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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years ago

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My Liability, My Deadweight

Fandom: The Chronicles of Riddick

Collection/Series: My Liability, My Deadweight

Pairing: Richard B Riddick x Female Fat + Glasses Wearing Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: T (Swearing, Riddick is Riddick, violence)

Warnings: Swearing, violence towards deadly alien creatures, violence from deadly alien creatures towards the reader

Summary: None of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to be on a holiday resort planet, relaxing by glistening waters and forgetting your troubles. Not traipsing through a deadly jungle on an uncharted planet with a just as deadly companion who seems torn between helping you and hating you.

Notes: So I guess this is going to be similar to Western AU Din in that i’ll probably write some stuff in the same sort of world/vein as this. I’m just interested in the idea of Riddick with a reader who is the opposite of a survivalist, who isn’t fit or strong, who is scared. The idea of Furyans having mates or soulmates that they don’t really get to choose and the idea of Riddick having to come to terms with the idea that the person he wants to protect so bad needs his protection more than most is interesting to me.

This is probably such a niche thing to write, not only because the fandom is tiny, but also because people tend to write Riddick fanfic where the reader or OC is extremely capable, but I wanted to write it. So self-indulgent fic coming up.

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Kratos is a horror show of a planet. It’s the sort of planet you’d never thought you’d end up on, the sort of planet that you saw on horror vids and read about in the tales of survivors of tragedy. You weren’t supposed to be on it. You were just on a short trip, just supposed to go to a stupid holiday planet, at the insistence of your boss that you needed a break from your desk, that you worked too hard. You were a city slicker, an urban citizen, not an outdoorsman or an adventurer, certainly not the sort of person who’d come to a planet like this. But, your pilot had needed to make a stop, said there was a problem with the fuel cells that he needed to check out. So you’d made a pit stop on a barely charted planet. Nothing good ever happens on a barely charted planet.

Covered in dense, muggy jungle, the planet would have been beautiful had it not been trying to kill you and your, for want of a better word, companion at every turn. It was covered in vibrant green forest, tropical plants, exotic and brightly coloured flowers (many of which, it turns out, were deadly themselves). There were brightly coloured bird-like creatures and primitive mammals that scurried through the trees and across the ground. It would have been beautiful, except for the limp in your walk from the burning claw marks deep in your thick thigh, except for the blood that followed in your wake, the dead bodies of the crew you’d left behind, and the yellow eyes that seemed to follow the two of you under the dark canopy.

After a stupid decision by your group to go out into the jungle to try and find a settlement of some sort, just because it had seemed like (as if there was any real reason to leave), you’d been picked off one by one. You could only describe the beasts as fucked up panthers. Two tails with stingers at the end, sharp spindly spines along their backs, an elongated neck, venomous fangs and sharp teeth and claws. They were hard to spot, silent in the underbrush and decidedly and most definitely deadly. The only reason you were still even alive was because of Riddick, because for some unknown reason the man, the murderer, had decided to stick close to you, like glue. You weren’t complaining.

At the time of boarding the ship for your trip it had seemed horrifying, to know that you were travelling on the same transport as Richard B. Riddick, escaped convict, known murder, predator. He was the sort of man your parents whispered about, the sort of man that you never wanted to meet. He was someone from your worst nightmare. Now he is your saving grace and surprisingly not what you had expected of a notorious big bad. While he meets many of your expectations, crude at times, harsh, and physically intimidating, he defies them too. He is at times oddly gentle with you and, the mere fact he cares about someone’s survival other than his own, is in itself a surprise. A fortunate one for you.

“Are we nearly back to the ship?” You ask because your leg is killing you, because you so desperately just want to get off this planet even if it means being stuck in a confined space with a convicted murderer. You hate this planet, you hate the constant feeling of fear and of uselessness. You hate the truth of it all, that you are weak, vulnerable, prey not the predator. It has you realising your many weaknesses, many vulnerabilities, many failings.

“Shhh…” Riddick raises his hand out in front of you, a universal sign to stop, while the other comes to his lips in a shushing motion. If he were a dog, his ears might very well have pricked up at the slightest sound.

To you nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were no unusual sounds or movement in the brush. You couldn’t see anything out of place. Just as you begin to notice the silence, the lack of sound, that is the moment everything goes terribly wrong.

“Riddic-” You were cut off by your own scream.

Things happen so fast that you don’t really have time to process them. One minute you are standing behind Riddick attempting to get his attention, the next a dark shape crashes into you and you’re on the jungle floor a heavy weight pressing on your chest and stopping your breathing. Your hands reach up instinctively, pushing against the creature in an effort to keep sharp gnashing teeth from your face, but you’re not strong and you’re not a fighter and you can feel your arms beginning to collapse already. Can hear yourself screaming for Riddick even as part of you thinks he’ll leave you there, abandon you to be eaten alive. There is a deep fear that this is it, this is the end. That it shall be painful, terrifying, lonely, and unfamiliar.

Claws scratch at your arms, blood runs over your skin in rivulets as you scrabble in the dirt. Then as suddenly as the weight came it was gone, hefted off of you with an angry roar and the sound of a knife hitting flesh over and over again. You don’t look, can’t bring yourself to look, just lie there and breathe, in and out. You don’t want to see him do what he’s good at, don’t want to see alien blood, a dying creature, the parts of him that are less than gentle. So you stare up at the canopy and catch your breath, feeling the blood flow down your arms, the bruises that ache over your stomach, hips and legs. Feel the relief flow through you, combat the shock, as you realise you are not dead, you are alive, and he did not leave you to die.

You’re rather numb in truth until you hear him muttering above you, “goddamn liability, deadweight…”, it shouldn’t upset you because it’s true. But it does, it upsets and angers you because you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t want any of this and you didn’t ask him to hang around, didn’t ask him to help you. You had no say in this. This was not your idea of a holiday, your idea of fun, or your fault.

It forces you to your feet, forces you, despite the blood dripping from your wounds, to stand and face him, despite the bruises, despite the pain, despite the fear. You find yourself planting your feet even as you sway unsteadily, standing with hands on your wide hips and a scowl aimed at a man that could kill you easily. For the first time you’re too angry to overthink your actions towards the man. For a moment you stop thinking and start acting.

“If i’m such a goddamn liability, then just leave me here! I didn’t ask for you to stay, Riddick! I didn’t ask for your help! If it’s such a fucking chore to have me along, if i’m really dead weight then leave me! Go!” You didn’t normally scream at anyone, it wasn’t your personality type. You were quiet, shy, retiring. A wallflower. You didn’t scream. You didn’t start fights. You didn’t do any of that. Anger wasn’t your natural response to anything. Fear was. But after being hunted down, time and time again by giant alien cats with venomous fangs and an uncanny ability to hide on a jungle planet, all while being called a liability, a dead weight by the one person you had to rely on, well, you were finally at your wits end. You were in pain, you were upset, frustrated and ready to just go home.

You didn’t understand it. Why Riddick even bothered with you, practically a stranger. You knew you were a liability, that’s why it hurt so much when he said it. You were soft, emotionally and physically. You were a slow runner, a poor fighter, had terrible eyesight that required glasses, you weren’t light on your feet or graceful and you certainly didn’t know much about survival. You were overweight, unfit and unsure on your feet. You were prone to panic and tears, you were easily emotionally and physically unbalanced. Until this trip from hell you’d been content in the inner rim, working a normal job, a safe life. Your day to day had been comfortable, safe. Easy. You weren’t cut out for this, for danger and potential death and had Riddick, this known criminal, one of the most sought after murderers in the verse, not decided to stick by your side you’d have died at least ten times already. It didn’t make any sense and your frustration at yourself, the situation and at him had tears pooling in your eyes. You didn’t ask for any of this.

“I can’t.” He’s so impassive, so calm, that it pisses you off more. It pisses you off how hard it is to read him, how he hides his eyes behind black goggles that stop you understanding him. How he hides all emotion from you so easily. How is he okay with this? How is he so calm when everything around the two of you wants to kill you, when he could have left this goddamn planet already if you weren’t slowing him down at every turn? How could he stand there above the body of some hell spawn creature and just stare at you like that, like everything was just fine, just normal? Like he wasn’t covered in it’s blood. Like you weren’t dripping in your own. Like you hadn’t almost died. Again.

“I..I don’t get it…? What do you mean you can’t? You could walk the fuck away right now. I can’t stop you! No one else is here to stop you! If you want to leave, leave! No one’s holding you back, Riddick! No one is going to stop you! I can’t bloody well can’t! Look at me!” You sound hysterical even to your own ears but you can’t help it. You are so scared, so confused, so frustrated, so panicked by all that’s happened, all that could happen. You gesture down to yourself, to the bloody coating you, the way you protectively hold yourself off of your hurt leg, the sheer stature different between the two of you. All the things that make it very abundantly clear that if he chose to simply walk away you couldn’t stop him.

“Listen, princess, it’s not that fucking simple!” The snap is almost relieving, that he’s not as cold, not as impassive as you thought. That he could break too. That he could be angry, that he could be upset, that this wasn’t just normal. Even as his steps closer cause your back to hunch, cause you to second guess your antagonist behaviour.

“I don’t understand!”

With a growl he’s crowding you against a tree, thick arms caging you in. He’s imposing, large, a head taller than you and the action has him taking over every one of your senses. He never touches you in anger and while the display is intimidating, it oddly enough doesn’t scare you. It almost feels secure. Perhaps because not once has he done anything to suggest to you that he would hurt you, every move he’s made has been to keep you safe. Every time he’s touched you has been to pull you from danger or bring you back to your feet. Despite his harsh appearance, his foul language and the deadliness that he displays at every turn, he has never once given you cause to fear him. To fear how he would treat you.

“You’re my mate, got it?! I don’t get to choose, I don’t get a choice! I can’t leave you! I just fucking can’t, so you’re a fucking liability and dead weight, but you’re my dead weight, got it? I ain’t fucking leaving you, we either both get off this motherfucking planet or we both get eaten by these fucks, princess. There’s no inbetween, understand?” Silver eyes flash at you as he tears the goggles from his eyes, his brow furrows and the muscles in his thick neck and broad shoulders bunch and move with every piece of tension that bursts through him. You are distinctly and sharply reminded that Riddick is a predator in every sense of the word, while you are prey. You are on two separate ends of the spectrum.

“Mate…?” Your eyes flit across the landscape behind his head, trying to process all those words and all their meanings. You don’t understand, you don’t understand any of it. But, those words soothe you in a way you can’t explain. He isn’t going to leave you. For whatever reason, for whatever this is, whatever he means, he isn’t going to leave you. You let out a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding. He’s not leaving, even if you’re a liability, a deadweight. Even when things get bad, he’s not leaving. He is, at this point, your only chance at getting home, getting away from him, of surviving. The panic in you begins to soothe, calm and settle.

“We don’t have time for this.” You’re startled by the sudden display of affection as the man cups the back of your neck and presses his forehead into your own, “Just trust me.”

“I do, Riddick, I trust you” It’s hard to explain, the trust you feel for him, the safety as you let him lead you once more through the jungle. You are bleeding, in pain and still ever so aware of the dangers around you, but you have an implicit belief that with Riddick you are as safe as you can be. That if there was ever a person to carry you through this it would be him.

You might still be confused, might not understand what he means by you being his mate or by his obligation towards you, but you know that he isn't leaving you for dead and that is enough right now. That is more than enough.

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All Works Taglist

@charradelange @belfry-bat @gabile18 @beccaboo929 @trasheater

#riddick x reader #richard b riddick x reader #chronicles of riddick #richard b riddick #plus size reader #my liability my deadweight #fat reader #readerinsert #reader insert

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aelaer · 3 years ago

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I came here to say thank you for your dedication on writing stephen-centric fics (especially the whumpy/angsty ones). There's a lack of fics out there with stephen being one of the main chars that don't involve the author putting him as a 'plot-setter' to give other characters more 'spotlight'. I love all marvel characters, I really do, but sometimes when I try to find anything to read from the Stephen Strange fandom or alike, it never really fulfills my craving/reaches my expectations. Especially with ironstrange being an extremely famous ship. :/ I may come out more of like an ass on this one, but I really hate fics that make Stephen ooc just bcs. I dunno. To give their fav char the stage? And ppl praise those fics. Say they were good. It's super annoying tbh. I'm probably just biased, idk.

So yeah, thanks for writing your fics. I would really have given up on this fandom if it weren't for you. Real grateful.

k;efw;ijogrz;ogzihoggdio grd <33333333 Thank you! Whenever I am having a writing slump or just a bad day, I try to think of messages like this instead of negative thoughts. People taking the time to just say nice things, it's just -- real nice.

Always great to see another fan of Stephen whump around. PEOPLE, he's so whumpy! Tony and Peter get wayyyy too much whump in fics where the three show up, and in Loki & Stephen fics, it's usually Loki getting the whumping treatment. Whumping the *competent doctor* is way, way more fun. Trust me. I know there's a lot of whumpy writers in the MCU, give Stephen some of your whumpy love. Please. And then tag me after you're done writing it, thank you!

Also, you opened a can of worms with that last comment, because I agree with you and it's been like, a year since I made a comment on this on tumblr, so it's about time I made another one, ahahahah.

Warning: superrrr critical of anti-character writers/Civil War Team Iron Man Only writers below. Sorry if you, the person reading this, are included in that group. I just don't think it's good stuff and bad for the fandom--and my blog, my opinion space sorta thing. But this doesn't mean I think you're any less valuable, or less moral, as a person. This is still just fiction we're talking about.

There's definitely a segment of IronStrange fics that make Stephen OOC. I'm thankful that it's not all of them, but there's still enough to make a Stephen fan just annoyed. It's one reason I refuse to read non-Team Cap friendly fics, or any fic labeled "Civil War Team Iron Man", because 9 times out of 10, Stephen's just a prop character in those instead of a character with his own agency and beliefs. And usually Tony's made into this perfect messiah type character which is just *weird* for a guy who did make his fortune off weapons, like the writers are willfully ignoring that. And beyond that, Tony's definitely a flawed char, which is one reason I enjoy him as a character. Exploring his foibles is one of the best parts of writing from his POV. So making him perfect as anti-fics/Team Iron Man fics tend to do? Not my cup of tea.

There's a tendency to make Steve's character stupid or a bully which is just more bad writing, even worse than what Endgame did to him (talk about bad writing). Folks can write what they want, but I have yet to read a good anti-character-fic that keeps the characters true to their characters instead of serving as some sort of mouth piece for the author which is just poor writing. It may be popular, but there's a *lot* of really badly written books in the NYT Best Sellers, so popular doesn't mean good!

Also, it's not to say that these writers aren't capable of writing better, as I will see their other works and see that, yeah, they can write in a more nuanced POV or have a technical ability that's already present. But they've surrounded themselves with opinions and meta that fit their mold and their mold only and, well, handicap their own growth and their talent by sticking to OOC characterizations. It's their choice, of course, but I find it baffling because they stick to it for *years and years* and I'm still of the opinion that that's not healthy. It's 2022; Civil War came out 6 years ago. It's time to expand your horizons, and probably rewatch the film because you don't remember it as how it really happened if you're still sticking with the old, tired tropes these fics tend to have.

I did almost leave the fandom at one point and delete all my fics in a dark place at the end of 2019/beginning of 2020 (before the pandemic) because I was so tired of this trend to only IronStrange and the amount of vitriol in many of those stories. Thankfully other senses prevailed, and I got some outside assistance that helped make me realize that I still had a place in fandom, even if my opinion was a minority opinion. And asks like yours let me know I made the right choice in sticking around.

#about me #fanfic #ask #answered #anonymous #stephen strange #cacw discourse #discourse #i dunno what else to tag this #anti-antis #i guess lol

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aprilsrant · 4 years ago

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When I kissed the teacher | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) and Oliver finally accept their feelings for each other.

WORD COUNT: 2,065.

WARNINGS: a kiss, (?), a few curse words.

A/N: English is not my first language, if there are any mistakes, let me know! This part wasn’t supposed to be here so soon because I was working on the other fics, but this actually took some of my writer’s block away so here it is.

This is the final part of the mini series, but I think I’ll do some blurbs about Oliver and this particular reader in the future, like dates, life after Hogwarts, and more.

Please like, reblog or comment if you want!

PREVIOUS PARTS:

Lay all your love on me. (Part 1)

Honey Honey! (Part 2).

MASTERLIST. / WORK IN PROGRESS.

The poor Slytherin girl had been trying to hide her feelings towards Quidditch’s rising star and Gryffindor’s Team Captain, for a little more than a year and a half. It wasn’t necessarily difficult at first since they barely saw or talked to each other, only sharing a few classes and having one friend in common —that was more of an acquaintance to him, which made things easier for a few months—. But then, her friend’s conspiracy to get them together interfered with a plan of her own named “avoiding Oliver Wood for the rest of my school days”.

Many tutoring sessions followed the first one, Oliver was improving a lot faster than they had expected. “All your work, of course”, he would say with a thick, scottish accent that made (Y/N) nearly faint every time he’d utter a single word. This was actually one of the reasons why she tried to convince him of calling off their meetings, —that and the fact that it was getting harder to conceal her sweaty hands, the fidgeting, the occasional stuttering, the evident stares and, of course, that the girl was unable to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds—.

Oliver thought differently, he energetically insisted about needing her as tutor more than ever now that he was catching up with Potions and Transfiguration. And once more, incapable of saying no, she agreed, accepting to tutor him for the rest of the year ‘just in case’.

Dorian almost had her head when she talked about the conversation and her desire to stop helping Oliver. He couldn’t comprehend her reasoning, not when his friend was finally getting what she wanted for so long. Ethan and Isla didn’t take his side this time, instead, they supported (Y/N), sympathizing with her logic.

“If it’s becoming a burden for you, maybe you should tell him,” the Ravenclaw boy advised, concentrating on beating Isla on the game of Exploding Snap in front of him.

“It’s not a burden, it’s just…,” (Y/N) started, the lack of words interrupting her sentence, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

The only Gryffindor in the Multicolour Quartet —horrible name indeed and his idea— kept quiet. He wanted (Y/N) to be happy, so why was she giving up her chance to actually be happy with the boy she liked for more than a year?

No one spoke about Oliver again that Wednesday afternoon on the Courtyard, a pact to keep quiet about the subject forming silently between them.

By the group’s seventh, and last, year at Hogwarts, Oliver Wood and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) were official friends —something Dorian took full credit of and something no one in the school had foreseen, except for her friends and the Gryffindor Quidditch Team (why was their Captain, Oliver obsessive Wood, postponing practices all of a sudden?)—. Not long after she tried to end their tutoring sessions, Oliver asked her if she minded to spend some time with him outside of their “study dates”.

Since then, she and Oliver could be seeing together round Hogwarts. Sometimes (Y/N)’s friends joining them because of the boy invitating the Quartet, or rest of it at least, to Hogsmeade, making up silly excuses to leave them alone or telling Oliver all the embarrassing things (Y/N)’d succeeded to do, most of them narrated by Dorian, —how could he know so many stupid stories when he joined the group not that long ago?—, who loved laughing at the angry faces she did until her elbow hit his ribs.

While (Y/N)’s feelings kept growing without restraint, Oliver’s were blooming slowly, at first unnoticed, but strong. His heart jumping whenever he saw her smiling, or talking about a subject she was passionate about. His body going still momentarily if she was too close to him, showing him how to cut ingredients, or the order they went in, or how to move his hands to perform a spell correctly.

He realised during the fifth month of the school term. It wasn’t romantic nor beautiful. It felt like taking a Bludger to the head —believe or not, he had experience with that—, you weren’t prepared for the hit and the consequences it would bring. Ruining their friendship was the last thing Oliver wanted, so he kept quiet about his discovery and acted normal, begging no one, especially not (Y/N), would notice.

Reckless, and sometimes irresponsible, they were, but not fools. So of course the experts on the matter of ‘friends being complete idiots and denying their feelings’, Dorian, Isla and Ethan knew exactly what was going on when they noticed Oliver’s change of attitude towards their Slytherin friend. How he seemed more nervous around her; the way would look for her before a Quidditch match; how he would ask easy questions about the assignments, claiming he was going to die without her help, and how he put more effort on his appearance whenever they were going to hang out.

The three friends couldn’t believe their luck. First, (Y/N), the smartest person they knew and yet, at the same time, the most oblivious and ignorant. Then, Oliver, the boy their friend had a crush on, now seemed to reciprocate her feelings but was trying to push them aside.

“How can someone be so daft?,” Isla whispered to the boys beside her while watching (Y/N) and Oliver leave Zonko’s and starting to walk slowly towards the Three Broomsticks, “you know, we could make them smell Amortentia and admit their feelings once and for all.”

“You are actually onto something there, Islandic,” Dorian said, beginning to follow the pair in front of them. The Gryffindor snickered after Isla hit him on the head because of the recent nickname he’d given her.

“Oh no, we’re not doing that,” they heard Ethan from behind them.

“Why not?”

“Why not?,” Ethan repeated before letting out a scoff, ”because you two are going to make me brew the potion and I’m not brewing Amortentia.” Isla and Dorian gazed at each other, trying to conceal their smiles, knowing their other friend was right.

They’d started to follow (Y/N) and Oliver in silence when Dorian talked again.

“Why don’t you want to brew Amortentia?” The noise of the village almost drowning the suspicious tone in his voice. “Are you trying to evade something, maybe?”

“Shut up,” he responded, tightening the dark blue coat closer to his body, and unknowingly giving Dorian the answer he hoped for, “and come on, don’t just stand there. We’re going to lose them.”

Their continuing attempts were a failure, nothing they did made the Slytherin or the Gryffindor confess. Fortunately, these thoughts were starting to appear more frequently in the latest’s mind.

|||

It was the first Saturday after the Easter Holidays and the whole school, including the professors, was waiting impatiently for the last Quidditch match of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor for the Inter-House Quidditch Cup.

With Slytherin leading the championship with more than two hundred points, Oliver’s team needed a massive win if they wanted to get their hands on the Cup.

(Y/N) made her way up to the stands alongside her friends, all of them hoping for Gryffindor to win the match. Even as a Slytherin, she wished for him, and the whole team of course, to crush her House’s Quidditch Team. Marcus Flint was everything but kind and a fair player, his tactics consisted purely of hurting his rivals, not caring about the damage the injuries could cost. (Y/N)’d have supported her own House if they weren’t cheating bastards.

A few of the students looked at her weirdly before starting to whisper when she sat down on her seat beside Dorian, who went full on Gryffindor pride. Yes, she was wearing a green blouse —she should have accepted Dorian’s offer on using one of his red t-shirts—, but that didn’t mean anything. She was on the Gryffindor stands, so she was supporting Gryffindor, and for a good reason…

The first ten points went to the lion’s house thanks to Angelina Johnson, but the cries of joy transformed quickly into shoutings and insults directed to the Slytherin Captain for nearly knocking her off her broom after smashing into the Chaser. Fred Weasley reacted by throwing his beater’s bat at the back of Flint’s head.

The rest of the match followed pretty much the same way. Slytherin played using dirty tactics and attacking the Gryffindors, which resulted in them answering their violence with, well, more violence.

“Harry spotted the Snitch,” shouted Dorian while raising his arm, pointing towards the third year boy. Before the Gryffindor Seeker could grab the shiny, golden ball, Malfoy grabbed the end of his broom and pulled it back.

“Not the fucking Firebolt, you twat,” (Y/N) thought of hearing her best friend Isla, seating on her right side, said. Everyone started screeching insults at the Slytherin Seeker, even (Y/N) and some of the professors.

Finally, after more penalties, Harry Potter caught the Snitch, handing his House the Quidditch Cup.

Students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff roared in excitement, quickly leaving the stands and flooding the Pitch, running to congratulate the winning team.

Three of the four members of the Multicolour Quartet stayed a few feet away from the crowd, Dorian celebrating in the middle with Oliver, who was carrying the Cup, on his shoulders. Isla grabbed her arm and carried her to where the Gryffindor Captain was, a memory of Dorian doing the same thing a year ago entered her mind.

Looking up at Oliver, (Y/N) noticed his rosy cheeks and some drops of sweat forming on his forehead, but his brown eyes and smile were what captivated her the most, his enthusiasm turning contagious.

“Congratulations, I guess,” the girl said, a serious expression on her face while rolling her eyes exaggeratedly to show him she was teasing. (Y/N) extended her arm, still acting, but was taken by surprise when Oliver grabbed it and pulled her towards him, engulfing each other in a hug. She giggled near his ear and whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

The Gryffindor glanced down at her, bodies still close to each other, neither of them wanting to let go, eyes thrilled because of his team’s victory and something more she couldn’t figure out. Slowly, his face approached her’s, staring back to the other’s eyes, asking themselves internally if this was the moment.

“Fuck it,” Oliver mumbled before closing the distance between them and planting a chaste kiss on her mouth.

They stood motionless for a couple of seconds, arms still wrapped around each other and the whole school watching them silently, waiting for her reaction. From the corner of her eye, she saw Fred Weasley giving his twin, George, some sickles, a grim look on his face for losing what she assumed was a bet on them.

(Y/N)’s attention went back to the boy in front of her, one with a desperate expression. Standing on her toes, she pulled her hands away from Oliver’s torso, directing one towards the back of his neck and the other to his cheek, caressing the skin tenderly. She smiled, unable to stop another giggle, and pressed their lips together for the second time, hoping it wouldn’t be the last one.

The crowd around the pair roared again, making them laugh between the kiss, lips separating and then reuniting. Her heart almost jumping out of her chest from how fast it was beating, her necessity to breath becoming more prominent with each second her mouth was against he’s. Ignoring it, (Y/N) continued on kissing Oliver, whose hands were now on either side of her head, trying to bring her impossibly closer. Biting her bottom lip, his tongue rushing through her mouth. The hand on his neck pressuring now with more force, bringing him down so her feet could touch the ground.

A hand on each of Oliver’s shoulders forced them apart.

“Okay, I’m really happy you two finally stopped the painful yearning for each other, but this is my best friend you’re snogging, Oliver, so try to do that privately,” a voice that could only belong to Dorian came from behind the Gryffindor boy.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, one of them pressing into Oliver’s side, and looked at her friend before speaking.

“Are you going to tell…”

“Yeah, I am,” he interrupted her mid sentence, “I bloody told you so.”

TAGLIST: @peeves-a-legend @weasleybees @acontinuationofstuff @parkeroffline @lilac-wrists

If you want me to add you to the taglist, ask me! And if you asked but you’re not here, please remind me!

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #slytherin!reader #slytherin #oliver wood x slytherin!reader #oliver wood #oliver wood fanfiction #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood oneshot #oliver wood x reader #hp fanfic #hp imagine

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hilarychuff · 3 years ago

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🛒 💖 🤡? :)

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

YEARNING. there's so much yearning. and also lots of self-sacrifice and possibly self-loathing. even lighthearted aus often become SAD and DRAMATIC. i am drawn to slightly pathetic blorbos, i find. especially when those pathetic blorbos have extremely internal experiences. lots of overthinking!!!!!

💖 What made you start writing?

lmao in the fourth grade a fortune teller of some sort (tarot reader??? don't recall) told me i was a writer and i was like "lol ya right i am just a reader" but then in fifth grade one of my besties introduced me to the neopets roleplay boards and that was that!!! i think i fell into the hp fandom fairly quickly but i did also at one point join a wolf rp guild for her. but when i started branching off neopets it was all hp. this was actually what i wrote my college application personal essay about lmfao.

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

hmmm ok something that made me laugh. let me think. i feel like while i am a very funny person i am rarely writing funny things. `

lots of details about my jonsa princess diaries au make me laugh. the concept of joffrey getting coned. arya having a tv show called "shut up and listen." also the lies i came up with for theon to tell about jon in the press.

Each time Theon convinces a journalist or reporter that Jon won the seventh grade spelling bee contest with the word brassiere or that Jon volunteers at a soup kitchen each weekend to serve exclusively shrimp cocktail, he comes up with an even more far-fetched lie to try on the next one.

i gave myself some giggles in my jonsa scream au with the easter eggs. named myranda and mya's sorority gamma omega mu like gates of the moon. named harry's fraternity kappa omicron lambda (lambda looks like an upside down v) like knights of the vale. i always have fun coming up with the fraternity/sorority names for stuff.

did the same thing with my hp mediator series au back in the day. omega rho. rho looks like a p. sort of order of the phoenix-y. actually there might be some excerpts in here i think are funny. like i'm very much planning to rewrite this before i ever continue it so all of these excerpts at this point are old but

“Aw, come on, Red, you know all about my high school graduation speech–” (and how does he know she knows that, by the way, if she’s the one that’s the “stalker”? He better not be in her room on her computer when she’s in Sculpture I or eating breakfast in the dining hall or something) “–and my freshman year student government campaign promises. I can’t even know what you’re up to?”

“My name’s not Red,” she barks out before she can bite her tongue, looking up to glare at him.

“Yeah, I know. Lily, right? I heard Remus say it. Anyway, I think Red suits you better,” he continues, shrugging, seemingly unaffected by what she has heard described as her withering stare.

“Yeah, super observant, red hair and all that–” she starts, meaning to call him out on his complete lack of originality, but he stops her in his track with, “Actually, it’s more for the color your face gets when you’re annoyed.”

And that has her face darkening as hot as ever, traitorously proving his point. He grins, looking over to catch her flush in the act, and winks. If he weren’t already dead, she’d be tempted to murder him herself.

also lily agreeing to go to a geek chic party and then discovering she’s actually at an office hoes and ceos party?????

If Lily weren’t so affronted, she’d burst out laughing. “Wait, that’s the theme? You’re telling me I’m an office hoe right now?”

He glances over, takes in her outfit again, and then shakes his head, grinning. “Your skirt’s practically to your knees; you’re definitely the CEO.”

also i mentioned a previous literary-themed drinking party and i had a lot of fun coming up with everyone’s costumes

She doesn’t remember seeing James there, only Sirius (dressed, of course, as Dorian Grey-Goose), but he must’ve been considering it was his party.

“Oh, I went all out,” she teases.

“Oh yeah? And what were you?”

“Sophie, naturally, and I brought my BFG.”

“Big friendly giant?”

“Big flask of gin.”

That gets a laugh out of him, and she beams at the sound of it.

“And what were you, Catcher in the Rye Whiskey or something?”

“Please, my costume was way better than that,” he brags. “We did Goodnight Moonshine.”

“You were the moon?”

“Remus was the moon,” he corrects, smirking. “We doused him in body glitter and everything. I was the little bunny in PJs.”

“Oh, of course,” she laughs. “I don’t know how I didn’t guess that. And Peter?”

“Hops on Pop,” he explains, then grimaces. “He kept mixing beer with mountain dew all night.” He takes another long drink, then looks down at his empty cup and holds it out to her. “Speaking of—want one?”

“A beer and mountain dew?”

“Why, you like the sound of that?” he asks, one eyebrow up, then disappears.

anyway!!!!! maybe one day i will be funny and write funny things again. can’t wait!!!!

#my writing #ask games #long post

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alwaysthrowsscissors · 4 years ago

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Fic Writer Questions!

Thanks for the tag @venhedish dont mind if I do darlin'! Loved reading your answers too!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

17 and I started May 2020

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

84,430! Sooooo close to that 100k milestone I just need to get off my writing hiatus since I have a beefy one shot WIP and a couple kink-meme prompt fills started that will get me to the finish line!

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

On Ao3/as an adult, just Supernatural.

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Well Jung – This was my first and I’m still super surprised it took off so well considering all the head-hopping. I also hadn’t written fiction since high school so it’s pretty technically rough!

I Can’t Forget the Time and Place Where We Just Met – Who doesn’t love a good old-fashioned double amnesia fic! This was a SPN Masquerade fill and it was super fun to write!

Kiss the Cook – Another SPN Masquerade fill inspired by Dean in an apron in S15. Kitchen fucking is fun fucking!

Iodine and Stitches – 3/5 SPN Masquerade fills that I did fall 2020. Seriously such a fun event to participate in I cant recommend it enough. This is one my only fics with a serious tone throughout which is tough for this clown.

Double Jeopardy – Written for my buddy after finding out she has an intelligence kink! Cut to us giggling about Sam losing his damn mind when he plays Jeopardy with clever Dean!

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Listen…I can’t fully express how much comments give me LIFE! I want to know what you liked about my silly musings, I want to know your fav part, I want to know that I gave you a boner! I'll take a button smash, I'll take an emoticon. Anything, everything! I make a point to always respond back to show my appreciation for people taking time out of their day to make my day.

6) What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Without a shadow of a doubt Yesterday Don’t Matter if It’s Gone about what would happen if Sam and Dean hooked up during Mystery Spot and exacerbated Sam’s downward spiral during the months of Tuesdays. I write a lot of humour and this sucker is humourless PLUS has an unhappy ending! Weeee!

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've written?

Never have but not opposed to the idea.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope, I’ve been pretty fortunate but I also write pretty tame shit. So if I start dabbling more in the archive warnings it may change. I do have a fun multichap wincestiel non-con WIP in the works 😈

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

AHAHAHAHAHA I’d say a good 90-95% of my 84k wordcount is smut! All M/M all explicit! Fun times over at Casa Scissors 😏. I do have some upcoming stuff that’s more plot heavy though which I’m looking forward to.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I fucking hope not that would be a big bummer.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! And as a noob I had to pinch myself, it still fucking blows my mind! A lovely Ao3 user Yigelulu translated I Can’t Forget the Time and Place Where We Just Met into Chinese. It was so incredibly cool to see my words in another language and a great honour that they liked my fic enough to put in all that work!

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yup! Turn Your Head and Cough with my budbud Wearingdeantoprom. Dean gets his prostate rubbed for the first time at the doctors office.

14) What's your all time favorite ship?

Wincest wincest all the wincest! My brain is infected and there is no cure! I am a pro-shipper though ship and let ship my dudes. I also dabble in wincestiel and LOVE any combination of winkline and may write it one day. I don’t really read much from other fandoms. I’ve read some George/Fred (I like brother fucking ok?) and I love me some Jess Mariano/Dean Forester over in the Gilmore Girls camp (the perfect enemies to lovers) but its unfortunately such a small ship. Any souls reading this who like those ships, please drop any recs into my box!

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Anything I am passionate about I will finish. I’ve only killed one thing because I got bored with it but I posted my fav part for a fic challenge. I hate not having something to show for my spent time (I know it's a hobby but it's the principle damnit!) and I hate unfinished things. Those damn little ao3 red circles haunt me 🚫

16) What are your writing strengths?

Christ uhhh I’ll say I’m most consistently praised in comments for my dialogue and it’s what always flows the smoothest for me. I think my humour is also a strength, it comes very naturally when I write which is why I have a hard time keeping it out of my fics! Times are tough I just wanna make y’all giggle ok?

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

Frankly, my greatest weakness is that I don’t take it seriously enough to look at my past writing critically for improvement. I also write (non-fiction) for my job and had extensive training to do so, so when its for this hobby I honestly whip it out, edit a couple times, and slap it up ‘good enough’ styles and I don’t go back to re-read once posted. I think if I looked back, I could see lots of opportunities for improvement and could go from a fine writer to a good writer. I’d also say that I’ve written pretty fun fluffy cracky smutty stuff so I guess another weakness is a lack of depth of plot and subject matter. I do want to explore this stuff more though.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

My concern is if you don’t speak the language fluently, then native speakers reading your fic might feel a big disconnect if you get colloquialisms and euphemism etc. incorrect. It could take them out of your fic if its not authentic enough. I don’t speak any other language fluently so it would END BADLY. I can speak and read French VERY POORLY and that’s it so no, I will never write in another language unless its jibberish I invented myself!

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The only fanfic I wrote before SPN last year was a handful of super cracky, gen Gundam Wing fanfiction in high school!! They are on a broken USB stick which kills me I want to read them so badly! All my other creative writing was original fiction mainly horror/thrillers. I stopped when I started my undergrad cause...that shit is a lot of work yo.

20) What's your favorite fic you've written?

My first love is my first baby Well Jung. I love the plot, I love the humour in it, I love the heart, and it’s still some of my fav sex I’ve written. And the title makes me giggle too who doesn’t love a bad pun? I'm so thrilled it was so successful but it would still be my favourite even if 3 people read it. It made me rediscover writing as a hobby and helped me explore this wonderful (yet insane) fandom. I love all my babies and I even think the writing is stronger in other fics, but he will always be #1 in my heart.

OK this was fun I love talking about fic writing! If any of you read my stuff and want to know more, hit me with an ask; I love making new frans! Tagging @oddsocksandstuff @samanddeaninpanties @raidens-realm I think my other writer mutuals have been tagged by Ven!

#ask game #about me #fanfic writing #spn fanfiction #my writing

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whetstonefires · 5 years ago

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Do you think the DC fandom maybe, Infantilizes Tim a little too much? Like for a rich kid character who's main trauma for a long time was a getting left home alone too much there's an oddly amount of meta abt how much how much his parents hurt him~ compared to, y'know the two poor characters who grew up with physically abusive dad's+druggie mom's, or the two that were raised assassin cult's, etc

…well, yeah, I do kind of think that? His whole schtick for so long was being too old for his age in ways that didn’t sacrifice his jokey, relatable teenager energies. It’s weird how little of that we see anymore, sometimes.

And then DC broke him and discarded him and he’s sort of awkwardly hanging around getting reimagined as more woobie with every fan generation. It is weird!

But tbh I do get it. And I think the reason his parents’ failure of him and his vulnerability get played up so much, and Jason and Steph’s sufferings (while used a lot for things like motivation and context) not dwelt on quite so much in the same lugubrious style, are kind of the same reason.

Which is that canon didn’t commit to it. Jason and Steph’s experiences with bad parenting were foregrounded and retconned more dramatically awful several times. (There’s some definite classism in how that was approached imo, and I’m never budging on being mad about DC retconning out Catherine being sick and then ignoring her forever in all Jason characterization because a drug death invalidates a person ig, great message during the opioid crisis guys.)

They engaged and coped with it–Steph (and Cass, our #1 canon batfam parental abuse victim) pretty directly, Jason a little less so because of the dubious and fluctuating canon status of most of the content more specific than ‘poverty, homelessness, theft, parental drugs and crime in there somewhere,’ so most of his parent issues have been focused on Bruce. He sure has dug into them tho. 😂 Rarely well or productively, thanks DC, but it’s explicitly part of his character, is my point.

Whereas upper-middle-class Tim was always treated by the narrative as fortunate and unharmed by his experiences with his parents. Even though they were clearly behaving badly in several ways, and Tim showed signs of being harmed by it.

Tim outside of immediate moments of frustration always was of the opinion he was Fine, and Very Fortunate Actually.

Therefore a huge chunk of the numerous everyone who’s got parent-related mental and emotional harm, but has struggled to have that validated and hasn’t responded with a lot of anger toward the parent, identifies with Tim. The only one who’s never really lashed out at his parents for fucking up with him. The one who still needs it explored, because canon ultimately didn’t.

[editing post to put in a readmore because lol it’s long, post otherwise unchanged]

(Dick obviously didn’t ever have any Issues with the Graysons, but he Angry Teenagered at Bruce so hard it changed Bruce’s characterization permanently, rip.)

The things Jason, Steph, and Cass have been through are dramatic, obvious, and fit stereotypes because that’s what they’re based on.

That’s important content to have, but because it’s right out there in your face even people who identify with it quite a lot are less likely to feel the need to work all the way through it again in fanworks. That part’s there. It’s text.

(Well actually Jason having been physically abused kind of wasn’t? I think? It was mostly assumed on the basis of stereotyping and Jason’s not caring about the man much even as he felt possessive of information about his death, which is valid. I don’t actually know what’s up with Willis now, Lobdell did some weird shit that lacked emotional resonance or staying power because he’s Lobdell and has no soul.

Cass’ wandering years are also ludicrously underdeveloped. But very very few comics fans or writers can personally relate to being amazing child warriors with no grasp of language living feral under bridges. That part of her life is consistently represented in terms of absences, in terms of its deviation from the norm and the deficits of normality it left her with, which is typical but unfortunate.)

The interesting things to do with these characters are often informed by the bad stuff in their childhoods, but there’s relatively rarely that much more to say about the fact that those things were bad. They know they’re bad. They’ve had a lot of on-panel rage about it, as discussed above. Steph and Cass both beat the shit out of their dads.

Jason is, in fandom especially, a sort of Platonic ideal of a kid who’s mad about his bad childhood and really bad at figuring out where to point that rage.

(Damian is a whole other kettle of fish, because he’s been lumbered by so many detailed retcons coming so fast no two people can seem to construct compatible models of what his early childhood was like, and even more because he’s still ‘a child’ enough that he’s necessarily in a different stage of processing than someone who’s officially only a few years older than him at this point, but still functionally 8 and also 20 years older, and whose parents are no longer in the picture to continue screwing up.

Also there’s no question that if he brings up an abusive thing the League did, he will be validated by his current environment about his realization that it was in fact bad. There’s a lot of fic on that theme! But it doesn’t have the same tone precisely because it is usually understood that that support will be there if he wants it. Realizing that his previous context contained things that were wrong keeps being made the focus of his arc.)

The badness of Tim’s childhood, on the other hand, was mainly in subtext. Even when we were clearly meant to understand Jack was fucking up, like when he canceled plans with Tim at the last minute to go on a date with Tim’s stepmother, or that infamous time he came to apologize for not being a great parent and got mad Tim was distracted by a crisis on TV so he flew into a rage and took the TV and smashed it and was like ‘that’ll teach you,’ it wasn’t leaned into.

The story didn’t treat Jack as a minor villain to be overcome but like a sort of environmental hazard of childhood, like homework, to be endured and coped with. Tim said things like ‘it’s fine’ and ‘at least he left the computer.’

(And like. It’s not about having a TV and computer in his room. It’s about not letting a child have boundaries, pointedly not respecting a child’s possessions, creating an emotionally insecure environment, punishing minor infractions in proportion to their momentary impact on your own ego, physically lashing out at a proxy for the child…)

Rather like Tom King later didn’t understand about the punching from Bruce, whoever did that story (probably Dixon? I don’t care enough to check) did not understand how serious a case of bad parenting that scene was. That is most definitely textbook abusive behavior. (It’s a hell of a lot more common abusive behavior than being a lame supervillain or shooting you when you screw up, and a lot more specific than ‘was a thug, might have hit me, dead now.’)

And Tim was never allowed to be mad at his parents about it. It was fine. He needed to be ignored so he had the freedom to be Robin. He deserved his dad being mad at him because he was keeping secrets. He complained too much, although objectively he did not.

The universe punished him for ‘complaining,’ more than once. We cut straight from him shunting aside his disappointment that his postcard from his parents was just to say they weren’t coming home yet after all with ‘if it will stop all the fights they’ve been having lately it’s more than fine’ to them getting kidnapped.

He agreed not to come on the rescue mission. His mom never made it home, and his dad was in a coma for a while. And then ultimately Jack died as a result of Tim’s decision to be Robin, immediately after finally deciding to accept it.

So Tim walks around feeling a huge burden of responsibility for his parents’ deaths, and completely unable to process any hurt they did him as real or valid, especially in comparison with the far more blatant awfulness other people have been through, and canon is clearly never going to address it. Or even acknowledge it properly.

Let me repeat that because it’s kind of my main point:

People are fixated on getting Tim’s emotional abuse validated because that’s an incredibly important step in recovering from emotional abuse, and it’s one canon consistently denied him.

How ‘bad’ things are ‘in comparison to’ problems other people have is a bad and unhealthy way to engage with trauma. Okay? That’s just a really harmful framework to apply to pain.

It’s also a way that both Tim and people with experiences similar to Tim’s are encouraged to engage with their own experiences, compounding the existing problems.

So. Not a form of relatable DC was ever actually aiming for when they tried so hard (and pretty effectively) to make him a relatable character as Robin, but an enduring one for a lot of fans.

So Tim’s childhood is a natural target for fanworks in a different way than the traumas that have been made explicit and taken seriously by the text. And then a lot of that got compounded by the way the introduction of Damian as Robin was handled, and the lack of resolution that got. And his current status as not quite having a place in the family anymore.

So between the level of projection encouraged by that context and how relatively difficult to access Tim’s Robin run has become ten years after the fact, this has led to a lot of fanworks on these themes that are based mostly on other fanworks, and stray further and further from the original content.

So at this point there’s an entire wing of Tim’s fandom wherein this side of him has expanded enormously, and he primarily exists to suffer, frequently in ways that 1) escalate to a point that is inarguably ‘valid’ and hard to dismiss and 2) set him up to rebound from it in whatever way the writer finds emotionally satisfying or useful–being ultimately cared for and reassured by people who value him (the most infantilizing option but like, popular for obvious reasons), or unveiling his brilliant scheme that was causing him to pretend to be passive in the face of mistreatment, or turning around and using his genius ninja skills to wrest power back from his abusers, or just laying down some sick burns about being treated fairly.

But not that many of the last one, because that’s mostly done with other batfam members.

Tim’s become a vehicle for a lot of vicarious coping that Steph and Jason just aren’t appropriate for, because they get angry and they get even. And those are stories that exist already, so there’s less scope for telling your own.

And because Jason’s reaction pattern is ultimately so masculine (i’ll make them all sorry! with my guns! blam blam!) while Tim’s is pretty gender-neutral, the demographics of fanfic mean that the bulk of the people using Tim vicariously in this manner are female-aligned, which has over time feminized this archetype of him a lot. Sometimes in ways I find really uncomfortable, like there’s a lot of forced pregnancy stuff which activates my panic buttons. x.x

But, ultimately, it’s fandom. People are going to do what they’re going to do, DC in their perpetual fail has hung Tim out to dry in narrative terms, and I’d rather the people who are using Tim for victimization narratives over the people who can’t dismiss or discredit him fast enough now that his position has been filled. 🤷‍♀️ What we gonna do? Fave’s in an awkward spot. DC hates us. This is the life in this comic book pit. XD

Also if you’re the same anon who left me a callout about op of that weird Steph post in my inbox, or if you aren’t @ that person, 1) I refuse to get involved so I’m not answering that ask 2) those aren’t even particularly dramatic fandom crimes? That’s pretty normal? That’s just…Caring Too Much About Ships And Disagreeing With Me.

Do I also feel those opinions are kinda bad? Yeah. But I disagree with everyone about something. Chill.

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

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I Promise to Kiss You (Before You Die) : 1/7

Here it is, my Little Women AU! I love the book, and the 1994 movie version with Winona Ryder is one of my favorite movies. I haven't seen the newest film version yet, and it's all because I'm writing this fic. This one is based on the 1994 film, particularly the scene where Laurie promises a young Amy that he'll kiss her before she dies (that's not in the book, if you're wondering). I'm probably in the minority of people who prefer Laurie with Amy over Jo. I think Jo was right - they would have fought like cats and dogs. They were too much alike. I think the book also develops the relationship between Laurie and Amy better and shows that Amy grows up and matures past her shallowness. Movie versions never have time to show all of that. Anyway, when I read the book I absolutely adored Laurie with Amy. THEN, I was blown away to find the quote below in the book in which Amy calls Laurie her "gallant captain." Obviously, Emma is a lot different personality wise from Amy. The only similarity is that they are both blondes. For that reason, this fic won't completely follow the Little Women plot. Also, this will only show things from Emma's point of view, so the plot threads with the other sisters won't be developed as much as they normally are. Hence, we have a seven chapter MC rather than a thirty-five + chapter MC 😆

Massive thanks to the mods of the @captainswanmoviemarathon for putting this event together! Love to all the other writers in the discord chats, especially for help with the title. Huge shout out to my beta @hookedonapirate - you're the best!

Summary: Emma noticed him first, never forget that, and while all four of the Lucas sisters love Killian Jones, no one loves him the way Emma does, of that she is certain. Killian Jones also made her a promise. Sure, she was only twelve when he made it, but one day he'll realize what it meant. One day, she hopes, he'll get over her sister Ruby and finally notice Emma.

Rated: T

Also on Ao3 , updated every Thursday.

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @xsajx

Chapter One: Prologue

“It is so beautiful to be loved as Laurie loves me; he isn’t sentimental, doesn’t say much about it, but I see and feel it in all he says and does, and it makes me so happy and so humble that I don’t seem to be the same girl I was. I never knew how good and generous and tender he was till now, for he lets me read his heart, and I find it full of noble hopes and impulses and purposes, and am so proud to know it’s mine. He says he feels as if he ‘could make a prosperous voyage now with me aboard as mate, and lots of love for ballast.’ I pray he may, and try to be all he believes me, for I love my gallant captain with all my heart and soul and might, and never will desert him while God lets us be together. Oh, Mother, I never knew how much like heaven this world could be when two people love and live for one another!” - Amy about Laurie in Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

If anyone had been out on the streets of Storybrooke, Maine on the windy, snowy Christmas Eve of 1863, they would have found lights ablaze in the most prestigious homes of the small hamlet. Save for one.

The Gold mansion upon the hill was not only lit up like your proverbial Christmas tree, but carriages lined the circular drive as the most powerful men from the surrounding six counties arrived for Robert Gold’s lavish annual bash with their families in tow. They would wine and dine in excess of frivolity for the next twelve days of the season.

The white grecian columns of the Mills Mansion would also sparkle with firelight, though the wealthy matron Regina Mills didn’t gather quite the crowd. Her festivities would be far more sedate and her crowd older. Of course the money was older too and not as dripping with unscrupulous business deals as Gold’s. It would mostly be family as well, though that was nothing to sneeze at, considering Regina Mills’ clan could trace their lineage back to the Mayflower.

The mysterious mansion of Admiral Nemo Jones, retired hero of the United States Navy, wasn’t filled with guests. However, the rooms of the mansion still blazed with light as the generous man allowed his staff to fully celebrate the holiday, complete with Christmas bonuses and lavish gifts. In a way it was also a welcome home party for his nephew, who had been lost and wandering on the other side of the ocean until Nemo had tracked him down.

The only fine family of Storybrooke Maine (though many would say they were once a fine family - past tense) whose home was not ablaze on this festive evening were the Lucases. Some would say it was because Marco Lucas had been gone these past two years fighting (unnecessarily they would also claim) in the War Between the States. Others would say it was because the Lucases had squandered their fortune taking in orphans and vagrants. Others would say it was their involvement in that embarrassing underground railroad that had cost them their fortune and respect. They would all be wrong.

The women gathered around the wavering firelight in the Lucas parlor did miss Marco Lucas terribly, and it was true that money was tight. Yet the reason their house flickered with only the tiniest light was because all they needed was each other.

Paulette Lucas, affectionately called “Granny” by all who knew her, sat knitting in her rocker with a candle flickering on the table beside her. The girls had begged her to take one night off from the task, but there were too many soldiers in need to stop even for a night. She battled a smile as she focused on her task, knowing a letter from her husband was tucked into her apron pocket.

Ruby Lucas, as usual, was standing far too close to the fire. Her long, dark hair fell in waves over her shoulder. She was a striking beauty, and mothers watched her askance at the scandalous way she refused to wear her hair up though she was already sixteen. She was the only one who was a true granddaughter to Mrs. Lucas. Her mother, a scandal herself, had died of consumption in a saloon out west when Ruby was still an infant. Who her father was, no one knew. That probably had more to do with the scandalous looks rather than her hair (though the latter certainly didn’t help).

Mary Margaret Blanchard sat on the other side of the lamplight from Granny, helping with the knitting. Though she was the oldest of the girls, at seventeen, she had been living with Granny the shortest amount of time. Her parents knew the Lucases through the underground railroad, so when Mary Margaret’s mother passed of scarlet fever when she was ten, her father sent her to them. Only less than a year later, her father was arrested for violating the fugitive slave act. While in prison, he contracted scarlet fever and died.

Belle French sat by the hearth with several kittens mewling in her lap. She was engrossed in the book she held in one hand while her other stroked the kittens absently. Some would say she was even more beautiful than Ruby, even at only fourteen, yet her quiet demeanor and delicate nature turned fewer heads. Belle had been the Lucas’ youngest pupil when they still ran their boarding school. She was only seven when it was forced to close, and her father simply never came back for her.

Then, finally, there was Emma Swan - the only one of Granny’s girls who was still a child. Twelve year old Emma sat curled up in her favorite armchair with a sketchpad in her lap. Her drawing pencils were worn down to almost nubs, yet still she scratched away with her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. Her blonde hair was a riotous mess, her fingers were smudged with charcoal, and her feet were bare. Not that anyone cared - the Lucas house never stood on ceremony, especially when they were alone. Granny had a difficult time keeping shoes on the child anyway, considering she had spent the first five years of her life without them. She was the child Storybrooke called “the urchin” - mostly in whispers, but sometimes when Emma could hear. Granny had literally found her eating out of the rubbish bin. The benefit of those humble beginnings were that Emma found their current “poverty” hardly trying.

So, dear reader, do not assume that lack of finery equals a lack of happiness. The Lucas women will put aside their knitting, their books, their drawing paper and gather eagerly around Granny’s chair to hear their Papa’s latest letter. They will joyfully sing carols around their out of tune piano. Then they will share hugs and kisses goodnight and head to bed with more love in their hearts than all the other “fine” homes in Storybrooke combined. And across the hedge from their house, in the Jones mansion, a dark haired boy will watch the flickering lights of their candles - counting them: one, two, three, four - as they head up the stairs. He’ll watch them go out one at a time and wonder about the hands that hold them.

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

“Merry Christmas!” Emma yelled the following morning, eliciting a groan from Belle, whom she shared a room with. Emma simply rolled her eyes. It was Belle’s own fault - she had stayed up far too late reading again.

“It’s Christmas!” Emma continued to shout as she banged on doors and then thundered down the stairs. “It’s Christmas!”

Her sisters followed her reluctantly, groaning and complaining all the way. Emma ignored them as she fell to her knees beside the Christmas tree.

“Oh hush now,” Granny admonished, “every single one of you were the same at her age.”

“This one’s from me, Granny,” Emma said as soon as Granny sat in her rocker. She thrust an intricately wrapped package into the woman’s lap, then scooted close. Her sisters looked on fondly as soon as they saw that Emma’s enthusiasm wasn’t a selfish one. Granny peeled back the wrapping carefully, setting aside the ribbon Emma had used to tie it. When the gift was revealed, the woman gasped.

“Emma, sweetheart, this is lovely!” It was a sketch of Granny’s favorite tree in the garden next to the house, and Emma had captured it in all its autumn glory of reds, oranges, and yellows.

“I used the last of my colored pencils to get it just right,” Emma told her proudly.

Granny pressed the gift to her chest as she fought back tears. Oh, how she wished she could have afforded another set of drawing pencils for her dear Emma!

None of the gifts beneath the tree were store bought, yet each one was exclaimed over with joy. Somehow, the ingenuity that had gone into making them made them infinitely more valuable. Soon, the tree had nothing beneath it but ribbons and paper.

“I’ll play us a carol!” Belle announced. She sat before the piano, and they all tried to ignore that one key that was never in tune.

As her sister played, Emma pressed her face to the glass of the parlor window. Her eyes widened to see a boy in Admiral Nemo’s house, playing a piano of his own. Of course, his was an incredibly fine piano that was surely always in tune.

“A boy!” Emma cried out. “There’s a boy next door!”

Belle abruptly stopped playing, and the Lucas sisters scrambled to the window, all talking at once.

“A boy?” Ruby asked, pushing the curtains aside further.

“At Nemo’s?” Mary Margaret asked incredulously.

“How old is he?” Emma asked, frustrated that she’d been pushed aside.

“What does he look like?” Belle asked, trying to see beneath Ruby’s arm. “What a fine piano he has,” she sighed when she was able to get a glance.

“I would hate to live with that scary old man.” Emma wrinkled her nose.

“Poor thing,” Mary Margaret tsked sympathetically.

“You don’t think he’ll come to call?” Belle suddenly gasped, looking nervously at her sisters and then over at Granny.

“You mean call, as in courting?” Ruby laughed.

Mary Margaret laughed, too, “You ninny, he’s rich! He would never come courting the likes of us.”

“Thank goodness,” sighed Belle in relief, looking back out the window. She cocked her head as she studied him, “He’s awfully handsome.”

“Girls!” Granny admonished. “Come away from there before the poor boy catches you gawking at him as if he’s on display. Really, I have taught you some propriety.”

“Do you know him, Granny?” Emma asked as she settled down before the fire to play with the spinning top Papa had carved for them.

“I know of him,” Granny replied, eyes never leaving her knitting. Once again, she refused to put aside the chore. “He’s Admiral Nemo’s nephew. He was living in London, and the Admiral has been beside himself since his brother’s death trying to track the child down.”

“I hear he’s had no upbringing at all,” Mary Margaret told them in a scandalized whisper.

“You’ve heard of him too?” Ruby asked.

“At the Rose’s.” Mary Margaret worked as a governess for the wealthy Rose family. “His mother was an actress and his father a cad who abandoned them both.”

“Where was he?” Emma asked. “Why was it so hard to find him?”

“Living on the streets, they say,” Mary Margaret told her softly, sympathy coloring her eyes. Sympathy that Emma always had and always would despise.

Ruby headed back to the window and peered out with a grin upon her face. “It will be fun to have a boy next door.”

“Well,” Granny spoke with a sigh, “I don’t know what mischief is in that pretty head of yours, Ruby, but we will welcome the boy as warmly as we can.” She set aside her knitting and clapped her hands as if that were that. “Now, let’s go begin preparing our Christmas feast!”

The girls all rushed to follow Granny into the kitchen, but Emma stopped at the window, her hands grasping the curtains. Living on the streets they say. The song that the boy was playing, which could be heard faintly on the wind, ended, and he looked up from his sheet music. His eyes caught Emma’s, and he winked at her. She gasped and shoved the curtains closed.

#cs ff #captain swan movie marathon #csmm #cs little women au

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atmilliways · 4 years ago

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On the 11th day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 23 - Home (or alone) for the holidays

Toki is totally not lonely because his bandmates forgot about him, and Magnus is totally not guilty about rolling with it to sate his own curiosities.

Like Kevin McCallister, it wasn't like Toki tried to get left behind . . . but he's not entirely mad about it, either.

Anyway, this is my first Magnus/Toki fic, so, hmm.

Mordhome Alone

“So,” Magnus said as he crossed the threshold. “This is the famous Mordhaus.”

“Yeah, isn’t it cools?” Toki enthused as he ushered the older man inside.

It certainly was a step up from the crappy apartment they’d had back when Magnus was still in Dethklok. For one thing, he never could’ve broken in to paint REVENGE IS COMING on the walls here. He’d counted at least eleven snipers that he could see on the way in, and knowing both the band’s reputation for over the top security measures and the limitations of his one good eye, probably at least double that number that he hadn’t noticed. If he weren’t here by Toki’s express invitation, he’d be so many different kinds of dead right now.

He didn’t need any recon inside this place for The Plan—it would never work to pull anything there, not with so much security in every nook and cranny. But he’d always been curious, so here he was.

“And none of the other guys are here?” Magnus pressed, still looking around. Fuck, this place was huge. (This could have been his.) “Not even Offdensen?”

“Nah,” Toki replied offhandedly, “they thoughts I was on the plane and tooks offs withouts me to goes on a ski trip, ands now they’re stucks in a blizzards. They can’t gets back and I can’t goes theres. So, I calls you!”

Without any warning that Magnus had picked up on, Toki reached out and grabbed his hand. It wasn’t like he threaded their fingers together or anything, but the surprise connection was more than Magnus felt comfortable with, an uncomfortable feeling in his gut that he wasn’t used to at all and had no idea how to label. (He didn’t do guilt; he didn’t do ‘cowed by how open and naively friendly someone was unexpectedly being’ either. It was definitely, one hundred percent neither of those things.)

“Come ons, I shows you around!”

The young guitarist pulled him from room to room, chattering nonstop. It was annoying in an informative, easy to tune out the rambling bits sort of way. This was the room where Dethklok hung out and played video games, this was the room where they hung out to watch tv and eat snacks, this was the room where they hung out in a surprisingly small hot tub for five male billionaires who didn’t seem to like each other’s company that much, this was the cavernous kitchen that they frequented when they wanted more snacks or possibly even a meal. It was endless and irritating, and Magnus didn’t actually want to spend a ton of time with this babbling idiot, but he reminded himself that this was all part of The Plan and sullenly continued to let himself be dragged around and shown all the shit that he could have had, but didn’t.

He did ask for a drink, though, to blunt the edges. Toki gestured to someone in his blind spot, and moments later a cold beer was handed to him by a hooded servant.

“And this ams my room,” Toki told him proudly, tugging Magnus into . . . the smallest room he had seen yet. It was basically a stone box with an on-suite. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling, action figures crowded the edges of his bookshelf, and the desk was piled with unfinished projects and puzzles and crap. One of the pictures hanging on the wall over the narrow bed and beneath a double-sided battle axe was an early promo shot of the band, and another was a close-up of some scary zombie-looking asshole’s face, maybe a relative or something. The rest of the walls were mostly just decorated with taped up posters of boats, planets, and sharks.

“This?” Magnus repeated. “Seriously? You have . . . and entire fucking mansion that’s tricked out with all kinds of cool shit, but this is your room.”

If it had been him, he’d have his own arcade, giant tv, and hot tub in his room, so he could do all those things on his own if he wanted to. Plus a bitching sound system. Plus bigass windows to let some actual fucking light in. Plus . . . god, was that bed from IKEA or something? Was all of this from IKEA? Riches were wasted on this kid, Magnus decided scornfully. He had no idea how to appreciate what he had at his fingertips.

Toki shrugged. “I gots all the rest of the place if I wants that other stuff, so this ams just all stuffs I mades by myself. Evens the desk, I puts that together. Just Toki’s.” He met Magnus’ incredulous look with a sudden grin and squeezed his hand. “Comes on, let’s go back to the others room and watch a movies!”

It wasn’t until halfway through the movie that Magnus wasn’t even paying attention to—he was looking around and trying to appraise the cost and potential EBay value of anything he saw that wasn’t nailed down and small enough to fit in his pocket—that he realized Toki kept scooting closer to him on the couch. That, after all the hand holding, finally started to set off alarm bells.

Did the poor simple bastard have some sort of crush on him or something? How embarrassing. So embarrassing that he couldn’t decide if he wanted to try and snap a picture to sell to some gossip rags later or not.

That was totally why he felt weird and jumpy, and only more so once Toki had inched close enough to rest his head on Magnus’ shoulder. A weird, warm, hyper-awareness bloomed anywhere Toki touched him—first his shoulder, then his side, then (Magnus absolutely did not gulp when this happened) his thigh. He had to wrestle down the impulse to start bouncing that leg restlessly, because he didn’t dare shake him off and potentially ruin The Plan.

So he stayed still. And the thing about the warmth was that Toki was just radiating with it, and the longer he was so close the more it spread. Magnus felt as though he might incandesce at any moment and he fucking hated every second of it.

He tried directing his attention to the tv and remembered it was December, so Toki had picked a Christmas movie at random. On the giant screen, Sarah Jessica Parker was covered in egg and screaming in a kitchen. Not the best distraction ever.

“Needs anything?” Toki asked casually, as if everything was just fine and dandy, apparently somehow not noticing that Magnus was on the verge of starting to worry he might have a heart attack.

“No,” Magnus grunted. A way out would be great, thanks. He remembered he still had a beer in one hand (his fourth or fifth, at this point) and raised his unencumbered arm to glug the rest of it down.

“You sures?” Toki pressed, looking up at him with guileless eyes.

Shaking the last few drops out and tossing the bottle down the couch, Magnus started to say Another drink, something stronger this time, but he couldn’t. Toki’s lips pressed warmly, nervously against his, kissing away the aftertaste of beer.

He had not come prepared for this.

He didn’t even need to be here, it wasn’t necessary to The Plan.

Toki was too goddamned nice, inviting him here and showing him around like he genuinely wasn’t a threat, like he was someone Toki actually enjoyed being around. (Magnus thought pretty highly of himself, but even he had to admit that most people didn’t ever appreciate his presence. Or if they did it, usually wasn’t for this long. Jealous douchebags, that’s all they were, the whole fucking human race.)

Magnus took it anyway. Fuck it, why not? It had been one thing when he was still in his twenties or thirties, hot in a rough-and-tumble bad-boy musician way, getting his share of action after playing a gig at some nothing bar, but at his age and painful lack of fame and fortune, to have anyone this young and ripped pressed up against him was a rare occurrence. He was taking the kiss out of spite, he told himself, and gave back as good as he got.

Surely he wouldn’t regret this later.

Toki sighed against his mouth, bright blue eyes fluttering open. “Thanks you, Magnus.”

“Uh.” Magnus fought against instinctively grimacing at the thanks, which he wasn’t used to. He licked absently at his lip, not realizing he was doing so until the tip of his tongue brushed Toki’s lip too and made the other man giggle. Fucking giggle. “For what?”

“For beings here,” Toki told him. “Is nice to nots be alones on Christmas, don’ts you thinks?”

Magnus wanted to say he’d ever particularly noticed Christmas one way or the other before, but for some reason it (the lie) stuck in his throat. “. . . Yeah, I guess.”

Something in Toki’s eyes shifted and he suddenly looked . . . he looked lonely, as familiar a sight as though Magnus was recognizing it in a mirror (which he definitely never did). He wondered what Toki was gunning for here—a friend with benefits, or something more than that?

Something ‘just Toki’s,’ a little holiday closeness with someone he thought actually cared?

(That thought didn’t make Magnus feel like a two-bit white masquerading as something better, not even a little bit.)

“You wants to sees my room agains?” Toki whispered?

On the tv, sappy holiday ambiance music played as the movie went out of its way to establish that everyone was friendly and happy and appropriately paired up now, all two-by-two sheep marching into Noah’s ark before the winter flood.

“Sure,” Magnus said.

He wasn’t a sheep, he told himself, it had just been too long since he’d last gotten laid.

Christmas had nothing whatsoever to do with it.

#metalocalypse #12 days of dethmas #hammertooth #magnus hammersmith #toki wartooth #pre DSR

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insfiringyou · 5 years ago

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BTS - Creature Comforts (Jimin x Ara)

Contains: Fluff. Minor bickering. Flirting.

We imagine this taking place a few months after the events of Jimin and Ara’s scenario in ‘They use sex toys with their girlfriend’ and shortly before his military enlistment.

We wanted to show some moments between the members and their girlfriends that may not seem grand or important in the long run, but that highlight some of the conversations they might have in private. We also don’t want to shy away from some of the arguments, disagreements or bickering that might take place. More couples to follow soon.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist can be found here

Content below the cut

The full clothes stand which partially blocked the entrance to the living room caught his attention as soon as he closed the front door, its sides overflowing with damp laundry. He wondered why it was in the hall, before noticing the portable heater which had been placed precariously close to a dangling sleeve. Its presence made his heart skip unexpectedly, realising it meant Ara was home. The lack of noise from the adjoining sitting room told him she was likely in the bedroom and the urge to go straight to her was overwhelming, but he took the time to switch off the electrical device, sensing she had forgotten about it and not wanting to risk a fire. As he straightened, his eyes were drawn to a pink garment folded over the edge of the rack; the tiny logo embroidered on the pocket instantly recognisable. His mouth dropped open in a silent gasp and dropping his shoulder bag on the floor, he unhooked the material, heading down the hall.

“Ara?” Twisting the door knob and pushing into the bedroom, he called out her name, eyes fixed on the long-sleeved shirt which he held at arm’s length, as though the bundle of fabric were covered in bugs. “What happened?” He asked.

She looked up from the duvet where she was laying outstretched on her side, a hard-backed book resting on the pillow in front of her. “Oh.” Noticing his entrance, she sat up at once, curling her bare legs to prop up her slender body.

Jimin looked from the shirt to his girlfriend who blushed in response, raising her hands from her covered lap to her face. “I’m sorry…” She cringed, placing her palms flat on her eyes for a moment before removing them with a grimace. “I saw the laundry basket was full and wanted to be helpful.”

“It’s my favourite shirt!” He exclaimed with exasperation as he drew it to his body and turned the garment over in his hands. Its once pristinely white colour was now stained to a rose-hued blush.

“I know…I really am sorry.” She groaned. “I thought it was all your clothes, but there was something red in the basket.”

Her cheeks remained pink as she shifted position on the bed, adjusting the trim of her low-cut dress to protect her modesty as she looked at him. While the ruined shirt had been a shock, he could see she had meant well by washing the clothes which he had so carelessly left strung around the apartment in her absence, and couldn’t be angry with her. He took a deep breath.

“What was it?” He asked with curiosity, voice softening as he discarded the shirt on the edge of the duvet and crawled to sit beside her.

She hesitated for a moment, before shaking her head. “You don’t want to know.”

A sly grin crept onto his face. “Now I do…”

Her hands once more rose to her face, clutching her cheeks in embarrassment. “It was one of my thongs.” She admitted quietly, prompting Jimin to grin widely, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as he stroked her bare knee gently.

“Well, I guess they’re pretty tiny…” He teased.

“Shut up.” A matching smile grew on her face as she placed her hand on top of his. It was obvious she was feeling bashful about the whole situation as well as a little deflated, having admitted to him on a number of occasions that she sometimes found it hard to complete daily chores around the house, often becoming distracted or accidentally breaking something. Once, while sweeping up the large shards of a shattered glass on her hands and knees in the kitchen she had broke down in tears and, through the sobs, declared to him that she was failing as an adult.

Jimin let it drop and, leaning forward, kissed her cheek gently. He could feel its heat radiating from the surface of her soft skin. “What time did you get back?”

She seemed to glow in the aftermath of his touch, her digits slowly wrapping around his as she recovered from her embarrassment. “In the afternoon. Didn’t you get my text?” She frowned.

“Not yet.” He said, having last checked his phone just before the short drive home.

“Oh.” Ara murmured. “I sent it before I set off. Maybe it’s stuck in the...whatdoyoucallit?”

“Ethos?” He suggested.

She let out a laugh, her fingers stroking his as she shook her head. “Ether.” She corrected.

His mouth twisted in a smirk at his simple mistake. “I’m not sure texts can get stuck in the ether.” He shrugged. “It’s not got a net.”

Playfully, she gently hit his upper arm. “You know what I mean.” A giggle escaped her lips. “Maybe it’s delayed because of the phone services abroad.”

He internally groaned. “You should have waited until you got back. It will cost you a fortune.”

She met his gaze, eyes sparkling. “We’re going to debut next month, so I’m hoping I’ll see a proper paycheck soon.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” He sighed discouragingly. “It took us years to make any money.”

“I’m sure I can at least pay off my phone bill…” She reasoned gently before a hushed, but comfortable silence fell between them. They naturally moved down the bed, huddling closely together as they shuffled against the duvet to get comfortable on their sides. His arm glided across her waist, feeling the gentle curve of her hips beneath her dress as they faced each other.

It took a moment to register what she had said, and a timid smile crept onto his lips. “So you’re going to debut?”

She nodded. The change in position felt more personal; more loving, and she lowered her voice to a more intimate tone. “In Japan. They think we’ll be more of a hit over there.”

“You’ll be a hit everywhere.” He flirted, fingertips leaving her hip to roam under the floaty trim of her clothes. “Especially if you wear this dress…”

She slapped his hand with a toothy grin and he pulled away quickly. “Stop playing!”

With a laugh, he resumed his previous position, holding her waist steady. “Do you like being in Japan?” He murmured.

She hesitated. “Sort of…I miss home though.”

He heard the longing in her tone along with something else; something which sounded like regret. “What do you miss the most?” He inquired softly, shuffling closer until he could feel her warm breath against his face.

“The smell of my bedsheets when I’m with you.”

“Mmm.” He mumbled in agreement, letting out the softest moan as he pecked her lips. Her sweet, fruity fragrance seemed to linger in the air, even when she wasn’t there and in the days following her marketing trip, he had hugged the duvet at night, pretending she was with him. “Anything else?” He said hopefully.

“Homemade kimchi.”

Her blunt answer made him laugh out loud, and he reluctantly pulled away to prop himself against the headboard, suddenly remembering he had interrupted something when he barged into the room. He glanced at the edge of the quilt as she joined him, her movements a little groggy from her long day at the airport.

“What are you reading?” He asked, squinting to see the cover which was wedged open on the sheets.

“Poetry.” She followed his gaze and picked up the book, placing it carefully on the bedside table.

“You like poetry?” He toyed, eyes full of mirth.

Shrugging, she turned back to him. “I’m trying to write some lyrics. I thought I might get inspired.”

His eyebrow raised teasingly. “So you’re a song writer now?”

“I don’t see why not.” Her voice was a little musical as she resumed her previous volume. “It’s not like I’m ever going to be the lead dancer.”

“I thought you were getting better?” He frowned, sensing the complaint in her tone.

“I was…” Drifting off, she thought for a moment with furrowed brows. “It’s just more difficult with dyspraxia...I get all flustered and lose my balance…” She explained dejectedly. “I’m taking the lead vocals instead.”

This perked him up. “Are you serious?”

Nodding, she observed his smile and sighed. “I feel bad for the others. They’ve been working so much longer than me. It doesn’t seem fair I get to fasttrack…” The falter in her voice made him realise this had been playing on her mind for a while.

“I wouldn’t complain…” He said softly, stroking her hand. “You’ll work hard enough in the end, trust me.”

She shrugged. “I guess so…”

Her eyes followed his movement as his hand found hers, a minute of silence stretching between them before he interrupted her thoughts.

“So the thong that ruined my shirt…” His expression was unreadable as he turned to her.

“Yeah?” She questioned timidly.

“Are you wearing it now?” He gently mocked, lifting the hem of her pretty dress before she could protest and taking a peak at the little, frilly triangle of material between her thighs. They were a pale yellow, not red, but he grinned regardless as she tugged the fabric from his grasp and yanked it down.

“Stop!” She squealed, unable to help her giggles as he pulled away with a grumble. “You should get something to eat…” She insisted, calming down and gesturing towards the door. It was getting late and, as predicted, he hadn’t eaten since midday.

“Okay…okay...I’m going…” He sighed dramatically as he slowly rolled off the bed and got to his feet. “I’ll make you some kimchi. Will that make you happy?” He turned back to look as she picked up her book, finding her place among the aged and slightly bent pages.

Her lips turned up as she drew her gaze from the hardback. “The happiest.”

***

Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / �� Jungkook

& Our full masterlist can be found here

You can support us by buying admins a coffee here (if you wish). :)

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har-rison-s · 5 years ago

Text

ask me why

IT: CHAPTER TWO SPOILERS!

request: I love your stan fics!! could you possibly write a sad, angsty one where the reader and stan were childhood sweethearts and they move away and forget each other because of the magic of derry and then when she comes back she’s heartbroken over his death. maybe the scene where they are in the neibolt with the spider-stan(😭😭) and she freaks out and has like a panic attack because she realises he’s not there to help her anymore? idk if that makes sense? thank you either way❤️keep the stan coming!!

A/N: Oh, my goodness. I am the reader and the writer in this one, my feelings are one with her on this one. Oh, god... I'm heartbroken. Also school is tomorrow and I hate gooooiiinnnng but I gotta. Anyways, hope you like this and that it's what you're looking for! Happy reading!

warnings: death, grief, panic attack, descriptions of blood and suicide. Take tissues cause this is very emotional, trust me. Get ready.

IT masterlist

main masterlist

heaven masterlist

gif credit goes to owner, which isn't me!

“The bathtub.” Beverly says into the phone before Patty can. Beverly realises that what she saw twenty seven years ago had happened. What a tragedy. She thinks of how Patty feels and then glances over at Y/N, who waits for Bev to end the call and tell everyone what Patty said. How ever will she tell her? It'll break her heart, it will break the girl herself. “Patty, I'm so sorry, honey. You can call anytime, alright?”

“I'm sorry, I have to go.” Patty tells Beverly and hangs up. Beverly puts her phone in her pocket and turns to her friends. All their faces awaiting, impatient and nervous of what she might say. Is it true what the fortune cookies told them or is IT playing tricks on them?

“Stanley's gone. In--In the bathtub. There's blood everywhere, Patty said.” Beverly says, but she's looking at Y/N while she's talking. Her face falls. Her eyes empty in a second, looking hollow and abundant. Everyone gasps and mutters words of shock and disbelief. In her ears, everything fades out and she can only hear his voice. Stanley.

“Let's go swimming.” He turns to her with the biggest smile. She tilts her head to one side. “I won't scare you, I promise.” Stan raises his arms up in mock defense. She sighs.

“Okay, fine.” Y/N agrees and raises to her feet. The pair lock hands, taking steps towards the lake, skipping here and there. They're both smiling at each other. Y/N leans towads Stanley's shoulder with her head, resting it there and humming.

He didn't scare her in the water for the first time. He usually tells her there's something big underwater and when she looks under to see if there is indeed something, Stan would grab her thighs and she'd scream. No more of that, he said to himself after Y/N told him she's starting to get scared of the water.

She feels her heart being crunched up by someone's hand. Fate, it could be. But it's IT. IT is responsible for this. For all of this.

Her lungs collapse, too. Y/N feels like she can't take breaths anymore, like she never will. Feels like her lungs have closed down, stopped working. Like they're filled with water or something even heavier. Like there's never going to be air in her lungs, like they're filled to the brim. Never possible of saving.

She opens her mouth to try and breathe, but she's hiccuping, coughing almost.

Stanley. Stanley Uris. Her Stanley.

The most beautiful boy she's ever layed her eyes on in her whole life. Anyone she saw as a person of potential interest in her so-far life was lacking something, she realises now. One thing. They weren't him.

His radiant smile that made her smile when she didn't feel like ever smiling again, when she had forgot how to. Lightened up the room and shone like the sun. Made her feel like there was nothing bad in the world.

His voice. The boy could sing, but only she knew that. He never sang in front of anyone else, none of his friends. Only her. And she loved it.

He thought he was bad at singing but God, did he sound like an angel. He was very insecure about it, that's all.

“Sing what you want to. I wanna hear it, whatever the song!” She beamed, resting her head in her hands, her elbows on Stanley's desk surface. Stanley sighs, sitting in a chair not so far from her and his desk. He looks down, lip bitten, deep in choosing the song he could sing.

“Okay, okay,” he says, lifting his head and breathing deeply in and out, preparing himself, “but don't laugh.” Stan points a finger at Y/N. She shakes her head.

“I would never, baby.” She says. “Go ahead.”

Stan takes a breath in and out and, after a few more seconds, starts finally singing. “I love you, whoo-hoo-whoo-hoo, cause you tell me things I want to know,” He sings. He doesn't look Y/N in the eyes as he sings, he focuses on one of the furniture facing him. He's so shy about it, “and it's true, whoo-hoo-whoo-hoo, that it really only goes to show...

“That I know, that I, I, I, I should never, never, never be blue-ooh!” He hits the highnote perfectly. “Now you're mine, my happiness still makes me cry. And in time you'll understand the reason why if I cry, it's not because I'm sad.

“But you're the only love that I've ever had.” He looks at her at once. Because he means the words, wants to sing them to her, wants to tell her those words. They're true.

Y/N smiles wide, happy tears in the corners of her eyes. Stanley smiles wide and rushes over to her. He kneels before her and his face is mischievous, up to something.

“I can't believe,” he resumes singing, a theatrical facial expression on his features, which makes Y/N giggle, “it's happened to me. I can't concieve of anymore,” he extends his arm in the air, “mi-se-ry!” He exclaims, a mock-brave and determined look on his face. As if he was playing Superman, who's flying through the air after saving a particular girl form danger.

Y/N giggles histerically, looking at Stanley and holding his other hand. He drops the act and leans closer into her face. Not too close, not that intimate. At least not yet.

“Ask me why,” he sings quieter, “I'll say I love you,” with each verse, he gets closer and closer, keeping their eyes locked on each other, “and I'm always thinking of you...” Stan drifts off and kisses her on the lips tenderly, sweetly. Just like he sang a second ago.

Her knees buckle in, her feet give out. Gravity or rather, horrible pain and grief, takes over her completely and she's falling down to the ground. In the street, between her friends. All of them immediately get closer to her, huddle around her.

They see the terrifying look on her face. It's everything mixed. Pain, memories, grief, terror, fear, anger, longing... It's all in there, in her wide, wide, as-big-as-buttons eyes. Mouth agape. She looks just like a person having a stroke would look. And her friends are actually scared that she is having one.

“Y/N!” Beverly calls to her, hoping to get her out of this horrid and scary trance. Ben pushes Y/N in a sitting position from behind so she wouldn't be laying on the wet, dirty ground of the Derry street.

She gasps and hiccups and tries to regain control over her body and brain. But her mind can't help but go back to the best memories of her childhood. And her body is completely out of order, out of anyone's control. Her friends try to shake her, bring her back to them pysically first.

The only thing they get from her before Y/N completely shuts down, is one word. “Stanley.” It's a quiet whisper that they barely heard. It was like a mutter between her lips, something meant for only her to hear.

Her wide eyes close instantly and her mouth, too. She's limp in Ben's and Beverly's arms. “No! Y/N!” She exclaims, afraid something serious has happened to her. Some sort of internal, physical damage. But she's having a very pleasant dream, unconscious to her friends.

“Let's see that!” Stanley takes her sketchbook from her, making Y/N gasp and pry after her book, her pencil still in hand.

“I'm not finished!” She exclaims, but it's no use. Everyone's huddled around Stanley holding her sketchbook and already looking at the new drawing she really has not finished yet.

“Oh my God, that is so pretty!” Beverly says.

“I'm the prettiest one, of course, thank you, Y/N.” Richie boasts.

“Then I shall draw your horrible witch nose bigger, Rich!” She says and the kids both stick their tongues at each other, mean faces showing. Y/N comes closer to Stan holding the book.

Everyone's gasping and pointing at themselves in the artwork, saying how alike the drawing is to real life. And though Y/N loves the compliments and thanks them, she really needs to finish the piece so that it could be even more prettier and perfect.

She puts her hand firmly on the sketchbook and pulls it towards herself. Stanley looks at her with his delinquent famous smile and holds the book tight in his hands.

“Give it back, I need to finish it.” She requests. Stan takes the book closer to his chest.

“What will I have for that?” He bargains and she narrows her eyes at the boy.

“If you give it back,” she starts, “I'll give you the whole book. For your own exploitation.”

“Come on! We're hoping for something more enticing, Y/N!” Richie cries and Eddie hits his arm, despite snickering.

“What about a kiss?” Stan suggests and Y/N lets herself smile at him. She throws herself at him, kissing him hard on the lips as they both smile wicked smiles.

“Ew!” Everyone exclaims upon the action and turns away from the couple.

“Guys, they're so cute.” Beverly cheers, but everyone boos her, already finding new things to do. Beverly laughs to herself and turns back to her book in the hammock.

Stanley and Y/N pull apart, smiling and looking at each other with heart eyes and looks of pure gratitude and appreciation. Though their friends exclaim in disgust whenever the two show a bit of affection towards each other, they really love them and can't help wishing for the same kind of love in their lives. They're happy for the most loving best friends in their group, very happy.

“Guys, she's waking up!” Eddie calls out to his friends once he sees Y/N opening her eyes slowly. He hopes she's really waking up, not just a flutter of the eyelids in-between dreams or nightmares. Richie, Bill, Mike, Beverly and Ben come up to the hotel's lounge sofa where Y/N is laying, now conscious.

“Hey, honey,” Beverly tries to smile at her. She takes Y/N's hands between her own, “how are you feeling?” She asks.

“I would love not to answer that question.” Y/N says and sits up. Her friends sigh, somehow relieved by her answer and her healthy look. “How long was I—how long ago—” She can't seem to form the question she wants to ask.

“A couple hours.” Eddie answers her un-finished question. “Do you need some Advil or Morphine?” He questions. Y/N furrows her eyebrows at the man.

“No, thanks.” She says. “So, what are we doing, what's our plan?”

“Well, since Beverly has seen us all die,” Richie starts to say, oblivious that his words might trigger tears and intense emotions in Y/N. Unwantedly, tears start dripping down onto her sweater and jeans in hot streams, “we need to kill the stupid clown this time. Otherwise, we'll die. Just how Bev's seen us die.”

Y/N sobs, pulling her knees to her chest and letting it all out. She sobs and she cries and she hiccups and she wails, heartbreaking sounds for her friends' ears.

“I don't care.” She cries. “I don't care. I'll die, then. I don't care.” She shakes her head, repeating the phrases over and over.

“Well, that was my plan.” Richie admits.

“We can't let you die, Y/N.” Ben tells her. But she doesn't listen. She doesn't want to hear support or any positive comments from anyone now.

“Listen, Y/N/N,” Mike starts to say, sitting closer to her, “there is a way to kill him. For real this time.” This is what makes her look at Mike, or look at anyone, really. He's caught her attention. Is it true?

“Trust us, Y/N. W-W-We can end IT he-here and n-now.” Bill joins in. She looks at him, she looks at Beverly, she looks at Ben, and Richie and Eddie. They're all nodding. Quite sure that there really is a way for them to get rid of this horrid creature that's ruined so many lives. Finally do it. And they get to do it.

No one will know it if they do, no one will congratulate them and put crowns on their heads and give them flowers. But it doesn't matter. They'll be heroes to themselves and to the people who have lost everything because of this stupid killer clown. If they succeed and don't die in the process.

The whole point was to find an artifact from your childhood here. It had to be burned. Y/N's was a portrait of herself that Stan did. He tried really hard. And she doesn't want to burn it now.

She sat in the clubhouse alone, after everyone left, crying. Full-out sobbing and wailing in her deep sorrow. She was completely spent after it, save Pennywise spooking her out of there, the portrait crumpled up in her fist tightly.

IT thought it'd be funny to portray itself as Stanley who was drowning in his own blood and almost taking Y/N with him, if she hadn't ran up the stairs. It's not real, it's not real. Her fear was drowning and losing Stanley. And the fact that one of them came true is just so unacceptably sad. Devastating. (A/N: I want to cry.)

She layed in the grass above the Clubhouse for however long she needed to calm down and pick up her broken pieces, mentally and physically. She slowly rose to her feet and started her way back to the hotel. She thought she saw Bowers on her way back, but she told herself she's just mistaken the man for Bowers. But, when Eddie came out of his room with blood gushing out of his cheek and said that Bowers is in his room, she realised she wasn't mistaken with who she saw.

After an argument and Richie trying to flee the town, the Losers Club reunited and bravely went back into the Neibolt house to kill IT once and for all. Y/N was scared, hollow, but with the realisation and perk that she had nothing to lose anymore. She had lost the most important thing in her whole life. Nothing can be worse than that.

They were a mess. Not five minutes into the trip in Neibolt and they had split up, everything was in shambles and they couldn't get a hold of themselves or each other.

Y/N was crouched down, turned inwards, in the corner of the must-have-been kitchen. Her head between her hands and her eyes on Stanley. Or Stanley's head. The one that now had spider legs grown out of it. His eyes are... horrid. No sign of life or love or anything good. Death, hate, anger, maliciousness. None of these qualities were something that Stan ever contained.

Tears are streaming down her face in a quick pace, scorching her cheeks and eyes, irritating the skin. Her throat is already dry from the screaming and crying for the past twelve hours. It hurts to cry, but it hurts to see... this weird Stanley Uris. She can't help but cry.

Her love. Her life. Her only love ever. The boy that was ready to give her everything he could give from him. The boy who was ready to show her the world, who was ready to take the moon and stars from the sky if she ever asked, the boy who was ready to protect and love her like no one else could ever try.

He's dead. He's dead because of IT and its wrath and its toll on Stanley. How unfair. How unfair for IT to do this to such a caring, innocent young boy. How dare he. Stanley had done nothing wrong in his life to get this end. Stanley hadn't done anything wrong for something or someone to bite him back in the form of IT, a killer clown or a weird-looking woman.

She's filled with fury. She's still crying, still bawling and moaning in emotional pain while her friends are in panic. Stanley's spider form is not getting off Richie. Bill is trying to help him, Eddie's in another corner, frozen in fear, as well. God, he can't even help his friends. He's so scared. His fear and traumatic memories have been so repressed and now they're coming back in a second's time, all at once, and hitting him in the face like a brick. Quite physically.

Y/N picks up a spike from the floor. She figures it must be laying there since Pennywise got it out of his head when Beverly stabbed him. Twenty-seven years ago... When Stan was still alive... When they were all in one piece. Her face twists in utter anger and she growls, almost. Eddie's eyes flicker over to her, scared of her, too. He hopes she's not another form of IT.

Y/n holds the spike in her hands so tight it makes her hand hurt. But she doesn't care. She must do this. At least this. She staggers over the room to where Richie, Bill and Stan's head are with the spike in her hands and, upon reaching them, immediately starts hitting the damn spider-head with the spike's sharp end.

She's screaming and crying and calling IT names, calling the entity out for what he's done, for what he is. Her every emotion is spilling out into each hit and each word and spit of her tongue.

Richie and Bill start screaming, and Y/N tries hard not to hit Richie in the process. The spider-head grows weaker and falls off of Richie, who now has a very bloody shirt. Bill helps him get up, and the men both watch Y/N completely destroying the spider-head with the spike.

She's yelling, she sounds like an animal, there's anguish and rage. The only things they see existing in her. Blood is everywhere, the head is screaming, as well, blood and guts and brains and pieces of spider-legs everywhere. Horrid, disgusting scene all around.

The moment the head is hit to complete pieces is when Y/N finally groans out, relief in the groan, and drops the spike. She collapses on the floor next to the destroyed head, her hand on her stomach.

That was a big thing. A big step. In stepping over her fears and in starting to get over Stan's death. If she's ever capable of that.

“Y/N!” Bill and Richie go over to her, helping her stand up. Eddie's in terrible shock from everything he's seeing, he can't move.

“I'm fine, guys, I'm fine. That just took a lot of strength.” She says and takes a few deep breaths, panting as the two men hold her by her sides and back supportively.

“You're a fucking hero, Y/N.” Richie says. She doesn't say anything, and nor does anyone else for a while. Richie and Bill exchange looks, thinking the same thing.

Y/N could destroy a thing that looked exactly like the love of her life. While her fear is losing him, Stanley dying or just... going away in any other way. She is so brave. Much, much more brave than the two of them combined, at least now. She is so, so brave and strong. She could be the main key to destroying IT when they get to the layer.

A/N: Maybe this was very dramatic, but just... imagine being in the Losers' place. Imagine it, just... swim deep into the thought and concept. It couldn't be otherwise.

Permanent taglist: @gabiatthedisco @v0idbella @inlovewithmiddleagedcelebs @works-of-fanfiction @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @stfxlou @ur-gunna-h8-ths @empressdreams @betweenloveandfire @but-legendsneverdie @deardeacy @thewinchesterchronicles @mavieesttriste16 @mrsmazzello @benhardyseyes @langdonzvoid @intrrverted @the-freak-cassie-131

Stanley Uris tag-list: @nightbu-g @sadhwstudent @shawni-h @gothackedalready

#stanley uris #stan uris #stanley uris x reader #stanley uris imagine #stanley uris imagines #stan uris imagine #stan uris imagines #stan uris x reader #the losers club imagine #the losers club imagines #the losers club x reader #it chapter two spoilers #it chapter two imagine #it chapter two imagines #har-rison-s writes #har-rison-s writings #har-rison-s work

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missdaviswrites · 6 years ago

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Fic Writer Intro--MissDavis

I just got back from @ficwritersretreat2019, where we talked about ways to support and promote other fic writers. One idea was to write introductory posts for ourselves, then reblog each others’ posts to spread the word to all our followers. Below I have tagged the other writers who went to this year’s retreat, but even if you’ve never been, feel free to introduce yourself and your own writing. If you tag me, I'll reblog your post, too!

I’m MissDavis and I've been writing BBC Sherlock fic since shortly after s3. Most of my work is Johnlock with some occasional Johnlockary thrown in for good measure. Here’s the link to all of my writing. If you’re looking for something specific, here’s a breakdown by ship and length, along with summaries from AO3:

Johnlock:

Long fics (50-100+K):

Breakable rated E After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it’s supposed to be. Part 1 of the Breakable Not Broken series.

Full Court Press rated E College basketball AU: Sherlock is the team’s best shooter. John is the team’s best ball-handler.

Side Effects rated E WIP, currently 10/17 chapters now complete! Sequel to Breakable. Life is a lot better for Sherlock and John than it was a year ago. Yes, John still can't walk and Sherlock is still on antidepressants, but they're married now, and almost everything else is back to their version of normal. They have a dog. Sherlock's solving cases again. But when Moriarty learns of their marriage, he escapes from prison and takes it upon himself to make their lives miserable. Is Sherlock really up to the challenge of catching a criminal whose only goal is to make sure that he and John don't live happily ever after?

Mid-length fics (10-35K):

Chaperones rated T "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie’s class and you won’t have to share a room with a stranger?“

Christmas With You rated T Watch Sherlock, John and Rosie over the years as they celebrate the season as only they can.

Welcome Christmas rated T Join John and Sherlock at Baker Street as they celebrate Rosie's first Christmas and beyond. From Rosie crawling around the flat as they tiptoe around each other en route to their first kiss, to a happy retirement with a young grandson who wants to be just like Grandad and Papa, this fic shows how Sherlock and John celebrate Christmas together through the years.

Breaking Christmas rated M Join me in some established relationship Johnlock as I attempt to make Sherlock and John participate in some Seasonal Fucking Cheer. Ficlets that are part of the Breakable Not Broken series.

So This Is Christmas rated T Sherlock, John and Rosie celebrate the Christmas season with the rest of their family. It's not always perfect, but they all do their best. Most of the time. AKA the Christmas ficlets that include Eurus.

Clutter-Free rated E 5 times John made Sherlock clean up the flat and one time he didn’t have to.

Short fics (2K-9K):

The Librarians of Baker Street rated E Sherlock is a cataloguer who's forced to work the reference desk once a week. Which he hates. Or at least, he used to hate it, until the library hired a new reference librarian. Guess who?

Just a Touch rated E John has trouble falling asleep these days. There’s one thing he can do that always seems to help, but he’s stuck in this hotel room with Sherlock and doesn’t think he’ll get the chance. How will he ever find relief and a good night’s sleep?

If You Lead Me rated M Enough time has passed since Mary’s death that John is finally ready to start a new relationship. With Sherlock, he hopes. But given Sherlock’s stated aversion to romantic entanglements, John is a bit worried about being rejected, and doesn’t know how to proceed. Fortunately, there’s someone who can help him along.

Sherlock Is Actually a Cat Person rated E John brings home a kitten. Sherlock is not okay with it.

The Last Time Alone rated E But it wasn’t enough, not for John. He needed more. He needed someone to hold besides a child, and someone to kiss on the lips and not just the top of the head. He needed sly looks across the dinner table and to know if he put Rosie to bed early he might emerge from her room to find a candle lit and dessert served just for two.

The One Where No One Proposes rated G Sherlock inherits his parents’ wedding rings. It’s ridiculous that they mean something to him. He doesn’t plan to do anything with them. Sentiment.

Equal Footing rated E Sherlock had certainly never shown any interest in women’s footwear, or in seeing John appear as anything but fully male. But five extra inches—that opened up all sorts of interesting possibilities.

Very short fics (under 2K):

Dirty Laundry rated E If they got far enough along, John knew he would stop noticing the steady clanking thump of the washer, but so far he’d been unable to keep himself from being distracted.

A Boyfriend in Need rated G John's in medical school now, but it's Sherlock who's taking care of him today. A sequel to Full Court Press.

Rosie and the Rainbows rated M Sherlock isn’t exactly opposed to Rosie joining the Girl Guides, but he doesn’t really see the appeal, either. It ends up being much worse than he imagined.

To a Better Year than Last rated G After the life-altering events of the last twelve months, John is more than ready for the new year to begin. Short sequel to Breakable, from John's POV.

Training rated G Sherlock had terrible running form; they would have to work on that later. For now, John just ran, happy that for once Sherlock was the one chasing after him.

Honey Bee rated G Rosie gets stung by a bee. It’s not a big deal, except that it is.

He Sees You When You're Sleeping rated T Sherlock and John return to the Holmes’ family home for Christmas to find that Mummy has redecorated.

Wrong Disc rated G Two years later and DVDs that Mary made before she died are still showing up every now and then. Thankfully.

The Cute One rated G "This post says that whenever there are three people, there must be one who's the clever one, one who's the cool one, and one who's the cute one.” Rosie looked from John to Sherlock and back again. “So which of us is which?”

Better rated G Sometimes the world just calls for a bit of comfort. A 221B ficlet.

Let's Go on a Family Holiday (& Then Not Leave the Room) rated T Sherlock looked up, noting that John’s bare chest lacked the glossy sheen of suncream that he had been anticipating. A 221B ficlet

Johnlockary

Could Be Fun 36K words, rated E This is the first fic I started writing when I got into the Sherlock fandom. John, Sherlock and Mary embark on a new stage of their relationship. Nine chapters of smut and snark, canon-compliant through series 3.

The Life We Choose 16K words, rated M Based on the "30 Days of Sherlock Challenge,” a series of ficlets from the points of view of Sherlock, John, Mary, and, of course, Alice Watson: I have three parents. Some of my friends have three, too, or even four, but none of them has three who all live together, which makes me the luckiest out of all my friends.

Imagine the Christmas Dinners 15K words, rated M A series of Christmas-themed ficlets, featuring Sherlock, John and Mary over the years, with appearances by Baby Watson, Mummy Holmes, Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade.

Better Off Together 9K words, WIP, now complete at 16K! Rated M What if everyone lived happily ever after? Yes, I’m still writing this, maybe 1 or 2 chapters left to go!

An Afternoon Interruption 7K words, rated E Still the only John/Sherlock/Mary/Sally fic on AO3!

The Clothes You Once Wore 4K words, rated E Mary took a deep breath and conceded to herself that maybe she did want to put on the assassin outfit and tie him to the bed and have her way with him. Maybe Sherlock had just known it before she did. Possibly my favorite short fic I’ve written.

Got You Pegged 2K words, rated E Sherlock could think of six different ways they could make it fit using common household items he had in the flat, but he didn’t think he could wait that long.

The Space Between 2K words, rated E This one is really more Johnlock than Johnlockary. Written as part of the Come At Once 24-hour porn challenge.

Safe Not Sound 2K words, rated E "Oh, come on. I'm willing to put up with all this 'gun safety' nonsense you and John are insisting on, the least you could do is give me what I want in return."

Brand New Day 1500 words, rated T Breakfast, babies, and three people trying to do their best.

While You Were Sleeping 1K words, rated E “We—” Mary started and Sherlock pressed his fingers a bit harder against her leg. She inhaled. “He’ll wake up.”

Storage Space 695 words, rated M Sherlock has his own space at John and Mary’s house now. The first fic I ever posted!

Bed rated T It’s a bit tight, but they all fit. A 221B ficlet.

Other Ships or Ship-free

All We Have 5K words, rated T, Gen. My angsty, pre-series 4 interpretation of what might have happened to a third Holmes brother.

One Night, Twenty Weeks 4K words, rated E, Mary/Molly. Mary has a problem. Molly helps her out.

Actually, the Baby Sits on You 3K words, rated G, Gen. Sherlock watches the Watsons’ baby for the first time.

Tea for Three 2K words, rated E, Mrs. Hudson/Mrs. Holmes/Mr. Holmes. Mrs. Hudson had been with many men over the years—older, younger, single, divorced, married and seeing her on the side either secretly or openly—but this was the first time she had ever been with a man while his wife lay right beside them.

Tiny Little Pieces 1594 words, rated G, John/Mary. They watched to the end of the DVD; Sherlock smiled and winked at them and John flicked off the screen again. “So. That’s Sherlock.” He gave her a smile that was even more forced than the one Sherlock had just displayed. “It’s funny. I’d almost forgotten what he sounded like.”

Not in the Job Description 1,505 words, rated E, Sherlock/Sally. The case has Sherlock stumped, and John’s not around to help him focus. Someone has to step up and help him clear his mind.

Once He Is Gone 1K words, rated T, Gen. John is fine at Sherlock’s funeral. Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s been to funerals for so many of his friends. Why would Sherlock’s be any different?

When Mary Met Sally 766 words, rated G, Gen. Sally stops by Baker Street with a case but finds out that Sherlock isn’t home.

Kick Gen, rated G. Mary is pregnant, John’s not speaking to her, and Sherlock’s still in hospital. A 221B ficlet.

-------------------------

Tagging: @hubblegleeflower @pipmer @pippn-frodo @totallysilvergirl @daringlydomestic @prettyrealisticjohnlockfanart @cumberqueer @addictedstilltheaddict @disaronnus @weneedtotalkaboutsherlock @quantum-sparrow @blogstandbygo @amindamazed @fearlessdiva930 @onwallsiwrite

and tagging *anyone* else who wants to share--really, feel free to promote your fic!

#fic writer intro #sherlock fic #johnlock #johnlockary #my fic

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hermitreunited · 5 years ago

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TUA Feedback Fest!

💜💜 Favorite Fic Writer 💜💜

I could have split these all up to go under various rec theme posts, and maybe I will, but the gosh darn truth of it is that I love every fic by @sunriseseance aka Oceansweather so dang much that I needed to make a post about all of it. A very detailed post. It’s long, but she and her work deserve it. <3

A Hard Rain’s A Gonna Fall

Summary: In 1963, most citizens of Dallas had no idea where Vietnam was. He knew that because none of the people he passes as he walks look particularly dead inside. The sidewalk scorches his feet even though the sun hangs low in the sky. The air is hot and wet and it feels like a jungle growing in his chest.

aka, A Fourth of July fic about Klaus, trauma, family, and history. Takes place in 1963.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Implied Klaus/Dave⎜Word Count: 4k+⎜Complete (1/1)

This is true for all of her fics - the writing style is so engaging and good and smart! This fic in particular, though - WOW the narration is incredible. Gets you very deep into Klaus’ headspace for a gripping, panicky experience. He’s dealing with the fallout of a traumatic event that is about to happen to most of the people around him. So complicated and sad and intricate!

He wants to warn her that, hey, in 6 years your little boyfriend is going to get drafted and he’s going to go to a country you couldn’t pick out on a map and he’s going to kill people who he shouldn’t kill and every week he’ll write you a letter promising you that when he gets back you’ll move out of the city and your baby will have a real forest to play in and then he’ll kill some more people he’ll go to hell for killing if there’s a hell to go to, and then, well, he’ll get shot in the chest and the blood will come out of his mouth, too, and you’ll have to know that you weren’t there, weren’t fast enough to hear his last words or offer him some last comfort and he’ll be dead and for what?

Happy Birthday, Johnny

Summary: It’s a nice place. Allison made sure of that when she chose it the first time. Three stays ago. God, they’re only 23 (And they are 23 now, or close enough). Three times? She may as well be lighting her money on fire.

Still, the chairs are comfortable. The visiting room is empty, of course, apart from a man with deep, heavy bags under his eyes. Fluorescent lights hum above her as she waits. They wash everything out, cast everything in a harsh shadow. Not that anything about the experience isn’t harsh. This is stupid. She knows it, now, as she feels her heart beating in her throat and the backs of her legs and her fingers.

What if he doesn’t want to see her? What if he was asleep for, what, the first time in 13 days? That’s how long it’s been this time, right? What if he hates her? (What if he’s right to do so?)

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Gen⎜Word Count: 3k+⎜Complete (1/1)

Get ready for your heart to break from the Allison and Klaus feelings (and hold onto them, because she’s going to do this again, Allison and Klaus feelings is her brand). Being Hargreeves siblings is complicated, so so complicated, especially for these two, whose circumstances could not be more different, but when it comes down to it, they are quite similar. It’s pre-series, so it’s Sad, but boy is it ever a detailed look into these two excellent characters.

On their 13th birthday, before everything went wrong, Klaus snuck into her room at midnight with a magazine he stole and a cake he made. The smell of smoke stuck to all of his clothes, his skin, his hair. He gave her the cake, all of it, and the magazine. The smile that accompanied them haunts her.

He asked if he could sit with her, and she said yes. He asked if she’d ever smoked before, and she said no. He asked if she wanted to, and she said yes. He asked if she wanted weed or a cigarette, she said cigarette. That’s what the movie stars did. He gave her a look, a laugh, and showed her how to hold it so it didn’t burn her fingers. Not that he’d lit it yet. He wanted to make sure she had it down before he set her on fire.

Slow is in My Blood

Summary: Dave touches him, sometimes. In dances through root systems lit by a diffused moon, Dave puts a hand on his lower back, his arm, his shoulder. To help, he says. Your balance, he says, it isn’t good. I don’t want you to fall. These pits are endless, he says. You don’t like the dark. A touch to help. It helps.

aka, A meditation on Klaus and allowing himself to be loved. Dave doesn't die at the end.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Klaus/Dave⎜Word Count: 1k+⎜Complete (1/1)

I am biased, I suppose, because this fic was a gift to me. But like!!!! This fic!!! It’s sad and beautiful and lovely and so perfect. I can’t not think about Klaus and Dave’s relationship without thinking about the dynamic in this fic, about how Dave initiates and Klaus keeps himself from running away. It’s gorgeous.

Maybe it’s not one sided. Maybe he touches Dave on the back of his neck just to watch his skin react. Maybe he hopes the reaction comes from the touch itself, and not the chill Klaus carries with him. Maybe he lets the touch linger long enough for Dave to smack his hand away. Maybe he knows, somewhere, that smack is the wrong word. Dave doesn’t smack. He holds, and moves. He lacks a violence somewhere at his core. Maybe it’s the only way Klaus has something Dave lacks, and maybe it’s the only thing Klaus wouldn’t share if Dave asked.

I’ll Be Cleaning Up Bottles With You on New Year’s Day

Summary: Sitting behind him on the windowsill, in a truth that still feels false, is Dave. Quiet, right now. Rubbing Klaus's neck. Kissing it occasionally. New clothes, even, though still only things Klaus saw Dave wear in life. The closest he came to fancy enough for New Year's was the outfit he wore on the night they first kissed. The dates still get muddled in his head.

Dave still smells like Dave. Klaus can bring that back, too. The earthy-clean skin, the slight scent of sweat, the cotton of the polo. Something else, underneath all that. Something that Klaus could recognize anywhere, could follow to the end of the world, could die to protect.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Klaus/Dave⎜Word Count: 1k+⎜Complete (1/1)

OKAY Okay okay. This fic was the equivalent of a bottle of wine when I read it on New Year’s Eve, because it just took these 1092 words, and suddenly I was crying and telling my friends how much I loved them. Me talking about it here is not going to do justice to the warmth and love that you will feel from this. You just have to read it. If you want to experience a moment of perfect contentment and peace that will probably put happy tears in your eyes, read this.

His family is together. Really. They sit in the living room, wearing out couches that have lasted centuries. Allison spills her champagne. Luther only moved Klaus to the slightly-opened window when Klaus started smoking.

Diego's puzzle, which he insists isn't his, keeps finding more pieces. Five and Diego work on it together. He watches them work on it together. He watches Luther help, before getting up to change the record on father's phonograph.

Karma, Leave These Kids Alone

Summary: Klaus is right, because he usually is. Their childhood was worth fearing. But it wasn’t all bad, she thinks, and some guilt pangs her. I wouldn’t wish this on us, but I’m glad I got him out of it. I’m glad Claire is safe.

She holds out her hand for him, and he takes it.

aka, A meditation on Allison and her traumas, guilts, fears, and loves. Centered around her and Klaus, their love for one another, and how that changes her love and fear for Claire.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Gen⎜Word Count: 2k+⎜Complete (1/1)

Allison and Klaus complicated feelings part deux! Now with added Claire feelings! The story centers around Allison’s fear of her daughter having powers, which I would read 100 fics about, and because it’s an Oceansweather fic, it doesn’t stop there. The Hargreeves are adults now who are trying to understand their childhood, and how they relate to each other. It’s complex and sad and it hurts but also it’s healing and growth and love.

He laughed that familiar laugh.

Why would she see the dead? Well, she has an imaginary friend like you used to. She has nightmares. Klaus, I am terrified for her. How did you know it was real? He was quiet, and then he said, well, I could see them. I always could. If she doesn’t see them, she doesn’t see the dead, right?

And Allison said yes. That makes sense. And then Klaus was quiet for a while longer, and then he gagged, and then he said, well, why are you terrified for her? She heard the venom in his voice.

Same As It Ever Was

Summary: He tries to love the heels. Really, he does. He knows Dave loves him in them. He knows, hey, it’s his job to look good. Right? Dave fixes cars and Klaus fixes dinner and cleans the house and looks oh so pretty. So, yes, he has to wear the heels. He doesn’t own any other shoes and he can’t go walking around barefoot. Not with his toenails painted black. Why were they black again? And, say, why did his wrist look so blank? He traced a shape that he couldn’t place onto his skin and waited for something to appear. Like invisible ink. aka, Life is perfect for the Hargreeves, which must mean something is wrong. How fortunate that Klaus is smarter than anyone gives him credit for.

Rating: NR⎜Pairing: Klaus/Dave, Diego/Eudora, Five/Delores⎜Word Count: 8k+⎜Complete (1/1)

This fic is so. freaking. cool. It’s closest probably to a horror story? It’s definitely creepy and uneasy, but it’s also melancholy and thrilling and - very importantly -it features Smart Capable Underestimated but Badass Klaus! I am willing to bet you have not read anything else in the fandom like this, and that you are going to be absolutely captivated. I know I am!

Klaus doesn’t want to see Dave, which is not a feeling he should have. He knows this. He knows he wants to see Dave every day for the rest of his life. So why is he running? Why are his feet carrying him to the bathroom? Why is he locking the door? The tumblers clang into place. His hands shake and he’s going to fall over and brain himself if he doesn’t catch his balance. He can only remember feeling so terrified twice in his life—except he can’t. He can’t remember it at all. So he can’t remember ever feeling this terrified.

It’s just Dave.

#tuafeedbackfest #long post #tua fic rec #also sunriseseance is a very good and lovely person with an great blog and excellent opinions #soooo probably you should go follow her and read and comment on all her fics?#and then when you are big a fan as me go send her some anons asking for the Allison wedding fic #because you are going to love that too #and anything else she writes!!

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