the sun and other's gaze. "It's been too long." She admits. Phil smiles before glancing at the door. Eyes do wide with panic. "Please don't tell me you're here for-" She puts her other hand on his other shoulder, holding him together. "No." Her hat moves with her shaking head. "No. I am here strictly for personal reasons. I have no business here, I promise you." A breath he didn't know he was holding almost took the man's soul. "Thank the gods," She slaps his shoulder. "I would never do that to you, you know that!"

"I know you wouldn't! It's just, others... have come here. 'Sinked their claim into my family, Kristen." She sighs. A tear slips though the warrior's gaze. "I'm so sorry my love." A hand holds his face as the cracks slowly grow in his guard. Who knew the reaper mourned the living?

------

The movement of his weapon carried Pac through his nights. With thoughts of his beloved haunting him in his dreams only to take up to see his sons trapped in their haze of sickness, the only thing that seemed to get him through these restless nights was monster slaying. Something about it was so cathartic. The repetitive swing of an axe, scythe, or sword and the groans of pain of those he vanquished. In a way, it was a great form of exertion. One that made his mind blur into itself while his body acted on sharpened instinct after a year of hostility.

While he replayed a conversation with Ramon in his head, he was taking out half a dozen zombies at a time. Hoards of them have turned into a nuisance more than a lingering fear. "Oi!" The break through the groans snaps Pac out of his haze, his body turning to the noise. Mike stands on a nearby hill, waving something bright in his hands. A surge of pain trails up Pac's arm, redirecting himself on the annoyance at hand.

It doesn't take him too long to clean up the group but the clearer Mike's voice became, the faster the exhaustion laced itself through his muscles. Before he knew it the grip he had on his sword gave. He could hear Mike clearly now but the words were nothing more than white noise as his knees gave into the gravity of the situation Pac put himself in.

Mike was there to catch him before he hit the ground. Concern and panic flooded his mind as he pulled out his warp stone. "Sinto muito, meu amigo. Eu deveria ter ajudado você" he mumbled through the echo of the contraption. Within moments they were at Pac's house. The sun was rising over the savannah as Mike carried his friend inside. "Há quanto tempo você é assim?" Silence was what he expected, but from Pac's position over his shoulders, he could hear the mumbling "Fitch... Why, Por que você teve que sair?" He looked down. He and Pac had been through hell together, but he knew Pac would hate to see him like this. So instead he tried to look for the secret warp to his basement and bit his lip to shush himself. The ass beating he had in store for FitMC- *"I'm so sorry my friend. I should have been there for you." .... "How long have you been like this?" *"Why did you have to leave?"

Eventually, he found it, teleporting him and his semi-conscious brother to his bedroom. "Pac, faça-me um favor e vá dormir, porra." He ordered, tossing the smaller onto his bed. A groan was all he needed to hear. "Não dou a mínima para o fato de você estar triste, você está cansado. E eu só consigo lidar com uma emoção de cada vez no momento." He waited a moment for any bitebacks but he was relieved to be met with obnoxious but believable snores. *"Pac, do me a favor and go to fucking sleep." ... "I don't give a shit that your sad, you're tired. And I can only handle one emotion at a time right now."

Whether it be out of paranoia or satisfaction, he lingers for what he hoped was only a few minutes. Eventually, he vacated the basement upstairs. There he put on a kettle to brew some tea. From there he would take the rest of the day to pick up after Pac as he slept for the first time in who knew how long. It wasn't a lot, at least to Mike but it was a good start for an overdue apology.

[petrock42clone]

I swear to God, arguments made by proshippers to justify their degeneracy will never cease to amaze me with how stupid they can get.

"But it's not real." Doesn't matter, it's still gross to portray that shit in a positive light.

"I wouldn't support this in real life." If you're not gonna support it in real life then why the hell would you support it in fiction? Just admit you're a creep and get it over with.

"I use it as a way to cope with trauma." I don't want to call those people liars, but nine times out of ten I only ever see them saying this when they get called out for it. And if it's meant for coping, then why do most pieces of proship media glorify and portray it as a good thing when it shouldn't be seen that way? Also, I don't wanna be that guy, but maybe you shouldn't post that sort of thing publicly when actual creeps/criminals could use that for gross purposes.

"Fiction doesn't affect reality." Tell that to every piece of government propaganda ever released. Also, proship content does have an effect on people, especially young kids. I was exposed to a proship undertale fan blog when I was nine, and for at least two years I thought that shit was ok.

"So you support harassment towards proshippers?" Harassment is bad no matter who it's directed towards, so no I do not support harassment towards proshippers. Though I'll be completely honest and say that I don't feel sympathetic towards proshippers either.

"You're just a puritan." Dude if I were the puritan you claim I am, I probably wouldn't be ok with writing gore/torture scenes in some of my fanfics. And before you start yapping, I make it clear in those fics that those acts are not ok and are not meant to be seen in a good light.

Proshippers/Neutrals do not interact. Try arguing with me about why this shit is ok and the most you'll get out of me is a block.

[unhingedpolycule]

I just read the new Nikto/Krueger fanfic….. and HOLY mother of sh-t! didn’t know Nikto! My man was old enough too be my dad!

Still hot 🥵 thou 😏

Hahaha, yes, a lot of people seem to be blindsided by this (again and again)… but for me, those nasty men are at least forty. I get an aneurism every time they are like… in their twenties? I can cope with thirties, but 40s/50s are the sweet spot for me personally. (Absolutely NO hate though. To each their own, but if I read a fic, I imagine them to be old by default. Lol.)

Mostly because I believe that Nikto in his 20s/early 30s was a wet cat and Krueger was also way less palatable. Still smart, still interested but also less keen on just existing to serve another. He wanted more space and the codependency he and Nikto got going is only possible because they mellowed out with age (again, just MY hc!) Personally, I live for the odd flavor of fluff they have going on… just so comfortable in the relationship, having come to terms with each other and having fought most fights there are to fight. Nowadays, its small things they sometimes blow out of proportion because they are both stubborn (they like fighting with each other. Its called enrichment) but they are not at risk of breaking up or anything. Its just peaceful and they are super set in their toxic ways, which kind of work for them.

They are one of those old people couples that no one likes/knows how they work, but they are happy with each other (oddly enough).

Aside from that, I also just find a lot of comfort in them seeing the other age. Like… wrinkles, less strength, skin less taunt… and just being amazed at having gotten to this point. It’s a nice thought to appreciate each other for their physical changes as well. Nikto specifically is a bit obsessed with Krueger’s hair greying or his skin on his chest/stomach getting less taunt. It’s so soothing to him that this man chooses to spent their life with him and he is quite possessive in a gruff way, so seeing Krueger change with the years… hell yeah. Big emotional turn on.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi team! I was wondering if you might have some recommendations for Aziraphale-centric fics? Not really looking for whump, or fics where his feelings for Crowley are his sole focus (though I'd still enjoy it if were a significant part of the story), but moreso fics that look at Aziraphale holistically. First fic that comes to mind as an example is "Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach" by Nnm. Thanks!

Hello! Here are some Aziraphale-centric fics for you...

Could you breathe with me? by Euny_Sloane (T)

Aziraphale goes to counseling/therapy with an unnamed therapist and spends some time exploring his feelings related to love, loss, and family. Note that this is an imagined counseling session, and so may bring up uncomfortable feelings, regardless of how many tags I place, especially if you have the unfortunately common experience of feeling unloved by your family, or unworthy of love. Nothing graphic happens except a reference to Pompeii, though.

In a Perfect World, I would Hold your Hand and Kiss your Cheek by boredom (T)

A chance encounter with a young man leads Aziraphale on the path of healing and discovery. Maybe now he can finally admit to what he wants, without guilt and without fear. Maybe now he and Crowley can finally move forward, together.

Human Labels, and Angelic Discovery by Hemlock_Holmes (G)

Aziraphale discovers autism, and goes on a one-angel mission to learn everything he can about it. This is a purely self-indulgent fic about discovering yourself after many years, because I am so tired of reading books (not fanfic!) where the word autism is skirted around and treated like taboo, even when everyone knows that's what the author means. Just say it people! Also because nothing gives me greater joy than watching Aziraphale stim.

something wretched about this by IvyOnTheHolodeck (T)

You might wonder why Aziraphale can't seem to enjoy his retirement in peace. You could ascribe his distress to the series of terrifying thoughts that haunt his days, or the only book he wishes he'd never read, or even the wound that still hurts after six thousand years. Really, though, you should blame the fact he's never learned to talk about his feelings.

The Other Arrangement: or, How the Angel Got so Hungry by burnttongueontea (T)

‘It’s just… funny. Don’t you think it would be funny, if it turned out we’d had it the wrong way round all these years? If I ate all the time, and you hardly ever?’ Crowley discovers that Aziraphale has been strictly and obsessively limiting his food intake for millennia, due to fear of punishment from Heaven if he gets caught eating too regularly. The angel’s confident facade comes apart at the seams after they move to the South Downs, as he struggles to cope with new-found freedom while still keeping his past a secret. With the future of their relationship soon hanging in the balance, Crowley must find a way to convince Aziraphale that he is a safe pair of hands to collapse into – and that they can rebuild things from the ground up.

My Favorite Ghost by cassieoh_draws, DiminishingReturns (T)

Decades after the world didn’t end, Heaven and Hell got their war — and nearly destroyed everything in the process. When Aziraphale finally manages to reacquire a corporation and return to Earth, he discovers he was gone longer than he thought and the planet has become unrecognizable. As he searches for Crowley and tries to figure out how he fits in a world that Heaven, Hell, and God have all wiped their hands of, nature works around him to reclaim the bones of an old civilization as the scraps of humanity build a new one. A lush and optimistic post-apocalypse story, told from the POV of an immortal who can't let go of the past.

And the one you mentioned...

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach by Nnm (G)

“I’d love to meet with you,” Davey said, apologetically, when he had been called up by a fellow looking to initiate therapy, “but I’m all booked up for months.” “Are you sure?” The fellow said, through a poor connection that crackled. Davey had been sure. And yet. Right there in his calendar was a blank spot, just a few days away, which he had somehow completely overlooked before. “How about that…I’ve got Wednesday at eleven, if you can make that work.” “What a miracle,” the fellow said, “that would be just the perfect time.”

- Mod D

[fuckyeahmhawkefenris]

It is unbearably quiet on tumblr lately, and what little talking there is, it's all about the next game. Yeah, we're no longer in 2012, I get it.

I'll just keep entertaining myself however I can.

I've always wanted to talk about one fic I secretly refer to as one of the hidden gems in the fenhawke archives. I have never ever seen anyone bring it up, and in all these years I've never dared to recommend it to anyone... Don't think you can even find it so easily? For good reason tbh...

Thing is, it's a fill for da kink community on livejournal. Anyone remember that place? The safe haven where anyone could anonimously submit the kinkiest most shameless things you could think of - offering prompts, filling them... Those were some desperate times when we were painfully low on content, and it was very hard to find something to read. Finding a story with characterization that suited your vision was near impossible!

I myself was desprate enough to brave through countless pages of imageries I could not stomach, skimming through them just to get the general idea until something captured my attention.

So I found this, and honestly, to this day to me it is one of the best examples of... idk, not just good characterization, but the overall feeling of the fenhawke relationship, why I can't let go of them after 12 years? It's all subjective, of course, but no fanfic ever resonated with me as deeply as this. Also back then mage Hawke was not very popular and most stories featured rogues... I used to be very sad and lonely!

Warning: it's extremely triggery. I wouldn't even recommend reading the first part at all, because it's too difficult and painful to get through. Hell, I couldn't read it! I was looking through the text very VERY briefly to get only the most basic and vague understanding of what was happening, and it was still hard! There is a lot of abuse, rape, slavery things...

To get the idea:

The Alone quest did not get resolved as planned. Danarius managed to win that battle, captured Fenris and returned to Tevinter, gravely injuring Hawke in the process (Fenris thought he was killed). To break the remains of his will, Danarius threatens to erase Fenris's memories of Hawke, and he succumbs and stops resisting altogether. I don't want to recall the details, but it was awful. Go straight to part 17 (it's a flashback) to read a very lovely take on fenhawke first night together. It's super sweet and gentle, though painfully sad in context. Still, beautiful. Well, it gets worse before it gets better! Somewhere in part 19 Fenris's friends come for him (they sailed all the way here on Isabela's new ship) and he's rescued. What follows is an exceptionally touching tender reunion with Hawke. Oh, and then, once all is settled comes the second part - All the King's men, which is much less controversial and fairly easy to read. Fenris copes with his experiences, and Hawke is always there for him. There are some truly fantastic moments as they slowly get close to each other again! Isabela is pretty great here, and Anders... sorta made me warm up to his character? And it's all fairly believable and close to how we see them in the game.

I'm saying all this and linking this fic on the off chance that someone with tastes similar to mine ever needs something like it. I know I am grateful it exists, and still hold it very dear to my heart. Definitely never regretted finding it!

[wowowwild]

Ace's All Time Best Fic Rec List (AATBFRL) April 2024: Ace Attorney

It's been a 6 months since my last list so here we go again! (I specified Ace Attorney in case I start doing this for other fandoms.) I originally planned to have all the old recs here as well but the list was too long so here's a link to the previous list. These aren't necessarily in any particular order, but if you can think of a good way for me to organize them, please let me know for future lists!

P.S. Anything rated over T mentions that immediately for your browsing convenience.

Doing more self promotion this year, so check out my pinned post or fic tag (desktop only)!

London, 2021- 7 yg Wrightworth hint of Krisnix. Phoenix is presently in London with Edgeworth. Phoenix is presently knowing that he knows about Kristoph but doesn't want to acknowledge it bc Kristoph has been really good to him and Trucy. But that doesn't matter right now bc they're going to the theatre.

if you leave the light on- 7yg Wrightworth. Nothing can happen until it's over but something Keeps happening. Miles will wait as long as it takes and Trucy decides he's part of the family.

In The Dead Of Night- During the 7yg Edgeworth invites the Wrights to Europe. Trucy has a nightmare and 'Uncle Miles' comforts her.

Phoenix's List- After getting his badge back, Phoenix has some regrets and sets about fixing what he can.

Perfect- I actually found this on another fic rec list and I can see why it was their favorite. Set towards the end of the trial of Bridge to Turnabout. TW if you have memory issues, it might be a little hard to get through parts bc of all the mindfuckery. I have to be really vague here so as not to spoil it. (Wrightworth)

Eo Nomine- Klapollo fake marriage turned real marriage but ig that's what happen when you get fake married while being real in love.

the best you'll never have- Rated M for sex reasons. I love the tagline: "Someone else's wedding is something that can actually be so personal". It's a Blackmadhi complicated relationship, what relationship, they weren't actually dating but also...

Apollo and the Artist (1975 - Oil paint, wax crayon, pencil, collage)- Rated M for mentioned sex reasons. Apollo is not an art person. But to Klavier he is art... and also a person. They've known each other for 8 years and it's probably been coming for just as long. It was a long time coming.

darling i'd wait for you (even if you didn't ask me to)- Wrightworth fake date bc Edgeworth needs a plus one to a wedding for some guy, it's not really important. But the cake sucks.

A Knight in a Loud Red Suit- oh my god oh my god oh my god Klavier gets shot and Apollo stabs a guy. And also love confessions at the hospital. They could have me also if they wanted.

Written- Rated E for sex reasons. Edgeworth moonlights as a Steel Samurai fic writer, and due to it being an obvious coping mechanism for his life and feeling Maya finds out... and accidentally sends a fic to Phoenix who... finds out. Half of the smut is Edgeworth's own fanfic, so we get like... fanfic-ception. That doesn't really work with more than one syllable words, huh...

Lover Be Good to Me- Rated M for implied sex reasons. 5+1 klapollo wooing each other.

Love Love Love- Rated M for implied sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a good way and takes wayyyy too long to call themselves boyfriends. Set from middle of aa4 to past aa6.

delicate- Rated M for sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a bad way (long distance is hard) and they break up but it works out, I prommy. If you don't like angst you'll want to skip this one, though.

(i was) enchanted to meet you- klavquill! I love them, I need to read more fics with them. They meet at the Prosecutor gala for the first time and sparks fly. Actually, they were fireworks, but that's not important.

Process of Elimination- Rated M for sex reasons. One day I will read a fic where Blackmadhi is not complicated as hell. Can they ever talk about their feelings? Apparently I like this, though, bc I keep reading and recc'ing them. Um, Nahyuta is looking for a fuck buddy and by 'process of elimination' ends up deciding on Blackquill but whoops! Feelings.

feel your skin- Rated M for one boner. Klavier is infuriating AND wearing lipgloss and Apollo can't take it. Cue making out in the janitor's closet.

moribund- I keep thinking about this one so I need everyone else to read and think about it with me. Pre Gant busting, POV Lana has to help clean up his messes. This a comedy, mostly of errors.

chronophobia- StarrSkye (AngelxLana) Be forewarned, you are going to cry. Lana has done her time and is trying to find a way to reconnect with the most important people from her past.

Crash! Landing- Junithena, fantastic traumatized autistic representation, if I do say so myself as a traumatized autistic person. It is very sweet and Juniper is a real one. I need me one of those.

In Pursuit of Justice- This one is not yet complete, but I preemptively j'adore'd it. It's a klapollo. Sebastian is great. He says Apollo looks like a frog (accurate).

Witcheln Woes- Secret Santa klapollo and they are cute and Clay is alive and it is sooooo fluffy.

Samurai Swear- Maya making besties with Edgeworth! Maya and Phoenix being besties also! Dash of mutual pining wrigthworth.

Missing You/Missing Time- Ok, hear me out, yes, the mystical bullshit tag is accurate, and de-aging is a weird concept, but !!! It actually serves this story very well! It is a fanfic that feels like a fanfic, but sometimes you want that, you know? Not every fanfic needs to feel like Little Women. Established klapollo first I love yous.

[pruneunfair]

My feelings on cry or better yet beg and the utter wasted potential for a psychological tragedy of the imbalance of relationships between noblemen and their mistresses

First off, if I was told I could only kill off one male lead, it'd be him

Lot of people rn especially on tik-tok probably would flame me for this with the "at least he loves Layla! He's so protective of her!"

"it's a dark romance! It won't be sunshine and rainbows you snowflake!"

"He just doesnt know how to express his emotions because he's so sheltered!"

No, just no, I don't care how "hot" he is, I don't care if he's your protective little bad boy. I don't care about his supposed character development, That's a straight up abuser who started off killing birds knowing it would damage to Layla to straight up assaulting her. (I don't know if that will stay in the webtoon, but it was in the novel) no character development can make me like a fucking rapist

Like how in the hell is Claudine considered worse than Mathhias, sure she isn't so peachy herself but goddammit to think of the fiance who if anything would be supported had she been the main protagonist, yes she's pretty demeaning, a bit shallow, and only views Matthias as the perfect Duke, but at least she's not going around mentally torturing a boy who can't do anything against her. I haven't gotten to her ending yet but from what I hear, it isn't a good one. She such a wasted opportunity since she is such a perfect example of a woman prepped and groomed to just be a Dukes wife would come out feeling that her worth only comes her husband.

Justice for Claudine, I just know there's a fanfic out there where you get with Riette, grow as your own person, and live a pleasant life.

You wanna know what really hurts me about this manhwa though? The fact that's it's so unintentionally accurate to how horrible it truly is to be a mistress in an era where women, especially women with no royal titles or status, were often treated by rich and powerful men. They would mostly have no right to say no to a man who decides he wants her, Layla romanticizing her abuse is not just heartbreaking but also unfortunately realistic as it's a coping mechanism for those who had endured nothing but abuse their whole life so they tend to shove their feelings in a box and pretend everything is okay (obviously this isn't the same for all victims of abuse, it's one of the many coping mechanisms people could develop)

In a lot of historical manhwa, there's usually the obligatory mistress character designed to be a dumb trashy bimbo to uplift the lead. Most of the time, the mistress in question is either a daughter of minor nobility that was chosen by a Emperor, crown prince, or Duke, or the mistress lived her life as a poor farm girl and in some situations lived a life where no one cared about her and was likely abused, the latter is often rare for these mistress characters since authors of those stories only want you sympathizing with the leads but in rare cases, the mistress did have a hard life but it ends up being undermined to further damage the mistress as torture/revenge porn or in Laylas case: used as an explanation to give a disturbing reason to why she ends up falling in love with Matthias which wouldn't be wrong if the story was written in a way that was a tragic one, not a romantic one.

you would think this kind of glamorouzation of abuse would only exist in the authors mindset and the degeneracy that is a junior high girls mind, but no, the ides that Layla is somehow the one in the wrong for her own abuse and reluctance of Matthias and there is even an Instagram post claiming she has BPD for being too "difficult" they sound like those 1950s doctors that find any reason to lobotomize a patient.

Laylas character does open the truths of what it's truly like to be practically owned by a nobleman, she's not like Rashta or Aisha from divorcing my tyrant husband where she's portrayed as a silly and cute strumpet with ulterior motives, she is genuinely upset but she can't do anything about it so all she can do is convince herself that Matthias loves her so she can keep her sanity, but where it goes wrong is that instead of portraying this as an unhealthy yet sole coping mechanism for an abusive relationship, the story just chalks it down to "silly Layla! You'll see that he's just misunderstood and you really do love him deep down!" Its frankly atrocious that the one time a story has a realistic pair of the typical women in this trope, the first wife who is classy and refined and the mistress who is young and free spirited ends ultimately destroyed yet again with a case black and white writting. One woman must be good and the other woman must be bad.

Frankly these characters are well written for the most part and until I realized I supposed to see Matthias as the love interest and not Kyle, I was fine with who Matthias was since he was presented more so as a villain, the art is also one of the prettiest cottagecore artstyles I've ever seen to the point where the 3D models look really good since it blends in perfectly, it's just sad that cry or better yet beg is a sick twisted tale equivalent to the average Colleen Hoover book.

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 2: Toccoa, Georgia (The Prophecy)—A Band of Brothers Fanfic

A/N: I am so so so so SO sorry this is out late. This past week was super hectic! I hope that you really enjoy the chapter. I did my best to make it my own and different from other beginnings of BoB that I've seen, so you'll have to let me know what you think! Also, as a side note—I did, in fact, live in Toccoa area for 13 weeks a couple years back, so I actually do love that place!

Winnie could say that she had never been to Toccoa Georgia for any reason in her short lifetime and would probably have no desire to ever return. Though there wasn’t any snow on the ground here, it was just as gloomy as the rest of Georgia was in the winter months.  Everywhere she looked, there were men in uniforms and people bustling towards the wartime factories that had popped up.  

Her arrival at Camp Toccoa was a rather quiet affair, and so there she sat in a wooden chair inside a small waiting area.  Occasionally, Winnie glanced over at the precipitation building on the windows.  When she was a kid, she had long periods of waiting like this one—where her father was in jail or at some bar and she would just wait for him to come back home. 

It would usually rain—and considering how the weather in Georgia changed as quickly as a summer breeze, Winnie had taken to counting droplets of water as a way to keep her focus on something that she could control. 

The simple fact of the matter was that Winnie had precious little control over a lot of the circumstances in her life.  But the things that she did have control over, she kept those things close to her chest; clung to them like they were her most precious possessions and no one would ever come close enough to take that freedom of control away from her again. 

She clicked her heeled shoes together exactly once, eyes straying to the scuff marks on her simple church shoes.  She wondered how her brothers were all faring in their training at the moment.  If they were all coping with the reality of what war would be—if they were prepared to go and be on their own. 

Richie wasn’t the one she was worried about.  He was two years younger than her and was always rather serious.  He worked harder than anyone else that she knew and wasn’t one to get distracted by a pretty face or lofty promises.  Any day now, he’d be shipping out to go to the Pacific as a Marine and it made her truthfully want to follow him all the way down there and have his back with a gun herself.  

They were Allens.  And they trusted themselves and one another.  No one else outside of their circle of siblings had proven to be someone that they would trust their lives with.  But Winnie knew that they would never allow a doctor—and a female one, at that—to go down to the Pacific and be a part of the carnage and horrors there. 

Robbie was in the same boat, proverbially speaking of course, as Richie.  Set to go to the Pacific in a few weeks.  He was always so quiet and watchful.  Winnie hoped that it would serve him well to be on his guard and pick up on the things that the other soldiers wouldn't notice.  They had yelled a lot back and forth before he had enlisted—she had told him to finish his degree and go into the JAG-Corp.  He had told her to go to hell—which he had tearfully apologized for when she dropped him off at the train station.  

Winnie stretched out her fingers over her lap, letting out a breath.  It had been nearly thirty minutes of waiting to be allowed to see the Colonel—and this was just for him to review her application to join the Paratroopers as a Doctor and training officer for his medics.  She wished that the level of urgency the war truly had would transfer over to her wait time. 

Because if she needed to haul everything back to Buford, Winnie would almost certainly rather pick up and move to the Carolinas and try to sign up for a different branch of the military that would, in fact, utilize her. She hated being idle—hated being alone, even more than that.  

The younger three boys were the ones that needed supervision—needed all the prayers of the good congregation of Buford’s Christian Non-Denominational Church.  Nathan was the first problem in Winnie’s pleas to God.  That boy had been raised wolf-wild by herself and Richie and Robbie.  They hadn’t been much, but they had had each other.  He was always picking a fight with an older boy—and she could only hope that this whole army experience was going to straighten him out.   

Then there was Joshua, also set to end up in the Pacific as a medic.  That had granted her a degree of peace, knowing that his evenings helping her study for school were going to come in handy where he was going.  It might, in fact, just be the thing that ends up saving his life.  

But Charlie? Charlie was, in every sense of the word, hers.  She had raised him from the time of his infancy and so to Winnie Allen, Charlie was her child.  Currently, he was in Texas and Winnie had never been more grateful for the fact that the Air Force programs were long.  She would take those 9 months like a sacred gift from God that he wouldn’t be anywhere near the fighting—at least for a short while. 

And then there was her.  Just her—with no idea where she’d end up, with no clue what her side of the war would entail.  Which of course, would be typical of her life thus far. 

Just then, the door opened and a man stepped inside, clipboard in hand.  “Dr. Allen?” 

“That’d be me,” Winnie said, rising to her feet. 

The man piqued an eyebrow, but said nothing about the fact that she was a woman.  He just let out a weary sigh and gestured towards the door with his head.  “If you’d follow me, ma’am.” 

Of course, a moment ago she was Doctor, and now she was ma’am.  God, she loathed the South.  

Winnie obliged, following after the man with quick steps.  As they crossed out of the building and onto a dirt path, Winnie caught sight of some of the trainees—some of them in the field and doing jumping jacks in the field, some of them running towards a trail through the trees.  There weren’t too many of them at the moment, but that didn’t deter Winnie in any way. 

“Are these the officers that are in training?” Winnie questioned, speeding up her stride to match the man in front of her. 

He let out an annoyed breath.  “You catch on quick.  Sink will like that.  Though I can’t account for how he’ll feel about a woman applying to train our medics.” 

“I’m a trauma surgeon and doctor.  I think my credentials speak for themselves,” Winnie retorted dryly. 

No response from the officer this time, just a huff of air as he came to a stop in front of one of the buildings on the camp.  “Wait here, please.” 

Winnie just crossed her arms and waited patiently, inhaling the cool air.  Not even thirty seconds later, the man had returned and gestured for her to enter the room.  Winnie was grateful for the slight reprieve from the cold air as she entered the room.  And there, sitting in a chair and smoking a cigar, was Colonel Sink. 

“If you’d please take a seat, Doctor Allen,” he gestured at the seat across from his desk with his cigar.  Usually quick to follow orders, Winnie slid into the seat, looking at Colonel Sink expectantly.  It was another moment of silence before Colonel Sink set down his cigar and fully looked at her.  “I’ll be honest, we don’t see too many female doctors come through the military.” 

“I expect you’d see more nurses, sir.” 

“Damn right, we do,” Sink stated.  “This whole war—unpleasant business, not really meant for women.” 

“If I can speak freely, sir?” 

“I’d be appreciative of the honesty, if you did.” 

“You’re right, it’s unpleasant.  But those women are still going to bury husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers.  It affects them just as much as it does the men.” 

“I can’t say I disagree.  Your point?” 

“I’m not a married woman.  I’m a trauma surgeon and head of the trauma department in Buford General.  I was the top of my class and as it so happens, I don’t have any children or brothers—they’re all off in training to fight in this war.  I don’t particularly like sitting on my ass or fancy myself a factory worker.  But I can help you train damn good medics, sir.” 

Sink stared at her for a long time.  His gaze reminded her a lot of her mentor’s, from back in college.  He was always trying to figure out her angles too.  Trying to figure out if she was as good as she claimed to be. 

“I’ll be honest with you, Allen.  We’ve got hundreds—thousands—of men coming in the next few months to train to be paratroopers.  Now I want them to be the best of the best.  And if I want them to survive more than five minutes over there, then that means I also need the best of the best doctors to train my medics.  So I’ll concede to your point.  Your application was good—I’m a self-made man myself and I respect that work.” 

“Sir?” 

“But I’ll also be honest with you.  This isn’t going to be pretty.  It’s going to be bloody and long and tiring.  This isn’t the type of place where you can just escape from whatever life you don’t want to live.  At some point, you might be elbows deep in some man’s guts and I need someone unflinching.” 

“October 27th.” 

“Pardon?” 

Winnie shifted in her seat, leaning forward.  “October 27th, a man and his two daughters are brought into Buford General.  Automobile accident.  The man flung his arm in front of his daughter sitting in the passenger seat.  His arm was hanging by a few strands of muscles and he was going to bleed out.  Now the daughter in the passenger seat got impaled by a fence post—it went straight through her stomach.  The daughter in the back was flung through the car and landed 15 feet ahead.” 

“That’s both gruesome and tragic.   Your point being?” 

“I was the surgeon on call that night.  I triaged.  I assessed.  I delegated.  The father lost his arm but he kept his life.  The daughter who flew through the car wasn’t going to make it.  She was 11.  We were short-handed and I had to tell the nurse assisting me that the little girl wasn’t going to make it and that she needed to focus on the other one.  So she did.  We lost the one—but she was mostly gone by the time she had arrived,” Winnie stated.  “My point here is that I can give your men skills that they won’t get anywhere otherwise.  Real life experience teaching practical application of the skills.  Triaging, assessing, not hesitating in doing the work and saving lives.” 

Sink leaned forward in his seat.  “You’d be hard on them?” 

“I’d be brutal. Because that is exactly what they are going to face out there.” 

“You be the hard-ass doctor that trains my medics, then.  But if you’re gonna be here, then you’re gonna train like my men train.” 

“I’m not a fragile southern belle like Melanie Hamilton, sir.” 

“No, I imagine you’re not.  I’ll give you two nurses to assist with actual injuries on base—and based on performance, you and them might just end up traveling with us wherever we end up.” 

“Sir?” 

“What?” 

“Thank you for letting me advocate my case.  I won’t let you down.” 

“You sure as hell better not.  Or lots of good men are going to die and that’s going to be on your shoulders.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Within the first hour of being there, Winnie had selected her nurses from the pile of applications.  It hadn’t been that hard of a choice to begin with—some were just practical eliminations, and the rest were a careful read-through of letters they had sent in along with the application.  

Reba Garrett and Eileen Gray were the two chosen candidates that she had landed on.  Reba was from New England and had been working as a nurse for well over five years now, placing her as one of the older and more experienced women applying for the position.  But it wasn’t her experience that attracted Winnie’s attention—it was the letter, and the way in which she described wanting to do some real good in the war and that started with saving lives rather than ending them. 

That sounded exactly like the type of person that Winnie wanted to have on her side.  

Eileen, on the other hand, was from Savannah, Georgia.  While her experience time of only two years wasn’t quite as well-established as Reba’s was, it was the picture that she had included of her brother that caught Winnie’s attention.  Eileen’s brother had been stationed in Pearl and he had been one of the many men to be immortalized under the ocean there. 

That gave her motivation, it gave her righteous anger—and in Winnie’s eyes, it was exactly the sort of thing that God would do���place Eileen in her path to ensure that justice was seen. 

So Winnie penned her first letters to the two women that would soon be joining her here in Toccoa.  And then she took those resumes straight to Colonel Sink—who wholeheartedly approved of the decision, though it was made in haste.  Just another reason for him to see her as a capable doctor—as someone he could trust. 

And in two weeks time, Eileen Gray and Reba Garrett would be joining her at Camp Toccoa.  In the meantime though, Winnie’s own training was set to begin.  And she’d be damned if she let herself be torn down by any man—her superior officer or not.  She was determined to earn her place amongst the men here—and earn their respect.  Consequences be damned. 

[jenroses]

I am in so much pain.

It's probably temporary but by which I mean "I should have an hour or so of complete relief Tuesday when they do a medial branch block" and if that works for an hour, they will follow it up in an unspecified amount of time with a nerve ablation.

You see, my spine is falling apart. On approximately six levels I have foraminal stenosis, disks bulging or slipped, and substantial spinal arthritis. Also bone spurs. None of those locations include the place where my spine takes a random hitch in what my doctor calls "mild scoliosis" and which I call "what the hell it's not supposed to bend like that and also I'm 52 and no one ever told me shit about scoliosis and I know they looked."

Anyway the cervical segments manifest in migraines sometimes and if I don't use a travel pillow to keep my shoulders off my ears when I side sleep my arms start to have Issues. But those are okay right now.

The problem now is in my lumbar and sacrum, where Something Has Gone Wrong and there are multiple nerves getting pinched and thus I have shooting pains, pins and needles and electric shock sensations down my left leg most of the time and my right leg occasionally.

My baseline chronic pain used to be a 3-4.

It's now 7 on a good day.

I also have me/cfs, and i cannot adequately express to you how fundamentally draining it is to hurt all the time.

Because I'm having a procedure tomorrow, I'm off my supplements. No turmeric extract, which is a startlingly heavy lifter in the inflammation department.

No fish oil, which seems to increase my coping ability.

And I haven't been able to take naproxen, which is a rare breakthrough med for me, since Thursday.

Which leaves oxycodone. I hate oxycodone, because it constipates me and isn't very effective at the levels which don't give me a headache.

I've been sleeping in 3-4 hour medicated chunks. The lidocaine patches which usually help are not really doing it.

Sitting up HURTS like a mofo. Standing up sends shooting pains down my leg and lights up buzzing up and down my thigh.

Nevertheless I've spent the last three weeks in Christmas/birthday prep mode, mostly directing other people's cleaning efforts but building a 3d printer and computer for my kid, and having to micromanage party prep because no one else seems to actually see the messes.

The party is over. I am lying in bed on oxycodone that has brought my pain level down to about a 5. 10 is kidney stones and childbirth. Standing up a few hours ago put me at a 9.

I managed to cobble together 6 or 7 hours of net sleep last night in 3 chunks.

In a bit I will apply a massage lotion and use gua sha stones to work on my hip and thigh. It is a very temporary relief but I need all the relief I can find. If the massage did not fatigue me, I'd do it every damn day. But overstressing my hands makes them hurt.

It's hard to remember that I have not always been in pain and that I will not always be in pain.

Fuck insurance companies and their requirements for me to go though so much to get the actual issues addressed.

Fuck Medicaid for not covering any of this shit when I had it.

Fuck fatphobic doctors who just shrugged and said "you're too fat to operate on" when I asked for help 2 years ago. The doctors I'm working with now are the second opinion but if I'd gotten real help 2 years ago I'd be better off already.

Anyway fuck everything. I'm getting 100% of my dopamine from the lovely comments people are leaving on my fanfics. So I've been posting rapidly. There's a good chance this is my last fanfic.

We're supposed to go to Costa Rica in February. I hope I can.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Uhh i request you

<-forgot everything about creepypasta after stopping reading fanfics

Uhhhhhhh

Um

...slenderman uhhhhm meeting reader who is the same.. species? Found family????? Reader being chipper and welcoming?? Artistic and calming?? Basically um. I dunno. They also live in the woods and collect poor souls, helping them cope and detach from this world??????

I am.. stoopid.

Slenderman x slender-person!artistic!reader ! (found family)

dusts out my slenderman hcs as well as my au ideas on him aheehee ahoo speed running this since i just put my first round of macarons into the oven and im too impatient to wait until theyre done baking for me to write this NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT

okay but im getting this idea out of the way before i forget. imagine the reader, instead of doing paintings and stuff for the "artist" thing they make little structures and statues and stuff and have them around in your area. of course theyre all made with forest material; mud, sticks, pinecones, ect ect i dont know, i just love the nature aesthetic with this idea and rrrraaaaaAAAAH

for some reason or another, you make your home in the same woods THE slenderman lives in; or perhaps it was the otherway around? regardless, it doesnt take long for you to become aware of one another....

okay but how funny would it be if you guys bonded over your annoyances over people collecting your stuff. people taking his pages, and people taking your art projects (at least the ones that are portable). like!

though i cannot think of any lore reasons for slendermans pages in my au.... i will one day i promise, i feel like thats too much of an iconic thing to just cut out

it DOES take a long while for slenderman to get used to you, much less foster a friendship with you... but a family bond? i mean yeah sure, hes very reclusive... but thats not just with humans. he doesnt like interacting with other creatures, either

pats your shoulder

my moot

my dear moot, allow me to go on a tangent about my take on slenderman

basic summary is that he and all other demon/most nonhuman creepypasta characters were made by zalgo in my funky au; basically to bring disorder and that kind of shit. but like in a "this is just a part of this universe's nature" way. thus making slenderman himself in my take the be a simple fact of life... thinks.. and he resents his own existence, i think. i mean how cruel is it that he was made to cause issues, in fact he cant live without it (eats people) but he was granted the ability to be able to grasp the complexity of morals and emotion. like thats fucked

i love it

anyways, theres that and him just naturally being reclusive! hell even his supposed "brothers" (splendor and trender, i refuse to touch the third one) hes still.. distant

basically what i mean to say is that you guys probably arent going to be.. outwardly close... if that makes sense. like hes not going to be very affectionate; so dont expect many familial... things... and its not often that he would seek conversation out... though

as i write that, if i recall correctly i did give him the vague craving of connection, and while i usually save that for traditional x reader stuff, i think this would still apply to found family stuff! so actually, i think he WOULD eventually start seeking your company out, just for the fact of having someone else to talk to who doesnt resent his existence the same way he resents his own

sits

given my silly hc i do think he would have some understanding with your relationship with humans/lost souls. would he do it himself? i think it really depends on the situation... like if hes not actively hunting he usually just drives people out of the woods, no sense in wasting.... things... you know?

sits

im all jumbled all over the place my apolocheese im just excited to write for slenderman again

will get annoyed if you snatch away his "meal" since AGAIN, he was cursed to feed on people . like he understands why you did it, and he has mixed feelings around eating human (like not in a "im distressed and i hate it" way more so "its not totally desirable but i cant survive without doing this" way)

sits

i think

im gonna toy around with my slenderman hcs... this ended up being more of a hc dump than a x reader, my apologies

its also that as im typing this i realize how similar my takes on eyeless jack and slenderman are... which is funny because they live in the same woods in my au but they fucking HATE each other

territorial stuff you know

[sterlingsilver-starlight]

You are a Gift ❤️‍🩹

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Female Reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort, angst, drama, fluff, romance

Content Warnings: emotional trauma (reader has verbally abusive mother), very brief implication of past suicidal thoughts, briefly racist language/discussion of racist behavior (reader is mixed white/Asian) mild language, intimate moments (heated makeout scene, but nothing further)

Word Count: 5938 words

Summary: After struggling with an abusive mother’s racist and oppressive behavior, Reader finds solace (and possibly more) in the arms of her closest friend, Seonghwa…

Inspirations: I listened to this emotional music mix and this piano tutorial version of Star 1117 while writing this :]

This was very comforting to write…this is the first fanfic I’ve written (though I’ve read plenty here and there ^^); I hope everyone can find someone like this in their life 🫶🏼

Also please note that this is in no way supposed to represent or depict the actual idol; this is just created for storytelling/entertainment purposes only :)

“Hey…what’s going on? Is everything alright?”

You slumped against the wall, head pounding as dizzy visions pranced about the room overhead. Your hands trembled at the slightest of sounds. Your eyes brimmed with tears that refused to fall, yet collected on your lashes like raindrops after the storm.

What even was real? What was life, anymore? What had it been?

Every step you took…only ever felt like it was one being taken backwards.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were just a failure at life. A disappointment because you couldn’t keep straight even the most basic things.

You’d tried to drown out the noise as much as you could. But there was only so much you could play pretend with.

The chill in your spine ached like the fever dreams you’d been struggling to cope with the past few nights. Sweat pouring down your temples, constantly waking up in the middle of the night scared with tear-stained cheeks.

You had never meant to get sick. You had never meant to come home and spend the weekend recovering from a cold. And most of all, you had never meant to spread it to your sister.

So little could have prepared you for the awful things your mother would shout back, in spite and hatred that you could do little to deflect.

Except ignore, grit your teeth against, and eventually, cave into and cry silent tears to.

“We were having a great weekend until you had to go and get sick and get your sister sick!”

“I’ll bet you’re so glad you went to see that movie this week, huh? Maybe if you’d had some white friends you’d actually have known better than to walk in the cold like an idiot!”

“Stop pretending to be someone you’re not! All you do is act like you’re 120% Asian! Newsflash: You’re NOT, so get off it!”

There was no end. You bit your lip, fingers shaking furiously. There was no end to what might be said the next day.

Maybe this had all just been a horrible idea to bring him into it, too. You were just disturbing him. After all, isn’t that what she always said? That you were too sensitive to everything in plain —

“Y/n?”

You inhaled a shaky breath, desperately trying not to cry, but to hear him call your name, to hear someone call your name so calmly, as though you weren’t just a piece of trash left on the streets, triggered a dam of emotions.

“I-I…” you started, hoping he would still stay on the line after having been given the unintentional silent treatment for so long already.

“It’s okay. Go on. I’m right here. Talk to me, okay?”

You choked back a sob. “I-I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience to you. I’m sorry for calling so suddenly, on such short notice, I…” You took a deep breath. “I don’t have anyone else to talk to right now, I’ve been in hell these past few days and I know I look like it. I feel like it. I’ve constantly been reminded how much I’ve screwed everyone’s lives up, to the point that I got so afraid that maybe…”

You couldn’t go on.

There was a light sigh on the other end. “They’re all settled in by now, right?”

Your eyes widened at the sudden shift in topic. “Y-yeah. W-why?”

“Pack some stuff in a bag. You’re staying with me for a few nights.”

Nothing else could have compelled you to gather clothes and spare toiletries in a duffel bag so quickly and so quietly, especially on a late Saturday night.

But when Seonghwa gave you advice so directly, you didn’t hesitate to see it through. He’d been one of your closest friends for what seemed like forever, even though it had only been slightly less than two years since you first encountered him walking to class one chilly winter morning. You smiled at the brief memory.

Headphones charged up, supplies ready to go for lecture, phone at the ready for impromptu sky snapshots, check threefold. You smiled at the glistening snow on the trees, the slight crunch your boots made with every step, the way the sun brightened the eyes of even —

There was a jolt, and before you knew it, you’d completely spazzed out and knocked into a fellow passersby. Pulling down your headphones, you turned around frantically. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

The stranger looked up at you with warm brown eyes that scrunched upward as he smiled. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good. I should have watched more carefully, no?” He chuckled lightly tapping near his ears, indicating your headphones.

Your eyes widened, cheeks burning crimson. “O-oh! Yeah…sorry about that! Once I hear a good song, I just really get lost in its melody, I guess!” You bit your lip, trying to look anywhere else besides this man’s general direction. He was really quite beautiful, though, the more you observed him: from the outline of his nose jutting out nicely from the soft curve of his eyes and round, full lips, to the delicate swoop of his jet-black, wavy hair.

“Anyway!” you started, realizing you’d been taking in his features much too long. “I’m Y/n. Nice to meet you…?”

“It’s Seonghwa,” he replied softly. “Nice to meet you as well.”

“Seonghwa…” you tested the name on your tongue. “It’s a very nice name. I think it suits you very well.” You beamed up at him shyly.

Now it was his turn to blush. “T-thank you, yours as well…Y/n.”

You sighed as you packed the last pair of socks in your bag. Yes, it really had been that long already since you two had met, and it hadn’t taken an eclipse or anything nearly as occasional for the two of you to become as thick as thieves. For it had turned out that he was also a student at the university, so naturally, you started meeting up regularly, sometimes for study sessions, sometimes to explore the campus, sometimes just to talk about everything and nothing all at once.

And he was the trustworthy, empathetic kind of person as well. So much that, the first time things had really gone downhill back home for the weekend, you had felt dead certain he was the only person you knew who could be trusted with knowing such details. It wasn’t a logical conclusion, going straight off how long you’d known each other, or anything of the sort.

You could just feel it.

At first, you’d been deathly afraid that he might view you differently, worse even, if he knew what kind of dysfunctional shambles you were living under. But when he’d taken your hand that day and assured you that he wasn’t going anywhere, only then did you feel brave enough to tell him what was happening.

Fast forward to tonight, and something very similar was happening. The problem is, you realized, there were still secrets in the shadows that even he did not know of, and that you would rather die than attempt confessing to him.

You see, over the times you’d spent getting to know each other, getting to trust one another more and more, you’d slowly but surely found yourself developing feelings for him, but with how close and intimate your friendship was, you’d been determined never to say anything. Why chance it? Why chance losing a bond that was so precious, that had given you so much hope, so much strength through so much chaos?

“It probably wouldn’t matter, anyway,” you mumbled to yourself. This offer he’d made over the phone was probably just a one-time thing. You were sure that had the roles been reversed, you would be doing the same out of compassion.

You turned again towards your bedroom door, reveling and realizing in that moment all the hells and horrors you’d been an earwitness to for so many years. Most probably wouldn’t believe it when you said that the words your mother spoke, whether out loud to you face-to-face or within earshot from another room to your sister or father, were enough to make one consider taking their own life.

But it was true.

You hated how things had gotten to this point, but, you supposed, maybe most of it could be attributed to just growing older and becoming more aware, more dead set on educating yourself about the red flags and the signs that something, or someone, was toxic. That their atmosphere, their vibe, so to speak, was unhealthy for you to keep absorbing like secondhand cigarette smoke.

There wasn’t much you could do about it, though. You were a full-time university student whose campus happened to be close to your family’s house, so being the frugal young adult you aimed so much to be, you’d chosen off-campus housing with your parents for financial reasons. There were much bigger struggles out there, you’d convinced yourself, that you just didn’t want to tackle yet: juggling bills, paying for your living space, and so on. And while you had been able to save up a bit of money from your summer job, you needed to continue those habits as long as you could to make it all the more easier after you graduated and started working for a while, to ease your mind before graduate school.

A sharp pair of raps at your window startled the rambling trail of wondering memories. You jolted, having squatted the whole time by your bag just collecting things and your thoughts, and looked like a deer caught in headlights as you quickly turned to the glowing windowsill, curtains drawn back enough that they resembled billowing, flowing tendrils in the night.

Seonghwa’s smile might have been hidden by the backlight of the moon tonight, but you could still make out his almost toothless grin as he beamed back at you from the other side of the glass. You couldn’t help but return it as you slowly got up to open the window, realizing how grateful you were that your bedroom was on the first floor.

“So,” he started, looking up at you with a twinkle in his eyes, “are you ready?”

You nodded. “Yeah.” You grabbed one of your bag straps tightly. “Yeah. I am.” You wore a firm-lipped smile as you carefully followed him out the window, taking one more quick look-around behind you to make sure nothing was too out of place — not that anyone would be checking for the next week, anyway. Since you had been getting over a cold, almost everyone (namely your mother and sister) had decided you were about as worth talking to as an infected might be in a zombie apocalypse series: enough to confirm alive-or-not status, and after that, nil.

Realizing this, you stopped behind him and tried not to panic already. He heard your lack of footsteps and stopped with you. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m feeling…fine now, but I should let you know,” you continued, backing away slightly to put more distance between the two of you, “I was getting over a cold recently, and —”

“Y/n, I’ll have you know that I’m not just gonna abandon you because you were feeling a little unwell. Everyone gets sick from time to time. Sure, it’s not the greatest thing to be feeling, but it’s certainly no reason to start treating you like you aren’t still, well, you. You’re still the Y/n I know and love, so that settles it.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, taking no apparent notice of the way that your heart was pounding in your throat at those words — or at the smooth warmth of his fingertips.

Don’t overthink it, he’s just saying those things from a place of friendship, remember?

“Come on, let’s go. My place isn’t too far from here, remember? Plus, it might be a good time for a walk.”

Once you made it to his apartment, you felt unease slowly dissipate from your body.

“Make yourself at home. I have no intention of kicking you out quickly, so stay here as long as you feel you need to.” He took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the hallway. You smiled, taking note of the fluffy pink headband with cat ears still hanging near the end; it’d been a birthday present to him not too long ago that you’d figured he would like since cats were something he could just about talk your ear off from.

Setting your bag down, you took a seat on one of the sofas in his living room, the open layout of the place allowing you to continue watching him as he moved his things around, flicked on the lamp near the sofa, and settled in next to you.

“So…” he clasped his hands together, rubbing them gingerly.

“So…?” you repeated playfully, already feeling a bit more lighthearted than you had just earlier.

“What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

You took a deep breath. “Well, you know how earlier I was saying I’ve been getting over being sick, right?”

“Yeah?”

You nodded sadly. “Well…my mom…she didn’t take too kindly to that when she found out. Like, at all. I had a mask on just to be safe when I was headed to my room after my shower, which is unlike me because I usually take it off when I’m home, but my sister spotted it and then pointed it out and then my mom took notice and, and —” You felt tears start pooling in your eyes again, and frantically put the back of a hand to your mouth to quell any sobs that threatened to come forward.

“Shh, shh…it’s okay,” Seonghwa assured you, rubbing one hand gently up and down your back, taking care with the other to pull away the shaky fist you had balled up by your lips. “Keep going, you’re doing great. Nothing and nobody is going to hurt you right now. It’s just you and me. Right here. Right now.”

His hand didn’t leave yours, his fingers slowly unwrapping your clenched ones until they were intertwined.

You swallowed, taken aback by his boldness. “M-my mom took notice, and from then on…it was like I was a prisoner of war being looked down upon every other minute. Even from behind my closed door, I could hear her spewing angrily how surely I had just gotten sick on purpose so I wouldn’t have to do anything while I was at home, how I just loved ruining everyone’s day and everyone’s weekend and how I never failed to not take care of myself and make everyone stressed about possibly catching something from me and…” You looked up at his round boba eyes with your own teary ones.

“And?” he questioned, eyes never leaving yours.

“And…” you stumbled, recalling more that you didn’t want to recall. “How I’m a fool for surrounding myself with people who aren’t white, even though I’m myself white. How…” I bit my lip, still looking into his eyes — for courage, for strength, for something deeper than what I’d been led all these years to believe existed within the eyes of someone viewed in my house as ethnically inferior.

“How?” he continued, urging you to keep going, no matter how hard it got in the middle, or near the end, or even in the beginning, of your words.

“How…I’m bringing shame to my family and convincing myself otherwise just to feel good. How…the friendships I’ve kept are…ridiculous because they’re mostly Asian, perpetuating the lies I tell myself about being mixed or wanting to identify as mixed, even though genetically I am mixed because my mom is half Asian, so by genetics that automatically makes me a quarter.” You broke down into soft sobs. “B-b-but that’s n-not even the worst p-part.”

He said nothing, but the squeeze he gave your hand was more than enough of a response. You worried about continuing, but at this point, you were already in too deep, so you figured you might as well put things out there while you still could.

“The worst part,” you trembled, “is that my own mother would rather die than see me one day in a relationship with someone who isn’t white. Like it would be doing some disgrace to her efforts with having married a white guy, my dad.” You shivered. “It’s just not fair, Hwa! Getting taunted that I pretend to be someone I’m not is one thing, having the friends I meet up with to go see a movie get made fun of and berated because of their ethnicity is another, but now it’s about the kind of person I might one day want to be involved romantically with? I can’t —” You ripped your hand from his to catch your face in both hands. “I can’t take this anymore, Hwa! It’s just not right!”

Uncontrollable crying resonated throughout the apartment for what felt like hours on end. The broken child inside of you was aching more and more with every passing second, half in disbelief of all the verbal and mental abuse and trauma you’d gone through for so many years, especially recently, and then half in shock that you weren’t already dead by now from collapse and grief and complete hopelessness.

“Maybe she was right…maybe I do deserve to just —”

“Stop it right now.” The solemn firmness of his statement knocked you out of a weeping daze instantly. He was firm, yes, and he could be firm, yes. But never authoritatively like this.

“What?” You brushed strands of hair out of your eyes, blinking back tears, lips trembling like hell had frozen over.

“Stop saying these horrible things about yourself. Even if they aren’t things you yourself said in the first place.” He took both of your hands away from your face, cupping your cheeks so that you were both looking each other in the eyes again.

“You are an amazing person, inside and out, and if she can’t see that because of something as trivial as you falling ill temporarily, then she is the fool, not you. She mentions how you’re bringing shame to the family by believing or supporting the people and the cultures you do? Well, she should be ashamed of herself for being mixed and yet being the one to dishonor it as much as she does. And as for that last point?”

He bent down so you were both at eye level, close enough now to watch every eyelash as it flickered up and down between blinks.

“That last point…I personally think that’s for you to decide, who you’re interested in and whatnot. Ignore the noise she brings into your head. It won’t always be there to cloud your thoughts. I know you wish you could have been able to foster a better relationship with her, but…” His eyes slowly welled with tears as well, making yours only brim more.

You hated seeing him cry.

“H-hwa…y-you’re crying…” you raised a hand to caress his cheek, wiping away a lone tear.

He smiled sadly. “For good reason.” His eyes widened more as he took you in. “And…”

“What is it?”

“You’ve never called me Hwa before.”

You smiled back softly. “I guess it just slipped out. Spur of the moment. But…you’re the only constant I have in my life right now. Like the stars.”

His cheeks warmed. “Then I guess it’s only fair to say that you are very much…the same, in my eyes.”

You bit your lip yet again, instantly reminded of the day you two had met when you were a nervous wreck and eager to look anywhere else as much as you could.

“Yes, really.” He repeated, as though answering your unspoken doubt. He continued smiling at you, no ill intent or manipulation locked away in those warm brown eyes, no hatred or malice brushing aside the pure kindness and love that somehow, you could just sense in his gaze.

“Then I…” It may very well have been now or never. You had never been more sure of anything in your life than you were at this very moment, and yet you had never been more unsure of anything, either.

Somehow he seemed to catch on. “Do what you need to do.”

Your breath hitched. “I’m afraid.”

“I already told you…I’m right here. Talk to me. Okay?”

You leaned in, the flicker of the lamp only adding to the small warmth nestled within this space that you two shared.

“Hwa, I…I don’t know how else to put this.”

“Try.”

“You…you feel like home.”

A smile. “I’m glad. Because so do you.”

His hands reached to grip yours, firmly but softly, before he leaned in slowly, closing his eyes. You followed suit, the last thing you saw being the trickle of a tear or two down his lashes, down his cheek, before you met his lips in a gentle kiss. You pulled away slowly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, checking with him silently to make sure it was okay.

To make sure this was real and reciprocated as you were, hopefully, not overreading into.

He smiled back, a small crinkle in his eyes as his view flickered to your lips and then back to your eyes again.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his, this time letting your hands travel through his locks, pulling him in closer while his hands wrapped around your waist, moving you ever so slightly so you were in his lap. His tongue nudged your bottom lip, and you obliged, sucking softly on the warm muscle that now danced lithely in your mouth.

His fingers massaged up and down the small of your back, soothingly, as the kiss deepened and the world around you seemed to fade away. For whatever horrors and dangers might be beheld outside these walls, in this moment, it was as though the universe had conspired for circumstances to bring the two of you together here, in the now, in a moment that felt like a dream inside a dream.

With every tender touch of his lips against yours, you could feel warmth and affection pouring from his soul, and through the tears, through the ache of the past, your heart still raced in response, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. It brought a sense of serenity in this way your bodies seemed to melt into each other — a connection that transcended mere words.

You lost track of time as the kiss continued, wrapped up in the sensation of living mindfully, living in the moment, of being so close to him, feeling his breath against your skin, and the way his fingers played a gentle symphony on your back. It was a moment of pure bliss, and you couldn’t help but somehow be grateful for the pain and turmoil that had enhanced your ability to fully embrace and cherish this point — for how would you have been able to genuinely feel the significance of a moment like this, had you not gone through so much dark before?

When you both needed to catch your breath, you pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other. Your eyes locked, and you shared a wordless conversation, a silent promise of what the future might hold for the two of you. It was an unspoken agreement that whatever challenges were up ahead, you would face them together.

His fingers continued to trace patterns on your back, and he spoke softly, “What would you say if I told you I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, and that it’s even more incredible than I ever thought it would be?”

You giggled, feeling the deepest of happiness truly start to bubble up inside of you. “Me too,” you replied. “I guess I should have just said something earlier on, no?”

His laughter filled the room, a rich, melodious sound that still sent shivers down your spine. “Maybe,” he considered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But I think the anticipation, the longing, made it all the sweeter…even if it took the pain that you’ve been so strong to overcome to get there.” He leaned in to kiss you again, his lips moving with a newfound urgency, a hunger that you sensed had been building for far too long.

As your mouths met once more, the kiss deepened, and the passion between you ignited like a wildfire. His hands moved from your back, now exploring the curves of your body, tracing every inch of your form as if committing it to memory. You gasped into the kiss when his fingers delicately found their way to the small of your back again, pressing you closer to him.

The room seemed to grow warmer, your breaths coming faster and heavier. The chemistry between you was undeniable, an electric charge that pulsed through every touch and every kiss. His tongue danced with yours — a sensual, intoxicating rhythm that left you breathless.

You moved your hands from his hair to his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch. You could sense the desire in his every movement, and it mirrored your own. The intensity between you kept growing like a storm on the horizon, threatening to consume you both.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake. Your back arched as his mouth nibbled on an area just below your ear, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He smiled and started sucking slowly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body like lightning.

With a desire that couldn’t be contained any longer, you straddled his lap. It was a bold move, but you were both now beyond the point of hesitation. His hands explored your body more eagerly now, caressing your curves, tracing every inch of your skin as he murmured sweet, passionate words of longing.

The heat between you two continued to intensify, your bodies pressing closer together. Every touch, every caress, every stolen kiss sent electric currents of desire through your veins. It was truly a symphony of passion, and you both were eager to explore every note and melody.

Your fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing each one as you revealed the sculpted contours of his chest. His skin was warm and smooth beneath your touch, and you couldn’t resist tracing your fingers along the lines of his muscles. His sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement you needed to continue.

His own hands weren’t idle, either, as they slid beneath your clothes, slowly teasing the sensitive skin of your lower back. You shivered at the touch, a mixture of delightful anticipation and longing snaking through your body. It was a dance of sensation, a thrilling exploration of each other’s bodies that left you both aching for more.

His lips continued their journey down your neck, leaving a trail of soft, moist kisses that made your skin tingle. You couldn’t help but arch your back more, a quiet moan escaping your lips as you kept yearning for his touch, a fire of pleasure igniting within you. The sensation of it all was exquisite, and you held onto him tightly, your nails grazing his back as you bit your lip to stifle your moans, all the while feeling the comfort of being in the arms of someone who genuinely, deeply cared for you.

As the two of you finally broke apart and just lay there, sweat still building and hearts still beating like there was no tomorrow, he sighed in content. Wrapped in the afterglow of your intense connection, he whispered, “You’re safe now, love. I honestly hope you packed enough things coming here, because…”

You eyed him curiously. “Because…?”

He smirked, giving you one more small peck on the lips. “Because you don’t have to go back to that place, to the pain your mother brought. I’ll protect you, and we’ll build a better future together.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Then…in that case…does this mean that we’re past…?”

He smiled. “That we’re past the point of friendship? Well,” he laughed softly, “considering how the past several moments were just spent, I would believe so. Unless you would prefer otherwise?” He pulled his signature eyebrow raise that instantly made you feel weak in the knees.

“N-no, definitely not!” you stuttered, half-excited and half-nervous. “I mean…I’ve just never gotten to the point where anyone wanted to consider me like that…l-like a girlfriend, I mean.”

“Well,” he whispered near your ear, hot breath cascading down your neck with every syllable, “consider me honored to be the first.” He left a gentle trail of kisses near your collarbone before meeting you at eye level again, waiting for your response.

On the one hand you were filled with gratitude and love, brimming with hope for the future, but on the other hand memories of your past kept your heart heavy. Your throat felt tight as words became hard to say, though they formed so quickly in your mind.

Hwa noticed the shadow that crossed your face, the turmoil still swirling within you, and he gently lifted your chin to meet your gaze. “I can see the worry in your eyes,” he said, his voice tender. “You’re afraid that you’re inconveniencing me with everything now, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip and nodded, the insecurities ingrained by years of manipulation from your mother resurfacing. “I can’t help but feel like a burden sometimes. It’s just that…my mom always made me think I was, and it’s hard to shake those feelings.”

Stroking your hair, Hwa leaned his forehead against yours. “I know you’ve been carrying the weight of your past for a long time. I know you’re still coping with moments of doubt, especially from the difficult relationship you’ve had with your mother. But please, please understand that you are not defined by her words or her actions.”

You closed your eyes finally, feeling the warmth of his presence soothing your troubled soul. “I’ve tried to be strong, again and again,” you whispered. “I’ve tried to let go of the past…but it’s like a shadow that never quite disappears.”

Hwa’s voice was filled with empathy as he continued. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel vulnerable, to acknowledge your pain. You’re not a failure. You’re a survivor, and you’re so much more than the hurtful words that were thrown at you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you finally, finally allowed them to spill over, lips trembling as you realized in that split-second how much you’d pushed to the back of your mind, how much you’d really forced yourself to hide away all these years — how much you’d feared being shunned by another as your own blood mother had for so long. “I just…I don’t w-want to b-burden you with my problems. I’m a-afraid…to be too sensitive, like she always said. Or to string you along under the guise that I’m something I’m not, like an imposter of my heritage or — ”

“Your mother’s words have no basis in reality,” Hwa began, his voice firm but gentle. “You aren’t defined by her prejudices or expectations. You aren’t a prisoner of her narrow-minded views. Y/n, you are your own person, with your own identity, and you have every right to embrace all aspects of your heritage, including the Asian part.”

Your eyes met his, wanting to believe the truth behind what he was telling you. “But, Hwa, I’m only a quarter Asian, and my mom’s made me feel like I have no right to claim that part of my identity. Plus, she makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong by having friends who aren’t white.”

He smiled softly and cupped your face, shaking his head as his eyes filled with warmth. “You are as much Asian as you are anything else. It’s not about the percentage, it’s about how you feel and what you choose to embrace. Embracing your Asian heritage doesn’t make you any less of who you are. It’s a part of your identity, and you have every right to explore and celebrate it. And your friends, no matter their ethnicity, are bringing diversity and richness to your life. I can always see the effect glowing in your eyes. Don’t ever lose that spark. It’s what adds to your amazing character, whether you know it or not. Those connections you’re always so apt to keep making just reflect the beauty of your open heart and your willingness to meet people from different backgrounds. You should be proud of the friendships you’ve built, so don’t let anyone ever make you feel otherwise.”

You felt a spark of hope kindling within you, the idea that you could embrace all facets of your identity, all features of your ethnic communities, and not be constrained by your mother’s views. You wrapped your arms around Hwa’s neck, nestling your cheek against the warmth of his chest, the steady pace of his beating heart syncing in time to your slowing breaths.

Hwa’s expression softened even more, and as he held you tighter, he looked down at you lovingly, wiping yet another stray tear. “And you are not a burden, my love. You are a gift. You bring so much light and happiness into my life, and I’m grateful for every moment we share. Your feelings are valid. I’m here because I want to be, because I care about you, and because I want to support you through this journey of healing, however long it might take. Your sensitivity is a strength, not a weakness. And it hurts me to see you carry this weight, but please know, you are cherished, and you belong here.”

His words were like a warm embrace for your soul, and you felt the tight knot of self-doubt beginning to unravel. “Thank you for being so understanding and patient with me, Hwa,” you whispered, tears of gratitude glistening in your eyes.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead and held you close. “You’re not alone in this, my love. We’ll face your past together and build a brighter future, one filled with the love and happiness you deserve. I’ll always be here to support you, to remind you of your worth, and to love you unconditionally. You’re not alone in this, and you never will be.”

You smiled slowly but surely at him again, bringing him close to you for another kiss, softer but sweeter this time around. As you nestled into his arms, the storm of your past seemed to fade away, and you basked in the love and acceptance that he offered. With each passing moment, you felt yourself healing, letting go of the guilt and insecurity that had held you back for so long.

With Hwa’s support, you felt more and more of a renewed sense of hope and determination, ready to leave behind the painful memories and look forward to the beginning of a life you could feel ready to step towards, together. A breeze began to pick up outside, as far as you both could hear, but you could care less now, your embrace and love stretching the seconds and enriching the heart in such a way as to convey just how thankful you were to have him in your life, in your arms, in your warmth, and in your future.

[prepare4trouble]

So, after my post about finding old fic, I decided to make a post, of fanfics I’ve loved over the years. I thought maybe other people might enjoy them too.

It’s not a complete list, there are a lot of other fics that aren’t in the list, mainly because I have and have had favourites saved all over the place, and I’ve got still more that I probably haven’t remembered. I’ll add more later.

All of these are complete, I haven’t included WIPS as much as I have some I loved, I doubt they will ever be finished now. Maybe I’ll add them later too, with warnings of course.

Most of these are pretty long. They are all ones I’ve gone back and read over and over, some though, I haven’t read in years, so maybe they’re not as good as I remember. Hopefully they are though.

This list is mainly for my own benefit, but I hope someone else gets some enjoyment out of these too, and please feel free to reblog and add your own faves.

So, in no particular order:

Cruel Necessity by Epona Harper - Real Ghostbusters fanfic. 79k words.

Summary: An attack on Peter has far-reaching repercussions.

No Little Charity by Perspi - House MD fanfic. 37351 words.

Summary: It was an old ritual, old magic from before the world had rational explanations and cold science. Cold science had failed House; Wilson had nothing left to try but this. (You need to be logged in to view this one)

Tarred and Feathered by Crydamoure - Good Omens fanfic. 75735 words.

Summary: It was the most obvious punishment. The Archangel created to carry Her voice suddenly rendered mute.

(Gabriel falls, personally inconveniencing Beelzebub)

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan - Good Omens fanfic. 10452 words.

Summary: "All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?"

Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.

 "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."

 AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it

Eclipse by AconitumNapellus - Star Trek TOS fanfic. 82773 words.

Summary: Spock is blinded in an explosion on the Enterprise and relocates to Earth for his rehabilitation. While he grows used to his new world and finally returns to the Enterprise, he and the crew must find out if the explosion was an accident, or terrorism.

(This one is part of a series, but you can get to the others from this one)

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm. Good Omens fanfic. 99423 words.

Summary: As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

--His clothing was expensive and stylish;
--He wore very strange but noticeable cologne;
--His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;”
--He looked angry;
--He was wearing sunglasses.

What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

The Manipulation of Julian Bashir By The Tystie. Star Trek DS9 fanfic. 218000 words

SUMMARY: When you have lived a lie for over half your life, how do you cope when the truth comes out? A story about Julian Bashir, set in season 5.

[rebeccasteventaylor]

So occasionally I see something about hyperfixation are bad.

(Not here, this place understands…)

I’m the kind of person who gets hyperfixated. I find something, I get obsessed, I read/watch it over again, I think about it, I track down anything tangentially connected, I read all the posts, all the fanfics, write my own.

And I think this is great.

Because at the very darkest parts of my life, hyperfixating on something saved me. I had to keep going, I had to see the next episode. I could escape from my shitty life into somewhere else. I didn’t have to think about my life, I could think about someone else’s.

And yes, I was told I should concentrate on fixing my own life and not a fictional characters, but sometimes your own life just can’t be fixed, and I needed a way out.

And as I watched my fictional characters go through hell, I learned how to cope with my hell. I learned a lot of lessons from Sam Carter…

And then I started to write. I wrote my hyper fixations into stories and I learned to write to the point where I could paid for writing fiction.

And that was all because of my hyper fixation. And even though my life is better now, I still happily and of my own free will, hyper fixate.

Because it makes me happy. Getting a thrill from watching my favourite characters smile at each other (thank you Benji and Ethan) is still a good thrill. Assessing every tiny detail of a scene still makes me excited. Knowing I’ll get more soon still keeps me going. Fanfics and fanart are so beautiful and amazing and compelling.

And of course - there’s the community. A bunch of like minded people shouting ‘that old man and the triangle should kiss and then try to kill each other’ is so much more fun than just doing it alone. I’ve discovered so many wonderful people online through my hyper fixation (and those people led me the self discovery of my own queerness).

Anyway - the next time someone tells you your hyper fixation is bad and unhealthy and you should live in the real world, you should think about all the good it does in your life. And then tell them to fuck off, because what has it got to do with them? Your brain, your business.

[jasmine-tea-latte]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love 💜

Thank you so much, love! ❤️❤️❤️

While I love my bigger, ongoing fics ("delicate" and TYCSTD), I'm veering into a slightly different approach.

Besides my more well-known fics, these five will always have a place in my heart.

Of Halos, Waves, and Starlight – The very first fic that I wrote, the one that kicked all of this off! This one is my baby, the one that I wrote based on a fleeting idea and a want to see a ZK fic with them dancing and falling in love. It was June 2020, shortly after that year’s Zutara Week prompts had been released and the pandemic shut down everything, and I had a lot more free time on my hands. So I thought, why not? Let’s write a fanfic for the hell of it! Then once I finished Halos, I decided to write something for all seven prompts… and the rest is history!

The Fortuneteller and the Fire Prince – This one was born from a tumblr post, when I thought “that sounds like a fun fic idea – I’d want to read that!” before deciding, “actually, I want to write that.” This is my third most-liked fic, and it’s one that I go back to from time to time. I just love the idea of S1 Zuko discovering that a certain waterbending peasant might just be the love of his life. This was so fun to write ❤️

this pain won’t be for evermore – This little two-parter was another fic that was a lot of fun to write. I have a fondness for Pining!Zuko and this one has a whole forest full of our fiery boi pining away. Katara’s POV in the second chapter was also a pleasant surprise, as I initially hadn’t planned to add on to it. I followed this fic up with another entry for ZK Drabble December 2020, though this one will always be one of my favorites.

You are the Ocean (and I'm Good at Drowning) – This is one of my more purple-prose-ish (purply prose? purplish prose?) fics, and I make zero apologies for how indulgent it is, even if it probably defies the law of physics on some level. This fic is straight-up fluff and steam, and I have such a soft spot for this little story.

little rays of starlight – One of these days I will go back to working on the parent fic that inspired this one, but it is not this day. In the meantime, this was a sweet little break from everything else, set in The Phoenix and the Dragon universe and chronicling ZK’s first trip to the South Pole after becoming parents, hoping to show their daughter the southern lights. I love doting, fussy mother hen Zuzu worrying about their bebe while his loving wife looks on, grinning at her dork of a husband. There are lots of continuity nods and a few references that tie this to the parent fic, though it can be read as a standalone.

A runner-up would be Happy Birthday, Father Lord, also set in the same AU as “little rays of starlight.” This one was written as a coping mechanism during a particularly stressful time, and I needed a dose of major fluff to cheer me up. Yes, back when I first came up with this universe I gave ZK a whopping SEVEN steambabies. Yes, I got carried away and no, nowadays they’d have a fraction of that at most. But still, this one was a lot of fun and best of all, there’s a lot of love.

I tag you – yes you! Don’t make me go into your inbox 😉

[beautyofsorrow]

fic author q&a

tagged by @onmytallesttiptoesspinning :)

why do you write fanfic?

my brain is a kinder space to live inside when i write, and fic is the quickest way to get words down on the page these days. also, thinking about the characters is not enough. i need to put them in enclosures and study them. i need to take notes. i need to read those notes obsessively. i need to scatter my toys all over the carpet and invite my friends to admire and compliment them and play.

which of your posted stories do you think of the most even though the story is "finished"?

...........this one. it's definitely this one.

if you could give yourself fic advice from when you first started writing fic, what would that advice be?

stop quoting bible verses. let the characters curse. don't freak out when a b7 shipper shows up in the comments section of your friendship fic, you're not going to get sent to hell for being interpreted as writing gay fanfiction. in fact, give it another ten years and you WILL be writing gay fanfiction. on purpose. with your whole chest. please put the jadzia and worf action figures down and back away slowly, you're just gay for dax, you do not really ship them.

what's your relationship to fic stats?

unfriended, blocked, reported. i have workskins installed so i can only see my total word count. on individual works i can see word count, chapter count, and whether the fic is in a collection or not but that is IT. my life has gotten immeasurably better since i did this

is there a pairing or scenario or friendship that you miss writing? if so, why? if not, why not?

raffi & rios. my god i miss raffi & rios. every day i yearn for the day i can take that box off the highest shelf of the closet and open it back up

what motivates you to write?

brainworms. literally the characters are in my head and i need to get them out. if they stay there too long shit starts getting rancid. i also really enjoy participating in gift exchanges because it gives me a deadline, structure, and a community that is focused on writing rather than a specific fandom. we are all cheering each other on in our various anonymous projects and it's so great!

why do you write for the fandom(s) you write for?

mostly it's because a character or characters have crawled inside my brain. sometimes they're there for a month or a season, other times i come back to them multiple times over a span of many years (star trek is the main example here). since entering the exchange scene i have occasionally picked up one-off fandoms if a pinch hit needed filling or if i needed to make myself matchable in order to participate. i've created some of my favorite fics that way and written far outside my comfort zone. it's great :)

if you're stuck writing a WIP, what do you do?

take a break. take a break take a break take a break. let the story breathe. let myself breathe. come at it from a different angle. read poetry. steal the poem's bones. use them as a scaffold. if all else fails tuck the work into the abandoned folder so i can't see it anymore but do not under any circumstance delete. it's not a failed story. it's just not the right time yet. no work is wasted work. it all breaks down into compost. every tributary feeds a lake.

what do you wish people knew about comments?

whenever i post a fic, there is an absolutely agonizing period of time between posting and first comments when i am very seriously considering deleting my entire internet presence and disappearing into the mountains. this is a me thing. i understand that. i've come up with various coping strategies through the years with mild success, but no matter how much i believe in the work or how much coaching i provide for my brain, there is always that voice in the back of my head that wonders what if it's actually bad. what if it's really really bad. what if they're pointing and laughing and making fun of me. comments shut that voice up. comments provide tangible, outside-of-my-brain proof that the words i wrote made a positive difference in someone else's day, and sometimes they make a difference in ways i never expected. you do not have to tell an author that you like their fics, but when you do, you are never ever bothering them. they're not thinking you're a weirdo or a creep. they're actually probably grinning in relief. they're backing away from the delete button. they're unpacking their suitcase. they're breathing more easily and re-opening the word doc and showing up at the sandbox of creativity to play another day.

maybe there's a question you wish had been on here. what's that question (and answer)? -> what are some fanworks that have inspired you or fed your own creativity?

Candy and Chlorine by scioscribe is so sharp and smart and sexy. 100% biggest inspiration for my jennifer's body fic An Unofficial Anthology of the Online Fandom for the Yellowjackets Tragedy by banerries is so CREATIVE and so FUNNY. it reminds me that at the end of the day fic is supposed to be about play i recommend this barbie/dracula fic to a different friend at least once a month. stunning character study, so unusual, i love love love crack treated seriously a little lower than the angels by mylittleredgirl got me to see the vision of b'elanna/kes for one lovely lovely sitting. i am forever grateful to rarepair writers. they encourage me to think deep, write hard, and trust the process of creativity @stardustcityhag's art is stunning. i am always on some level trying to channel the feeling of it when i'm writing @zannolin's fics consistently feed my desire for delicious-ambiguous-something-amphibious not-shipfic-but-not-not-shipfic. i've written some of my best and most favorite fics after reading their work. their national treasure polycule fic pops into my brain at least once a month. i adore it @73chn1c0l0rr3v3l's smut is some of my favorite smut in the whole world. so sensuous, so vivid, so lush and vivid and aching. i am always at all times meditating on this una/la'an bathhouse thunderstorm fic they wrote me. also, this una/nhan breathplay fic. and this satanic panic fic. and this la'an + insomnia one. i could go on

tagging @zannolin and @ceruleanphoenix7

[happilylovingchaos]

Music and Fic Monday for @lonestar-s5countdown

Sorry I’m late-ish! I’ll give a combination of recommendations for music and fanfics today (which is almost over where I am). And wow, there’s a lot involving TK (I’m getting concerned about how much he and Carlos get whumped, I don’t really care if it’s just me 😰).

([Re-])Surfacing Dive for Beginnings and Ends:

Beyond a lot of the stories written by @carlos-in-glasses, @paperstorm and @lemonlyman-dotcom that I think are also beautiful character studies of the Lone Star characters may not get explored enough (and in some cases even exploring parts of the characters that get most focus in-show), I wanted to give a few shout-outs to other, older one-shots/ full-length stories.

Lonely eyes, you don’t have to be alone tonight by @wwasted: A coda that takes place in between the bar scene and the end of 1x03. It’s very cute w/o dragging out too much of either man’s angst, which I liked.

The elephant in the juice bar by @taralaurel: Where Tarlos begins for real after 1x10, and TK tries and fails to keep a metaphor steady as he decides to take a chance.

Getting better by @lonestarbabe, Pigeonsplotinsecrecy: This fic really plays with the meaning of the words “begin” and “end”, especially with a mental health recovery arc and especially with TK. It’s not for everyone, but it describes how relatable, tedious, solitary and multicolored the process can be.

Rosa mundi by fiddlersgreen: A one-shot where TK, Owen, and Carlos make it to New York without incident and properly mourn for Gwyn… and it’s quite a spiritual experience.

You were the greatest thing by hoodieweather: TK is mournful after the events of season 2 as he goes to visit Gwyn and Jonah, but re-learns something important about life. Takes place in the breakup era. Before the ice storm? Actually def before the ice storm.

First aid by @heartstringsduet: I like to call this the gritty version of “Tarlos Begins”, only both characters have more fragile coping methods of surviving life in New York City. When those methods gradually fall apart and threaten to completely implode their lives, they have to face their respective truths and learn how to live— both with the people around them, the real versions of each other, and with themselves.

Not really bridal style by paperyowl: Tarlos begins again immediately post-3x04— with some relationship negotiating required. The author really nailed Tarlos’ voices for their first fic in the 9-1-1: LS fandom!

Haunted by the ghost of you by @strandnreyes: A sad and hopeful combination of 3x04 and 3x08, where Tarlos begins again with an unexpected end.

I’m not mean enough to fully recommend hurt no comfort Tarlos fics, or hurt no comfort fics in general (and I’m still less than a year into using Tumblr anyway), so for a definitive “end” fic in that category, I may direct you to MissPudim’s works where the issues with the whole Iris arc is addressed and Tarlos handles it Extremely Badly. Or this fic called Gone where… it’s… okay, hell. They still handle it bad, it’s still kind of an end and it’s a bittersweet end, albeit in an AU. And another one by bythebry, Ain’t got no tears left to cry.

Where all this love comes from by @carlos-in-glasses: I think I’m not the first one to recommend this story but I think it counts as a general “begins” for both TK and Carlos (mainly for Carlos, though). And I’m listening to Postmodern Jukebox while trying to re-recommend it… if you’re curious, I put one of their cover songs on the bottom of this post. Needless to say, I loved this fic!

TK (Begins):

Jewish for Himself by 7ate9: I felt a sense of completion to read a fic that goes into TK’s POV about how the religion Gwyn wanted to raise him under is, in a word, complicated (as hell). Yes, just as much as his career and gay identity. For that, I’m thankful to the author! (And not just because so many opportunities for TK’s Jewish rep was wasted…)

TK begins by writedontfight: Exactly what the title says, with a plausible and saddeningly real scar of loss in TK’s life.

Numb and Thirty days by come2gusu: TK begins again, and good GOD I’M SAD ABOUT 3x08 AGAIN nooOOOOOooO….

Carlos (Begins):

Duality of a day by @marjansmarwani: I loved this exploration of how double-edged the wedding day would feel for Carlos— the beginning of a new chapter in his life with TK, and the punch-to-the-face end of Gabriel’s own life (spoiler alert).

to build a home by @freneticfloetry: This story was the first “Carlos Begins” story I’d read. I thought I wouldn’t like the canon divergence that happens at the end, but I was pleasantly surprised!

Dancing, happy, seen by @endlesstwanted: Carlos’ POV as he falls in love at first sight with TK.

Silver lining’s gold and shining by @paperstorm: “Carlos begins”, with a little help from Iris. For me, it also parallels “Chimney Begins”.

I fell for you like a child (oh but the fire went wild) by ellay_gee: Told in a 5+1 format about Carlos’ experiences with love. It was so cute!

Tender eyes that shine by @alrightbuckaroo: Much like “to build a home”, this fic exuded “Carlos begins” energy with more focus on how the Reyes’ “identity” shaped Carlos, and him focusing on unlearning the emotional repression that comes with that ideal.

Music Recs for @tellmegoodbye:

If the Lone Star music team uses this cover of AC/DC my country-music side would be tickled. Just thought that a down-South version of a rock song would be a cool bookend to the pop collab “Old Town Road.”

Postmodern Jukebox is one of my favorite cover bands, and they’ve made a lot of songs I’ve heard of really appealing for me— retro takes on pop songs! This one cover of Oasis’ songs brought to mind another procedural spinoff, NCIS: New Orleans, for the jazz funeral feel added to apparently hotly-debated interpretations of the lyrics (I only just looked on Reddit, so…). But considering what’s happening, hearing the song in the context of Lone Star breaks and warms my heart.