#fanfic writer's plight

[cartoon-buffoon]

At the very beginning of a fic that's been almost a YEAR IN THE MAKING there's this one meta joke I make between Oswald and Ortensia that WOULD of been funny if not for the fact that like 4 months after I wrote this line they announced rebrushed so now it's a stupid interaction that makes no sense.

The idea behind this was a sort of meta joke of Oswald and Ortensia were actually living nicely due to the world of Epic Mickey being made for them, they weren't trapped at all and stayed in the area called "wasteland" because it was an entire world made for them and the video games brought them fame and some money. This obviously fell through as the series ya know kind of become nothing more than a bit of nostalgia for the people who played it on the Wii and stopped making money.

THIS ENTIRE THING DON'T MAKE SENSE NOW BECAUSE EPIC MICKEY REBRUSHED IS COMING OUT AND ITS JUST—AGHHH! Damn you, I mean thank you for remaking a game and improving it's graphics and gameplay to make the story more accessible in the modern era, but also damn you for ruining this good line of subtle world building. I either gotta keep the joke and put it in the authors notes: "PS. This was made before Epic Mickey Rebrushed's announcement, there is an outdated line here" which feels lazy AF to keep it in. Alternatively I gotta remove this bit of dialogue which is also gonna be a kind of hassle because I like to transition dialogue into a setting change so the next line is Ortensia apologizing and telling him to turn right which in turn transitions to them inevitably having to change seats because Oswald doesn't know where's he's driving too. Idk I just want this to be as good to read as possible and this entire bit is gonna infuriate me in editing, I know it.

[solivagantingrebel]

Waking up and reading a good fanfic is such a nice feeling. The sheer amount of motivation and cute scenarios floating in my head is — brrrr, might just sit down and start writing again.

[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 1/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.)

This is chapter one of…I don’t know. I may continue if enough people are enjoying it.  Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

Oh God, Martin thought to himself as fur began to emerge from under his skin, covering newly reshaped limbs and hiding sharp claws from sight, Jon’s going to be so mad at me!

Oh no, Martin panicked as blunt teeth gave way to pointed canines, this is so unprofessional of me! 

Only then did Martin allow the terrible question to enter his mind – what was he becoming? 

He should have known better than to pick up an unfamiliar book lying around in the archives of the Magnus Institute, the academic home of research into the paranormal and esoteric. At the very least, if he was going to pick it up, he should have done so only to tidy it away. Why he had felt compelled to open the tome and sneak a peek inside, he couldn’t say. 

As the world around him lurched into a new angle, Martin could only think about the presentation his boss had delivered a few weeks prior. 

Obviously, you shouldn’t be dealing directly with any artefacts of note, Jon had said dryly, tapping the large screen behind him that showed countless examples of seemingly mundane objects. We have a department for that for a reason. However, it’s not unusual for one or two to slip through the cracks; particularly books, given the extensive nature of our library. If you should check out a book as part of your research and you see the name ‘Leitner’ involved in any capacity, do not read the book. Put it down immediately. Martin, that goes double for you – if you even think the word ‘Leitner’ near a book, I want you to turn around immediately and walk back to your desk – do you understand? 

Had he seen the name ‘Leitner’ in this book? There had been a torn bookplate in the front, and maybe the remaining letters had been ‘ner’...

Did it matter? He was paying for his stupidity now, Martin thought. All fur and claws and fangs, and oh, what hideous monster would emerge from what had once been Martin Blackwood? 

Martin lay down, his fluffy belly flat against the floor, and pushed his newly shaped paws over his eyes. Oh, it didn’t bear thinking about! Jon would burst in at any moment, see some horrible creature, not realise it was Martin, and—

“Martin?” 

As if on cue, the door to the shared office of the archival assistants opened, and in walked Jonathan Sims. “Martin, have you taken your lunch break? Tim and Sasha have already gone, and Elias has been getting very prickly about me making sure you all…oh. Martin?” 

Martin had scampered under the table in hope of avoiding his boss’ gaze. Treated now to a blurry view of the man’s green socks and scuffed brogues, he watched as Jon entered the office. “Oh. Good. He’s gone already,” Jon said to himself with the air of a job well done. He turned to leave, and Martin had almost let out a sigh of relief when the man’s feet stopped. 

No, no! Martin thought, Go! You can’t see me like this! I bet I’m the ugliest monster, all fangs and talons and hair all over the place! 

A scarred hand appeared in Martin’s imperfect vision, scooping up the fallen book that was to blame for Martin’s plight. A new fear sprang up in Martin’s mind then – what if Jon read the book too? 

He had to do it. He had to save him! Even if it meant Jon would see Martin’s disgusting new form, he had to keep Jon safe! 

He lunged with a power that Martin hadn’t ever known before. A screeching roar – or a miaow, really – pierced the air, and Martin all but bodyslammed Jon’s hands, knocking the book firmly from his grip. It span across the room and slid under the bookshelf out of sight. 

Now he’d done it. Now Jon would see Martin in all his revolting glory – witness what that awful Leitner book had turned him into. If he didn’t recognise Martin, as surely he wouldn’t, he’d no doubt call security, and then what would happen? Would Martin be taken down? Locked away in the tunnels for examination and research? Worse, what if Jon did recognise him? He’d know that Martin had messed up in a spectacular fashion, and he’d be so disappointed in him. Would he be the one to tell Martin nothing could be done, that the effects of a Leitner were irreversible and that they’d have to–

“Good Lord! Oh…oh, now, where did you come from, little one?” 

Jon’s voice took on a bizarrely soft tone that Martin had never heard before. He couldn’t respond, however, as thin hands had latched gently around his torso and lifted him from the ground, a startled purr rumbling from Martin’s chest. 

All of a sudden, Jon’s face filled Martin’s entire view. And for once, no scowl darkened his features. In fact, Jon almost looked…delighted? 

Martin blinked. 

“Mrrow?” 

Not once in over a year of working for Jonathan Sims had Martin managed to coax a smile from the other man. All his best attempts, his best teas, his ridiculous amount of overtime to finish his reports to a standard Jon would accept, all his own smiles and attempts to cheer the man up, not one of these gargantuan efforts had been rewarded with a smile. 

And now, with one confused miaow, Martin had unlocked a smile from Jon. 

“How did you get in here? Did you get lost? Did Martin leave the door open again? Oh, I bet he did. I bet he did!” Jon repeated, descending into a cooing baby voice that would have had Martin howling with laughter if he could still laugh. Jon shifted the perplexed Martin to sit over his shoulder more comfortably, the book all but forgotten. “But you’re such a handsome boy! And no collar? Poor little man, have you been wandering around looking for some food and shelter? We’ll get you sorted, don’t you worry, little champion.” 

What���the hell…is happening? Martin wondered, even as a big, goofy smile curled his lips. 

Jon was carrying him. Out of the office. Stroking his back. Calling him a little champion and handsome. 

“How about a saucer of warm milk, hmm? Does that sound good? Would that set you right, hmm?” 

It was only then that Martin’s mind dragged itself out of the dazed, happy fog to piece together what Jon was saying. Why he was saying it. 

Martin had not been transformed into some vicious beast from the eldritch corners of reality. 

As they passed by Jon’s office, Martin caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass pane of the door. 

A large cat with white and orange fur blinked back at him from over Jon’s shoulder. 

──── •✧• ────

Martin was, of course, the talk of the town after everyone returned from their lunch break. Funny, then, that not one person actually mentioned Martin. 

“So you’re gonna take him to the vets, right, boss?” Tim asked, rolling another roll of Sellotape towards Martin, apparently expecting him to play with it. Martin, on principle, refused, turning his nose up and huffing. 

Tim, come on! You’re back, Sasha’s back, who isn’t back yet? Ask where Martin is! he thought. 

“He seems healthy enough to me,” Jon replied, not looking up from the paperwork he was pouring over. “Why?” 

“To get his microchip checked? Get him back to his owners?” 

That made Jon look up, a flash of shock and upset clear in his widened eyes and slightly parted lips. “His ow— No, no, he hasn’t even got a collar on. No owners.”

“Right, but by law, cats have to be microchipped. Maybe his collar fell off or something?” A hint of amusement danced in Tim’s questions; Martin could tell that Tim was toying with Jon. Jon, however, hadn’t picked up on that. 

“M-maybe,” he replied stiffly. “Right, yes, fine. Vets after work. But he can stay here for now. Till the end of the shift.” 

Martin wandered over to Jon, sitting himself down by the leg of his chair and craning his neck up, tail swishing behind him. 

Right, now that’s sorted, onto the next obvious issue in the office, Jon, he thought. Which is…the obvious and mysterious disappearance of—

“Martin’s late back off his lunch,” Jon noted, checking the office clock with a critical glance. “Could you check the archival assistants’ office please, Tim? Maybe drop him a text. Probably got himself distracted by some…particularly interesting bollards or something…”

Sure, there’d been an insult mixed in there, but Jon had noticed! He’d noticed Martin’s disappearance, and that meant Martin had to repay his kindness! 

Fuelled with delight, the cat sprang up onto Jon’s lap, earning him a surprised chuckle. “Ah! Well, hello! Y-yes, you can sit there while I work, Champion. That’s fine.” 

Tim snorted as he headed out of Jon’s office, arching an eyebrow at the pair of them. “Champion? Are you kidding me? He’s a classic Fluffy or Ginger or Marshmallow or something.”

“Nonsense. He’s brimming with regal strength. A Champion if I ever saw one,” Jon retorted with a sniff, deeming the argument not worth his attention beyond that and turning back to his work. “Let me know if Martin gets back to you. And if he shows up, send him in here.” 

The newly named Champion stretched out lazily on Jon’s lap, settling down for a cheeky nap on company time. 

Already here, Jon. 

──── •✧• ────

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

willow: and my favorite thing about explosions has to be just how pretty they are :). in a sudden flash everything around you goes up in reds and golds so bright it makes your eyes water. and when it shakes the ground you can feel it in your teeth and bones. like it goes overtop of you- like a wave, but hotter and faster. and when you open your eyes back up again its like you're in a completely different place. and its like. nothing else in the whole world exists but you, and everything that's burning down around you :).

wilson: wow willow that was. that was kind of nice. almost like poetry.

willow: no it wasn't. explosions are pretty because they blow people up. shut up.

i've said this somewhere before but i think willow's relationship with art- especially profound or professional art- is really interesting. she feels no need to understand or contemplate it, which is fine because she doesn't have to. but she also gives off the impression that something like that could never come out of her- or that it's beneath (or really in this case, above) her. which i personally believe is very false.

i feel as if you got willow distracted enough not to notice she could actually end up sounding really profound and craft some really nice verbal prose around stuff that she actually enjoys. i think the issue is though that if you pointed that out she would stop immediately. and maybe bite you.

[cantstayawaycani]

Can’t Stay Away’s Fic Rec Friday Post #4

12.22.23

My ao3 Bookmarks (if it’s bookmarked, it’s usually a completed fic)

Fic Rec Friday Intro and FAQ

I can’t do multiple posts with elaborate reviews/commentary today. I just wanted to say that over the last few months, while I was grappling with this overwhelmingly depressive sense of doom, profound sadness, hopelessness, and apathy, reading fanfiction was one of the most effective types of escapism I engaged in. 

So, here are the fics that I have been reading, keeping track of, and loving:

Almost anything @bardocksheadband-fanfics, but especially:

1. The Re-Education of Mr. Almehen

Fandom: Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

Pairing: Nashuri

Summary: “Namor's life changes in all the right ways the day his student's aunt picks him up from school.”

What I Like About It: It may seem lame af to describe something as “tasteful” and mean it as a compliment, not a slight. I mean, this is a Suga Mama Shuri and a Baby Boy Namor (whom I call Ch’ah in my head) but not in the way you think. It’s a rom-com! It’s sexy, it’s funny, it’s adorable. And these two kinky assholes are in love! Also, he’s a kindergarden teacher; a good one. The way he is written with these kids just makes my ovaries quiver.

2. Filthy Mouth

Fandom: Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

Pairing: Nashuri

Summary: Single father Namor goes on his first blind date and gets his world rocked.

What I Like About It: Almost the same as above, but in reverse! Though more of a straightforward relationship dynamic, not a kept man/woman scenario at all. More of a freak in sheets, lady in the streets situation. But again, there is love and devotion, as there always is with this pairing (well, when writers stay away from the darker dynamics of the ship). This is absolutely amazing. Superbly written, well-paced, tonally balanced, funny, sexy, and somewhat dramatic but not anxiety-inducing. Like, literally perfect.

_______

Almost anything @zzbottomz, but especially:

unfaithful

Fandom: Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

Pairing: Nashuri/Loshuri

Summary: Shuri’s world unravels when she discovers her husband Namor’s infidelity, leading to a heart-wrenching divorce. Amidst the chaos, she finds solace in Loki, a charming entrepreneur with a complicated past of his own. As their unexpected romance flourishes, Shuri grapples with co-parenting challenges, the complexities of new love, and unresolved feelings.

What I Like About It: I mean, I didn’t think that a Love Triangle between Shuri, Loki, and Namor would be so intriguing. That it would be utterly confusing as to who you want to root for. That you would feel your heart beat for the plight of each character. There’s so much at stake, but especially the happiness of a little boy caught in the middle of the mess adults can make of their lives. It’s drama personified, and I live for each installment. Plus, Loki is written so well here, it’s hard not to root for him.

_______

A new writer, or a seasoned one, returned from a long hiatus, inspired by Shuri and Namor:

Before everything by stories_of_grace

Fandom: Black Panther: Wakanda Forever

Pairing: Nashuri

Summary: A year after her mother’s death, Shuri burns her mourning clothes on the beach in Haiti and wakes up not only back in Talokan, but also back in time. Given the chance to do things differently, can she prevent her mother’s death and convince Namor of a peaceful alliance?

What I Like About It: THIS fic is everything I want in a Nashuri. It is another “What If” scenario, mapped and tread carefully. We’ve all imagined what could have been if it had been different, as Namor lamented on the beach that day just after he speared the Black Panther, right before she almost killed him and forced him to yield to her. Go read this! It is so satisfying!

______

There are others, but ta for now! Please enjoy your holidays!

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

the plight of the fanfic writer

Now, have I created 4 basic dialects based on English but evolved for a Spaceship that would have been in space for 4000 years? Yes. Did I also invent a bunch of basic smart material tech that would theoretically belong there? Yes.

Is ANY of this going to appear in the fic?

Honestly probably not 😂 And if it does, it ain't going to be explained as much as people would want to, but the info's in the brain, I might make extra long end notes (knowing me, probably not though).

Regardless my people are speaking Scigua and Eigen as their main.

My brain the past 2 weeks:

[agentmarcuspike]

“i just don’t understand why we’re making that conversation be about which words we use to DESCRIBE what we’ve written here in this little corner of the internet when it’s so much bigger than that”

This is such a cop out. Because this issue is “bigger than our corner of the internet” we shouldn’t do something about it?? This issues extends to all media yes but it’s easier to start here, where we can have these discussions with writers one on one. Im not talking to some large studio executive or writer who is never going to hear or care about our plight. Im talking about the fanfiction community, where the best comparison for fanfic is a home cooked meal, and if you don’t care that your readers or followers may feel disheartened by being excluded, then that’s kind of concerning. We should listen to when POC tell us about their concerns, instead of trying to find gray areas or things in the fine print to disprove their points or invalidate their feelings. If a person of color is telling you that what you’re doing or saying makes them feel excluded, you should listen to them. Point blank.

I’m sorry if that was a lot and a very long and winding response thought process wise but I’m sick and tired of white writers only catering to white readers. And yes I know there are thousands of writers on this website but it’s hard to not feel upset by this when the most popular writers on here are literally writing the most egregious white and skinny coded readers. People have a right to be fed up.

answering your long ask with an even longer answer because i feel like we’re talking past each other

it wasn’t meant as a cop out, of course we should still try to do something about it. i was trying to give some perspective that a bunch of people seem to be missing rn and the way you’re going about this, i’m sorry if it came off as invalidating

i’m obviously not disagreeing with your point, like i said. everyone should feel seen and welcome and understood, and if that’s not the case then we should try our best to change that. but this is a completely different conversation than what i set out to have, because of course i think people have a right to be upset. i’m trying to criticize the way a lot of you guys are going about this over and over, and not your cause.

“(…) where we can have these discussions with writers one on one”

but we’re not doing that, are we? this conversation right now is between you, who has the safety of anonymity, and my blog followers, who are the people that will see this. the conversations people are having are through posts saying they want change, without addressing who needs to make the changes, leading people to send writers anonymous hate, which is absolutely not making any changes, rather the opposite.

it would be much more fruitful if the people who feel hurt would tell the writers directly, so that they could be educated, if they’re not, instead of attacking people with vague posting, rallying people to send them completely unrelated hate, which is what’s happening, and what keeps happening every time we try to have this conversation. if people then choose to keep writing stories about white and skinny people then i’m sorry to say that that’s their choice. yeah it sucks, and you have a right to be upset about it, but what you don’t have is a right to demand they change, because this is people’s hobby, and if they want to write about only what they know then they should get to do that. and if you have suggestions for how they can be more inclusive and diverse, or want them to add certain tags, tell them personally, and don’t make a vague post about it. doing the latter makes it seem like you don’t actually care about change, and only want people to feel bad

if there’s anything you suggest i do to make my writing more inclusive then please tell me off anon so we can have a proper conversation about it, i would love that. if not, please take it up with the people you think about when making vague callout posts instead of my inbox, because this is not gonna lead to any change

[garfield-mug]

thank u and i know i did but why can't i be inspired and motivated when i actually have time 😭

i really went into winter break thinking "wow i'm going to write so much" and gave you poor souls basically nothing and i know for a FACT that as soon as classes start next week i'm gonna feel like writing again. :|

[kookoofufu]

I have all these serious WIPs and I start writing dofuwani smut… I finally understand the plight of fanfic writers

[sjmnextgenweek]

Hello all! This is @starfall-spirit hosting my first event, SJM Next Gen Week 2023! Go ahead and get cracking on your fanfics, artwork, mood boards, or whatever else you’d like, because from March 6th-12th we celebrate the children of all your favorite ships from Throne of Glass, A Court of Thorns and Roses, and Crescent City.

Rules:

Children of any and all SJM ships, canon or crack are welcome here.

If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Attacks on other authors/artists/contributors will not be tolerated here.

Lastly, have fun and write/read/draw for you before anyone else. Don’t forget to use #sjmnextgenweek2023 and tag @sjmnextgenweek to make sure your works end up on my daily masterlists! Fic writers can also submit to the Next Gen AO3 Collection.

Questions: I’ll answer from this ask box/messenger or from my personal account. Please reach out if I overlook your post. Each and every submission is valued here!

Prompts:

Day 1-Family Time

Maybe it’s their training, maybe it’s an annual holiday. How does your next gen character interact with their parents, siblings, cousins, and close friends?

Day 2-Pick an AU

Are they a modern day university student? Are they the hero of a fairytale? The answer is up to you.

Day 3-Crossover

How would your next gen character meet a person or group from another SJM world?

Day 4-Young Love

How would your next gen character meet his or her mate or love interest?

Day 5-Pick a Trope

Platonic, romantic, enemies, or whatever else, show your character facing our favorite fictional plights.

Day 6-Rising to Power

Be they an heir taking the crown or a child learning to control the family gift, show your character finding their way to who they’re meant to be.

Day 7-Free Day

Go wild, friends!

[cartoon-buffoon]

Thinking about writing a sequel to one of my older works featuring Euthanasia Rabbit and HET Cat. It was SUPPOSED to be made for Felix's birthday but like... The last time I tried to write a fucking sequel nobody gave a fuck

Like... I know the whole point of writing fanfiction is it's supposed to be for you! It's supposed to be the self satisfaction of writing and creativity that feels good, but seeing numbers like this is discouraging. Like why create a sequel? Why have a sweet happy ending? Why resolve unspoken feelings between characters and create a nice little ending that puts a bow on everything and fixes what was left out in the first fic if ultimately nobody is gonna care!? Idk... I've been wanting to finish this HET and Euthanasia fic but I just can't help but feel like it'll be another flop

[amynchan]

The plight of fanfic writers. X'D

[ivymarquis]

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them? 32. Name three of your favorite fanfic writers. 55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

So I have like…. 15 (!!!!!!!) fic ideas sitting in my WIP google doc where I list all my stuff so I dont lose track of them. 3 of those I have actually started in some form or fashion.

As for sharing; I think Ive shared all the ideas in some form or fashion but I am incapable of keeping my wips to myself so here is the start to the “Price thinks he caught his wife cheating but actually she’s just masturbating” fic lmao

The lines in John Price's face testify to the worry that nags him every day.

He’s paid to worry. His men rely on it to stay safe- not that they so much as actively do, but it’s the fear of failure -of one of them not coming home- that drives Johnto account for every possible course of action during an op, and come up with three additional back up plans for each initial potential course.

He accounts for everything. No detail goes unnoticed, no stone goes unturned. He doesn’t have the option of making a mistake. If a clerk files a paper wrong, worse case scenario John resubmits a report. If he does his job wrong? Someone very likely will die.

There’s many, many things in the day that worry John but you are not one of them.

Not usually, anyway. And the slight nagging sensation as he pulls down the street that you two live on is easily accounted to him projecting and empathizing with the plight of a young soldier John had come across while getting ready to leave base.

One of the corporals under Soap had left the day before once placed on leave, only to be back on base this morning.

John hadn’t commented on the corporal's red, puffy eyes. The man’s ego’s already suffered a terrible blow, and his crying being acknowledged by his captain would not have helped matters.

The poor sod had walked in on his girlfriend in the act with another man. Not so much as a Dear John letter, but letting him find out in the worst way possible.

And so John brushes off the nagging in the back of his brain. He’s a worrier, and apparently his brain feels like torturing himself with thoughts of how absolutely wrecked he would be if he found himself in the same position as the corporal.

He leaves his bags in the car as he parks, too eager to see you to bother with them. He can unpack later.

The house is quiet when he first steps in. “Darling? I’m home.”

He expects to hear an excitable “John!” and you scrambling to him from whatever room you’re in. Your usual routine ending with you flinging yourself into his arms.

He’s greeted with more silence. Maybe you’re in the shower? John has text you on base that he was coming back. But the house isn’t all that far from base. Maybe you haven’t seen the message if you haven’t looked at your phone.

He makes his way up the stairs, grinning slightly at the thought of catching you in the shower. He’ll need to be careful- that he doesn’t spook you thinking you’re alone in the house only to be found naked and wet. He would feel terrible if you slipped from fright.

No sooner does John reach the top of the stairs does his stomach drop clear to the floor.

He can hear the mattress squeaking.

32. Name three of your favorite fanfic writers

I can only pick 3?? 🥺🥺

Well, you of course 💕💕 I am forever and will always be obsessed with Dita, and now Izzie (any anyone else you write because I am obsessed with your writing and it is wild to me still that we are friends!! I have been reading your stuff since you were writing for skyrim!!)

@kneelingshadowsalome I am literally so obsessed with how poetic Salome’s writing is. It’s just *chef’s kiss* absolutely incredible. Literally any and of it is just so good.

@embossross we all saw my public meltdown over my upset of not ever finding her again when my computer kicked the bucket and like a dummy I hadn’t followed/saved the fic I was reading in any way. Her writing is so good and Im still working my way through the fic of hers I am reading but fr fr y’all if you have even the slightest interest in bdsm dynamics I know absolutely nothing about the tr fandom so idk how close it follows anything canon but it flows so nice aaHHHHHH

55. Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

Lowkey the characters I always love most typically fit the same archetype (for whatever reason I huff the “traumatized soldier” trope like it’s blow and I cannot stop myself).

I can’t pick just one so Imma ramble

Like Ghost is just delightfully traumatized and I wanna snuggle him and make things okay for him going forward.

And the ghost fics/ideas are definitely the ones I get more notes on but lowkey Ive been feeling Price lately and while the price snippets/fics have gotten good responses they haven’t pulled near the numbers as the ghost ones but I do not care lmao literally if anyone comments anything nice on my stuff Im so happy but I’m not like…. Gonna cater my writer with the purpose of getting the most notes (tho I am pleasantly surprised when something blows up) so whoever my flavor of the month is, isn’t particularly swayed by reader response.

And of course Jacob will always have a special place in my heart because I have simped for that man since 2018 and I *will* excuse the kidnapping, brainwashing, and cannibalism. Because he is my babygirl.

For my actual OCs, while I haven’t written very much for her yet I just love Honey so so so much any time I do a snippet for her she just writes so easy for me.

Like I love CC still and they have their similarities in certain aspects of disposition/motivations but sometimes I gotta wrestle her down lmao

Get to Know Your Fic Writer

[shame-is-a-wasted-emotion]

Annie! For the fanfic writer ask game:

8, 12, 23, 36 💫

Aww thank you for asking Mia Cara @fallevs

So let's see

Share the last line that you wrote

Its been quite a long time to be honest that I've written anything. I haven't even started my fanzine fic and It's due in 2 days. Oh the plight of me!

Anyway so maybe this is the last line I wrote:

"His muscles were screaming for his bed and his fingers were typing sorry letters in the freeze. Not an ideal situation but this was how Kurt’s day went." (Psst Psst :this is for someone's prompt)

What fandom do you want to write for more often?

Hmm Klaine obviously. I want to write more for Firstprince(Red, white and royal blue). I want to start writing for Huskerdust( Hazbin hotel). Quintana should feasible too. I have ideas but I have no motivation.

Where do you usually write?

In my room. That is where my laptop is. Or should I say "storage dungeon"? This room is so dirty and depressing but this is my privacy chamber. Or if I'm dead bored, on my tab or phone, in class rooms. But that's very rare.

Have you written a fic because you were inspired by a song?

Absolutely!

Work From Home inspired by Work From Home by fifth harmony

Can't Help Falling In Love inspired by Can't help falling in love by Elvis Presley

Too Early In The Game? Inspired by "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" by Ella Fitzgerald

Part Of Your World inspired by Part Of Your World from the little mermaid

There are many more but they are a chapter in a multi chap fic.

Thank you for asking Aurora!

If you want to ask me

[unlimitedhorsepower]

me writing my fanfic

honestly though i frequently think abt how many details i reference as truth are like actual canon things but theyre more obscure details from peripheral materials rather than in the anime.

but also some details i made up. would love to talk about my reasonings for those details. some of them are esoteric. but some of them are just based on reality to me. i refuse to call yuris mom "origa" bc it was the artist name of that one russian singer whose real name was olga and whos just known in japan for a bunch of anime collabs

its also my truth (but not totally unreasonable imo) that olga immigrated to sternbild and her surname is just "petrov" specifically due to simplifications for required forms/some minor mixups. not even petrova and nothing given wrt patronymic vs surname but i dont think sternbilds legislative system wouldve understood patronymics and its not rly important.

what is interesting to me is that olga petrova was a real person (well. im sure this has been the name of many people. but bear with me), a vaudeville performer, who actually adopted the name as a stage name. ive always felt that olga was running from something and wouldve explained why she has nobody else to care for her than her son. and nobody had ever heard of her either.

olga petrov is a bit of a fake name isnt it...

being a woman with no family nor connections in an unfamiliar city is such a ripe ground for getting an abusive fuck of a husband. i really doubt that mr. legend suddenly became abusive once his NEXT power started failing. i just think olga didnt have anyone else and she was willing to overlook all of his flaws for that long as someone who was rich and famous and kept a roof over her head etc

what choice does she have? also gives more basis to how nobody seems to ever acknowledge olga (or yuri) exist. i feel like mr. legend couldve just presented olga as his girlfriend of the day (who has a son) to maverick and he wouldve been like okay so...whatever...

and they never talked bc olga ~kept out of the way~ when her husband has people over or is on the phone etc. and this dynamic gets worsened when mr. legend starts to lose his powers bc he might not have a NEXT power anymore but what he has is total control and power over olga.

^ruminations of an unwell person who thinks narratives actually care about woman characters. objectively the name was given bc the writers had heard origa once LMFAO and petrov is a common surname

anyway. personally i still think it would be interesting if gregory sunshine was yuris real biological father (insert that theory post i made pre-cour 2) and olga just managed to get into a rlship with mr.legend so quickly she could pass yuri as his son. (or mr. legend was okay with the fact at least initially. doesnt matter). and that also adds to her plight of being stuck with mr.legend, and im sure she was also in love with him, but she didnt have any other choice... nobody to help her. heroes arent real

wouldve explained why olga was running and suspectible to shit freaks like mr. legend. i would be inclined to say nothing megaweird happened and gregory was just olgas weird creep boyfriend bc i dont want to torture olga for funsies. more of a situation where she got pregnant accidentally and was like fuck i cant raise a child with a total criminal freak... not that she was raped by him bc olga rly has enough bad shit in her life without that:/

gregory is a creep for sure considering even the scene where he makes ryan lose control (which is. really weird lets be real. the kotetsu scene mirrors it) but still.

AND would also explain why olga blames yuri so strongly for Everything...doesnt excuse her ofc but like. i also understand it. her life sucked. tfw women could be more than Mothers and perhaps even lead full and nuanced lives that explain their actions

this is irrelevant to my fanfic btw (kinda) though i explore yuris and olgas rlship in it. olga is someone who tries but she is so crushed by her circumstances that sometimes her best try isnt enough. its a tragedy is all.

and also interesting how gregory never showed up in sternbild before s2. like olga chose a good place to run to (in the case she had). ripping my hair out ahhh ahhh ahhhh the lore... its so deep (the lore i made up in my head that is)

[hausofmamadas]

| In defense of Wonderbread White: Eureka!Character moments |

Aka a sort-of love letter to my fanfic author friends

Because we've all had that moment when we've sat down to write and the way it comes out, you just know, "this blorb is in my bones." And the reader knows it too.

For @narcosfandomdiscordNarcOctober Fanworks collection [October 14]

Prompt: Day of Support - Create a review, response, or analysis of a Narcos or Narcos Mexico fic, in the style of an Amazon review or a NYT book review or something like that.

⁂

In lieu of a traditional screamblog, I thought I'd take this opportunity to expand on the Steve Murphy master's thesis that I brought up in a prior screamblog for @garbinge 's Narcoctober fic, For Old Time's Sake, in order to highlight a common phenomenon that I've noticed as a reader and experienced as a writer - specifically, when the character work in a fic is so seamless, the character is so well-crafted, it's clear not only did the author put a lot of thought into world-building or canon-consistency, their love for the character and attention to detail and observations and extrapolations of that characters' journey manages to take them and elevate them beyond the original portrayal. Colloquially, we might call it, "This one's in the very marrow of my bones."

The most recent experience I had with this was reading this ☝🏽☝🏽 fic (as well as another Steve&Reader fic by @garbinge) and though this idea had been bouncing around in my head for a while, it was solidified specifically because well, let's just say I am not exactly Steve Murphy's Biggest Fan. I'm not even just a Steve Murphy regular fan. And in my original screamblog, I explained that while I don't hate 'ole boy Steve, he frustrates me to no end. Quite frankly, the man makes me crazy.

Why? Oh, I don't know, could it be the gung-ho, frontier lawman attitude? Or the fact that he moves to a whole ass other country, is presumably there for several years and never actually learns the language? Or is it the persistent dismissal of his wife's very valid concerns as the violence of his job escalates significantly and poses a threat to theirs' and their newly acquired child's life? Or maybe just the tale-as-old-as-time, Tennessee, toxic masculinity. And as I type this, I promise it is not lost on me that you can't throw a rock without hitting a male character who doesn't also possess almost every one of these distasteful qualities.

So, why Kay? Why does it bug you so much when Steve Murphy does it? I have no answers other than what I said in my screamblog, wherein I described Steve as being a painfully White American Man, to the point of being Whitebread White. It's not his fault. It's not even within his control, it just ..... bugs me.

And yet, reading this fic, I found my tried-and-true prejudices and criticisms of Steve Murphy falling away enough for me to really see the character. It was like I had my guard up and that guard was a pair of thick-rimmed, 1970s-grandpa-vietnam-vet bifocals, and I needed to view him through a different lens, aka your groovy, pink-tinted, bedazzled, heart-shaped shades, to put that guard (the bifocals) down. And before I knew it, I stopped roasting him in my head for being ridiculous (lest we get it twisted, he still ridiculous but so is every other man), long enough to actually buy into the character and empathize more deeply and profoundly with him and his plight.

And in spite of myself, I was then further re-contextualizing scenes and interactions from a show that I have literally watched more times than I can count, and picking up on aspects of his journey, the space he occupies in his relationships and the bureaucratic, professional law enforcement hierarchy, and his relationship to Javi specifically (who's brand of toxic-manchild I tend to tolerate more as a rule, for no real logical reason except that he’s quieter about it) that I had never considered before, to the point that I felt like I began to understand why this character is loved and stanned by so many. I don't know that Steve will ever be my cup of tea, but I can say with certainty that I finally get it.

But! And this is the crucial part of my whole thesis, in order to get it, it took someone much more fond of him than I could ever be, writing him from a place of love, for me to understand and accept the word of the Good Lordt. And isn't that an incredible thing about fanfic?

So, what specifically in this fic caught my attention and disassembled the metaphorical spitfire that little piggy Stevie comfortably roasts over in my mind, at pretty much all times? There are a few touchpoints, and I'm going to get somewhat meta with it, so bear with me.

It was your attempt at erasing the memory of the day but it was too late. His words echoed in your head. "That was the first person I ever shot, a teenager not even old enough to buy a six-pack." The room was permanently tainted with it. But this time ... it felt lighter, it felt different, like things could be different. -> So, this bit really moved me and it's funny because I don't know if this is something that was actually said in the show at some point, or if it was a bit of backstory that originated in the mind of @garbinge. One might argue that it's more creative if it was an original backstory added by the author, but I'd argue that, if indeed it was a throwaway line in a voiceover or a bit of dialogue, mentioned once and never again, it's equally creative to call back to that as a fic author. Because what that means is (and I know this for a fact because I’ve done it in the process of writing for my own fav characters) you've been paying such close attention, dissecting with such precision each and every frame of each and every episode they’re in, devouring every available bit of canonical detail of this person’s backstory, and turning it over and over and over in your head, thinking about how that event might've affected their actions or influenced their behavior and outlook. That is character work just as much as coming up with original backstory or worldbuilding. You know this person because something about them grabs you. There's an impetus to dig deeper. And while the impetus may not have been—or certainly wasn't, in this case—mine, pointing out these little things that I might otherwise tune out or not give much thought to because I'm not consumed by fascination (lbr, at times, infatuation) with that specific character, the highlighting of these details in more penetrating and thoughtful ways through fanfic, forces me to take them more seriously, reckon with their complexities, and therefore, enhances my enjoyment not just of the fic at hand, but of the character and the show itself.

Folding clothes. Another thing that brought him back to that night. Folding the clothes that used to be soaked in blood, how easy it was to wash away the evidence of it ... If he saw a therapist, they'd likely connect it to how that was the jumping off point to everything he'd gotten himself into since then. Colombia. Escobar. The whole thing. But that was the thing, he didn't see a therapist, the closest he got to it was a bottle of whiskey and a few mumbled words to Javier Peña, his DEA partner. -> This is one of my favorite sections of character work and greatly assisted in my buy-in as a reader because while it's clear Steve was conjured up in the fic with love, it's not an overly idealistic view of him. It's not blind to his faults (which, again, can be admittedly found in any other male character in the franchise) but it also refers to this particular flaw in light of an experience of trauma and that serves to humanize him in my eyes, rather than solidify my personal bias. It's incredibly disarming and in my humble opinion, the mark of a character who's been well-rotisseried in the mind of the author.

Steve had thrown his clothes back on and you were in the process of putting your shirt back on. He was quick to grab the shirt, bringing it down your body and situating it on correctly. He went back to resting his head against yours once you both were settled. -> Okay, this is probably one of the greatest examples of, "this man is in your bones," because the physical portrayal of his mannerisms, the ways in which he expresses affection in intimate moments are things I have never given a single thought to. And yet, when it's presented to me in such a perceptive way and in the context of a relationship with someone who relates to and reflects Steve so proficiently (that is, the capital-r Reader, but who I also can't help but see as an extension of the author because I, too, as a fic writer relate to my favs through other characters in a fic), it reveals new facets that I wouldn't have taken care to look into or uncover for myself. But even though the perspective is new, the light in which I'm seeing him is new, his mannerisms are wholly consistent with what I do know of Steve and what's been demonstrated in the show. It feels wholly authentic in the sense that were this shot and edited as a scene in an episode, an actual part of the show, it would fit flawlessly. I wouldn’t be like “wait, is this still Narcos? what show am I watching?”

"You didn't say you missed me once, until two seconds ago. You said you missed this," you waved your hand around, "that you missed waking up calm, the palm trees, the laundry ... I'm not mad." You added quickly to let him know, taking your hand to move his chin up to look at you. "I get it, I can't even imagine what it's like down there, how the lines blur, how heavy the days must feel, but you're doing the right thing." -> Again, the lack of over-idealization of Steve through the words of Reader, followed up by referencing and emphasizing the difficulty of his job, the fact that he's constantly being put in a position to be traumatized for reasons both in and out of his control is so disarming for me as someone who tends to view Steve solely through a lens of criticism. And the fact that he’s wanting Reader to be Jesus and Take The Wheel and take the power of choice away from him is really heartbreaking when you (and by you, I really mean me) really take a moment to consider what he’s actually going back to. Because it’s also quite clear and well-established contextually in the fic that this is not S1 Steve, all green and eager and fresh-faced and ready to jump right into the work. This is probably a Steve who’s cat’s been mutilated and left at his front door, a Steve who’s already chased sicarios through the streets in dangerous neighborhoods, maybe even seen some of those same sicarios chucked out of helicopters, a Steve who’s literally been snatched off the street, kidnapped in broad daylight and taken to another city by a rival cartel. The guy’s going back to a war zone. Only, he hasn’t been drafted and he must be asking himself, “for what?” a lot by this point.

So yeah, all in all, it really feels like there's Steve, then a massive body of water, then me, and then this fic is A Bridge of Understanding over the body of water. And the bridge can really only be constructed by someone who's just frankly more fair to and forgiving of the man than I. But in light of my criticism, I also think that makes me qualified to say more emphatically than anyone that, this man? This man is in your bones.

Why is this important? Why does any of this matter? Well, besides the massive explosion of dopamine it brings me to commiserate with people over the internet about a show and a community that saved my life at a really hellish, emotional taxing, crucial turning point, it's like paying the love forward! It's like saying, "here's why I love this character," in a really poetic and profound way but without saying that. It's like making me love a character you love but also leaving me with the false impression that it was somehow my idea and that makes me feel Real Fancy and good about myself? It expands the dimensions of my love for A Thing that I didn't think could be expanded because The Thing is over. OH AND, arguably most important, it inspires me immensely and makes me a better writer.

And because this isn't the only instance this kind of character Eureka!moment happening (just the starkest one because of my inexplicably powerful Must-Roast-Steve bias which is mildly reformed but admittedly still present and probably always will be because he just makes it so easy), I feel it a moral imperative to shout out the other writers who've decoded or enhanced my understanding of certain characters because This Blorb Is In Their Bones, as well. For instance, my first Steve Eureka experience was a fic written by @drabbles-mc called Really That Simple, but other Religious Experiences include the following:

Walt Breslin as written by @drabbles-mc in A Good Time and a bunch of others Hector Güero Palma in Taking Damage and Angel Reyes in the When the Crows Come Home series as written by @narcolini Ramón Arellano Félix as written by @rerorero-my-cherry in Sola Con Mi Soledad on AO3 Eduardo Sandoval in Survivor's Forgiveness and in some behind the scenes snippets of An Unpublished Masterpiece and David Barrón in self elegy of the late homecomer as written by @ashlingnarcos Guillermo Calderoni as written by @artemiseamoon in the After This is Over series Gustavo Gaviria as written by @kesskirata in Vengeance for Me Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo as written by @purplesong1028 in The Perfect Storm series Mika Camarena as written by @proceduralpassion in Depth Over Distance Joaquin Chapo Guzmán as written by @cositapreciosa in Juro Que

By no means is that a comprehensive list, but those are the ones that I can think of off the top of my head. There are countless others that I could probably find links for but this is already asslong and it’s getting late. So, that's all my ramblin's for now. I don't even know if this made any sense KEKW but basically, in conclusion, me to you all:

Foldin' Clothes

Steve Murphy x F!Reader For the @narcosfandomdiscord October Prompts. Day 2 - Day of Music: Put your favorite playlist on shuffle and whatever song comes up first, that’s your prompt. Summary: Song Inspo - Foldin Clothes - J.Cole // Steve makes a surprise visit home, but things aren't as picture perfect as either of you would like them to be. Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, regardless of content. Angsty. Mentions of illness, sickle cell disease, blood transfusions, etc. Fighting, arguing, not a happy ending, but not like too too harsh. Slight mentions of smut like blink and you'll miss it type stuff. A/N: First off shout out to Tay's fic inspo playlist for this one!!! Second, it doesn't exactly follow the tone of the song buuuuut it def takes from things said within it!

Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini

The sun from the window hit Steve’s eyes and stirred him awake. It took him a minute to come to, taking a few seconds to wipe his eyes with his watched hand and sit up to take in where he was. It wasn’t home, he wasn’t really sure if he had a real home these days, he technically lived in Colombia, in a small apartment building that he shared with other DEA agents, it was the furthest thing from home. He sold his house in Miami before leaving for Bogata, but that never felt like home either. This, where he was waking up, wasn’t home, but it was the closest he ever got to it. 

He rolled over to find himself on the edge of the couch. Funny how it was probably the most comfortable night of sleep he had gotten in a while. You were pushed up against the backrest of the couch, looking completely at peace as light snores left your mouth. He smirked as he got up, taking a moment to look at the clock. 6:17AM. There was no way he was going to wake you up this early, no matter how much you would argue his ear off when you did wake up. Every minute was valuable since he was set to go back to Colombia tomorrow. 

He didn’t think he was going to come visit you, but the minute he landed in Miami he was telling the taxi driver your address. 

“Hey, can I use your phone? I need to tell my parents I won’t be able to come visit them on my break.” 

Those were his first words to you. Of course you let him in, and he did just what he asked. Said something came up and that he wasn’t able to come home. And then ensued your night of catching up. You did what two people who were stupidly in love with each other would do, you had sex, you talked, you ate copious amounts of food, from all of Steve’s favorite Miami spots, you watched movies, but to say you really watched them was a stretch. Most of the time you were doing the previously mentioned items. You drank a lot of wine, Steve mentioned how it felt like forever since he had a glass of wine, his thirst was generally quenched by some sort of amber alcohol that was hidden in someone's drawer. 

It was a great night, but a late one, which is why Steve was going to let you rest. He moved over to the pile of discarded clothes from the both of you and scooped them into his arms. His head moved back to make sure he didn’t miss anything before making his way to your laundry room. He knew his way around here, it helped that he stayed here pretty much daily for a year before he got pulled away to Colombia. Each room had a memory, some good, some bad. The laundry room’s memory wasn’t the best, the first thought that came to his head was his first kill on the job. It was a kid. He came home, and you were quick to meet him at the garage door and grab his things, tell him to disrobe and throw his dirty, bloody, clothes into the washing machine. It was your attempt at erasing every memory of the day that you could but it was too late. His words echoed in his head.

“That was the first person I ever shot, a teenager not even old enough to buy a 6-pack.” 

This room was permanently tainted with it. But this time, after the initial thought, it felt lighter, it felt different, like things could be different. 

Steve was tossing the clothes in the wash, grabbing the detergent and putting the machine to the right setting and then making his way back out to the kitchen. He saw you still on the couch, but now you were sprawled out completely taking up the entire space. It made him smile to himself, waking up with you, to the sight of you, it was something he’d never take advantage of again. As he entered the kitchen, he began to put together something for breakfast. He was careful in what he chose, wanting to keep the noise level low so as not to wake you. As he opened the cabinet above the fridge, he was met with an array of cereals, he laughed as the memory of you begging him to eat the raisin bran for once over the honeycomb came to his head. Something about the sugar. 

As he looked around the rest of the kitchen, he noticed the slight mess of things, dishes in the sink, pots and pans uncleaned on the stove, bags of groceries still on the counter not put away. It would have been nothing if he didn’t know you, how you normally kept things around the house, but the real telling factor was the calendar on the fridge. It was filled with tasks and meetings, but what caught his eye was the amount of doctors appointments. It was constant, phlebotomy appointments, nutritionists, general practitioners, the list went on and on. 

The bowl was now empty, just a little bit of milk and the remnants of honey comb still floating in the liquid. It was his third bowl, between the first and second he had made his way back into the wash room so he could switch over the laundry, it’s what caused him to stop focusing on the calendar on the wall trying to figure out what was happening. Now he was sitting there, windows open, looking out the backyard, seeing the palm trees sway from the wind, the clouds were rolling in, which meant there was a likely chance for a drizzle later, typical for Florida. To be honest he missed it, not the rain, or the palm trees, or even Miami even, but this yard, this house. Waking up like this, calm, being able to enjoy these mundane tasks, that was what he missed. 

The ding from the dryer had brought him out of his thoughts, he was making his way to the wash room, taking a quick peak at you still to make sure the dryer bell didn’t wake you. You were back squished up against the backrest of the couch, the sight of it made him smile. 

Folding clothes. Another thing that brought him back to that night. Folding the clothes that used to be soaked in blood, how easy it was to wash away the evidence of it, but yet somehow the memory was still so permanently in his mind. If he saw a therapist, they’d likely connect it to how that was the jumping off point to everything he’d gotten himself into since then. Colombia. Escobar. The whole thing. But that was the thing he didn’t see a therapist, the closest he got to it was a bottle of whiskey and a few mumbled words to Javier Peña, his DEA partner. 

“My dad volunteered to fight in World War 2 because of Pearl Harbor. He laced up his army boots and went to fight. It was his duty. Cocaine in Miami? Kilos in Colombia? This is my war. This is my duty.” 

Those were the words he spoke to you when he told you his assignment, where he was going. Before he could think of your response, your voice said something else, but this time in the present moment. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” The sound of your groggy voice brought Steve’s attention onto you as you leaned on the frame of the doorway. 

“It was a late night, figured you needed rest.” Steve smiled at you as he was folding the last of the clothes. 

“So this is what you came here for? To do my laundry.” You crossed your arms and got comfortable in the standing position you were in. 

“Was trying to keep busy.” Steve chuckled as he tossed the last of the clothes in the basket above the dryer. 

“Yea, you should have woke me up.” You kicked off the doorway and approached him, wrapping your arms around his middle and bringing him closer to you. 

Steve fell into the embrace easily, his arms encasing you, his head resting on yours. 

“When’s your flight?” You mumbled, not ready to break the embrace. 

“8AM tomorrow.” His mouth was speaking just over your head before he placed a quick kiss there. 

“24 hours.” You inhaled deeply as you accepted the fact. You pulled away from him, took a few seconds to look into his eyes, try and puzzle together what he was thinking that he wasn’t telling you. 

“A lot can happen in 24 hours.” Steve spoke up, the comment was meant as a tease, as a flirtatious comment, and that’s how you took it, at first. 

He leaned down to kiss you, his lips touched yours and his hands moved to cup your face. It was an attempt to bring you closer to him, for him to soak in every kiss, every touch, every feeling. You smelled the honeycomb on his breath and it made you laugh into the kiss. 

“If you’re gonna sneak the sugary cereal you should learn how to hide the evidence.” You whispered to him in between kisses.  

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps them in the house. Can’t blame me there.” He spoke back to you, his head resting on your forehead. 

“Maybe I kept them there for you, you ever think of that?.” Your eyebrows raised and you could see his face change. It was slight, but you picked up on it immediately. 

Steve however, pushed right by it and was immediately kissing you. You were propped up on top of the dryer and he was starting to move his hands under your clothes. 

Before you even could realize it, he was inside you. Your hand was gripping the back tuff of his hair as he entered in and out of you, your head fell back as you felt every emotion ever get sent into overdrive. This was Steve, your Steve, he was back, he was here, and he was inside you and nothing could beat that emotion right now. Both of you didn’t last long, despite the countless times you went at it the night before, but it had been a long time for the both of you. 

Steve had thrown his clothes back on and you were in the process of putting your shirt back on. He was quick to grab the shirt, bringing it down your body and situating it on correctly. He went back to resting his head against yours once you both were settled. You closed your eyes, feeling exhaustion come back over you.

“Tell me not to go.” Between Steve’s voice and what he said, it jolted you awake. 

“What?” You didn’t need the clarification, but you did need another couple seconds to get your thoughts together. 

“Tell me not to go.” He repeated himself, same tone, same voice. 

“Steve.” You slipped by him now, breaking the closeness you had and made your way to the kitchen to grab breakfast for yourself. 

He was behind you immediately. 

“I’m being serious. Tell me not to go. I won’t go.” He said now with more firmness in his voice, putting that pressure on you. 

“You know I can’t do that.” You said as you reached in the cabinet for a bowl. 

“You can, just say it and I won’t leave for my flight tomorrow.” Steve was practically begging now. “I’ll stay here and we can eat take out from wherever, and I’ll do the laundry, fold the clothes for you, I’ll eat the fuckin’ raisin bran like you want me to.” His voice was pleading now. 

“Steve. You can’t come here, unexpected, and then just throw this decision on me.” The sentence was true, but harsh, which is why you spoke it in a way that didn’t come out mean or strong. 

“I’m not an idiot. I see what’s happening around here.” Steve raised his voice now. Your face twisted up and that was just more fuel for him. “You’re fucking sick. You told me that shit wasn’t serious, you let me leave when you knew what it was, you lied to me.” 

You didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. You were sick, you did tell him it wasn’t serious. But you did that for his own good, he needed to go to Colombia, staying back to take care of you would have meant resentment and stress, and fighting. You were never the couple that fought, you didn’t want to become that. The irony. 

“But whatever, I don’t care about that. It’s clear you have a lot on your plate and I wanna help. I miss this. I miss waking up calm, I miss the fuckin’ palm trees, doing laundry.” In a quick instant he was back to pleading.

“Steve.” It was the only thing you could think to say at this moment. 

“I wanna do the right thing.” His voice was soft and he had tears building up in his eyes.

You approached him, taking his head to rest on your shoulder as he cried. Standing there together you rubbed your hand up and down Steve’s back. 

After a few moments of standing there in eachothers arms, you spoke up. 

“You are doing the right thing.” 

Steve didn’t speak, although you knew if he was going to say anything he was going to argue with you or deflect. 

“I miss you.” Deflection. 

You weren’t sure which was better of the two, at least with arguing there was a chance of getting down to an agreement or to some type of closure, deflection just buried things deeper. But instead of trying to pull at deeply rooted weeds, you decided to bring a new argument to him. For his own good. 

“Can I be blunt?” You asked him, hand still tangled in his hair as you pulled away to look at him. 

Steve just gave you a look, one that meant, ‘even if I say no you’re still going to say whatever it is.’ It made you smile, but you didn’t want to chuckle too much because you knew the next statement was going to sting. 

“You don’t miss me. You miss normalcy. You miss home.” It was now that you fully pulled away and crossed your arms. There wasn’t anything angry about what you did, because you weren’t angry, you were just being honest. It didn’t hurt you, whatever Steve had going on in Colombia was bigger than anything you could understand. The things he’d probably seen, the things he’d probably done, it made this situation entirely different. 

Before Steve got the chance to open his mouth, likely to now argue, you cut him off. 

“You didn’t say you missed me once, until two seconds ago. You said you missed this,” you waved your hand around, “that you missed waking up calm, the palm trees, laundry.”  Your head dipped to look directly into Steve’s eyes which were now staring at the floor as he knew you had made your point. “I’m not mad.” You added quickly to let him know, taking your hand to move his chin up to look at you. “I get it, I can’t even imagine what it’s like down there, how the lines blur, how heavy the days must feel, but you’re doing the right thing.” 

There was something in Steve’s eyes, maybe it was sadness, maybe it was desperation, maybe it was a mix of both. But regardless you knew the question out of his mouth was coming sooner or later. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?” His hand was coming up to caress your face now. 

“You wouldn’t have gone. I can’t be the reason you stay behind.” It was a easy answer, as hard as it was to get out. 

“I would’ve wanted to stay.” He argued. 

“You would have resented me, even if it wasn’t obvious.” You were doing a good job avoiding talking about being sick. 

Steve scoffed and lowered his head before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “How bad is it?” 

“It looks worse on paper than it is.” You turned around now, filling up a glass of water. “I’m at the doctor a lot to monitor my reactions to some new pain meds, sometimes I need the occasional blood transfusion, it’s normal for someone with sickle cell disease. But I haven’t needed one in a while.” You explained. 

“You lying to me?” Steve asked, knowing this wasn’t a topic you wanted to stay on much longer. 

“Through my teeth.” You smiled and caved. “I’m a part of a clinical study for sickle cell disease, it’s a genetic therapy thing. I know you hated the trials mentioned back–”

“No, no, it’s a good thing. I’m glad.” He was also lying through his teeth, you knew he hated the unsureness of a trial, but you also knew that he was aware he wasn’t in the position to make judgments on your choices. 

“I’m okay, Steve.” 

He nodded at that. “Can we just forget about the last 30 minutes and just enjoy the time we got?” He said, clearly trying hard to swallow the pain of the last half an hour. 

“I’d love nothing more.” You agreed with him. 

The next day was like nothing happened, like those 30 minutes of tension and arguing never existed, you weren’t sure if it was a good or bad thing in the long run, but for both of your mental states in this moment, you were glad it happened that way. You spent the day dancing around the house to music, going to the beach for a bit, walking the boardwalk, but your favorite part of the night was the couch cushion fort you two created. You christened the fort, multiple times, before the night was over, you shared laughs, you shared kisses, new memories and old ones until the both of you fell asleep. 

Steve woke up, like clockwork at 6AM, and in typical Steve fashion, he didn’t wake you up to say goodbye. He didn’t want a repeat of the morning prior, which he knew it would be. He would have asked you to tell him to stay and you would have said no. He would have said that you needed his help since you were sick, and you wouldn’t have been as nice as the day prior. It wasn’t the way he wanted to leave things, so even if this was a dick move, it was the better move. 

He gathered his belongings, and was out the front door, looking back once through the blinds, he saw you still asleep through the front of the couch fort. He smiled and took one deep sigh before stepping towards the taxi waiting for him on the road. Maybe one day he could come back here and fold laundry with you, but he knew today wasn’t that day.