#fanfic therapist should be a job

[haley-harrison]

there should be a therapist exclusively for fanfic trauma. I mean I don't think my real life very offline boomer shrink would understand the kind of psychic damage that a fic can deal, ya know?

Like, how do you convey "I started reading this, and it was horrific, but I kept reading it even though it upset me, and now it's been days but my brain keeps circling back to it bc the writing style is exquisite even though the topics are dark" ???

It's not like real events but it still makes me feel a lot, and I need to discuss it but also I don't want anyone else to have to go through it, does this make sense,??

[gender-euphowrya]

old people really were raised on the idea that their descendants were just future caretakers for them and never fucking learned to think otherwise

[captainsparklefingers]

It feels really weird doing this xD but I guess talking about asking for help/feedback/generally venting about stuff (minor or otherwise) is always gonna feel weird? Is that what I'm doing right now? I have no idea. But anyway, writing it all out will hopefully help get it off my chest and I can try to move on to practical things. Mregh.

So I'm working on a series of oneshots about the first year of Kingsley's life (it was initially gonna be just the first six months before M9 Reunited but then I had some ideas that would only make sense after that, so here we are), and I've managed to get exactly one of them done so far. Which is good! I've got a second one in the works and a list of ideas for the others, buuuut I've managed to get myself stuck in the middle of the second one. Turns out it's hard to write Caduceus and Kingsley interactions when you have nothing to base them on XD and I guess that means I need a beta/somebody to bounce ideas off of. My regular beta (who is a wonderful person and one of my closest friends and who I love very much) is busy with real life stuff like work, so I don't want to bother them, and the people I want to ask to take a look at stuff and get ideas from are busy with their own fics and projects, and I don't want to bother them either. So here we are. I have anxiety up the wazzoo for a lot of things, including this, so it feels weird just putting a Tumblr post out there asking for help with something as silly as a fanfic...

And I'm always sort of afraid of writing Kingsley 'wrong', if that makes sense. Like, I know he's not Lucien or Molly, he's himself and there are echos of them in him, but with my whole belief that the memories of the previous purples are still there (just locked up until he's ready and comfortable enough as Kingsley to take them back and not get overwhelmed by them) and they sometimes leak out (the problem traveling with your past lives family is there's plenty of triggers there for stuff to slip through the cracks without context), and I worry that that makes it seem like I'm trying to turn him into Molly when I swear that's not what I'm thinking at all. So there's THAT layer to the anxiety as well.

So here I am with one one shot done, one about halfway done that I need a bit of a push with, and a list of ideas that I haven't started in on yet because I haven't gotten the second one done, and a lot of nerves about never getting anything done. Like, I'm not even gonna tag this because this is mostly just me trying to work out my anxiety about stuff (but uh if anyone is interested in helping or looking at some Kingsley stuff lemme know I guess), and I hope it helps. I've been having a lot of anxiety and nervousness about a lot of crap lately, and compared to other stuff, this is just such a minor bullshit thing to get wound up about.

God, anxiety SUCKS, y'all. It's the stupidest most irrational thing. Like 'ooh you wanted to do this as a fun lil side project to keep the creative juices going during downtime at work NOPE YOU'RE OBSESSED AND NERVOUS NOW ENJOY FEELING WEIRD WHENEVER YOU'RE AT YOUR LAPTOP FOR UNRELATED REASONS'.

[amandaisnotwriting]

//

[glubsurleseuil]

Don't be scared - Chapter 1

This is the first chapter - Next

A Pennywise X F!Reader fanfic 'cause I need to get these ideas out of my head before they eat me up. I'll post this thing on AO3 when I'm not so lazy to create an account. If I go ahead with it, it'll be NSFW, sexually disturbing, gory, violent, reader is an autistic drepressed suicidal girl… In short, skip it if you're a sensitive soul. For the rest of you, enjoy (I hope).

(Note: It was translated by Deepl, English is not my mother tongue, so I apologise for any mistakes. If you want to correct me, don't hesitate!)

(Note 2: The image is by @fandomscreenshots but you should already know that because what she does is amazing)

You've always lived in Derry, Maine. Well, actually you were born in Derry, went to school in Derry and, like any good citizen, you now work in Derry. You don't like it, you never have, and you know that no matter what you do, you'll never like it.

Firstly, because no matter how hard you try since childhood, you just can't seem to make any friends. Worse, people seem to have agreed to shut you out and hate you. At best, they ignore you, at worst… well, let's just say there are certain people you've learned to avoid at all costs, so you don't have to spend the evening licking your wounds…

Secondly, because there's something unhealthy about the general atmosphere of this town, as if it were being devoured by a cancer that affected not only the surrounding greenery, but also the buildings and even the people. A cancer that could be called suffering, melancholy or despair. And although no one knows where these feelings come from, everyone seems to accept them as an inevitable burden.

Tonight, like most evenings, you're working at the Canal Rouge, a rather quiet bar where people can drink and listen to local artists perform on a small stage. You're a waitress, and it's not the most pleasant of jobs, especially when you're a woman. Fortunately, your boss is a woman too, and she's very strict about the respect customers show her staff, so things could be a lot worse.

But tonight, you're in a particularly bad mood. Fatigue has always been a difficult thing for you to deal with, and lately your nights have been… tormented. You've been having a dream, always the same with little difference, on and off for over a week. It's a hazy, dark, incoherent dream that's hard to remember. What you remember most is anguish, fear… and an unbearable feeling of being watched by something dangerous, making you feel like prey waiting to be devoured. When your therapist asked you to describe this dream, even with random words, you said 'fear', 'red' and… 'clown'. You laughed after saying that last word, a nervous, uncontrolled laugh, like a continuation of the one you always hear in this dream before waking up.

But tonight, the worst is yet to come, because you have to serve Jenny's gang as consumers, young people your own age who, like you, are stuck in Derry and like to pass the time by annoying other people. Especially you, since you met them in kindergarten. You know you won't be able to get home safely tonight…

And your fears are confirmed as you finish your shift. As you emerge into the alley to which the service door leads, you see them laughing at the end of it, looking in your direction. This is the way home. You quickly think of another option, but you know that even if you take a longer route, they'll be able to corner you sooner or later, and that's what they'll do. Unless… you go through the forest…

You don't hesitate, knowing that your pursuers won't follow. Their parents have given them the same instructions as you: never go into the forest at night. Ever. Your father had made it clear that he meant business by emphasizing his order with the back of his hand. But tonight, you're a grown-up, and between your dead father's old superstitions and Jenny and her gang's guaranteed beating, the choice was quickly made.

You head into the forest, at first more worried about your pursuers who, as expected, quickly abandon their target. Then you decide to turn on the torch on your phone, as it quickly becomes very dark between the tightly packed trees in the middle of the night. You recognize the path you're on and follow it to the ancient oak tree where you used to climb as a child to escape the bullies. But even this place, reassuring by day, gives off a menacing aura by night…

All is quiet, too quiet for a forest where animals should be going about their nocturnal lives. You get the impression that a kind of fog is floating around, light but unnatural, and as you look at the thick branches of the oak tree, you get a strange feeling… Like a memory from another life… Like a dream…

Suddenly, there's a sound. A sound you know well, having heard it every night for over a week. A laugh. A clown's laugh… You turn in all directions, shining your phone in every nook and cranny around the oak. And just as you realize that there's nothing there, that maybe it's your imagination playing tricks on you, the laughter starts up again. You jump back against the tree, light pointed ahead, anticipating the appearance of someone, something… The laughter becomes more distinct, closer… But it's not coming from in front of you, nor from the sides… It comes… from above?

With a quick gesture, you point the light towards the branches of the oak tree and there, hidden in the shadows of the leaves, you see it: a clown. No, THE clown. The one who has haunted your dreams, distressed your nights, devoured your sanity. This present moment has repeated itself endlessly in your nightmare and now it's all happening for real, clear as day and just as terrifying.

With a muffled scream, you drop your phone, the lamp face down and your legs buckling beneath you. The little light that escapes from beneath your phone only faintly illuminates the bottom of the tree, but you know IT's there.

And it's not long before he leaps down from the tree. You can only make out a silhouette in the darkness, and as you hear him coming closer, you try to remember the end of the dream. It's all a blur, and all that comes back is a vague memory of a hunt in which you are the prey… Back on the grassy ground, you pull yourself back as best you can with your hands, never taking your eyes off the presence. Is this how you're going to die?

He moves slowly closer, slipping into the shadows. You can make out that he's leaning forward, then addressing you in a childlike voice.

"Hiya Y/N! I'm Pennywise, the dancing clown!"

He suddenly picks up your phone from the floor, pulling it up slowly, light downwards, gradually revealing his appearance as he continues.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you, you know? Don't be scared, I'm not going to kill you…"

As he utters these words, light finally shines on his face, reflected in his abnormally large and sharp teeth, piercing yellow eyes focused on you, and horror fills you.

"… yet."

The instinct to survive gives you new energy. You leap to your feet and flee the way you came, briefly illuminated by your phone in the clown's hands. You run at full speed, ignoring the noises behind you that make you think he's chasing you. If you've got a chance of getting away, you're going to take it. In fact, the forest exit isn't far off. One last push! You close your eyes and accelerate again… when hands often clutch your collar, brutally stopping your momentum.

"There you are, you bastard!"

"I told you she'd come back! She's such a pussy!"

"No way out now, you bitch!"

Jenny and her gang… It was Tim, the big muscular guy who caught you. They were waiting for you just outside the forest…

"Why are you running so fast? Are you afraid of the big bad wolf?"

They burst out laughing, but the sound reaches you distorted. The adrenalin from your run is wearing off too slowly and you can still hear your heart pounding in your eardrums. You struggle on, your brain unable to make sense of what has just happened. Suddenly, you hear a foul noise. A kind of hoarse, inhuman growl, coming out of the depths of the woods like an echo to their pitiful mocking laughter. You feel Tim's hands trembling with uncontrollable fear on your collar and watch their faces disintegrate before your eyes. Tim lets go and they all flee in a single scream of terror, leaving you behind.

You turn around, your body still tired from your frantic run, and you quickly understand what made them flee: golden eyes, shining menacingly in the darkness, perched on a huge, muscular, fur-covered figure, its multiple sharp teeth accentuating the evil growl rolling down its throat. A werewolf.

You barely have time to realize that it's the clown from earlier before he disappears between the trees with a hoot that sends shivers down your spine. Just as you regain your strength to flee, something falls near you. You examine it carefully: it's your phone, and as you turn the screen towards you, you see a message written in a torn red font:

DON'T BE SCARED

You don't wait any longer and run towards town without looking back.

[percheduphere]

How do you think Mobius will live his life in the timeline? Many theorize that something happens to Don and Mobius takes his identity so his sons live with a father. I prefer that Mobius reflects on his old life, realizes he can’t live it, and creates his own life.

Oh, boy, Anon. I have a lot of fanfic ideas for this, but let's get into the meta-analysis side of this before we get into the rabbit hole that is my washer-dryer machine of an imagination.

Mobius is not doing well. He is going through the stages of grief. I've written an extensive meta here regarding the darker aspects of his character and how he's at risk by the end of the series. I also wrote a brief meta here regarding how his grief might manifest.

With this in mind, I actively HATE the idea of Mobius spiraling to the point he becomes "corrupted". I don't what Michael Waldron did to Wanda. I guess you could make the argument that it would be interesting to see a man emotionally unravel in such a way, but I hold Mobius's unshakable kindness dear in my heart. I don't ever want him to lose it because it is essentially his superpower.

[Sidebar: comics canon House of M notwithstanding; Marvel and DC comics canon are consistently horrible in their characterization of exceptionally powerful women: Wanda Maximoff Jean Grey/Phoenix; Carol Danvers/then Ms. Marvel; Rogue; on and on; I'll throw Sylvie in here, too, because why not, it's true.]

I see Mobius mourning Loki for two years. Two years because, statistically, that is how long it takes for most people who've lost an intimate loved one to get out of clinical depression. During this period, I see him losing weight, wandering aimlessly between timelines, trying and failing to copy Don's life by taking a job that involves jet skis or aquatics more generally. B-15 would make a point to check-in on him and know he's not doing well, but Mobius, because he does not want anyone to worry about him, because he is used to being the person who keeps people together, insists he's fine.

MY FANFIC IDEA

I see Mobius eventually recognizing he needs a therapist, which he will find ironic and deeply troubling, but he's not about to give up on trying to live for Loki's sake.

And in his conversations with his therapist and B-15, Mobius will come to realize that he can still use his key strengths outside of the TVA: analyzing people, deconstructing what makes them tick, using that knowledge to help the other person, similar to a therapist but more active in support. Mobius is very well-suited to become a social worker of troubled and at-risk youth. I think he should pursue this and ...

Mobius will choose a branched timeline in the late 90s/early 2000s. There, he will meet a war-orphaned, thirteen year-old Wanda Maximoff, who is friendless and struggling to understand the nature of her powers (magic). Mobius is drawn to her right away. It takes time, but he eventually gains Wanda's trust.

Red. Red is Wanda's color. It's in her hair, her cheeks, her magic. Now that red reaches Wanda's eyes, filled with tears her anger stoppers. "You saw what I can do. What I did. The other kids call me a 'witch' 'cause that's what I am. A witch. A monster."

Mobius sits next to the young girl on the stoop. The sun winks at them through the green tree boughs, and he wonders, for a moment, what Loki might think of him now, finding solace in a child who needs solace.

"That's not true. You're not a monster, but I tell you what: witches are pretty cool." Mobius grins, knocking his knee against hers. The fabric of his slacks shakes, still too loose. "Y'know, my best friend has magic just like yours, except it's green instead of red."

Wanda peers at him, hopeful and dubious. "Really?"

"Yup. He had a tough time, too, being different." He leans closer to her, sharing a secret. "But things got better. You should've seen him. He was--is-- magnificent. You're magnificent."

Her lips purse into an embarrassed smile. She drops her head, thoughtful, and tucks her hands beneath the fold of her knees. "Where is he now? Do you still see him?"

The question is innocent, as all things are with a soul of thirteen. She doesn't mean to hurt him. Mobius knows this. So he takes the thorn of her words and presses it against his ribcage. His throat works. The ache comes and goes but never fully abates.

"Well," Mobius sighs. "He had to move on. Life is like that sometimes. People come and go. Things happen and ... there's not much you can do except hope they're okay. That they're happy and safe."

He can't look up. Not at the tree or the sun. He worries if he does, he'll start to cry, and that won't do when this girl who reminds him so much of his wily god has finally cracked a smile.

"C'mon," he says, rising to his feet. "Let's get you something to eat."

"McDonald's?" Wanda brightens.

Another thorn. He takes that one too and thinks of pretty roses.

"Whatever you want, kiddo."

[sofiadragon]

A Note on Severus Snape as a Teacher

In Order of the Phoenix, Snape makes his O.W.L. warning speech the first day and says he expects the class to maintain his high-pass level. This implies that he has better statistics than previous professors, or perhaps he is comparing to equivalent tests at the other European magic schools. He makes other comments to this effect and nobody contradicts him. Harry takes the fact that Umbridge doesn't go after Snape so much as being because they are both horrible people, but he clearly hates her just as much as the rest of the staff and it seems she's scraping the bottom of the barrel trying to get something to hold against him. If he had poor statistics, an auditor type like that would have been all over it. Either way, the implication is that despite being an absolute trash fire of a person and tearing down student confidence as a hobby, he's managing to actually teach potions well.

I read so many fanfics that imply or directly state that the reason Harry isn't doing well in potions is because Snape is bad at the job: He never learned basic prep skills, Snape only shoots recipes up on the board and doesn't explain, all his lessons are practical with no lectures. I submit that this isn't the case. Never was, as we do hear about lectures even if the books aren't great at giving us any kind of sensible timetable. Harry is distracted in Potions by the hostile environment, and that is Snape's fault, but the curriculum as presented isn't the problem. It's the fact that the class is with the Slytherin students, and that Snape makes a lot of ad-hominem attacks instead of telling Harry or Neville exactly what went wrong. Harry, because he is the living embodiment of all Snape's trauma just walking around giving the man flashbacks. Neville, because Snape gave up on him rather quickly. That's bad, flat out, and he even grades Harry unfairly... but Harry is still learning the material.

In Half-Blood Prince, we can even see that if Harry could learn from a version of Snape who wasn't hostile to him for some reason, he'd do fantastically well. Unfortunately, nobody told Snape to go talk to a therapist after the war, and frankly with how he treats Harry's Gryffindor class that should have been made a requirement for keeping his job. Handle your trauma, do not give it to a new generation of kids.

This is not an excuse for the way he acts as a bully, but Harry being 'bad' at potions isn't because Snape isn't presenting the material to him correctly. When acting like a teacher instead of like a bully, Snape is clearly very good at his job. He puts his everything into it, and can have the high bar of only accepting O students into his N.E.W.T. classes because he has enough students getting Os that the school board never had to call him out for not having enough students in the class.

Finally, Harry isn't bad at potions! This is before grade inflation, look that up if you aren't familiar or have a very different school system to the UK. Getting a top-level grade in any class was HUGE. The tests are hard enough the average person would not know all the answers. I took a science exam in the 90's and placed 4th in my state. I'd gotten 2 questions completely wrong (I'll never forget the differences between types of clouds again) and it was better than the thousands of high-school kids who took the test, except for the one person who got 1 partly wrong and 2 people who got 1 question wrong. Nobody, and I mean nobody, got a perfect score that year. That's what these tests used to look like. Hermione is a BEAST. Harry and even Ron are doing great! Straight Cs (or As in the HP world) used be fine. Average, even, and you could graduate with Ds even if you might not want any potential employer knowing about that if it was relevant.

[pascaloverx]

Sweet Love

Summary: You're an up-and-coming writer, congratulations. To protect your beloved job, you're willing to do anything. Even strike a deal with the devil, better known as your sister's neighbor. You and Dean Winchester don't really see eye to eye, but in a moment of desperation, you agree to collaborate with him for a greater good.

Author's Notes: Many characters do not belong to me but to the Supernatural Universe (2005-2020). I hope you enjoy the fanfic's story. The fanfic will contain strong language and adult content. Dear readers, I'm here to let you know that if you enjoy this fic, please engage with it. Comments and likes are welcome. I appreciate everyone who follows this fanfic. Anyway, enjoy this chapter.

chapter eight final chapter

CHAPTER NINE

Your need to be close to Dean is much greater than you imagined. Not only are you moving to live near him, but you are also going to live in the apartment above his. You thought a lot about it, concluding that even without being in a relationship with him, you still wanted to be close.

"You are aware that moving above your ex's place isn't really getting over him, right?" Sam Winchester says as he helps you with the moving boxes. The apartment you bought is already furnished, so you're just bringing your personal items to start getting organized.

"I'm not sure if your brother is my ex. But I do realize that it's not the best decision in the world to live in the same building where your brother and my sister live. But I've grown attached to the neighborhood." You don't want to admit the truth to Sam. After all, he is practically your brother-in-law. Saying that you don't want to be so far from Dean wouldn't seem right.

"My brother would love to know about your affection for the neighborhood. I have to be honest, I don't understand you two. But I know you care a lot about each other. I just fear that when you realize it, it will be too late. Where do you want me to put this box?" Sam says as you both climb the stairs. As soon as you reach the door of your new apartment, what he says seems to affect you.

"Do you think he'll find someone else?" you ask Sam, apprehensive. Despite knowing that Dean owes you nothing, you're not sure if you're ready to see him move on. Which, frankly, is idiotic. After all, it's you who is separating you two. Well, you and the fact that he has already slept with your sister.

"As far as I know him, no. But there's nothing stopping him. Which means you're taking a chance. I know he messed up, but I still think that the fact you're moving so close to him must mean part of you wants him." That's something you didn't expect: Sam playing your romantic therapist. Before you can say anything, you both watch a familiar figure step out of the elevator. Castiel, dressed all in white, looking like a celestial being. His outfit was stunning, almost like attire for a very fancy event. You and Sam exchanged glances, immediately remembering that Castiel was getting married.

"What are you doing here, Castiel?" Sam asks from behind you, causing Castiel to look at the two of you climbing the stairs. Castiel looks like he just ran a marathon, he’s so out of breath.

"I need to talk to your brother," Castiel says, then walks over to Dean's apartment door and knocks. You and Sam, curious, watch, but a bad feeling is blooming in your heart. Dean opens the apartment door a few seconds after Castiel knocks. He doesn't see you and Sam, only Castiel, who is facing him.

"Castiel, you should be getting married. What are you doing here?" Dean asks, surprised, and you and Sam exchange glances as if you're about to witness a movie plot twist scene.

"I should be getting married, but I couldn't. All I could think about was that you weren't there. That's when I realized I shouldn't marry Gabriel. Because I still feel something for you. Because I want you to be around for important moments. And I came here to find out if you feel the same." Castiel speaks to Dean tenderly. However, you feel like you're about to lose Dean forever. Unnoticed, your eyes fill with tears, but you couldn't dare to spoil this moment for Dean and Castiel. Perhaps they are meant for each other.

"I think it's best you come in so we can talk," you hear Dean say to Castiel, who immediately follows Dean into the apartment. Sam looks at you as if he already imagined you would be crying.

"If you want, I can keep carrying some boxes, and you can rest up there on your couch," Sam says gently, giving you a light pat on the head as if to comfort you.

"Sam, let's just finish taking the boxes upstairs," you say, walking towards your sister's apartment. You and Sam continue carrying the boxes, with you feeling downcast and hoping not to see Dean and Castiel together. They've been in Dean's apartment for quite some time now. When you finally finish bringing all your belongings to your new apartment, you feel a void filling your heart.

"Hey, don't feel like that. I can't be sure, but I don't think Castiel and Dean are getting back together right now," Sam's words are kind, but you need him to leave soon so you can mourn the loss of what could have been a future with Dean.

"Sam, I know you're speaking with kindness and concern. But I think I need a moment alone," you say, trying not to be rude. Sam nods in understanding. He gives you a hug before walking out the door, leaving you alone. And as soon as you're alone, you allow yourself to cry. The worst part is you can't even be upset. It seems your sister was right about something. You regret something, but not what she imagined. You regret pushing Dean away, leaving the path open for him to reignite his love with Castiel. Your crying, however, is interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Sam, I said I need a moment alone…" you say as you open the door, only to find Dean standing there. You don't understand why he's at your door.

"I'm not Sam, and frankly, I'm tired of leaving you alone," Dean says, looking at you, perhaps noticing your swollen face from crying or your sad expression.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, trying to compose yourself to appear less vulnerable. You don't want him to pity you or to hear about getting back together with Castiel.

"Proving that I know myself better than anyone. That I never called Castiel the love of my life because I knew that no matter how good our relationship was, he and I weren't meant for each other. I made a mistake, letting other people dictate how you saw me, afraid of how you'd react when you realized I never really found a love of my life. I tried with Castiel, used your sister to forget him, and for that, I bitterly regret it. But you're different. You make me think about what it's like to be committed to someone. Being with you is what I want now. I can't promise you'll be the love of my life, but I can guarantee I want to be with you. More than anything," Dean speaks with such certainty that you're almost left speechless. He truly cares for you, and you can't help but feel you're wasting a chance to be happy with him.

"I want you." It's all that comes out of your mouth, as naturally as any declaration of love could be. You don't expect him to say anything; you just approach him and kiss him. Throwing yourself into Dean's arms who hold you tight, you continue the kiss. His mouth devouring yours as if you were competing for who has more desire for the other. Dean holds you firmly by the waist, guiding you to the bedroom while you don't stop kissing. And as soon as you both enter the room, you're glad you installed a new bed. Tonight will be about you and Dean making up under the sheets.

[olderthannetfic]

Those bizarro tags about CNTW are not the first time on the Internet I’ve seen someone use “I use this as a form of therapy” to act entitled but it’s always strange to me when I see it. (I’ve also seen people do that with paradoxical fixations they have on some VTuber or podcaster if that person misses a week because they’re sick or something.) Y’all I get that if you’re in the US actual therapy is expensive, but you don’t get to decide that an interaction with another human is “therapy” without that other person’s consent and then whine when they don’t act like a therapist to you. I don’t write fanfiction to be therapeutic to other people. If you project that on to my work that’s a You problem and if it goes wrong for you then you’ve gotta find a You solution! It’s not my business! (That’s also putting aside the point that using fanfic as therapy is probably really bad for you lol, like it’s a job people train to do for a reason. Even the fics I’ve read that seem to be trying to do something like that get shit wrong about common mental illnesses/disorders all over the place or glorify unhealthy coping mechanisms and that’s… totally fine because it’s fiction but that’s why you should not use it as therapy!!! )

--

I think a lot of people mean... like... "I use media I like to self-sooth", which is fine... but that media wasn't created for that, so if it fails to work as well as hoped, it's not the media creator's problem.

[writersblockended]

Bucky's House Sitting trials - blurb.1

Hey guys this is a new fanfic I have been brewing on for a day or two and decided to go from daydreaming to actially writing it down for once. It's been so long since I have written anything from ANY fandom but lets see where this takes us omg. Im definitely gonna make this into a full fic if I see it going somewhere nice. Regardless this isn't even a real chapter this is just a scene of my whole concept.

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Plot; Bucky decides on trying out house sitting after his therapist suggest he needs to get of his damn house and isolating himself. Sure, the isolation bit is still there but at least he's not home anymore, right? Anyways this homeowner is super rich and who knows maybe they'll cross paths at some point.

TW; none hehe

WC; 885

I do not own any of these characters don't sue me marvel thx

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Bucky pushed through the door. Keys dangling from his hands, loudly making noise as he stepped into the big empty apartment complex he was supposed to look over. So, he had so much free time after the big shtick with Thanos and Steve leaving that he never had to leave his home anymore. So, his therapist in a desperate attempt forced him to get out of his home and told him of an app where he can “house sit” some rich person’s house for a couple days while they leave for whatever reason. So here he was, taking care of some rich person’s insane apartment that probably cost millions of dollars that he will never see in his life. At least he was getting paid for this, it's not like he exactly has a job right now. 

He looks around the place and it irks him just how expensive everything looks. If he breaks anything in this place he’s so fucked. Whatever. He will just have to be careful. Entering the kitchen, there's a note stuck to the fridge in neat handwriting: please enjoy your stay, I will be gone over the weekend and have whatever you like in the fridge and pantry! :) 

He opens the fridge and Jesus there is so much food, enough for a family of twelve. Is this how rich people live? He sighed. The size of the kitchen alone is probably as big as his old place in brooklyn when he was a child. These new appliances from the future looked intimidating. He was still learning how to use a coffee maker. What happened to just regular coffee? What is up with all these new chinos? Let's just say this new world is still pretty fucken new. His phone alone was a nighmare to use even after years of using it now.

He made his way upstairs and found what would be his bedroom since it had a note on the door. For you! It wrote. The room was furnished like a hotel with all its necessities, the owner had even put his towels on the bench at the end of his temporary bed. It even had a TV! He continued to the bathroom. It was medium sized and had a large rain showerhead. The bathroom was dark with black cabinets, even the tile all over the bathroom was black. He did not mind the layout. 

Bucky turned around and went straight to the bed. It was a late Friday night, and he should at least be doing what he already knows what to do. Failing to fall asleep at a normal hour while it is still night. So, he does what he needs to and grabs from his pack of clothes he plopped down earlier and gets what he calls his poor excuse of pajamas: sweatpants and no shirt. He never got used to modern clothes either, men's clothes nowadays are so tight. 

And at that the days drifted slowly. He spent most of his time working out in his room with the TV on or he kept to himself by scrolling on his phone. Twitter was so weird, everyone just constantly fighting eachother over what was mostly misunderstandings and typos. He caught onto the internet stuff quickly, it wasn’t to figure it out, most of it was just navigating the apps. One social media he did not understand truly was instagram. It was just sharing pictures, so he didn’t do that. It’s not like he has any friends currently, and there's so many underdressed women. It's not like he judged per se, he knows women are allowed to do whatever they want to do. He just wasn’t used to seeing women dressed like that at all. Had women done that in his time he would look away out of respect. 

What he missed a lot of the time was being able to drink. The feeling of being drunk. It isn’t always for drinking when he gets sad but sometimes it could just give him a buzz. Just to get rid of the anxiety that is always threatening to tip over. 

He shook his head and decided he should change the channel of his TV. It was now Sunday. Just a couple more hours till six o'clock. He could do this. Then he’d be holed up in his apartment and prove to his therapist that he actually does what she tells him to do. He rolls his eyes at the thought. This is probably the most outlandish thing he's done since he got back from being himself. 

The hours were passing slowly, and he decided on one more task. He wanted to snoop. So, he decided exploring this apartment would be ideal. He never really got to; he respected the owner's privacy but really had nothing to do. When he left his room, he turned the corner and found a smaller door. He stepped inside and it was a small laundry room. It was messy and had a basket of women’s clothes in a corner. He was not about to snoop on some woman's clothes, he was not that kind of guy.

He turned his ass around and left to go back to his bed. He should’ve just stayed in his room.

[literallykenmaandshoyo]

Maybe fanfic about how swaggersouls meet reader's parents? ( parents are in a different country far away and are not on good terms with the reader. Abusive itc?) Also they came to the reader for not nice suprise and yelling at them to back home?

Swagger with a S/O with Abusive Parents

Swaggersouls x GN! Reader Requested by: Anon Proofread: N/A Genre: Angst, comfort Music: Haunted Mansion Holiday Soundtrack Warnings: Reader is mentally ill due to abuse, reader is a first-generation kid, reader takes medication, parents are just genuinely mean Author's Note: While my parents are not from a different country (at least not a first gen kid), I used my own experiences of having abusive parents. Reminder, if your parents or guardian are abusive or have abusive behaviors, please tell a therapist or someone you trust. You don't deserve to go through that alone. -Mod Kenma

When you say you didn't have a good relationship with your parents, it was a violent understatement

You were pushed to be the best, constantly

Nothing was good enough for them

You needed to be the top of every class, ace every test, be the popular friend

It deteriorated your mental health, causing you to spiral 

It wasn't until you moved out and your parents moved back to your home country that you slowly started to heal 

You went to therapy, got diagnosed, and was given medication to help 

You didn't feel constantly better but it was a major improvement 

When you got with Swagger, he was the rock you didn't know you needed 

He helped you when you felt lost and reminded you to take your medication when needed 

It seemed like your progress halted because, without warning, your parents told you they were on their way to visit you 

You spiraled into a breakdown but Swagger was there to help pick up the pieces 

He helped you with preparations (cooking, cleaning, making sure everything looks perfect) 

As soon as the doorbell rung, Swagger kissed you and opened the door

Both your parents entered and have your house a detailed look around 

You showed them to their room while Swagger got the kitchen ready for dinner 

They saw Bear and Bean and your mother automatically called them ugly 

You winced and picked up Bean, pressing a kiss onto her head 

You all went back to the kitchen and got ready for dinner 

Your mother nitpicked everything that the two of you cooked 

It lacked spice, flavor, and was overcooked, apparently 

You tried your best not to sigh and continued to eat

Soon, the conversation shifted to what you and Swagger do for a living 

You calmly explained your normal job, trying not to get too passionate 

You loved your job but was scared to admit that you loved it 

It was brushed off almost immediately and your parents turned their focus onto Swagger 

As badly as he wanted to fake everything, you told him you wanted him to be honest 

Not that you didn't want to lie to your parents, its that if they were going to get mad, you wanted them to get mad over something real 

You wanted to be able to have counterarguments to support your boyfriend and his job 

So, when your parents asked, Swagger told them that he made videos on the internet as was a part of a podcast 

Your parents gave you a look 

One that read "are you serious" 

You shifted in your seat and cleared your throat

You explained to your parents that the two of you made enough money to live more than comfortable lives

The two of you could afford to go on spur of the moment trips and-

You were cut off

You were told that what you did for a living was no means to live 

They went on and on about how you should be a doctor or a teacher or someone important

You shrunk in your seat 

Swagger slammed his hand down as gently as he could and he explained to your mother and father that every job is important

YOU ARE IMPORTANT Swagger says 

You watched as Swagger told your parents off for not respecting you 

He went on and on about how you deserve respect and that you are your own person 

They don't own you

They never did 

All you could do was watch as your parents became offended and leave

They said never to speak to them again but for some reason, you weren't upset about it 

A strange weight was lifted off of your shoulders

Swagger kissed the crown of your head and promised you that he'd stand up for you no matter what 

[midnightsgoneinsane]

Sooo, i got convinced to write this faanfic, for writing practice reasons, and cause the post about writinf fanfic was the only post of mine thats ever gotten proper notes so enjoy this prolouge. Totally not diving in head first with minimal planning.

Work Log? - on my way

Hey, uh... me i guess. Therapist said to start a journal or whatever this is to help with the loneliness in this new job i got with some 3 letter research organization. they are having me head out into the middle of the forest so i can man a radar array and hunt for "unusual signals" among the stars. On my way there as i write this. Should be an easy job though. Find signals, send them off, and clean the base. Can't be that bad, can it?

[deityoftherain]

pesky bird - Scarian Oneshot

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship: M/M

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 1,887

Summary: One of Grian's clients, Gem, knits Grian a plush bird and he brings it home to his husband, Scar, and their cat-daughter, Jellie. Silly dramatics ensue :D

Look at the #traffic life superpowers au tag for their powers.

(This is technically a part of a larger AU, but this can easily be read separately.)

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

Grian weaved effortlessly between the buildings, gilding through the city with his colorful macaw wings. He was making his commute home from the Traffic City Hero Agency where he worked as a therapist for heroes and other powered individuals underneath the hero agency’s jurisdiction.

His job was just like any other therapist's job, just with a lot more responsibility and oath to secrecy. It could be a lot to deal with, sure, but it paid well and kept him entertained. The clients he worked with had interesting lives, to say the least. It was much better than helping people through the same issues over and over. He knew there was value in that line of work, but he just couldn’t find himself feeling fulfilled by it. Working with who he had now left him very satisfied, leading him to being a better therapist, one that his clients deserve.

While his job could be great, the best part of his day was coming home to his husband and their cat-daughter, Jellie. With a glance at his watch for the time, he knew that Scar should be back to their apartment by now. Scar wasn’t always the most punctual, but coming home on time was one of those things he was rarely late for.

Jellie got her dinner of this fancy cat food Scar liked getting her right when Scar was supposed to arrive home. The feline was very important to Scar (he had even named his animal shelter partly after her), so he forced himself into that routine to make sure she was happy and content. Plus, they didn’t own a car, so they had gotten an apartment extremely close to Jellie and Scar’s Temporary Home for Your Future Pets so Scar could walk or wheel himself there.

Void, that was a mouthful of a business name.

Grian perched on the edge of the balcony railing, crouched down and easily stable as he stood. He very rarely used the front door when he wasn’t walking in with Scar or someone else. Grian jumped down so he was properly on the balcony before straightening out his clothes and cross-body messenger bag. He needed to make sure everything was sitting in place after a flight through the city.

Once content with his appearance, he approached the door that would allow him inside. There was a lock on it (better safe than sorry), but Grian easily bypassed it by inputting a code he could punch in blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back.

“Grian!” Scar greeted him from the living room where Jellie was sitting on his lap. “How was work?” “Same as always,” Grian started to dismiss, both of them knowing full well he couldn’t say much about his job. Before he changed the conversation onto Scar’s day, he paused, recalling what was in his messenger bag. He flipped open the flap and dug around inside.

“Whatcha looking for?” Scar inquired, curiously studying him.

“This.” Grian pulled out a knitted scarlet macaw parrot plush, the yarn used almost identical in color to Grian’s wings. It wasn’t the highest quality item, but it was perfect in Grian’s eyes. “I encouraged one of my clients to get into hobbies such as knitting and she gifted me this at the end of our session.”

“Well, hello there, little guy!” Scar gasped in delight, instantly wheeling himself closer so he could get a better look. Jellie sat up, but stayed on Scar’s lap. She was well used to traveling around on Scar. “Look at that! It’s a-may-zing!”

Jellie reached forward with a paw and bapped the parrot plush. Grian gasped, vaguely offended as he pulled the plush away while Scar laughed. “Aw, c’mon, Grian! She’s just playing.”

“Just playing?” Grian squawked, hugging the parrot to his chest in an overly dramatic way. “Scar, your daughter just tried to kill our son!”

“Queen Jellie would never!” Scar came to Jellie’s defense, scratching his finger lovingly against Jellie’s chin as he started to coo at her. After babbling everlasting love and affection towards his darling cat, he raised his voice enough for Grian to hear, “Funny how she’s only my daughter when she’s in trouble.” “Aha!” Grian cradled the bird plush like he would a human baby. “So you admit what Jellie has done is worthy of being in trouble!”

“I admit to no such thing.” Scar lifted his chin, claiming complete innocence even as Jellie wiggled her haunches in preparation to pounce. “Pesky Bird and Jellie are best of friends.” “Did you really name our son ‘Pesky Bird’?” Grian lifted an eyebrow, stifling his amusement. The comment properly distracted him, leaving a perfect window of time for Jellie to leap into Grian’s arms to try and get the plush. “Jellie! No!”

Scar burst out in a fit of giggles, hugging his arms to his stomach as he laughed so hard it hurt. He wiped a tear from his eye as Grian tried to pry the plush away from Jellie’s claws. “Welcome to the family, Pesky Bird! You’re fitting right in already!”

It was for Pesky Bird’s best interest to bring him back to work the next day. Grian wasn’t sure Pesky Bird would survive another day in their house with wild predator Jellie on the loose. Scar gave him the most adorable pout and puppy dog eyes when Grian took their son away, but Grian managed to make it better with some kisses and promises to send pictures of Pesky Bird having a blast sitting on Grian’s desk. 

The parrot plush very quickly became a staple that Grian couldn’t ever imagine getting rid of. In fact, by the time the next week rolled around, Grian had nearly forgotten it hadn't always been there.

Grian’s session with Gem had just started, both of them sitting in their respective chairs across from each other. He was about to make an opening comment, but Gem got to it first. “You still have it on your desk.”

He followed her gaze to see what she was referring to, his black eyes falling upon the very plush Gem had knitted for him the week prior. He chuckled fondly, shifting his attention back to his client. “That I do. It’s for his own safety, I assure you.” “What do you mean by that?” Gem tilted her head, green eyes wide and dear ears flicked up curiously. She didn’t tend to think of herself very highly, but Grian thought she was rather clever with an innate desire to explore. It was his job to help her come to realize how wonderful she actually was, along with a whole load of other things, but that was for another day.

“I made the mistake of bringing him home and he almost didn’t make it out alive!” Grian dramatized the situation in a joking way, hoping he properly conveyed that the gift was appreciated. “My husband was going to let our cat-daughter use it as a chew toy and I simply could not allow such a thing! Pesky Bird is way too important to me for that. That’s his name, by the way.” “That’s, wow,” Gem snorted, covering her hand over her mouth to hide her expression, “that’s an epic name for him, honestly. I love that for him.”

As much as Grian would love to ramble on about Pesky Bird, Jellie, and Scar, they weren’t here for him. He changed the topic back onto Gem, referring to his notes to try and finish what they had been discussing the week before.

Another week had come and gone, and Grian was so excited to go home to Scar and Jellie, more so than usual because he had a surprise. He couldn’t take credit for it, no, but he was the one who got to present it to him. “Scar! Where on earth are you?” “The bedroom!” Scar called loudly. “It’s been a bad pain day. Can you come to me?” Grian frowned at that, but he didn’t hesitate to make long strides towards the bedroom. When he entered, he asked, “Why didn’t you contact me? I could have come home to help.” “You were at work.” Scar shrugged, unbothered and well used to his varied mobility. “I was just going to rest anyway, and I got Jellie to keep me company.” “Did you at least eat today?” Grian checked in. “And take your meds? If you didn’t take your meds, I swear, I’m going to drag your-” “I ate! I took meds!” Scar interrupted, waving off Grian’s concerns. “As you can see, I am a-okay! You say Joel mother hens, but you do it just as much, you silly goose.”

“Oh, I do not!” Grian scoffed, though he wasn’t offended.

“Do too!” Scar insisted with a laugh. “Just admit I’m right and come cuddle with me. I want to be cocooned. Cocoon me, Grian!” “Void, you’re needy, aren’t you?” Grian rolled his eyes as if he were annoyed, but he wasn’t. He didn’t often admit it, but he enjoyed wrapping Scar in his wings and holding him close.

“So are you,” Scar stated confidently as Grian climbed into bed with him. Grian chose not to justify his statement with a response.

Before he got them situated and all tangled up in a way that would be difficult to remove themselves from, Grian retrieved a knitted mouse plush from his bag. “Scar, look what my client made Jellie.” Scar gasped loudly when he spotted the cat toy, eyes going all glassy with what Grian assumed were tears of joy. “I know I can’t meet your clients, but, void, do I want to!” “I told her about Pesky Bird and Jellie two sessions ago, and she showed up with this little guy today.” Grian held the knitted mouse up by its tail for Jellie, who swatted experimentally at it. “Hey, check it out. She loves it.”

Scar babbled a long string of sounds that Grian wasn’t even sure he could describe as words. With a sudden jolt, Scar pushed himself up as he tried to climb out of bed. “I got to thank her somehow! I gotta make her something! Would she like cookies? I could make her cookies- oh! Maybe brownies? Or even a cake? Perhaps some pie? What kind of pie do you think she would like?” “Scar, don’t you dare,” Grian scolded his husband, pulling him back to bed. With the surprise now revealed, he let Jellie have at it, leaving his hands free. He pulled Scar close and curled his wings around their bodies, trapping them together. “You said it yourself that you’re having a bad pain day. As your husband, I cannot let you push through it and make it worse. That will only prolong the pain.” Scar jutted out his lip in a pout, a whine escaping his lips. “But Grian…”

“But nothing,” Grian denied, burying his head against Scar’s chest. “Now shut up and cuddle me.”

“On it,” Scar accepted it like an order, putting on the voice and everything, “shutting up.”

That wasn’t exactly shutting up, but Grian allowed it, content to spend the rest of the evening just like this… cuddled in their nest of a bed with his wings protective around the man he loved. Honestly, he couldn’t picture a better way to spend his time.

[rosesradio]

i’m posting a thing that’s not fanfic for the first time, i guess it’s an original work. it’s just my commentary on things i guess, it reads like a black mirror episode lol

tw: thought inspection, suicide mention, bigotry mention

word count: 1.3k

All this trouble, you think. All this screen time on the news, covering up every other issue...

You wished their time would come to an end. That it would all come to an end.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you took a look at the screen:

Hey, said the little notification from TIC. That wasn't very nice. You should demonstrate more empathy for others! 🙂

A cold chill ran down your spine as your fingers came up to lightly touch the back of your neck. There was a chip there, small and unassuming, like Doc Ock's in Spider-Man. Like that chip, you knew full well that it would not serve you.

Want a quieter TIC experience? Upgrade to TIC Plus starting at $14.99.

You remembered going on a forum, one of the last places that was not asking for your government ID, and looking through the discussions. Someone was discussing a hate group gathering in a nearby city; they'd been hurling racial slurs at children.

I don't get it, one of the forum members started, isn't the TIC giving you notifications to cut that shit out? Show more empathy or smth.

Idk, another member replied, his hand proudly raised in his profile picture. Got TIC plus, I'm not dealing with that shit. Freedom of speech.

It probably doesn't matter, a third forum member replied. They pay, they get to stay—that's the TIC way.

The dig was subtle, though you had seen the comment live for a whole two minutes before a large This comment has been deleted by TIC for the safety of minors viewing text took its place.

Strangely enough, you never saw this kind of message for the hate speech on the forum. Perks of TIC plus, you supposed.

Swallowing, you ignored your own notification in favor of rummaging through your fridge for sliced meat and cheese. There was a nostalgia for the days in which you could afford more ingredients for your favorite foods, but—well, the stores didn't sell much of anything anymore. No one can afford anything, but you were lucky you could still make a good sandwich.

As for the TIC, you tried not to think about it when you could help it. Then again, you knew about the white bear experiment—the more you tried to push something out of your mind, the more it popped up.

Repetition helped. It drove you up the wall, but you found the TIC wouldn't harass you with more than one notification if you only thought one prompting thought repeatedly.

The TIC, or the Thought Impediment Center, was still new. It was all anyone could talk about for a year. There was excuse after excuse to explain its existence:

Our handy notifications reach out to tell you that you are not alone during a mental health crisis. Try BetterHelp and get matched with a five-star therapist today!

With this recording of data, we will be able to ensure criminals face charges during the planning period. Crime will go down in droves!

They were right about that. Everything went down in droves. Hollywood had to shut down because of the sheer amount of attention one studio got during their work on a heist movie.

When you thought about it, you were one of the lucky ones, getting one so late in the game. It came in layers—if you don't get one, you can't get food stamps. If you don't get one, you can't get medical care. As if those things weren’t hard enough to access already. College is what got you. You thought about dropping out, but you had to keep going—you couldn't just drop out and give up your dream job.

You didn't dream of work, of course. However, being a librarian seemed like a perfect fit for you.

After that interview last week, though...

You sighed, buttering up your bread and assembling your sandwich on the pan.

You had interviewed for a librarian assistant position last week, though you were rejected for two key reasons.

One was because you had a master's degree, and not your doctorate. Not to mention you only had five years of experience instead of seven. It made sense now that you thought about it—why would you be qualified for that position, with its thirty-two thousand dollar salary? No, you were much better off at the donut shop. It wasn't a bad place at all, though it wasn't where you wanted to remain forever.

The other reason you didn't get hired...

To be fair, the TIC-checking was new. How were you supposed to be prepared for it?

The lady at the interview, a kind, grandmotherly looking woman named Janine, voiced that she was also not a fan of the new TIC checking.

"The TIC in general is a bit of nonsense to me," she said. Her phone vibrated. "Sorry...I had to get one. Otherwise they were going to cut funding for the library, and..." her phone vibrated again, and she huffed. "I wouldn't feel quite so bad if they didn't take my family's chocolate chip cookie recipe. I'm sure you've heard of the Miller's chocolate chip cookie recipe by now?"

You had. You'd used the damn recipe, and the cookies were great. You shook your head for Janine’s sake. That seemed to help her feel better.

Ignoring the barrage of notifications, you had thought about how the TIC had come to the rescue of companies as they had lost money due to online censorship. People logged off social media sites, so they lost money in advertising. They had to have a revenue to make up for that.

It wasn’t just TIC Plus, or it’s advertising. It was the selling of data to third parties. That was nothing new, though this time, it was selling your thoughts. That was how Janine Miller’s family cookie recipe was sold to allrecipes.

At least it was just a cookie recipe. You had heard of Kaitlyn Johnson on the news, the twenty-one year old who had taken her own life after her pornographic thoughts had been sold to ChatGPT 7.2. They’d recreated them and sold the videos featuring her without her consent to sites across the internet.

That was why you had tried to suppress your thoughts as much as possible, though you knew that one day, you would slip up.

It didn’t matter, because as Janine Miller searched through the TIC-provided record of your thoughts over the past couple days, she found the exact sort of information she needed.

It was everything she couldn’t have in an employee. You thought about how much you loathed TIC, how much you loathed the job market and the housing market and the government and the advertising. The censorship, the restriction, the hate in the world. There was even a fleeting sexual fantasy or two, as you could no longer access smut without presenting your government ID. God forbid if you wanted to get off for the first time in weeks, right?

Your thoughts, restricted as they may be, held a fraction of the vitriol and imperfection of humanity you held in your heart.

With your thoughts laid out loud and clear, the only thing Janine Miller could do was look at you. Her gentle eyes were pitiful—perhaps a little disgusted, as if you were a writhing bug on the sidewalk.

She said sorry.

Eyes stinging, you nodded.

And you went home.

You’d cried for an hour or more, no longer caring if your four roommates could hear.

You wanted it all to end.

You had a migraine.

Your phone vibrated. Your mind rang as you heard that familiar feminine voice read your notification:

Suffering from headaches and migraines? Try Excedrin Migraine Pain relief! Guaranteed results in less than 30 minutes!

Swallowing, hands shaking where they rested against the countertop, you nodded.

Added to cart.

[animatorweirdo]

Good morning/evening! It's muffin anon.

This concept has been living in my mind rent free for a while now.

Imagine modern reader falling to Arda and finding a job in a tavern. Their life is good until one day a group of rather rowdy elves come to the tavern to celebrate.

Reader somehow gets dragged to their celebration and becomes the life of the party with their modern knowladge of collage parties. Admidst the chaos, reader somehow hooks up with an elf.

The next morning reader finds themselves in a remote area with no recollection of what had went down last night. They do remember that they had a great time though.

So, reader continues their life as normal. Until one day they accidently become a therapist for a certain red-haired elf and his very troublesome family. *wink wink*

While reader is talking with Maedhros the topic of the topic of elven marriage comes up.

You: WAIT! HOLD UP! You're telling me sex is marriage for elves?!

Maedhros: Yes. That would be so.

You: ...

Maedhros: ...

You: ...

You: Oh shit.

So that's how you two started to look for your unnamed unknown elven spouse.

Maedhros: So you don't remember the guy's name. Correct?

You: Yes.

Maedhros: You also don't remember his face?

You: Yes.

Maedhros: You don't even remember his height, hair colour or even when you two got married?

You: *exhausted* Yes.

Maedhros: ...

You: ...

Maedhros: ...

Maedhros: *Facepalms*

I kind of don't know where to go from this so:

Writing challenge of the day for animatorwierdo: Complete the storyline.

P. S. I really should just start my own blog at this point. I am basically living in yours. *embarrassed muffin anon noises* I hope I am not troubling you, living in your blog like this.

Muffin, you should have a blog of your own. You come up with excellent fanfic ideas! I don't mind it, you're like that little roommate that I never got to have but was supposed to but didn't because they found somewhere else to live. Now, on to the ongoing journey with modern reader and Maedhros...

I came up with two endings...

Ending 1:

Maedhros tries to help you find your unnamed elven spouse, but despite your efforts to find them, you fail to find them. You two have grown close and decided to call it quits. You two remain good friends, and he comes to check on you regularly to make sure the marriage bond has not affected you negatively. A platonic end.

Ending 2:

It was Maedhros. He was begrudgingly pulled into the party by his brothers, and he got so drunk that he forgot that he had met you before and accidentally hooked up with you. Your friend was the one who revealed it since they remembered what happened, and Maedhros was embarrassed and regretful of the outcome, but you are surprisingly okay with it and not angry since you had grown to like him. You assure him you could have ended up with someone worse and he slowly came around it. A romantic end.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Hey Heloise, how have you been? It's been a while 🥺👉👈🫂❤️

Hello lovely,

Ooof had a lot happening here :D

I've been reliving my teenage era ever since Eminem dropped his new song. I'm a typical millennial.

I've also been obsessively reading physical books, so my personal library has grown to 1600+ books.

I've also been reading way too many ACOTAR fanfics. I should take a breather because I have no social life anymore.

I've started reading HP fanfics as well again because it felt nostalgic.

Been attending to therapy which seems to be helping so if anyone is struggling, I can only recommend it. I didn't have good experiences before so it's all about finding the right therapist.

After finishing university, I also got a new job a few months ago and I really like it so far.

And I'm also impatiently waiting for the new Bridgeton season part 2. Whose idea was it to separate it into two parts? Absolute muppets.

How have you been lovely :D

Did you enjoy my information dump? xD