#i actually went back and forth over whether to write these as fics or not

[shardsofmarxx]

Sleep Well | Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Criminal Minds songfic based on/inspired by the song Sleep Well by d4ad. Angst/fluff

Summary: After having an argument with Spencer, you storm to your hotel for the night so you can get some sleep and take your mind off the argument, but you end up having a bad nightmare and you don’t know who else to call… (Told from reader's POV)

Warnings: Nightmares, violence, argument, general CM themes. (Nothing too graphic.)

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: My first fic!!! I'm so excited to start sharing my writing with you guys, and I really hope you all enjoy this fic! I'm planning on making songfics a regular thing on my blog, so feel free to request any songs you'd like me to write about in my ask box! (As well as any other things you'd like me to write about.)

As you were putting on your bulletproof vest in the conference room, you heard someone open the door. You looked over to see Spencer glaring over at you, his bulletproof vest already on.

“What are you doing?” he asked in an accusatory manner, clearly bothered by something. 

You paused for a few moments, confused and taken aback by his tone. “I’m getting ready to head out with the rest of the team. Is something wrong?”

“What's wrong is that you're getting ready to go to the field when you know you're not supposed to.” 

You let out a small sigh, realizing what this was about. Technically, he was right; you weren't allowed to be back in the field for another few days due to the ear injuries you sustained when a bomb went off a little too close for comfort during one of the BAU’s cases about a month ago. However, you were very careful in your day-to-day life, and the doctor said you were making rapid progress in terms of your healing.

“Spence, I only have a handful of days left, and considering the kind of unsub we're dealing with, I'm sure it's fine.” You paused for a few moments before continuing. “Plus, I have earplugs,” you said while turning your head in both directions so he could see them. Unfortunately, he still wasn't convinced.

“It doesn't matter, Y/N; you haven't been cleared by a doctor yet, so you can't go out into the field. You should just focus your attention here,” he said while pointing at all the photos and paperwork sprawled around us in the conference room. “You should look it over; there might’ve been something we missed.”

You raised your eyebrows at him and let out a snort. “That's the best excuse you have, Spence? I appreciate the concern, but I'm going. This unsub is highly dangerous, and we need all the help we can get.”

"No, you're not,” he replied sternly.

“Who died and made you Unit Chief?” you scoffed, feeling your annoyance growing. “I'm going with you guys, whether you like it or not. I'm a grown woman, and I can handle myself just fine.

Although Spencer had a tendency to be stubborn, his behavior right now was foreign. You began walking toward the door, and just as you were about to grip the doorknob, you felt Spencer’s firm grasp wrap around your wrist. You looked over to see him staring at you coldly.

“Y/N, you're not going. I can't let you put yourself in danger.”

You suddenly felt your blood boil. Who did he think he was to act like this? To grab you and order you around? Treat you like you didn't know how to take care of yourself? 

You snatched your wrist away and quickly turned to face him. "Actually, Reid, I'm going to go wherever I please, seeing as you have no authority over me whatsoever.” You were silent for a few moments until the perfect remark suddenly came to mind. “Somebody obviously needs to work on respecting boundaries,” you said slyly, opening up the door to leave, but he spoke up, stopping you in your tracks once more.

"Well, somebody obviously needs to work on following orders,” he muttered.

That was it. Your annoyance and anger finally bubbled over, and you lost it. You both began going back and forth, snapping snarky remarks at one another with no mercy whatsoever, your words piercing each other like knives. 

“You just can't put aside your fucking stubbornness for the good of the team, can you, Reid?”

You could tell that those words hit him hard because from one moment to the next, his whole demeanor changed. “I can't put aside my stubbornness?” He said quietly, breathing shakily as he did. 

He spoke up once more, this time at a much louder volume. “You're the one who can't put aside your stubbornness, Y/N! You can't admit the fact that you're not currently fit to do your job, and your stupidity is putting yourself and the entire team at risk!”

You begin to open your mouth, ready to retort, but he cuts you off. “Face it, Y/N, you're weak!” He was practically screaming at this point, the veins in his neck sticking out as they pulsed rapidly. Suddenly all you heard was a sharp ringing, and you fell to the floor, tightly clutching your ears in an attempt to make it stop. As if on cue, Derek ran in to diffuse the situation. 

Caught up in his anger, Spencer spoke again, still yelling. “See?! This is what I'm talking about. If you can't handle me raising my voice, how are you going to go in the-”

“Reid!” Derek yelled, your whole body wincing as he did. 

“Give it a rest; can't you see she's in pain?” He said harshly, turning his attention back to you immediately. He helped you stand up, and you quietly thanked him before turning to Reid.

“Well, you got what you wanted,” you said softly as you removed your bulletproof vest. “Good luck out there, Dr. Reid.” Your tone was full of dejection and defeat as you placed the vest on the table. You didn't even bother looking at him or Derek as you walked out of the conference room, through the bullpen, and out of the precinct.

You ended up walking outside for a while before deciding to actually head to the hotel. The night air soothed your soul and brought you comfort as you wandered the streets aimlessly. However, you knew you couldn't stay out there forever, no matter how much you wanted to.

When you walked into your hotel room, you placed your stuff down on a small lounge chair and flopped onto your bed, letting out a large sigh. You remembered you had turned your phone off once you walked out of the precinct since you desperately needed space, so you grabbed it out of your bag and turned it back on just to make sure you hadn’t missed anything important. 

You had a few missed calls from Derek and Garcia, along with a text from Hotch.

“Take the night off. We'll talk first thing tomorrow morning.”

You let out a groan, knowing what that message entailed. You decided to shower before heading to bed, hoping the water would cleanse you of what you were feeling.

You step into the shower and are welcomed by warm water, instantly feeling at ease as it falls on your cool skin. Unfortunately, the feeling doesn't last long as your mind wanders back to the argument. You didn't understand why Spencer was so frustrated, so stubborn, and so mean to you. His words continued to echo in your head, and you eventually broke down, bawling your eyes out from the sheer pain you felt inside. The fact that he called you weak shattered your heart into a million tiny pieces. You guys had been close friends for years, and that's what he thought of you? Really? You felt stupid and betrayed, especially because you've had a huge crush on him for years now. All that love, care, and admiration felt like it amounted to nothing now.

Wanting to just put this awful night to end, you turned off the shower and continued getting ready for bed. You grabbed your pajamas out of your go-bag and lazily went through the rest of your nighttime routine. You then walked out of the bathroom and dropped on the bed in defeat, falling asleep as soon as you slipped under the covers.

You and Spencer walked quietly through the dark warehouse, the cool, eerie air causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. You scanned the hallway with your flashlights and guns in hand, only to be met with nothing in each room you had checked. You reached the end of the hallway and slowly moved your hand over to twist the doorknob before you heard Spencer yell from the room behind you.

“Y/N!!! Hel-!”

You raced to him only to find the unsub holding him at gunpoint. Spencer had a few cuts on his face, probably from being pistol whipped.

“Drop the gun right now, or I will shoot,” you said sternly, aiming your pistol right at his head.

“Ah, not quite! Place your weapon over on that table, or your lovely partner here gets a bullet to the brain,” he spoke, motioning his gun over to the small wooden table to your left. Having no other choice, you walked over and placed your gun on the table, turning back around to face the unsub.

“Good girl! Now, allow me to take care of one small thing before we begin,” he said, directing his attention to Spencer. He hit Spencer over the head with his gun, using as much force as he could muster. Spencer immediately dropped to the floor, and you screamed.

“Shhh, don't fret, darling; now the real fun can begin,” he said as he slowly walked over to you. His ominous tone sent chills down your spine. 

“You see, the only reason any of this happened..." He paused for a few moments, looking you dead in the eyes as he said his next words, “is because you're weak.” Immediately, he swung his gun across your face, causing you to fall to the floor. He began kicking you, yelling at you as each kick landed.

“You're” kick “just” kick “a weak” kick “bitch.”

Your whole body writhed in pain, praying one of your teammates would come to rescue you and Spencer. As the unsub continued, all you could do was look at Spencer and feel flooded with guilt. 

After what seemed like forever, the unsub brought the beatings to a halt and proceeded to walk back over to Spencer.

“And now, the grand finale!”

You used all your force to croak out a small “no” as you watched him stand behind Spencer and inch the gun towards his head, preparing to shoot him. He cocked the gun and then turned to face you.

“Remember, this is all happening because you're a weak FBI agent who couldn't do her job,” he said coldly. “The only reason I'm keeping you alive is so that you can watch this and know that it's nobody's fault but yours. Your weakness is to blame, and your consequence is to live with the guilt of your mistakes.” You watched him bring the gun to Spencer’s head and pull the trigger as you wailed. 

Suddenly, you were back in the hotel room, your clothes soaked with sweat. You were shaking like a leaf and rapidly hyperventilating, feeling like your heart was going to burst out of your chest from how hard and fast it was beating. 

You instinctively reached for your phone and called Spencer, your heart rate increasing each time the phone rang.

Suddenly, it stopped.

“Hey Y/N.”

As his words echoed through your head, you felt a sense of both relief and dread. You realized that you had just had a terrible nightmare and that Spencer was completely fine. However, you were also immediately reminded of the argument you had with him earlier and suddenly froze. 

“Y/N? Are you there?” Spencer spoke once more, only to be met by silence.

“Y/N, is everything alright?”

Not knowing what to do, you hung up the phone and threw it across the room, sinking back into the covers almost immediately. You couldn't believe that this night had somehow managed to get worse. You wanted to scream as you felt the tears creep up behind your eyes, feeling absolutely helpless and worthless.

You felt weak, just like Spencer said you were.

You let out soft sobs into your pillow, not knowing what else to do with all the emotional turmoil stewing inside you. You thought about calling Garcia or Derek, but quickly realized they'd be either working or asleep, and bothering them was the last thing you wanted to do right now. You continued to cry, hoping you'd tire yourself out and eventually fall asleep between sobs. 

Surprisingly, you actually ended up falling asleep, but it didn't last long. You were suddenly awoken by a series of knocks on your door, the noise causing you to sit up in bed. You sat in silence for a few seconds, staring at the door and wondering if you had just imagined the noise. You knew you were wrong when you heard a few more knocks, along with Spencer’s soft voice.

“Y/N?” knock. knock. knock. “Please let me in; I want to talk.”

You were in shock. Why was he at your hotel room so late at night? You felt your heart race and your body shake as you tried to figure out what to do. You knew you two had to talk at some point, and you did really miss him, but you didn't want him to see you. Not like this. Your eyes were red, puffy, and swollen from all the crying; your hair was messy; and you were wearing an old baggy t-shirt and shorts. 

Basically, you looked like crap.

Despite all this, you knew you had to let him in. You reluctantly got out of bed and approached the door, twisting the handle and slowly opening the door to meet Spencer’s eyes.

He quickly rushed into the room, his urgency taking you by surprise. Once he was inside and had put his stuff down, he began examining every inch of you with an intense, worried gaze. He could tell you were in pain, and the worst part was that he knew it was his fault. 

"Reid,” you croaked, clearing your throat before continuing your sentence. “What are you doing here?”

He began fidgeting with his fingers, thinking of a reply. He looked so meek compared to the argument earlier.

“You called a little while ago,” he said softly. “I spoke multiple times, and you never said a word. I had tried calling you afterwards, and you wouldn't answer.” His eyes met mine. “I was worried about you.”

“Well, as you can see, I'm perfectly fine, so you can leave now.”

“Y/N, please-” You cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

“Reid, it's late. You need to leave” you said sternly, swallowing your tears as you practically pushed him toward the door.

Before you could open the door, you felt him wrap his arms around you, causing you to freeze. He began to speak, practically whispering in your ear.

“Y/N, please. I can tell you're not okay, and I know I'm to blame. Let me make it right, please."

Maybe it was how distraught and desperate he sounded as he spoke, or maybe it was because you were finally in his warm embrace after missing him for so long, but you couldn’t hold back your tears any longer. Spencer just held you as you cried softly, trying to comfort you any way he could while he waited for you to calm down.

“Can we go to the bed, please?” you requested softly.

Spencer gave you a small nod with a weak smile. “Of course, Y/N.”

You walked over and laid down on the bed, shifting your body away from the edge of the bed and then patting your hand down on the empty space, urging Spencer to follow suit. He took off his shoes and gently laid down next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you placed your head on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat soothed you as you listened to its echo in his chest. 

“So why did you end up calling tonight?” He asked softly, running his hands through your hair as he spoke.

You took a deep breath before answering, doing your best to maintain your composure, or whatever you had left of it.

“I, um, had a nightmare. We were on a case and…” Your voice trailed as the nightmare flooded your thoughts. “It was a bad one. I had to make sure you were okay, so I called you as soon as I had woken up. Once I heard your voice, I was reminded of our argument from earlier and realized I just had a nightmare, and I froze.”

You then explained the entire nightmare in detail, a few tears escaping your eyes as that horrid scene replayed in your head. Spencer just listened the whole time as he held you, stroking your hair or holding you a little tighter at times while you spoke.

Once you finished, he opened his mouth to speak. “Y/N… I'm so sorry. I never wanted to argue with you; I just couldn’t handle the thought of you getting hurt again, and I snapped.” His voice was shaky as he spoke. 

“I thought I had lost you in the bombing, and I couldn't let you get hurt again, not if I could do something about it. I care about you too much to let you get hurt again.” He paused for a few moments before continuing. "But I spiraled, and I was wrong. I ended up hurting you anyway.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he began talking again before you could even get a syllable out.

“You're not weak; you're one of the strongest people I know. You're strong, brave, and courageous, and I admire you so much.” His voice began to choke. “I never wanted you to think you're weak because you're so far from it. I'm so, so sorry."

Now, you were both crying in each other's arms, holding each other tightly as you each whispered words of comfort into the other’s ear in between your sobs. At one point, you both coincidentally lifted your heads up and locked eyes with each other, causing both of you to laugh at how much of a wreck both of you looked.

“We look like shit,” you said, catching your breath from that sudden fit of laughter. 

“Yeah, we sure do.”

Spencer’s gaze suddenly changed, and he had a similar look of sadness from earlier as he spoke his next words. “Well, I should probably get going, shouldn’t I?” He got up, but you reached for his wrist before he could go too far.

“Um, this is probably wildly unprofessional and all, but could you spend the night with me, Spence?” You could feel the blush on your face burn your skin as you waited for his response. 

“Of course, Y/N. I’d love to stay the night,” he replied warmly, bringing a smile to your face.

You both went into the bathroom and got yourselves cleaned up. Spencer changed into his pajamas and quickly joined you in bed. He laid down and wrapped his arms around your waist, tucking his head into your shoulder, right by your ear. Just as you were dozing off, you heard him murmur something into your ear.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You suddenly felt your whole body get hot and instantly turned around, wondering if you were just hearing things.

“What did you say, Spencer?”

“I said I love you. I love you and care about you so much, and from now on, I’m going to spend every second of every day loving you, no matter what.” He planted a small kiss on your forehead after he spoke, pulling you into his chest and wrapping you tightly in his long arms. He felt so warm, so comfortable, and so right. You felt like you could just melt into his arms and become a part of him. You knew you belonged in his arms. 

“I love you too, Spencer. Sleep well,” you whispered softly, nuzzling your head deeper into his chest before finally drifting off to sleep.

Thanks so much for reading!

[n3ptoonz]

Idk man, I think I’m gonna need to see you write how Raiden, Kenshi, Syzoth, Tomas, and Liu Kang behave when giving and receiving body worship 😏

oh...oh 😏

first half is bullet points and the second is blurbs bc my brain likes to stop working for some reason

suggestive, fluff elements under the cut, THIS WAS SO HARD TO FORMAT HOLY i'm sorry for taking so long!1!1?3? i hope this isn't ass🗿

When giving body worship:

Raiden

is nervous at first. so many things he wants to say, so many things he wants to do. you'd have to guide him at first but he quickly takes over as he gets the hang of it

he'd have you facing him because he wants to start from head to toe, taking extra time inspecting your face and kissing all over it

i can see him going as far as kneeling to get into what he likes about your lower body starting at your torso. if you have some type of tummy going on he's gonna sit there and knead at you like a cat (totally not self indulgent 😹)

Kenshi

makes it his mission. i'm referring back to my kenshi fic with this cause there's body worship in it

it don't matter what you look like or how secure/insecure you are in regards to your body, he's having you stand in front of a mirror and will shamelessly glide his soft tatted hands over the exact parts he adores

he praises you the entire time. physicality, personality, the things you do for him, how you've personally helped him and didn't realize, every. single. thing.

Syzoth

gets lost in the moment. i feel like he's a very emotional guy and lover to the point where he would prob almost cry (yall saw how fast he fell to his knees in the story) talking about the things he adores about you

don't even get him started on your body. he doesn't really understand the concept of body image, but he got the idea to worship yours because he found it so unique. like he's genuinely intrigued

expect him to leave bite barks on the places he likes the most, it's how his folks show love. his eyes would be sparkling and everything

Tomas

whispers sweet nothings. he LOVES giving body worship. he was always the kind of person who admired others quickly, and that especially included you

he's whispering/murmuring all types of cute things in your ear as you rock back in forth in his strong arms (lord god help me) whether you're facing him or not. "...to your lips, oh how i love your lips..." is definitely the cadence he's going for

it's actually pretty funny to think about him innocently talking about your body and innocently touching/grabbing at certain parts and then gets to like your ass and he's like "and this ass of yours...i could never grow tired of it." like 😭 what happened to pretty eyes mister?! (kidding you can say that again 😝)

Liu Kang

knows exactly what to do. If you're lying down, there's no part of your body that goes without a kiss. i mean literally no part of your body

he loves every single part of it, and he makes sure you understand that without a doubt. he'll make comments about almost everything

it surprises you sometimes how he's able to come up with such sentiments for something as simple as a knee or elbow, but it surely gets the job done

When receiving body worship:

Raiden is super shy. Whether you copy what he did or if it was for the first time and you gave him praise the whole time, he's a nervous wreck. It happened while you were straddling him and telling him how impressed you were with the work he put into his body, running your hands down his bare chest and peppering kisses all over him. The deep blush on his cheeks weren't nearly enough to tell you how much he appreciated you and your kind words.

Kenshi went from shy to letting his ego get fed a little bit. He values physical touch and quality time so much, and this was the perfect combination. He obviously wasn't expecting this, so at first he playfully brushed it off. Then once you started to really show and tell what you liked about him, you could see his eyebrow raise and the smirk on his face grow. He'd hold your face or hips while you did it, just to keep himself grounded and in the moment.

Syzoth didn't know what to do. He just...stood there. You could see the visible shock on his face, but clearly this was only because things like this didn't happen in the Zaterran world. Especially when you'd worship literally both forms, this is a newfound concept to him. Normally people are afraid of his natural form. But no, you showing love to all of him brought happy tears to his eyes.

Tomas was also very shy. He's confident in his abilities and clearly took the time to perfectly sculpt his own body for combat, but he never really thought about his own looks. So your intense focus and worship towards his physical appearance had him in awe. To the point of littering hickeys on the parts of his body nobody would be able to see but him made him all giddy and excited in and outside. In fact, he'd ask you to do this more often!

Liu Kang didn't really know how to respond at first. He appreciated your efforts, really. You decided to surprise him after you hadn't seen him in a while. He'd smile down at you using some of his techniques and kissing down his body starting from his forehead. Eventually he gets used to your way of showing affection and you'll physically see him melt under your touch.

[jellyfiishatr]

I was wondering about a love story between the reader and mordecai heller before atlas death and how mordecai and the reader slowly falls in love with each other

a/n : Hey guyss...! I'm back after not posting for about a month hahaha. Anyways, enjoy this fic!♡♡

☆☆☆

Content : toothrotting fluff, romance , slight angst towards the end

Content warning : teensy mention of alcohol consumption (only just a bit)

☆☆☆

Oh how he'd stare at you from across the room as you worked, you pacing around and about helping patrons as they enjoyed their time in the lackadaisy.

He admired you from afar, not knowing you'd been doing the same all night. Sneaking just a few glances at him as he talked to atlas and stuck by his side the entire night. You'd pass him occasionally, brushing past him ever so slightly as you went over to their table and gathered their dirtied plates.

He never did gather the courage to talk to you, telling himself that it wasn't very professional on his end. But that thought of you always stuck to the back of his mind like a piece of chewed gum on a shoe.

He was young but dumb was never something to describe dear Mordecai. He never let those thoughts swallow him whole, atleast never during work hours. Only in the deepest of nights only when the moon shined its brightest in his quiet and gloomy room.

You on the other hand, had quite the opposite in mind. You tried your hardest to talk to him, not that you actually ever did. More like writing "secret" love notes and stuffing them in his pockets whenever you passed him by, giving him an innocent smile as you did.

Your notes read compliments; something about his suit or about something he might've done that seemed charming. He wouldn't show it but in his head he loved them, he adored those notes so much he had a special box in his room overflowing with them. But he'd never tell you that. God no, never ever would he tell you that.

As much as you thought he didn't like you, or hated you, you persisted. Continuing your little notes, and innocent smiles. Every. Single. Day.

Some days you'd actually talk to him; whether it'd be a simple hello, or another sweet compliment but with your oh-so-soothing voice to go with it. He'd nod his head with a soft goodmorning, and look away with another quiet thank you.

☆☆☆

After a while, he'd manage to talk to you. A real conversation with the one he'd fallen head over heels for somehow without even conversing before. He loved listening to your voice, they way you talked. Your little aneurysms, he enjoyed just your presence.

You aswell, you were ecstatic when he finally came up and talked to you. You were bouncing off of the walls whilst just thinking about it later that night. Giggling like a school girl with a puppylove crush and smiling like an idiot, you fell asleep that night with a stupid grin gracing your face.

Back to the present, he'd walk into the store and see you light up like a sunflower facing the sun. He couldn't help but feel your happiness bounce off of him, he'd always cover his smile with a cough or by clearing his throat.

"*Ahem* Goodmorning reader, how are you?" He'd ask, walking up to the counter placing his hands on his lap as he sat infront of you.

You'd smile, standing up straight as you spoke. "Morning. I'm doing much better, a little tired, but much much better."

Everyday was always the same, but you both were happy with it. Even if the same words were said from the day before, you both would still smile after one walked off to do something.

Eventually, those little talks turned into talking during breaks; that would then turn into meeting up after work for a drink, then going out for dinner every so often, then talking over the phone daily, then meeting up at one another's home and sleeping over, and so forth.

after months, you'd fallen so much farther for eachother. So deeply inlove that you would just bask in eachothers presence, even for just a moment. Even if you'd gotten into an argument, even if he'd slam your apartment door on his way out, even if you'd ignore his millions of calls during the night, even if he'd drunkenly walk in and cuss you out, or even if you'd shout at him through angry tears that you hated him and wished to never see him again.

You two would still find a way back to eachother, loving one another more than before. Forgiving one another for their flaws.

He loved you so very much, and you ever so slightly more.

☆☆☆

[dianasaurusrex102]

Maybe it gets better? (I could wait, it'd be my pleasure) Pt.2!!

Authors Note and CW’s under the cut :p

Authors Note: Oh hey :D I didn’t take nearly 2 years to write the sequel wdym? And I most certainly didn’t set the ground work for a whole series that I definitely can’t finish but will do what I can, that’s insane!! Anyways thanks for those who came from the first part or those who I promised a part two and have been waiting (I see and appreciate you!!). This one is for my sapphic girls!! Ballora is the one out of the three who gets the least amount of love so I’m correcting that. Also giving my femcel core girls some rep, I can have my cake and eat it too! Comments and reposts are my food so part three might not take a whole year if I’m fed but who knows :) I absolutely hate when fanfic writers out their fan art into fics so I’m making seeing their redesigns options is you’d like to see the click here.

(Also @crazyytogetherrr @azmosposts @cherryxsapphic pspspsps come get your long over due food)

Content Warning(s): Female reader and anatomy, insane amounts of pet names, obsessive behavior (mild daydreaming of kidnapping in a non serious tone), and of course smut

—

You came back just like you said you would, you were never one to go back on your promises of course. But now you were standing in the office you'd originally sworn you’d never come back to. Thankfully, this time you know what you're getting into. 

The hours before you got here were spent pacing and almost obsessively debating if going back was the best idea. Your mind went back and forth on whether Ballora invited you back out of pure politeness (do robots even feel the need to be polite??) Or if she genuinely wanted you back, if that was the case would the others want you there too? 

With those thoughts weighing you down you gave yourself 5 minutes of wallowing in your own anxieties so if you ultimately chose to stand her up you had the option to run away with your metaphorical tail in between your legs. But now with your time running out, and no convincing reasons to turn back you straightened up your outfit in the smudged, dirty reflection of the window.

You dressed up, meaning a pretty sweater and skirt instead of your more casual clothes. Even if only 2 out of your 3 robotic friends (lovers?) would be able to see you, you wanted to look your best for this second meeting.

Your hands shook as you flattened out the last wrinkle on your sweater, your thoughts racing a mile a minute. You were in actual mortal danger last time you came here, yet here you were more worried about your outfit then hightailing it out of there all because a couple unsettlingly sentient robots made your entire year in one night.

You checked the time on your phone for the umpteenth time, 11:59 stared back. It was now officially too late to take the cowards route, excitement and unease mixed in the pit of your stomach as the reality of your situation dawned on you. 

This was fine, right? You'd be fine?

You squeezed your eyes as tight as you could, hoping your almost debilitating anxiety would quiet down. You conjured up the memories you'd been replaying in your head over and over again. Ballora embracing you in the dimness of her room, holding onto you as if you would disappear if she let up. Foxy's toothy smile as he procured a Funtime Foxy plush to keep you company. Even Freddy's giddy monologue as he absent-mindedly squeezed his arms around you.

They loved- liked you… didn't they? Maybe love was too strong of a word for only one meeting, but you had only met them the same night you decided to sleep with them. Your mind finally slowed down, any self-doubt being filed away for another time.

Love or not, you were going to make good of your promise. You opened your eyes as you took a deep breath, stars dancing across your vision because of your prior eye squeezing. This was your new life now, secret lewd relationships with robots and casual breaking and entering. 

You slipped your phone into your backpack's side pocket, you'd come prepared this time with a blanket, some water, snacks, and your aforementioned funtime Foxy plushie.

With one last check in the mirror to make sure you looked your best, you inched towards Ballora's door, only stopping once you grasped the handle. 

"This is a good idea, a great idea even!" You thought to yourself, blood pressure surely sky rocketing into unsafe levels as you slowly opened the door. Serene, classical music filled your ears and immediately put you at ease. You walked a couple more steps, eyes feverishly scanning for Ballora but her voice found you first,

"Y/N?" Her voice was an uncharacteristic whisper,"Is that you?" She had one foot on her stage, seemingly in the middle of getting on.

"Yes! Uh- I mean yes?" You awkwardly responded, an unintended shrill tone escaping you. Minireenas hurriedly teetered away in their ever cute fashion, thankfully taking your mind off of you already botching your greeting.

"S-Sorry I'm a little late I was-" An explanation was on the tip of your tongue, but Ballora's sudden rush towards you momentarily threw you off. In an honestly disturbing display of speed she made her way to your side, immediately scooping you up into the air with her arms under your armpits. A disgruntled squeak left your lips as she spun you around once, then twice, before hugging you close to her chest as laughter spilled from her lips.

"I-I-I thought you weren't coming! I was so worried that you'd leave us behind. That'd you f-forget about us!" Relief was all but palpable in her tone, clearly beyond herself with excitement, "B-But you're here! You're really here! My dearest y/n…" 

Affection was oozing off of every word she spoke, such raw emotion cutting right through you. Your heart warmed with her caring sentiment but her tight bear hug was firmer than you'd like, constricting you to the point that you could barely breathe. 

"Ballor-a? I can't- really breathe-" You felt bad not openly reassuring her, but you felt like she'd appreciate it if you didn't pass out on her. She let out a surprised noise, quickly releasing her grip and setting you on the ground. 

"Ah! I apologize, I didn't mean to get so emotional" Ballora murmured, wiping her hands on her cloth skirt in an antsy motion. Her posture quickly turned dejected, faceplates shifting and face souring in tandem. A dull ache remained at your sides but you quickly ignored it,

"No! No please don't apologize, that was just a little too tight" You gazed worriedly at her closed eyes, arms moving to hug her waist,"I would never forget you Ballora, I'm sorry I made you feel like that" For the first time in your life you cursed the gods for not making you an optimal height for kissing animatronics, even on your tippy toes you barely even hit her chin. 

A thankful smile pulled at her lips, you reached a hand up in an unusual show of confidence and gently guided her down to your level. You hesitantly slid your lips against hers, feeling the firm, cool metal against your softer human ones. Ballora's mouth was seemingly only specialized for mimicking realistic speaking, meaning that unfortunately for the both of you, fluid kissing was not possible.

Even then just the firm press of your lips to hers was enough to convey every reassurance you wanted to. You pulled away to gauge her reaction and make sure you hadn't overstepped. It seemed like quite the opposite was true, as Ballora smiled down with a giddy expression.

"Well aren't you a romantic honey? Thank you" You weren't quite sure if she was thanking you for the kiss or for the kind words you reciprocated, your mind too busy gazing at her teeth. Now that you were up close and personal you could see her seemingly human-in-shape teeth taper at the ends just enough to be noticeably sharp. A small shiver ripped through you at the thought of what those teeth could do, 

"I would love to kiss you some more, hun but I do have to give you something" Ballora said, changing the subject and disentangling the two of you so she could twirl her way to her stage. You trailed behind, already needy and missing her warmth but still eagerly watching her blindly grope behind the drawn curtains beside her stage.

"Foxy helped me get this from the workers today, figured you'd might be interested sweetheart" She procures a piece of paper from its hiding spot, eagerly handing it to you in order to hear your reaction. The front read "Circus Baby's Pizza World" with a smaller "Help Wanted" just under it. Cutely drawn representations of the animatronics littered the page, pointing at the long list of jobs. 

The starting pay of each job was an almost eye popping large amount, the lowest paying job paying more than double your current job. The icing on the cake was the sentence at the bottom "No Prior Job Experience Needed", a smile grazed your face as soon as you read the words.

"I assure you I'm not attempting to indoctrinate you," Ballora joked, "After this week, there's a good chance that they will be putting keycard locks for the nightshift, the easiest way for us to bypass this would be for you to be employed here! But if that's not favorable we could figure something else out dear, no worries''

"This is perfect! I'd love to work with you guys, I'm not sure if they'd actually hire me but I can try!" You said, excitement emanating from you.

"The whispers from the staff assure me that management is, quote, 'floundering for new hires' so while I may not be privy to the details, I can imagine someone as wonderful as you will be picked up in no time" Her hand found its way to your lower back, dangerously close to your butt (not that you minded). The reassuring pressure left your skin pleasantly buzzing, you busied yourself by flipping to the paper around.

A basic job application form with almost laughably low quality confetti in the background stared back at you, it couldn't be that easy right? A job this high tech wouldn't just have you fill out a form, there had to be a catch. 

You bit your lip, what if they just didn't choose you? Your meager associates degree didn't even earn you anything above a grueling low paying office job, how the hell were you supposed to convince them to let you deal with such sophisticated animatronics?

You shouldn't have come back, you should have known that. Even if your intuition always tried to psych you out of everything you did, no matter how big or small, you knew better than to get your hopes up for something as good as the prospect of finally connecting with someone.

A small taste of copper exploded in your mouth, a direct result of your teeth overworking your lip. Despite the pain, you dig them in further as you try to think of anything to say.

"I'm sure you'll make the right decision" Ballora said unprompted, "I must say I've missed your voice, might we sit down and talk? How's that sound?" Without any eyesight she must have taken your silence as a cue to move on with the night. You were grateful for her stellar social skills, since they effectively pulled you out of your circling thoughts. You unlodged your teeth from your bloody lip,

"I'd love to, just- uh let me put my paper in my bag real quick" Your voice quivered a bit, as your anxieties still whispered in the back of your mind. Ballora either didn't notice your slight breakdown, or chose not to comment on it (both of which you were thankful for). She took a graceful step back, retracting her reassuring touch but allowing you space to get situated.

"I'm allowed to make decisions without thinking of every what if" You reminded yourself, kneeling down to delicately stuff the paper in your bag. 

You really did almost not come back, your mind rationalizing the fact that what you were dealing with down here was completely and utterly out of your control. Yet your body ignored any and all rationalizing, waking you up in the middle of the night in a puddle of your own arousal at the fuzzy memory of cold metallic fingers dancing along your body.

You zipped your backpack up, noisily announcing that your task was done in order to notify Ballora, who in turn made a small nod in your direction. You could see the semblance of a smile grace her face as she turned to the nearest wall. You pushed your backpack so it leaned against the nearby stage, quickly clamoring onto your feet to follow her.

"Whatever happens will happen" At least you were wanted here (which really couldn't be said for anywhere else you went sadly). But hell if you weren't going to make the most from it. You watched eagerly as Ballora carefully maneuvered herself into sitting against the wall, metal screeching as she finally hit the floor.

"I'm… not so graceful when it comes to sitting. Us animatronics really were only made to stand" Ballora joked, a refined giggle lacing her words. She seemed a bit bashful at her lack of elegance but continued on anyway, patting her lap invitingly. 

"I think you're always graceful Ballora" You answered, sweetening up your tone to an artificial level. You carefully lifted one of your legs over her stretched out ones, and carefully lowered yourself into her lap. 

"I'm glad you think so, but be careful darling, all that flattering you're doing might get you more than what you bargained for" Ballora wasted no time, as soon as you completely sat your weight on her she let her hands roam free. Her long, segmented fingers found their way to your face.

Closing your eyes, you obediently stayed still while you let Ballora trace her finger tips over your features. She took in all the information she could, the height of your cheekbones, the roundness of your closed eyelids, the slope of your nose, only slowing when she pressed a thumb against your lips.

"You're quite beautiful y/n," Ballora murmured, "Times like these really make me jealous of the others, I bet you make such cute faces while we defile you" Your face broke out in a blush, response getting caught in your throat as she gingerly pressed her thumb past your lips. Almost on instinct, your tongue flicked up to meet it. You weren't sure if you were disappointed or relieved that you couldn't taste anything, but at the very least the cold metal was a pleasing sensation against your tongue.

"Good girl~" The praise spilled from Balloras lips with a playful lilt, your tongue stopping its minute kitten licks as a whine unwittingly pushed its way out of your chest. Your eyes snapped open, embarrassment flooding your system at your involuntary reaction. Ballora, ever unphased by anything, has a pleased smile on her face.

"Now that's the reaction I was hoping for darling" she cooed, free hand wandering down the column of your throat. You had half a mind to pull back from the overwhelming mix of touch but in a swift purposeful move her other hand had made it down to your hip, stalling your squirming. You hadn't even noticed you were moving until she stopped you, your mind running a mile a minute and not getting a break as Ballora pressed your tongue down firmly.

"If you'd like to stop, just tap my wrist, okay?" You did your best to nod around her digit, "Let's keep at this, I think this is going just great" She leaned in to press a firm kiss against your hairline as her thumb got to work lazily petting your tongue until spit bubbled out the sides of your mouth.

Ballora rocked her thigh up just enough to press against your clothed mound, and you immediately knew you were done for. With a thumb in your mouth, an insistent pressure between your legs, and a hand that somehow snuck its way under your sweater any coherent thought was quickly squashed to make room for your growing libido.

"I can see the appeal of being inside someone now, shame only the boys get to" Ballora spoke in a nonchalant tone, cocking her head slightly at the choked noise you made. Only it wasn't just a choked noise, your knee-jerk reaction to the upsettingly hot comment was to inhale which quickly turned into you actually choking on your own spit. You quickly lean backwards, heaving slightly as you almost cough your lungs out.

"Too much?" Ballora asks as her hand not covered in spit pats your back, you take a second to even out your breaths before answering.

"No, just-" You wipe your mouth and let out one more cough, "I was just a little surprised 's all" Your embarrassment only worked to darken the flush on your cheeks, all the coughing didn't gross her out did it? 

"Sorry, sorry" The hand on your back urges you forwards, "What if I make it up to you? Hm? How's that sound princess?" Her cloyingly sweet tone calms your nerves, 

"Yeah, I'd like that…" You whispered quietly, allowing yourself to be coaxed forward. You leaned your weight against her chest, unabashedly nuzzling into her smooth neck. Reveling in the shudder she gave in response to the touch, you wrap your arms around her torso.

"Sweet thing, and here I thought you wanted to take a breather" Balora teased while easing her left hand, still tacky with spit, under your skirt. "And for the record I wasn't joking about wanting to be inside you~" Now that you didn't have a foreign object in your mouth you could successfully give a sharp inhale, no choking involved. 

"Foxy's the only one with custom parts, though with some convincing I could probably get either of them to swap with me" Probing fingers massaged the meat of your thigh, and you have to settle the adrenaline in your veins to form a response.

"Custom… parts?" 

"Oh yes, they didn't build Foxy that pretty on accident" Ballora elaborated, "Though I do admit we did help each other from time to time, we haven't done much experimenting, well, not before you came honey" That certainly got your attention, wiggling in her lap as her fingers finally grazed where you needed them.

"Cute~" the simple comment combined with her free hand effortlessly lifting your hips just enough to where she could press against you drew a needy noise out of you. 

“When you say helping each other you mean…?” You had to ask because she couldn’t possibly be implying what you thought she was, in the back of your mind you were vaguely aware that she had rendered you incapable of speaking more than half a sentence.

“Well, after a certain adorable human snuck her way into our hearts it opened a new…” Her fingers nonchalantly snuck their way into your panties, “world of possibilities for us. We are children’s entertainers at heart, but a night like that after months of inactivity is hard to move past.” Your ears burned with embarrassment, partly relieved that you weren’t the only one that was deeply affected by what transpired. Her chilled fingertips busied themselves by ghosting over your clit before smoothing over your folds,

”But that’s enough about us, tell me y/n, did you miss us too?” Ballora mused, digits now moving in a smooth, languid motion only aided by your slick. 

Of course you missed them, how could you not? You’d replay that night over and over again in your brain almost obsessively, every detail searing itself into your brain. At night when you were just trying to catch a wink of sleep, in the morning while you robotically went through your pre-work routine, in the evening while you drove home. Nearly every moment you were left to your devices was filled with the knowledge that not only did you technically trespass on a newly opening business, but also had two rounds of sex with the performing animatronics while in constant peril. 

The insanity of losing your virginity at a pizzeria chain only squandered by the pure lust that surged through you at the reminder that you in fact lost your virginity, that someone (something? Do animatronics count as people?) in fact wanted to have sex with you. And being wanted was one of the most addicting feelings you’ve ever felt.

”Of course I missed you guys,” You sighed blissfully, “It was -ah- crazy hard to even sleep-“ An incessant nudge against your entrance made your words taper off as more sounds tumbled off your tongue.

“Oh?” Ballora’s tone took a dangerously raspy edge, “Don’t tell me you were touching yourself to the thought of us, naughty girl”

”N-No, it was- just” One of her fingers teasingly threatening to press inside momentarily distracted you, “Dreams..? I’ve never been good at- by myself-“

”By yourself?” She prompted, her fingers stilling being both a blessing and curse.

“Y’know- uh getting myself off? At least wh-en I’m awake” God, you were really telling her about that huh? You guessed that people who were intimate with each other talked about this kind of stuff.

”Hmmmm~” Her pointer finger eased itself halfway inside you, “Poor thing, you must’ve been so pent up huh? Glad we could help you even when we’re apart. You said dreams?” Each time she prompted you to talk was surely taking years off of your life, you clenched up uselessly around her unmoving digit.

”Ballora- please just? Move?” You pleaded, thighs tensing as you attempted to shift in any way, only to be reminded of her iron hold on your hips.

”You get pretty spacey when I move, princess. I’m helping you out a little, making it easy. Why don’t you tell me about those dreams?” You let out a peeved puff of air, but obliged.

”It wasn’t anything crazy, just…” You said, trying to find the right words. “You -ngh!- guys kept showing up in my dreams? I’d wake up all- gross and sweaty.” That seemed to be what Ballora was looking for if the way she brought you impossibly closer and nuzzled your temple was anything to go by. Her warm breath puffed around the shell of your ear, making you shiver but quickly still when her lips inched close.

”Your body knows it’s ours.” Sharp teeth gingerly closed around your ear, ever mindful not to maim; just to impose their presence. “You’re wonderful Y/N~ You came back to me like the good girl I knew you were, and now I can bring your dreams into reality. Is there anything in particular you’d like, princess?”

“Anything- Everything? Please?” You didn’t even know what you were trying to say, only desperate to say the right things to get her hands fawning over you again. Your dreams more often than not delved into a too-deep-and-fucked-up territory you would rather not vocalize nor realize.

Ballora’s smooth chuckle calmed any remaining nerves, the muscles in your body singing as her hand got back to work; The finger inside of you effortlessly sliding completely into your welcoming heat while her thumb blindly felt its way up to your clit. While your immediate impulse was to shift, you were stopped by the smallest pinpricks of pain blooming as her teeth bared down,

”Careful dear, I might hurt you if you squirm too much.” Ballora practically purred. You made a vaguely understanding noise, doing your best to quell your nerves and not move. Another correct response got you another one of her fingers, their lazy movement making your head spin.

”Ballora?” Her name left your lips before you could stop it, spoken just between a gasp and whine. The teeth on your ears again dug in just enough to make you jolt before releasing, Ballora smoothed over the warm sting with feather-light kisses.

”Yes, honey?” Now that the threat of having a chunk of your ear be ripped off was less of an immediate concern, your hips eagerly angled so you could manipulate her fingers to hit the bundle of nerves inside of you that they seemed to be avoiding. You earned yourself a couple toe-curling zaps of pleasure until the hand on your hip gave a squeeze in warning.

”Naughty, what were you saying Y/N?” Her tone had just enough edge to make you regulate the overwhelming urge to implore her to move any faster.

”Um- I was thinking I could uh-“ Your voice shook, unused to asking for something so openly. “I could help you? We could finish together?” You leaned back so you could see her reaction clearer, not missing the way her fingers yet again slowed to a halt. Ballora’s faceplates shifted with a noise, a separate audible hiss of warm air escaping from somewhere sounded with it. 

You couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing, eyes still scanning her face as it pinched up with something you couldn’t decipher. Did you mess up the moment? Your hands trembled as you gripped her shoulders, brain already attempting to conjure up an apology for even asking. Of course she didn’t want your inexperienced hands on her, she didn’t offer for a reason and you just had to open your big mouth- A indulging smile spread on her lips, cutting through your small freak out over her perceived rejection.

”You want to make me feel good too princess?” She cooed, bringing her unoccupied hand to cup the back of your head and press a lingering kiss on your lips. “My perfect little girl is so considerate~” Your whole body jolted at the surge of praise, the warm feeling filling your lower belly only fueled by her fingers reanimating at a brutal pace.

”I’m perfectly content with just helping you out right now darling, nothing against you; I usually seldom indulge myself, direct pleasure can be a tad too overwhelming for me usually so if you’d let me feed off of yours this time I’ll keep your offer in mind for the future” Ballora traced warm kisses down your chin with unprecedented speed, leaving your mind reeling at the addicting onslaught of attention. All your inhibitions melted with every curl and pump of her fingers.

“Pretty little thing’s gonna come so quickly~” Your body instinctively curled into her, “Maybe I should drive things out even further…” 

“Please!” Was the only pitiful response you could muster up, already so worked up that you believed her obvious bluff. Ballora soothed your outburst with spindle-like teeth pressed gingerly against the skin of your neck,

”Ok~ You’re awfully needy Y/N~” She said. You gasped as she quickly withdrew her fingers from you, 

“I really would like more time for the two of us~ I should just tie you up and keep you in here with me, then I wouldn’t have to share” A protest died on your lips as three digits were practically shoved back into you.

”But that would be greedy of me unfortunately, I’ll just have to settle for giving you the best orgasms out of the group” Her casual, sincere way of talking lulled you into a warm sea of pleasure. She rendered you into a human puddle in her hold as you surrendered to her syrupy sweet words of affirmation.

Muscles aching from the way you wildly tensed up as she abused your sweet spot, head swimming as you felt overwhelming pressure curl in your gut every time her thumb worked at your clit; And even her teeth did their show of digging in just enough to make your skin crawl, was more than enough for Ballora to make good of her promise of making you have a world-resetting orgasm. You took big heaving breaths to try to keep yourself from becoming any more boneless, resting your entire weight on Ballora as tremors overtook your body.

You barely registered her words of vague praise, more focused on the way she slowly extracted her hand from inside your underwear- and by proxy yourself. Her now free hands had free reign to lovingly pet along your thighs,

“I’m guessing that was good?” She murmured kindly. 

“Mmmm” 

“I’ll take that as a yes” Her warm laugh washed over you, pleasant and somewhat tinny as it always was. Your arms wrapped around her neck again, a welcomed feeling of calm making you giddy enough to press appreciative kisses on whatever metal-plastic-skin-stuff of hers you could reach.

”Foxy and Freddy should be expecting us soon.” 

“Can we relax for a bit?” You asked, not feeling up to moving any time soon.

”Of course, darling~ Any more time I get to keep you to myself is time I will never take for granted. I never was good at sharing”

[thedeerman]

RadioApple Week Day 1: Early Morning

So I draw a little bit here and there but Ive been spending a LOT more time writing. I’m hoping it’s alright that I decided to post excerpts of my ongoing Radioapple fic instead of drawings!

An excerpt from DYWTK Chapter 23: Adore

Lucifer didn’t sleep for very long after their all-night chat, so he woke up some time before Alastor did. He liked to do so as often as possible, actually. It gave the king extra time to snuggle up to the oh so terrifying radio demon. 

He’d hate to admit it, but Lucifer also loved watching Alastor sleep. Not in a creepy way, of course! No, it’s just that the guy wasn’t nearly as hostile when he was asleep, which made him straight up adorable. Also, it made Lucifer a lot less nervous to stare. There was no way he was going to admit any of that out loud, though. 

Alastor, having deer features, had hooved feet just like Lucifer did. He also, amazingly, had a fluffy little tail. And just like his fuzzy ears, it would sometimes twitch while he was asleep. Unfortunately for the fallen angel, Alastor had made it very clear very soon after he started staying in Lucifer’s room that the tail was off limits. No touching allowed. Huge bummer, honestly.

So Lucifer would just lay there in bed, listening to Alastor quietly snore and watching his ears flick back and forth as he dreamed. That was when the demon actually slept, of course.

It was quite often that Alastor didn't sleep for long, sometimes he didn’t sleep at all. He would still get nightmares that caused him to make scared and angry little noises, and whether the demon himself was aware of that or not, Lucifer wasn’t sure. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.

Most often when this happened, the king would sing a quiet tune until Alastor settled back into calm sleep. So far, he had a 100% success rate with that strategy. It wasn’t any bother to Lucifer; sleep wasn’t something he needed as regularly as mortals. But it always worried him when his partner couldn’t sleep. 

Before, it was just one of those things he just silently went over in his head for hours, afraid to chase away the first person to tolerate him in decades. But now with their new deal, perhaps the next sleepless night Alastor had, Lucifer would ask what was keeping him awake. 

For now though, the angel just watched the radio demon sleep. Sometimes Pudu would keep him company, but other times, like right now, it was just the two of them. Lucifer wished he could just keep them in this peaceful moment in time forever, but eventually Alastor opened his eyes and asked, “Have you been staring at me all morning?”

Lucifer laughed. “Not all morning, no. Just for a little while.”

Alastor hummed and rolled over, not willing to get out of bed just yet. Lucifer took the opportunity to scooch closer and- avoiding touching his tail too much- pulled Alastor close. The demon grumbled an unintelligible, half-asleep complaint, making Lucifer chuckle. Even half-conscious, he was so easy to annoy.

Thankfully Lucifer had learned by now that Alastor’s ‘vague annoyance’ was more accurately defined as ‘I'm going to act like I want to complain but don’t not do the thing because I secretly like it and don’t want to admit it out loud.’ When he truly didn’t like something, he made it very clear. So the king just gently kissed Alastor’s shoulder, earning him another low grumble.

(Not gonna lie, I love this scene. It's so simple and sweet.)

[lilolilyr]

For "Being Known" (Helena writer, Myka actress): 2 and 3, 6 and/or 7 (whichever you like better, or both), and 9!

Ah, thank you! My longest Bering and Wells fic to date :D

Moodboard & header for the fic, and Here's the ask meme

2. How did you come up with the idea?

It was part of a gift exchange, and my giftee had asked for a pop culture AU, with some fusion prompts for fandoms I didn't know very well - so instead of trying to find out enough about eg Buffy the Vampire Slayer to write a fic in that world, I asked whether a celebrity AU would work, and here we are!

3. Did the idea change at all by the time the fic was complete?

I expanded my initial idea a lot - adding Steve, Leena, Artie, Caturanga, Jane and Amanda, I'm pretty sure initially it was just supposed to be HG and Myka with side characters Claudia and Pete. I don't remember exactly what the plan was and what came later, apart from having the idea of Helena's conflict about wanting to remain anonymous while being passionate about something that could bring her a lot of fame early on...I'll have to see whether I still have my initial draft somewhere and I can add it at the end of the post, I tend to write in messages on telegram and copy paste them to an ao3 draft or word doc once I start editing, so the messages should still be the original first draft.

I think I was unsure whether or not I should add an AU-ified Christina related backstory and work that into part of the reason for Helena's reluctance over fame, I had several ideas about her own childhood, her knowing a child something happened to, or actually writing Christina into her backstory... I went back and forth between Christina being a child star and Helena herself being one, I think in the end I just made Helena one because it worked better for the story though I would have liked to have more Christina backstory, but oh well, kill your darlings.

6. How did you decide what tense and POV(s)to use? / 7. How did you decide what character(s) would narrate the fic?

Honestly, I rarely decide that kind of thing consciously - I guess if you want to write something commercially there are lots of things to consider, but I write for fun and I'll write wherever my ideas bring me. Sometimes I'll notice a scene works better from a different POV and I change it, but usually it just happens one way and then it's fine to leave it as is

In this case I think I immediately knew it would mainly be Helena's POV because it's really her story I wanted to tell.

9. Did you get stuck at any point? How did you get past that?

Claudia! Hah, I mean I didn't get stuck on her, but that I used her to get past difficult scenes, giving Helena a much needed push! Especially near the end, when it comes to Helena accepting the possibility of a relationship between her and Myka.

Thank you so much for the ask! This was fun to talk about :)

.

This is my draft for the fic, the way it was written (in a messenger chat with just myself in it, as I start most fics) in one go, before making any edits at all!

You'll notice a lot of 'xx' markers - because there aren't really any words with that, it's easy to search a text for that later on, so whenever I know I still need to fix something - add a sentence, translate a word, edit bullet points into paragraph, add entire scenes - I write XX to mark it for later.

wip bering and wells author actress AU for anandabrat

Working title The Perfect Warrior

HG (former child actor turned?) writer under pseudonym hiding from fame (bc burned out from kid fame?), slowly getting back into acting, does improv for fun

Myka either star there to help 'learning' amateur actors for xxkomparsen? Or she's a newcomer and HG is back on film?

Claudia's HG's friend, Pete Myka's

ohhh what about Helena's book being verfilmt & Myka main role, HG making sure she won't be overwhelmed..

xxx

xxflashback seven months prior

"H.G., I'm coming in!"

Helena covers her head with a pillow when she hears Claudia Donovan's shouting from the backyard before a well-aimed kick against the old garden door has it fling open.

"Breaking and entering, really?" Helena's muffled voice lets Claudia know where she is. "I would have thought that petty crime is belowxx you."

"Come oooon," Claudia pulls the pillow from her face and Helena is left squinting at the sudden light. "We're going out! A friend of mine has a gallery opening, and there's bound to be a crowd of interesting people there!"

"I can't," Helena grouches. "I have to write, I still haven't finished either of those silly sequels my agents want me to work on."

"Riiight," Claudia nods, juggling the pillow between her hands. "Because that's what you were doing right now. Writing."

"Oh, cut the sarcasm." Helena growls. She is in a bad enough mood without Claudia butting in and making it worse.

"Alright then." Instead of backing down, Claudia throws the pillow onto the bed and, hands on her hips, stares Helena down. "I'll speak xxklartext. You're wasting away here, H.G.! You hate the books you're supposed to write, you refuse to write anything else either, you haven't seen any of our friends in months and now you're getting your groceries delivered so you don't even have to leave the house? That's the final straw!"

"Who snitched on me," Helena xx Leena?sbcanonordontmention

"It'll be good for you," Claudia insists. "You can dazzle everyone with your Wikipedia brain, and maybe you'll meet a xxverleger who wants to publish one of your weirder novellas. Come on, get up. get up, if not for yourself then do it for me because there's no way I'll go schmooze with the rich and famous all on my own!"

"I still cannot believe you managed to talk me into this," Helena sighs, looking at the xx and bustle around her.

"I'm up, I'm up," Helena sighs and avoidsxxausweichen Claudia's attempt to pull her from the bed by sitting up. "Alright, what exactly is this opening we're going to?"

...

Laughing, herxxfriend Claudia bumps their elbows together. "You better believe it, there's no getting out of it now! And this will be good for you! xx I'm happy for you, H.G., this is a dream come true!" She twirls around without missing a step, taking it all in.

"The fact that it makes you xxgoodposition takes no part in it, I'm sure." Helena deflects. She doesn't want to admit that Claudia is right and she is thrilled to have her characters coming to life for the big screen - nor does she want it known that, despite all the negotiations and concessions on side of the production studio, she is still afraid that she won't recognise the world she created once the movie is done. Will they do justice to the worlds of trees and cogwheels, to the unseeing creator and the warrior with the unruly hair? Will they listen to Helena when she has suggestions, will the stick to the details from the book, will it even be possible to transfer it to the new medium?

This and more goes through Helena's mind as she lets Claudia drag her along over the big parking lot and storage area, past trucks with equipment and the xxvans for cast and crew towards the xxhall.

first time sees Myka - the perfect xxcharactername warrior.

xx looks after her xx her hair xx in the wind, a sharp edge to her big brown eyes that negates anything childish about their shape, xx stepping out of the camper

xx C hey, we're not here to flirt! Can't believe I need to say that to you, you're like, the least likely person xx xx pretty girl

xx not what - I mean yes beautiful, but not what that wasabout -

xx oh /beauuutiful

xx shut up Donovan

xx later sees Myka in makeup all *sideeye* what did you do to my xxcharactername

argument - need makeup! Looks silly on camera without, different than irl!

HG: well if so, just makeup that makes it look decent with the lights and closeups, NOT that kind of obvious eye makeup, and who had the idea that a warrior in a cyberpunk dystopia would need a bold red lip? Or shaved pits?

xx Myka uncomfortable, thinks she has done something wrong, especially when sent back out in the middle of the scene, doesn't notice the argument

co-star Pete tries to comfort her

xxMyka thinks maybe this was bad idea, should quit

xx HG will Not lose my warrior!

(xx Myka in trouble

xx HG kann wen zusammenscheißen, makes sure Myka's fine)

xx from then on Helena trying to keep an eye on Myka, asks how she's dealing with the pressure, what her plans are for if she'll be famous after this project, whether she has a good agent to protect her interests, etc... (eg where u live? city apartment...

H:security? M:none?? H:myself, nature away from most people M: wish could affort...)

Myka: know you're just doing this because you think I'm a good fit for the character and you don't want it to be ruined by me quitting, but I still really appreciate

HG: what?? No, am doing this - well, would for everyone! Know how it is, when I was a kid... nevermind. But, care about you too

Myka finds out why HG is so wary about fame

go to premiere together - "don't have to hold a speech, don't even have to tell anyone who you are, but at least go as my date?"

As usual, I had a first scene instantly in my head, then started thinking quicker than I could write and had to note down bullet points so I wouldn't forget anything xD

Again, thanks for the ask :)

[chloeangelic]

Why does it seem like everything you've put out lately is just trying to rip off netherfeildren? Like the art, the plots, the aesthetics... Especially weird since you used to seem to always hype them up

I went back and forth on responding to this but I’ve decided to because I don’t appreciate having my integrity questioned. I kind of expected that I'd get something like this because there are some thematic similarities between Seeking and SWITBOSH. However, I won’t respond publicly to anything else like this cause I think we’re all very over The Discourse, and tbh it’s a massive fucking insult to accuse me of ripping someone off when I’ve spent seven months writing ca 200k words of fic and developing my own unique style of writing. If you can’t see the difference between two writers, just because they write emotional depth and full sentences, then please read an actual book and not just brainrot fic. I’m gonna properly address everything under the cut - anon domming is back on the menu today. 

That being said, because this feels weird and uncomfortable for me and likely for Vic, I’m turning off anons for the time being and I’m taking a posting break to decide whether I want to continue posting here at all or continue posting purely on AO3. I post there anyways under the same name. If you still have a bone to pick with me or my writing, please message me directly. Please do NOT pester Vic about this, I know very well that she does not enjoy The Discourse or any sort of drama. Everyone is sick of the copying discourse - please have some trust in writers’ self awareness. 

Firstly, the words “recently” and “plots” should be defined here - I personally don’t see how stepdaddy Joel, pornstar Tim, sex addict Dieter, baby daddy Javi or any of Love Me back is similar to her works at all. The Seeking teaser I posted yesterday was similar to her Pink teasers purely because it had text on a photo - my text wasn’t even from the fic, it was a quote that represented the series as a whole and the quote that finally made the series crystallize in my head. It’s the quote I want people to have in the back of their mind when they go into reading it - it’s from the song that I consider the series theme. Our formatting is not the same. Yes, I have quotes at the beginning of the chapters - my friend sent me a bunch of poems and a couple, I felt were relevant to the story so I wanted to add them somehow. Several writers do this. I stopped putting in previews above the cut cause it was making it difficult for me to write the beginning of the chapters. My masterlist art is the same as, like.. Everyone’s else’s masterlist post - the norm on here is to have an artwork from Pinterest, the title slapped on top and the writer’s name. I literally just loved Pascalisbaby’s masterlist art so much I decided to do it too. 

When you say plots, I’m assuming you’re drawing parallels between Seeking what is desirable and Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband because cheater!Joel (or maybe even Pink cause DDLG, but I’m literally in a DDLG-type dynamic irl and I decided to incorporate it into a fic for once - there were CLEAR ddlg undertones in Love Me Back, it just wasn’t explicit. I also wrote several chapters of Seeking before Pink even came out, and I wrote a cheating + father in law oneshot this summer). 

The MC in Seeking is based on myself and my own life, moving away from my parents in order to live with my boyfriend at the time very far away, who ended up being extremely absent and shitty. MC+Jeremiah relationship is based on Adam and Hermine from EXIT, Jeremiah is based on Tony Soprano, Gwen is based on Janice Soprano + a story I heard from my cousin about how his wife let him do all the childcare while she went on a women’s retreat. They are not in a marriage of convenience, the MC doesn’t feel bad about the affair at all, she never pushes him away, and Gwen has no plans on leaving. Sarah and Ellie are both 16 and living with Joel in Seeking. The MC does not have similarities to Sarah like she does in Love Me Back (which was also literally based on my own life) or Someone’s.

MC is a teacher who cheats with Joel - so is the MC in my post outbreak series I wrote many months ago. They're drawn to each other immediately cause I hate slow burn fics and I didn't feel like writing two chapters of him fucking someone else this time around. She goes out intending to cheat, and he thinks it'll sustain him for the next several years. The first thing I thought up in this entire series was Jeremiah - I had his character crystallized in my head for weeks before I planned anything else.

Of course Joel is unhappy in his marriage - neither Vic or myself would write a Joel who cheats for fun, that’s just not something either of us finds interesting. It actually started as a Sopranos AU, but I decided against going that route cause I don’t know enough about white collar crime. Also, if you are familiar with my writing you’ll know I love writing infidelity - it shouldn’t be a surprise that I’m writing a series with this as the central theme. The central question for Seeking is when is it okay to cheat? That’s what the entire fic is about. It’s not about him finding the love of his life after marrying someone else (like the summary of Someone’s), it’s about two instances of cheating and how we justify those two scenarios. Of course it has a happy ending - I’ve used up my non-happy ending quota for the year. 

I’m not sure what you mean by aesthetics - Vic actually edits really nice graphics for all of her Mando chapters. She spends a bunch of time on those, and you’re doing a disservice to her by overlooking how unique her artwork is and how much effort it takes. She also made really cool teasers for Pink. I’m way too lazy for any of that, I just slam a moodboard together. I started doing 3 slot moodboards cause the 6-7 slot ones were a hassle. The fact that only art pieces are used in this series is half coincidence, half me being sick of trying to fit Pedro pics into the moodboards when the colors are often wrong. 

I literally texted with her when I planned this series, saying I was afraid people would accuse it of being a ripoff of Someone’s, purely due to the Joel infidelity + uninterested wife factor, and she did not think the overall plot was similar enough to be of concern. I still hype her up, she just doesn’t post as often now so I don’t reblog as often, that’s pretty simple. I’ve also asked Iris, my editor, SEVERAL TIMES if it reads too similar to Someone’s or anything Vic has written - she is extremely familiar with both of our works and she did not think so. What exactly am I supposed to do when I’ve gotten the green light from everyone? 

This specific anon didn’t mention the actual writing, though, which is funny and it makes sense because I don’t write like Vic and I don’t try to. Her vocabulary is way larger than mine, the diction and syntax are not similar at all. She actually uses metaphors, I use them very rarely and only when it’s super dramatic. My writing isn’t poetic, it’s not flowery, it’s not formal - it’s literally just how I think inside my own head. When I read my own writing, I imagine Charles Gross doing a dramatic reading. I learn like one new word every month and eventually I’ll add it to my writing when it’s something I’m confident using irl. She has a lot of depth to her fics, I also try to write with emotional depth - I’m sorry if that’s unfamiliar in a landscape of dbf porn with no plot and 5 word sentences (I’m shading my own first series here). Seeking reads more similar to the first series I ever wrote, which I never posted, than anything else I’ve written. Half of Seeking is also straight up daydreaming sequences cause that’s literally how I think - the MC lives a boring life and daydreams, so do I. 

I’ve learned a ton from reading Vic’s stuff - I don’t read that much irl cause I rarely find English novels captivating, but her writing has really made an impression on me. I talk constantly about how much her writing makes me cry, and it really does. Reading her stuff has absolutely influenced me to be more confident about weaving in actions and little plot points that are more vulnerable and personal to myself, and that adds a lot of depth it otherwise wouldn’t. I’m very inspired by her, of course I am - but I know the difference between being inspired and trying to leech. 

I’m sorry my writing style has developed. I’m sorry I no longer write like I did in April, with matter-of-factly short sentences and little emotional depth. I have short series and long series because some plots deserve more emotional depth and some don’t need it. I wouldn’t bother writing anymore if all I did was shady lawyer Joel or Father Joel and I never improved. 

If you don’t enjoy my writing, please just unfollow. I’ve seen other fics on this platform that read similar to mine, some that have exactly the same plot points/origin stories, and at no point have I thought they were ripping me off. At some point, this specific fandom needs to realize that it’s possible for two writers to have similar ideas without it being one person copying the other. My personal opinion is that if you copy someone’s plot, you won’t be able to execute it well because you don’t have the ideas necessary to actually flesh it out. If you’re familiar with my writing, you know damn well I’m capable of coming up with my own ideas and plots. I feel zero need to rip other people's in order to gain traction - I have enough followers and idgaf how many notes anything gets. Please don’t overestimate my ability to give a fuck about my popularity in this fandom. 

Anyways, thanks for making me want to vomit, anon, you truly made me feel like shit today and I hope you have a great night! I’m not sure how much I’ll be checking tumblr for a while so feel free to message me on discord under the same name.

[tathrin]

Writing Year Wrapped (2023)

Ooh, thank you for the tag @sallysavestheday!

3 Favorite Fics You've Written This Year:

Of course we have to go with my current obsession, And In The Darkness To Unmake Them, an as-canon-compliant-as-possible Fellowship-AU that asks, what would happen if Celebrimbor got himself re-embodied and came back to Middle-earth to try and make up for his mistakes by helping to destroy the One Ring (and brought all his unhealed trauma with him)? Plus a slow-burn romance for Legolas and Gimli, a whole lot of delicious world-building for Mirkwood, and a more active role for Arwen too!

Five Times Gimli Died (and One Time He Didn't) is, I think, despite the simplistic and trope-y title, one of the most elegant things I've ever written, and I am very much in love with it. It's the story of Gimli and Legolas's romance, from beginning to end (well...not really end, because the joy of them is that they're a story that doesn't end—Gimli Immortality Agenda, you can't stop me!—but the story ends with the beginning of their happily-ever-after, which is a sort of end, no?), told in a series of scenes that takes place from Moria to the Undying Lands, and could almost slip right in between the pages of canon if you squint enough to overlook a little bit of meddling from Mahal on behalf of his new favorite dwarf (don't tell Durin).

To Live In Undying Lands is a series of snippets set in Aman after Legolas and Gimli cross the Sea, focused on both their new life there and that of our beloved Hobbits who went over before. And I went back and forth several times deciding whether to swap the placement of this one and Last Temptation... below, but I ultimately think that was a bit more of a stretch than this one, despite the fact that I Never Write Hobbits and am writing quite a lot of Hobbits for this one, and also I Never Write Snippets Without An Overarching Plot—and because I'm such a sucker for Gimleaf that if I have to pick a favorite between any two comparable stories, it's always going to be the one with them in it! (Also: Gimli Immortality Agenda, always!)

3 Fics That Stretched You the Most:

Dead Faces In The Water; Dead Faces Everywhere - I don't write present tense, I don't write modern AUs, and I don't write zombie stories...but here I am, writing all three at once! (Thanks, @katajainen! This story is 1/3 your fault, 1/3 @roselightfairy and @deheerkonijn's fault, and 1/3 Mira Grant's lol. And you were the inciting incident, so you get first blame!) And somehow having a great time doing it! (So much world building! I'm in paradise!)

The Last Temptation of Narvi of Khazad-dûm - probably one of the most overtly ambitious stories I've ever done. It's likewise in present-tense, although that's considerably less daunting now after almost forty chapters of zombies; but there were a lot of other balls to juggle on this story, including my first time properly writing both of the main characters as well as anything set in Ost-in-Edhil; and of skirting right up against the line of how close it came to all ending differently and making that (hopefully) feel almost like it could have gone differently and avoided all that tragedy in a way that, hopefully, both satisfies and distresses the reader.

And (I suppose this is a bit of a give-away, but it's not like I tried very hard to hide anyway; the anonymity is mainly designed to make people feel more comfortable offering con-crit, which I have no idea if it actually helped or not but I did get some lovely and helpful feedback on it, so I'm going to say the tactic has been a success) definitely Cliffside Revelations, which has the honor of being my very first explicit smut fic...even if most of the smut is an excuse for world building, which I'm sure shocks all of you lmao!

(And sneaking in an honorable mention of On The Far Side of the Sundering Sea, because my name isn't on the previous one so it probably doesn't technically count...which means I can slip in an extra story as a technicality, right? Right. Shhh, it's fine!)

3 Favorite Lines You've Written (loosely interpreting "lines" as sallysavestheday has cleverly demonstrated):

Oh this is difficult. Most of my best lines are only their best because of the context around them; and it's hard to remember them as distinct lines after their sections have been finished and posted. But this does at least save favorite and not best, so that helps; let's give it a try, then.

First, from Five Times Gimli Died (and One He Didn't) we have a moment of a revelation on Gimli's part, as he discovers that his heart might not be as alien to his Maker as he feared it was:

He stood in silence, staring at the unseen form of he who had made all Dwarves; of the Maker of stone and rock and mighty mountain. Mahal, who had made the Dwarves…Mahal, who loved the green.

This is one that definitely needs the context to make it work, so we're including the whole preceding paragraph from Blows Uncounted, a little AU-take on Helm's Deep where either the uruks are stronger or Gandalf is slower, and the battle has a darker ending.

For Legolas was not simply any elf: he was an elf of Mirkwood. Taur-ne-Fuin, the forest under nightshade; Taur-e-Ndaedelos, the forest of great fear. These orcs and uruks of Isengard, used to preying on earnest horse-lords and forthright farmers, had never met an elf of his sort before. Their northern kin could have told them stories of what befell orcs beneath the black boughs of Mirkwood…but orcs did not often come alive from those dark woods, not at least without Nazgûl to guard their travels.

And there were no Nazgûl here.

And taking a complete one-eighty in tone from the previous, I am quite inexcusably delighted with this one from Honeysuckle and Cider, and still giggle to myself whenever I re-read it:

"Uh," says Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor, first of the House Telcontar.

(The line after it definitely qualifies as a runner-up, but I do think this one beats it out. Sorry, Faramir!)

Actually there's one other line I really wanted to put in here, even more than the one about the Nazgûl, but I'm not going to, because it's the very last line of the story it appears in, and reading it before you read that story would suck all the wind out of its sails, I think; so if you want to know what that is, you'll have to go read The Last Temptation of Narvi of Khazad-dûm for yourself.

3 Characters You Enjoyed Writing (that surprised you):

Anntar (Sauron), actually! I got to play with him as more than just a Menacing Presence in The Last Temptation of Narvi of Khazad-dûm and oh, he was so much fun! This was Sauron in full-on seducing-the-Gwaith-i-Mírdain mode, with maybe just a hint of how he actually wanted to be stopped, so that he could let the schemes for world-domination go and just be happy here with his smith-lovers...or maybe that was all wishful thinking on Narvi's part. Regardless, it was great fun to play with both failed and successful manipulations here, as well as to actually write something with my new favorite OT3.

Boromir may have come as even more of a shock to me, actually. I very quickly went from "distant fondness but very little interest" in Boromir to taking great delight in him, thanks in largest part to Dead Faces in the Water, Dead Faces Everywhere (and a little bit to Two Fell Into Shadow, although most of that was written or at least sketched-out earlier; but I'm counting it, because I don't think I realized how much fun he was fifteen years ago or so when I was writing it initially). Also, of course, his part in And In The Darkness To Unmake Them, although I haven't gotten to the point of posting any of his Grey Company chapters yet (shhh). He's such a wonderful sort of "I did not sign up for any of this; I have no idea what's happening; but I Am Participating Anyway!" sort of character, dragged out of his element commanding Minas Tirith's armies (where he's an extremely competent and confident fellow) and tossed into this baffling world of weirdness full of elves and magic and nonsense, for which he is so ill-equipped and ill-prepared. And yet he gamely goes along with it, because it needs doing! Whatever the fuck it is! He has no idea!

And last but certainly not least: Gimli, although this one may be less of a surprise; but it was a surprise to me how often I ended up writing from his perspective. I did not expect that, because I'm much more interested in elves (especially Mirkwood elves) than I am dwarves in general, and I've done a lot less world-building (a lot less) for Erebor than I have Mirkwood; but it's so much fun using Gimli as "the sensible perspective" (as well as an excuse to get really flowery with my wording sometimes, shhh!), not to mention an extremely astute and observant one, that he makes for a very addictive viewpoint character. I actually ended up having to make a conscious effort to switch to Legolas's pov sometimes, in fact, because it was so easy and charming to fall into Gimli's head and stay there! That was definitely a surprise to me.

3 Unexpected Inspirations:

This fucking dream! I still don't know what the hell happened to me that night, but it sure was unique and extremely unexpected!

And quite startling was the time where seeing the Legolas-always-looks-back-for-Gimli gif-post from the LotR movies cross my tumblr dash right to an Orpheus-and-Eurydice poll basically popped this whole-ass story fully formed into my head in one big rush of inspiration. Although the same thing happened with this post and And His Hands Ran With Gold and Shadow, so maybe I should stop thinking "random post on tumblr" is unexpected inspiration...

And uhhh....this XD

3 WIPs You're Excited About in the Upcoming Year:

And His Hands Ran With Gold and Shadow which I swear I will get back into working-on as soon as I get some of my other ongoing stuff finished, because I absolutely adore it! and I definitely want to write more on it! very much so! but the vibes required for writing it are so different from the other stuff that it's hard to switch back-and-forth between it and them (same goes for the zombie-fic).

An As-Yet-Untitled story set many, many, many years after the end of the War of the Ring in the Undying Lands, where our three beloved Hobbits (and one Dwarf) living on those timeless shores discuss their mortal lives, and decide when and whether to let them end.

The sequel to The Dark Reborn, because I am at some point going to drag my brain back into the galaxy far, far away enough to start reading and writing Star Wars fic again, and I fucking will finish this fucking awesome sequel trilogy fic I started, kriff it!!!

3 People Tagged to Share Theirs:

Tagging with zero pressure: @babybat98 @bifuriouswaterbender @katajainen

[sequinsmile-x]

All My Love

She had, incorrectly, assumed they would just let the day pass them by. 

When she wakes up on Valentine's Day, she realises she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

A Hotchniss Valentine's Day fic.

-x-

Hi friends!

I realised I have somehow made it over two years writing for the Hotchniss fandom without writing a Valentine's Day fic for them!

Consider this my apology for such a terrible error. It is, for once, 3.8k of pure fluff. Not a single bit of hurt comfort in sight.

-x-

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: None!

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

There was something about leap years that Emily had always hated. The extra day a nuisance as she did her paperwork, scratching out the incorrect date and replacing it with February 29th. Muttering under her breath how she shouldn’t have to work on a day that didn’t exist most of the time. 

She hated leap years until her first date with Aaron happened to fall on one. 

It still made her smile when she thought about it. The way he’d nervously asked her out on a date as if she’d ever have any other answer than yes. As if she hadn’t loved him as long as he had loved her. Work had gotten in the way as it always did, and their dinner was pushed further and further back. It ended up being a Wednesday of all day when everything changed for the better. They were back from a case. Jack was with Roy and Jessica for a few days. They had nothing but time and each other, and they both grabbed it with both hands. 

It was only afterwards, as they lay tangled in her bed together, her face pressed into his chest that it dawned on her. Her eyes glancing at the alarm on the nightstand, checking to see if they had time for another round before they went to sleep when she notices it. The date staring back at her in bright red letters. 

February 29th. 

After that, it became her favourite day. The day everything finally fell into place. 

It quickly became a point of amusement to the rest of the team after they found out about them, teasing them as they joked about how their anniversary would only come around every four years. 

Emily and Aaron can’t bring themselves to care, both of them finally allowing themselves to be happy. The soft epilogue they both deserved. 

At times, she worries it’s going too fast. They say I love you almost immediately. She moves in with him and Jack a few months into their relationship. They talk about marriage and children, buying a house together so they can finally have somewhere to call home, as if they hadn’t already found that in each other. Whenever she worries about it, old instincts to run threatening to take over she only has to look at him and she’s ok again. The comfort she’d always been looking for had been right in front of her this whole time, in what she would have once considered the most unlikely of places. 

By the time the new year rolls around and their anniversary is just on the horizon, she and Aaron playfully bicker about whether they should celebrate. She says it should be February 28th, but he insists March 1st is the better substitute. It becomes a back-and-forth that lasts until they agree to celebrate both days. Whatever plans they had were sure to last long past midnight anyway. 

The thought of it makes her skin tingle, excitement fizzing just beneath the surface as she plans out her outfits. Idly thinking about finding time to go to her favourite lingerie store to buy something especially. It’s what she later firmly blames her oversight on. Their upcoming anniversary. The house that they had just bought and were slowly moving into. The fact they’d never actually spoken about it, and she had, incorrectly, assumed they would just let the day pass them by. 

When she wakes up on Valentine's Day, she realises she couldn’t have been more wrong. 

___

He wakes her up slowly.

His hand skates up and down her back as he sits on the edge of the bed next to her. He leans down, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder. He smothers a smile against her skin as she grumbles, the first sign that she is somewhere close to being awake. 

“What time is it?” She mumbles, attempting to snuggle deeper into the bed, “Did we get a case?” 

Aaron chuckles and kisses her cheek before he pulls back, “No sweetheart, no case. And it's just before 6 am.”

She groans, turning her face into her pillow, her response muffled by the material, “Then why the fuck have you woken me up?” 

“I made you breakfast,” he says simply as if the answer was obvious. His voice full of his endless patience for her and her hatred of early mornings. 

She opens her eyes, her question of why breakfast meant she had to be woken up quite so early when they were only heading to the office dying on her tongue before she can even open her mouth. There is a vase on her nightstand, pink carnations staring back at her that weren’t there the night before. Flowers he must have hidden somewhere in their apartment because she knows there aren’t any stores that sell them open yet. 

She sits up, turning to look at Aaron, her brows creased in confusion as he slips a tray into her lap. There’s fresh fruit - strawberries and pieces of melon cut up lovingly next to a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice. In the centre of the tray is a stack of pancakes, every single one in the shape of a heart. She looks back up at him, and she chuckles, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“Aaron-”

“The pancakes might have been a little much,” he says, climbing back under the covers on his side of the bed, sneaking one of the strawberries and eating it as he sits next to her, his arm around her shoulders, “But it’s our first Valentine’s Day together,” he explains, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, “So I thought I’d make an effort.”

“Valentine's Day?” She asks, her brows furrowing further. He nods, kissing her head again.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” 

That’s when it hits her, her still half-asleep brain finally catching up with what was happening. She turns to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand, just past the carnations and the card she had only just noticed, and sees the date flashing back at her. She feels her heart drop into her stomach, guilt flooding her veins so quickly she’s surprised her cheeks don’t burn with it, immediately giving her away. 

She hadn’t bought him anything. Not even a card.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she replies, clearing her throat when her voice cracks slightly, “You didn’t have to do all of this,” she says, looking up at him, hoping he doesn’t see her barely restrained panic, “It’s sweet,” she reaches out and cups his cheek, her thumb skating over his stubble, “But you love me every day.” 

He smiles, pressing his lips to hers, his kiss tasting like the strawberry he’d eaten, and he pulls back to look at her.

“Eat your pancakes.” 

She chuckles, shaking her head at him, the worry still bubbling in her stomach, “You’ll have to help me.” 

“Of course,” he says, grabbing the pancake from the top of the pile with his fingers, a move he knew annoyed her to no end because Jack had also started doing it when they went out for breakfast. He winks at her, his dimples carved out in his cheeks as his smile deepens, “Why do you think I made so many? I’ll give you your actual present later.”

“Honey,” she says, guilt turning the taste of the pancakes bitter, “you don’t have to-” 

“I can’t exactly return it,” he says, cutting her off before he grabs another pancake, kissing the side of her head again as he stands up. He looks at her expectantly, such love for her in his eyes that she feels as blown away by it as she did the very first time she saw it “Later?” 

She nods, picking up the cup of coffee so she can do something other than feel awful, the heat of the ceramic against her palm enough to displace some of the guilt. 

“Later.” 

___

Emily, 

Happy Valentine’s Day. 

I’m not always the best at putting how I feel into words. I’m better at doing things, at showing how I feel. But I never want you to doubt it. 

I love you. 

You are the best thing that ever happened to me and my son. I haven’t felt happiness, or heard Jack laugh as much, as I have in the last year. 

Thank you for loving us, and for just being you. 

I hope that for the rest of our lives, I can make you feel even half as loved as you’ve made me feel. 

All my love, 

Aaron

___

She makes her excuses as soon as they arrive at work and walks to Penelope’s office as soon as she can, barely knocking on the door before she lets herself in.

“I think I fucked up.” 

Penelope turns in her chair to look at her, her brows knitting together, “What did you do, peaches?” Her eyes go wide in a way Emily would find comical in any other circumstance, “Oh no, you don’t have another secret spy past about to come out do you?”

Emily sighs, running her fingers through her hair. “No, nothing like that. I…I forgot to get Aaron anything for Valentine’s Day.” 

Penelope stares at her and there's a beat of silence, “You what?” 

“I know,” Emily groans, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s just with our anniversary coming up-”

“Your fake anniversary-”

“With our anniversary coming up,” Emily repeats, a raised eyebrow her only response to her friend's comment about the fact their anniversary wouldn’t actually be for another 3 years, “And the move to the house I just…didn’t think about it. And I didn’t think he’d be a Valentine’s Day kind of guy. But he bought me flowers and made heart-shaped pancakes-”

“He made heart-shaped pancakes?!”

“And he even wrote the sweetest thing in my card,” Emily continues as if Penelope hadn’t spoken, and she starts to pace, “I don’t know what to do.”

Penelope walks over and places her hands on Emily’s shoulders, stopping her pacing back and forth. “Em, you’re spiralling. You don’t spiral,” she says, guiding her friend to sit down. 

“I have to get him something,” Emily laments, sighing again, “Otherwise he’ll realise he can do better than me.” 

“Ok, for a start there is no one better than you. You are literally the most beautiful person I have ever met in my life. To the point where I often wonder if you were made in a factory somewhere instead of being born,” Penelope says, looking at Emily over the rim of her glasses, pleased when Emily smiles, a slight blush rising in her cheeks because of the compliment, “And Hotch is obsessed with you. I have never seen a couple so disgustingly in love. We can fix this. We’ll say we’re going out for lunch and we can go to the mall. What kind of thing does he like?”

“Well, he always likes it when I suck his di-”

“Gross. No. Ew,” Penelope says, shaking her head fiercely as Emily frowns at her, throwing her hands up in confusion.

“What’s your problem? You’re always asking for details of our sex life.” 

“Yes. When we are in a bar and Hotch is just your boyfriend. Not here in my office where he is my boss,” she grimaces, “My boss who I can only imagine having sex once a year with the lights off.” 

Emily raises an eyebrow at her, “I can assure you that is not the case.”

“Em.”

Emily sighs and rolls her eyes, trying desperately to think of other gift ideas. Then it suddenly springs to mind, how he’d only been lamenting the night before that his favourite watch was broken. 

“He needs a new watch. He broke his a couple of weeks ago during a case when he took down that unsub,” she says, “he keeps talking about getting it repaired.” 

Penelope beams, “Sound perfect. Looks like we’re going shopping.” 

___

He takes her to their house instead of their apartment. A soft smile on his face as she questions him about it, and a request to trust him pressed against her temple. 

They were slowly moving in, making changes to rooms as they went. Spending the weekends they were home tearing down old wallpaper and painting walls, laughing as they make the house a home. At first, she’s unsure why he’s brought her here, since all of their furniture was still at the apartment or in storage, but she realises as soon as they walk into their bedroom. 

The walls were now painted in the dark green colour they’d chosen, and he’d had the furniture moved in. Personal touches such as trinkets she hadn’t noticed had gone from the apartment and her favourite photo of them on her nightstand. The focal point of the room was a new bed that they’d picked out together, hours spent in a furniture store as Jack complained of boredom heartily, right up until the moment they let him pick his own bed. 

“Aaron,” she breathes out, turning to look at him, “When did you do this?”

He smiles at her, closing the gap between them and wrapping her arms tightly around her from behind, leaning down so his chin is on her shoulder. 

“Do you remember last weekend when I took Dave fishing?” He asks, and she nods turning her head just enough to look at him, “Well…we didn’t go fishing.” 

She laughs, pressing her lips to his cheek, “No wonder he looked so pissed off on Monday.”

“Yeah, he does not like manual labour,” Aaron replies, turning her in his embrace, “I may have promised him the role of godfather for our firstborn.” 

She laughs again, even brighter this time, and she shakes her head, wrapping her arms around his neck. The mere thought of having a kid with him enough to make her chest burst with happiness. 

“That poor kid, they don’t even exist yet and they already have Rossi as a potential guardian,” she smiles widely at him, leaning in to press her lips to his, hoping she can put everything into it that she knows she’ll never have the words for. They undress each other slowly, touching and revering each other like it was the first time again, taking each other apart before slotting the pieces back into place. 

Afterwards, they lay tangled together in the bed, the soft sheets wrapped around them. Emily hums as he runs his fingers up and down her spine and she places her hands on his chest, pushing herself up just enough to look at him. 

“Getting a super king feels like a bit of a waste,” she comments, looking over to the empty half of the bed, “We’ve always been snugglers.” 

Aaron smiles, cupping the back of her head to draw her in for a kiss, “Well I guess the other half is for Sergio. And Jack on the nights he sneaks in. And any future additions,” he kisses her again, the action lost in a smile. “Do you want your present now?”

She sighs, the same guilt from earlier resurfacing at the knowledge of just how much thought he’d put into today. 

“Aaron, you’ve already done so much. Breakfast, and all of this,” she says, gesturing to the room, “I don’t need anything else.” 

He gently shakes his head at her and reaches for the nightstand, reaching into the top drawer as he sits up, encouraging her to do the same. He pulls out a Tiffany’s box, a slightly nervous look on his face as he hands it to her. 

For a brief moment, she thinks he’s going to propose, a mix of anticipation and uneasiness spreading through her. They’d spoken about it before. Marriage was something they both wanted. And whilst she’d embraced the idea of celebrating Valentine’s Day she wasn’t sure she wanted to get engaged during it. She opens the Tiffany’s box and feels relief when she’s met with a silver necklace, a small disk charm with the letter ‘E’ staring back at her. 

“Do you like it?” 

She looks up at Aaron and realises that she must have been silent for some time and she smiles, nodding at him. 

“I love it,” she looks back at the necklace, gently touching the charm. She remembers her college boyfriend buying her something similar, his own name engraved on a necklace she’d thrown away when she caught him cheating on her. “You didn’t go for ‘A’,” she says, her eyes meeting his, her smile deepens when he frowns, confusion colouring his expression, a sign that it hadn’t even crossed his mind, “You didn’t get your name on it.” 

“Why would I?” He asks, “You’re not my property,” he says it so simply it makes her laugh, and she closes the distance between them, cupping his cheek, “What?” 

“Nothing,” she replies, leaning in to stamp her lips against his, “I just love you, that’s all.” 

“I love you too,” he says, smiling into a kiss. 

“Put it on me?” She asks, just pulling back enough to look at him and he nods, taking the box from her and gently taking out the necklace. He puts it around her neck, his fingers lingering on her skin before he tugs her into a hug, his arms tight around her. She looks down at the charm on her chest and smiles, reaching up to touch it, to familiarise herself with the feel of it against her skin. She shifts to move out of his embrace, chuckling when he pulls her backwards, “Let me get your gift, it’s just in my bag.” 

She’s out of bed for a matter of seconds, the cool air of the room not sinking in at all, the heat of his gaze on her naked skin enough to keep her warm. She grabs the box his gift is in and the card, climbing back under the covers and leaning into his side immediately. 

“Here you go,” she says, swallowing thickly, hoping he doesn’t realise she’d bought it only a matter of hours ago just by looking at her. 

Aaron gratefully takes the gift, placing the card on the nightstand.  His hand freezes when he sees the Rolex insignia on the outside, his gaze flicking back up to hers. She has her lower lip caught between her teeth and he looks back down to open it. He knows immediately it’s not even the cheapest end of the range of watches she could have bought, and he breathes out harshly.

“Em-”

“It’s made of steel,” she says, cutting over any insistence that it was too much, and she shrugs slightly when he looks up at her, “That way you won’t be able to break it as easily.” 

“Em, sweetheart,” he replies, reaching out and grabbing her hand, “This is too much this must have cost a few thousand dollars,” he watches as her face tightens slightly, “How much was it?”

She clears her throat, the conversation going in a different direction than how she had anticipated. They had argued about money exactly once - when they were buying the very house they were in. She’d never kept her trust fund a secret, but she didn’t flash it everywhere either. She used it to look after the people she loved. She thinks about telling him that it’s a gift, that she doesn’t have to tell him, but she knows he’d look it up anyway. 

She blows out a steady breath, “$10,000.” 

“$10,000?” He exclaims, his eyes going wide, “That’s way too much, Em.” 

Emily watches as he does the math, an unnecessary comparison in his head on what he’d spent on her, and she feels all the guilt she had buried all day spilling out of her.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she says, her voice a little louder than she intends. She sighs, reaching for the box and taking it from him, removing the watch and looping it around his wrist as he carries on, “I didn’t think about Valentine’s Day until this morning,” she admits, avoiding his gaze, “And then you were so sweet and…I panicked. I felt awful I didn’t buy you anything so Pen and I went shopping at lunchtime.”

He finally puts the pieces together. The mystery of why she’d swerved him at lunch finally solved. 

“Em-”

“And you needed a watch, and it needed to be a decent one,” she finally looks up at him, and is relieved when she sees the usual affection in his eyes, “And I can afford to do this so…please just accept it,” she says, doing up the clasp before straightening it on his wrist, “Plus it looks good on you.” 

Aaron huffs out a laugh and leans in to kiss her, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “Ok,” he concedes, stamping another kiss against her lips. “Thank you.”

“And I’m sorry I’m such a shitty girlfriend,” she grumbles, pressing her face into his chest. Aaron shakes his head at her, shifting them so they were laying down again. He kisses the top of her head. 

“You’re not a shitty girlfriend, Em,” he assures her, running his hand up and down her back, “not by a long shot.” 

She hides her smile in his chest, drawing idle patterns on his skin with her fingers, tracing the scars that were as familiar to her as his smile. 

“Thank you for not proposing today,” she says without meaning to, grateful when he doesn’t tense, as if he’d been expecting her to say it. 

“I thought about it,” he admits, holding her impossibly closer, “But then I realised you’d hate it. Plus I want the element of surprise,” he smiles as she tilts her head to look up at him, “You’ll never see it coming.” 

Emily rolls her eyes at him, settling back down, “Yeah, good luck with that, honey.” 

They fall into a comfortable silence, and she thinks he’s fallen asleep until he talks again. 

“Em?” He asks, and she hums in response, slowly being lulled to sleep by his hand on her back, “I cannot wait to tell Dave you panic bought a $10,000 watch on your lunch break.” 

___

Aaron,

This is the first time I’ve ever bought a card for this holiday. I stood in the store so long I think the assistant thought I was going to steal something.

Valentine’s Day always seemed so pointless to me, because I think if you love someone you should show them every day, not just one day a year. But you’ve taught me that so many things, like lazy Sundays on the couch or mac & cheese made from scratch that I once thought were pointless, can be amazing. 

You make everything amazing. 

I love you, more than I ever thought was possible, and I should take every chance I can to let you know that. 

Happy Valentine’s Day. 

All my love,

Emily 

-x-

Tag list:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhconh, @lex13cm

[ceterisparibus116]

Hi! I hope you are doing well!

So, I was having a low day recently and went and read through my Ao3 inbox to cheer myself up (it really helps!) and came across some of the interactions I had with you in the comment section of the Ella series (they're so delightful, it warms my heart <3), in where you at some point responded to something I had commented with:

"Okay I *do* think Foggy sees himself as not being that mature, and I actually have a ton of thoughts about that and how it relates to Foggy comparing himself to Matt all the time…….."

And I'm still really curious about your thoughts about that topic, so if that's something you would want to expand on, I'll be happy to hear it!

(This is also kind of related to people underestimating Foggy and Foggy underestimating himself, which I have a lot of feelings and thoughts about myself.)

This may be my most self-indulgent ask, but I love Foggy as a character and I love how you write him and I just want people to talk about him more!!!

Thanks bye <3

First of all, I adore our back-and-forths in the comment sections of our various fics! Life has really gotten in the way of those for me recently, but I hope I can dive back in soon.

Warning: you say this is a self-indulgent ask, so I say this is a self-indulgent novel of an answer! ;)

Poor Foggy! First, I don't think he's actually more immature than Matt, but I do think he sees himself that way: both at a superficial level (Matt did better in school, Matt learned a more reasonable language than Punjabi, Matt is physically fit, and Matt presents himself more "seriously" from his word choice to his sense of humor to his fashion), and at a deeper level. I'm going to explore the deeper level more.

Overall, Foggy strikes me as fairly insecure and lacking internal stability compared to Matt. Matt may struggle with guilt and he may get overwhelmed (usually due to his own wild choices), but Matt is generally resolute in his convictions about who he is and what he's supposed to be doing, even when others disapprove.

Foggy, on the other hand, seems to view himself often through the lens of other people's expectations. If you're familiar with the Enneagram, I think Foggy is a Six, but a Six with a lot of Three tendencies. It's a rough mix. Sixes care about security and stability, both in life and in relationships. Meanwhile, Threes not only want to impact the world (an ambition Matt shares), but they want to be recognized and applauded for it (an ambition Matt decidedly does not share).

This combines to make Foggy fairly dependent on external stability. He wants a comfortable job without curveballs. He wants relationships defined by honesty and trust and little to no change. He also wants status and he wants others to admire and appreciate him.

Whereas Matt can have his whole world (jobs, relationships, status, etc.) turned upside-down, and remain (usually) sure of who he is.

To illustrate, look at Foggy's approach to his career. I'm not sure whether Foggy chose to pursue law because he loved law, or if he chose it simply because it was something more impressive and lucrative than his family's profession. But either way, he seems haunted by his family's disapproval and confusion. He feels the need to justify himself to them. I think this need to justify himself is part of why he was so willfully blind to the evils at L&Z: if he could just "make it big," he could prove to his family that he'd made the right choice.

As he indicates in S3, Foggy is pretty dependent on Matt's strong moral compass except when it comes to Daredevil, since Foggy has no problem disagreeing with Matt over that. This is why, as soon as Matt disappears, Foggy goes right back to working in a big law firm - where, as he admits himself, he doesn't actually care about any of his clients.

And what is the picture we have of Matt and Foggy's friendship, prior to the revelation about Daredevil?

Matt and Foggy both recognize that Matt is more studious than Foggy;

Matt outperformed Foggy in school;

Although Matt briefly followed Foggy to L&Z, Foggy made the much more drastic (and permanent) choice to follow Matt to N&M;

Matt wins most of their arguments (I assume, based on Foggy's comment about Matt never saying he's right - it was an exaggerated joke, I'm sure, but I think there's a kernel of underlying truth to it);

When it comes to basically all of their decisions as a firm (taking Karen's case, taking Prohaszka's case, etc.), Matt's beliefs overrule Foggy's;

Matt sets the safety ground rules for Foggy (and Karen), not the other way around, and;

Once Foggy realizes Matt is sure to find out about his "Nancy Drew'ing" with Karen, he openly seeks Matt's approval (whereas Karen is more defiant in the face of Matt's disapproval).

What's fascinating is that from Foggy's perspective, Matt is always the yardstick by which Foggy measures other something is good or bad. This is just as true when Matt's urging Foggy to do something apparently reckless (like starting their own firm or taking on clients who can't really pay them) as when Matt's urging Foggy to do something apparently sensible (like being more careful with his sleuthing).

One explanation for this is that Foggy is keenly aware of the strength of Matt's convictions. As someone with fewer well-defined and well-tested convictions, Foggy seems almost too quick to believe that all of Matt's decisions are born out of his strong moral compass, such that even when Foggy isn't quite happy or quite understanding Matt's position, he figures: "Well, he's probably saying this for a good reason."

Another explanation for this is just how Matt presents himself. Even when Matt's advocating for a more reckless choice, he presents his cases with logic. No one wants to argue with Matt.

And finally, I think this is explained by how much Foggy cares about what other people think in general, and about the stability of his relationship with Matt specifically. Foggy doesn't want Matt to think of him as selfish or reckless, and he doesn't want to disagree with Matt and cause turbulence in their relationship (...until, of course, he does).

What does this have to do with Foggy feeling like he's immature and comparing himself to Matt? Well, people like Matt are impressive. Don't we all aspire to be the sort of people who will Do The Right Thing simply because it's the right thing - even if it costs us comfort, safety, and other people's respect? The convictions of someone like Matt can be convicting, by which I mean: they cause you to be sharply aware of your own shortcomings.

And so Foggy feels immature simply because it's hard for him to feel mature compared to someone who's always right and always so self-assured about it.

Now, I'm someone who always wants to learn from things. What can we learn from Foggy and Matt? Mostly, I think we can see the pros and cons of caring about what others think. Though not the focus of this essay, Foggy's well known for the fact that his strength lies in his people skills. He can befriend and persuade pretty much everyone he encounters, and can somehow maintain a large network of people on whom he can rely as different needs arise. That's an awesome strength that those of us who are more introverted or shy can try to pursue. At the same time, a weakness is when caring what others think erodes your beliefs, and/or your ability to stand on your beliefs. The Matts of the world don't run all their decisions through a series of tests: "What will so-and-so think? What will so-and-so say? Will so-and-so understand what I'm doing and approve?"

The best thing to do, I think, is strike a balance between the two extremes. Don't let other people determine your beliefs, but do make time for other people and invest in them. Do what is right even if it's uncomfortable, but also surround yourself with people who will make that experience relatively more comfortable. Be prepared to lose relationships if the alternative means compromising your morals, but also recognize that we can always learn from others.

[antialiasis]

Groundhog Dave, the 16k-word Morphic time loop extra, is finally up on TCoD. If you've been following this blog for a while, you may have seen me intermittently talk about it. Long story short, Dave is trapped in a time loop on the day of chapter 13, and we explore how he responds and unravels.

Content warnings: This is a whump fic. It features some strong violence including gun violence, suicide and suicidal thoughts, brief vomiting, a deluge of strong and demeaning language, consumption of alcohol, heavy emotional distress, existential horror, and a whole lot of children dying.

Some rambling below the cut about how it came to be and my favorite bits in it.

The first inkling of this story was when I saw someone in the Groundhog Day tag on Tumblr writing a Newsies time loop fanfic titled Groundhog Dave. I have never seen Newsies and have no idea who that Dave is, but I think of Morphic Dave every time I see the name, so instantly I pictured Dave in a time loop on the day of chapter 13, and I could not stop intermittently thinking about it. Eventually, I started writing it.

I don't remember the process of beginning to write it super well, but I remember waiting for a coach at Port Authority with Negrek after seeing the actual Groundhog Day musical and typing up the bit in the third iteration where Dave rages at God on my phone, which was definitely one of the earliest bits I thought of. I know that for a while, what I had written up in the document was the first four iterations and a bit: the original, the one that more or less spawns the Dave and Mia Discuss Family AU, the one where he snaps and gets himself killed, the one where he wakes up after that and decides he can experiment and figure this out, and the summary of his next few goes. I know the document was stuck there for a while, with intermittent tinkering and vague ideas but nothing really in the way of writing progress. On August 12th 2021, I posted in the Thousand Roads Discord about how I'd just written an entire NaNo day's worth of Groundhog Dave, and I'm quite sure there I was referring to the scene where Dave is at the hospital, fails to shoot himself to end the loop, and talks with Cheryl. In 2023, I started doing regular sprints working on it (thanks, Negrek), which was what finally got me past the finish line; before that, the document stood at about 8500 words, while it ended up at about 16500 (though with some bits and notes at the bottom).

The actual ending went through a series of iterations as I was working on it. My first idea for an ending for it was just a cruel, "He does finally fix everything and all the kids live, and then he goes to bed and wakes up in the canon timeline, because he cannot have nice things." This wasn't a super satisfying idea, of course, by itself. I went back and forth through various possibilities from there over the story's development time. At one point or another I considered different variations on whether he does manage to stay in a Better Timeline or whether he ends up back in the canon one at the end, how exactly the loop ends up breaking (initially I was genuinely thinking the loop would break one way or another once nobody dies and the Character Development would have to be leading up towards that, but later I realized it was actually tastier if he does manage it and the loop just keeps going anyway; the precise nature of the Character Development involved was also a bit back and forth), and whether the whole thing would be completely unexplained in the vein of Groundhog Day itself or if I would make more ambiguous use of Lucy's recurring penchant for being involved with bizarre supernatural happenings in non-canon extras.

I'm pretty satisfied with what I did end up with, at any rate. My first inkling of the Lucy thing was just sort of ending with ambiguous Lucy, and I wasn't sure that would really work, but it felt a lot more appropriate to actually do that once Lucy tied more into his overall character development - the couple of early iterations where he takes things out on her specifically as if it's her fault or she should have intervened, his general guilt about actually using her to intervene, the repeated conversations in the car where she manages to confront him at the right moment with why he's so mean, him managing to choose to let go and not be an ass to her in the final scene. I'm also pleased with what I landed on with the several different things happening for the first time in the final iteration: him actually mustering the ability to articulate how much he needs the kids for his life to be worth anything, and affirming that he'll keep doing it even if he'll never get to live in the good timelines, and being forced to confront the ways in which he's been cruel and unpleasant to the kids despite how much they mean to him and choose not to, and finally being able to express an honest vulnerable emotion to Jean, accept her offer for emotional support and ask her to stay up with him because he needs that. Something just feels a lot stronger to me about it with a greater degree of ambiguity about the end of the loop, no one single obvious switch that's the thing like someone was dutifully waiting for him to just say this one magic word. (Similarly, what exactly Lucy did in fact have to do with this, if anything, had to be ambiguous. The loop cannot be a concrete phenomenon with a clear singular cause, or it would have just felt wrong. I have realized I have strong feelings on when fiction should be deliberately ambiguous, not because there is a concrete truth that the author is arbitrarily concealing to force you to guess, but because one way or another establishing any concrete truth would detract or distract from the story being told.)

Some little things I enjoy in this story:

Dave's increasingly frazzled awakenings in the first few loops just really tickle me.

Him knocking on the door, then realizing Cheryl heard his sky-rant and just immediately turning around to go on an ill-advised suicide mission to the church rather than have to try to explain that to her amuses me greatly. What a timeline.

My favorite bit of said suicide mission is actually the bit where he's lying there dying and manages to spend that time being restlessly, angrily impatient about how long it's taking and grasping hard for some sense of satisfaction in having killed this stranger, without ever managing it. The most pathetic possible suicidal rampage of revenge.

The hospital bathroom scene is still my favorite scene in the whole thing. It presses my particular whump buttons extremely hard, and it's just extremely representative of Dave and his problems, him mercilessly bullying himself and Cheryl trying very genuinely to reach out to him and let him know he's not alone while he compulsively rejects it, adamant that he doesn't need anyone or anything even though he's acutely suffering, resenting her for it and shooting back at her efforts with pointless, uncalled-for sarcasm. It also has some of my very favorite lines: "There was a knock on the door and he lowered the gun quickly, like a kid caught playing with something he shouldn't," "What the actual fuck did she think he was doing in here," "Still there?" answered irritably with, "There's only one door. Do the math," when he came so, so close to not in fact still being there. So fond of it.

The offhand unelaborated upon mention that Dave has at one point or another read enough to not bungle a suicide by gunshot is extremely some precise button that I have.

I'm also deeply fond of the iteration where Gabriel dies. Dave tries so hard to force himself to decide he can live with that and just decidedly does not succeed. I enjoy him sitting there irritably thinking maybe they should have just done this in the first place when the others attempt to safely reach the police, silently pretty much convinced that would have been a better idea and thinking all this could have been avoided (but without actually consciously admitting to having been wrong, of course), only to immediately go, "He'd always known this was a bad idea. Why'd he even fucking let them?" when the consequences come knocking. You fucking let them because you thought it was probably a good idea at the time, Dave.

I really enjoy how much Dave cares about the kids, can't not care about the kids, while most of the kids have a hard time grasping how much he cares because he's so persistently Like That. Loved to write the multiple times Jack viciously accuses him of not caring about Gabriel, and the way Dave's idea of disabusing him of the notion is just to be an asshole to him, because he's incapable of expressing sincere emotional sentiment. Lucy, similarly, keeps probing him about what he's going to do if the loop doesn't stop, and he just keeps answering in evasive, defensive irritation as if she's challenging him somehow, until he finally manages to realize that no, she was worried that if his efforts wouldn't end the loop he might just stop bothering. (Only then he's finally been driven far enough to actually manage a smidge of emotional honesty.)

Similar recurring horrible dramatic irony I enjoyed: Dave hates Jean's evolved form so, so horribly much when it's just a hypothetical manifestation of Something Horrible Happening To Her that he's trying to stop and not what his daughter really looks like. One of the things that only quite felt right when I'd finally landed back on him ending up in the canon timeline was that he then actually has to confront the cruelty of that with himself and affirm his unconditional love for her, instead of being 'rewarded' with the cuter, unevolved Jean.

I always get a kick out of how relatively easily Dave in nonsenscial situations just slides from adamant atheism into antitheism without a pause. He's perfectly genuine about thinking God doesn't exist, of course, but there is a level on which he kind of wants him to, just so he can face him and walk backwards into Hell, and as a result you get these situations where he sort of entertains the idea far more easily than he rationally should given his priors. The yelling at God about why he isn't curing malaria instead of whatever this is is pretty unique to the very particular mental state he's in on that iteration, but the multiple times he offhandedly thinks maybe this is literally Hell are total nonsense in his professed belief system but nonetheless a place where his mind is just inclined to go.

Meanwhile, I also enjoy the bit where Mia gets him to contemplate that he might be experiencing proof that souls exist - but he's less willing to entertain that in the same way because it doesn't have the same emotional valence for him, so it's not something that properly occurred to him before that, and then he just throws up his hands and moves on.

Thanks if you read it! I would love to hear any thoughts on it.

[pebblesmustard]

Not Alone Enough (Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x M!OC)

Summary:"While his soul grew more restless by the second, he felt suspended in his body as if the world went on moving without him. A nightmarish heaviness seeping inside his bones, he wants to scream, yell, and cry until he stops feeling altogether.”

Pairing: Jack Daniels x M!OC Mateo Rating: M (to be safe; no actual smut to warrant it but this blog is 18+ only)

Warnings: mentions of estranged parental (paternal side) relationship, mentions of heartbreak and grief, very brief allusions to sex, character introspection, probably lots of grammatical errors and typos, not beta'd (please let me know if I've missed anything)

Word count: 7k

A/N: Hello everyone! This is the first piece of writing I've finished after a ten year drought and the first ever time I'm sharing my writing online and I don't think I've ever been this scared. I've been sitting on this story since November and decided that I'd share it as a gift to myself on my birthday. This is definitely more of a short story about my oc, Mateo, than a Jack Daniels fic. But I think he fit in well with Mateo and I couldn't help but write him in the way I did.

Also, I'd like to give a huge thank you to my sister and my two best friends for giving this a read and to @jazzelsaur who is truly a beacon of inspiration and encouragement 💛 If you do come across this fic and decide to give it a read I hope you enjoy it!

....

Waking up had been slow going today.

The quiet blue of early morning skies had stirred the comfortable darkness of the room. Eyes slowly opening up, Mateo took in his bedroom; the window to his left letting in the smallest bit of blue light. His alarm still a way to go off on his bedside table, he can’t help but smile at a large glass of water sitting next to it that certainly wasn’t there before he’d drifted off.

Unwilling, more than unable to extract himself from a pair of arms with a vice grip around his waist, he had gotten used to a certain kind of warmth in his bed. Jack, with his brown hair tussled by the pillow’s cotton and his cheek folded in two, never strayed too far from Mateo’s heat in sleep. The sight of the brown-haired man next to him never ceased to set latter’s heart alight.

Waking up before Jack was not a common occurrence, so whenever Mateo did manage to be the one up before the sun, he always took a moment to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. That the sight of the man next to him would not wither away with the rays of sun filtering through the curtains.

When had he gotten so lucky?

When will it run out, whispered a voice, cynical and tired all the same.

The times where he had to remind himself that, no, Jack would not leave him, had slowly dwindled over time. But whenever that grating, fearful voice made itself heard, Mateo couldn’t help but bristle. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would go back to being alone again soon.

Whenever Jack saw the creases in between Mateo’s brows get deeper whether it be while reading in silence next to each other on his old couch or while in the middle of a mundane chore, but clearly lost somewhere deep inside his mind, he’d know. He’d know that whatever Mateo had been thinking up until that point couldn’t be worth occupying any more of his heart. A teasing comment, “Slacking off in the middle of a chore mister?”, would usually bring Mateo back to earth. He never could help the small, sheepish chuckle that burst free from his lips, nor the warmth that crept up his neck all the way to his ears at the realization that Jack had had his eyes on him while his mind was running a mile a minute. Mateo would usually answer with an equally teasing remark. Something like, “Looks like you’re not being that useful either, cowboy, if your eyes are lingering elsewhere”.

They would always seal the little back and forth with a kiss. Maybe two.  

Jack’s kiss would be a reminder.

Mateo’s would be a benediction.

A low inhale and a croaked out “G’morning darlin’” brought Mateo out from the warm memory.

He had, as of late, found himself preferring to revel in the moment anyway.

“Mornin’. You sleep well?”

Jack had leaned in, Kentucky drawl pouring out of his mouth like molten sugar before dipping his head for a kiss, “Well, with you in my arms I had no other chance.”

“Getting real cheesy in your old age, cowboy.”

“Is that complainin’ I’m hearin’?”

Mateo couldn’t help the grin taking over his face, “Not a chance.”

That morning, a kiss had turned into two, then three. By the time they had to be out the door and well into treading through the day’s work, they had only just been able to separate one sweat slicked skin from the other.

Getting cleaned up for the day hadn’t fared any quicker.

-----

Trying to run a farm alone, no matter how much smaller it was compared to his neighbors’, was not getting any easier. Looking at the five goats frolicking around the fields Mateo had started making a mental list on the day’s chores. Hat on his head, and a small notebook in hand, he was trying to write down just how he could expand the barn to house the sheep he was planning on purchasing. The creaky building wasn’t large by any means, barely having room for five goats and a couple poultry.

The wheat fields weren’t any easier to manage. He dreaded the work, hours on end under the scorching sun, the grown wheat scratching and itching his skin. Making sure one of the goats hadn’t escaped into the growing fields wasn’t any fun either. The small farm life his parents had imagined certainly wasn’t imagined for a lone farmer, no matter how manageable they thought it’d be.

Thank God for Jack.

One of the posts near the goats’ barn needed last minute replacing and Jack, even with all the work on his own fields, had made his way to Mateo’s as soon as he could to help him out. Although the work would have taken less long than if he had tried to go at it alone, once Jack had gotten there, he found another dozen things to fix around the farm.

Which is why Mateo was now making his way back to the house to pack up their lunches so they could eat it in between breaks, per Jack’s suggestion. He was sure Mateo would forego the lunch and work himself to the bone come dinner time.

“An impromptu picnic darlin’… it’ll be romantic”,Jack had teased.

“Yeah, real romantic with the smell of goat shit to keep us company”, Mateo had jabbered on while taking measurements of exactly where the fence needed fixing.

Jack had slowly made his way over to Mateo’s side, standing with a hip jutted out next to the barn posts. Sneaking a peek out of the corner of his eye at a dangerous grin gracing Jack’s face, Mateo couldn’t hold back the smile taking over his own nor the warmth creeping up his neck. He could tell Jack was having a good old time seeing his face go beet red.

Sneaking a hand up under Mateo’s sleeveless work shirt, the warmth and scratchiness of the fabric on the back of Jack’s hand a contrast to the sweat dampening Mateo’s back, the mustachioed cowboy had slowly leaned in even further Mateo’s side. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while hon’”, Jack had whispered, his warm breath a gentle breeze on Mateo’s cheek, his carefully trimmed mustache tickling the lone farmer’s damp temple.

Trying to find his footing with Jack’s flirting had taken him a while. Though he still did stumble and make a fool of himself every now and again.

A low and chocked out “I’ll hold you to that, sweetheart”, was all Mateo could manage.

The smell of linden from nearby trees in the yard wafts through the air now, their soft breeze soothing the sweat building up on Mateo’s neck. Seeing the dusty yellow paneled house always put him in a good mood. He had learned to shut out any bad memories that may have been lingering somewhere in his mind over time. He never wanted to remember the place that his mom tried so hard to turn into a warm home, with the disdain he had for a ghost who he tried hard to forget.

The house was just enough for the two of them while he was growing up. A wraparound porch with two rocking chairs, and the view of a couple patches of carnations near the bottom of the stairs leading up to the door greeted him.

Making his way in Mateo first checks his mailbox before giving a small touch to the dash of purple and red carnations, the grass surrounding them carefully stepped around.

Every month he’d get exactly five envelopes. Water, gas, and electricity bills accompanied by the town’s newsletter and a letter from his aunt who refused to use the landline Mateo helped her install in her home.

Right now, standing just inside the doorway, he had six letters in his hand. Walking into the living room’s warm green walls, he counted them carefully, a sense of unexplained dread unfurling throughout his chest. Three bills, the town’s newsletter, his aunt’s letter and another one…from a Mateo Lanzo.

It hadn’t been long since he had last thought about his father.

Not exactly possible to completely forget someone you share a name with.

Not like he hadn’t tried.

Mateo hadn’t been struck dumb like this in a while. So much so that he wasn’t even aware of his feet slowly taking him further inside the house, standing in front of the small table in front of the window overlooking the garden, the rest of the post falling gracelessly on top of it.

He slowly sets the envelope with his name on it on top of the others.

What was he supposed to do? Open it? Read it? And then what?

He couldn’t possibly deal with this now.

Not when there was work to be done around the farm. The farm that he had inherited at such a young age that it would send him into a spiral, choking on his own breath on his bedroom floor. The farm that belonged to his father. The farm that his father left one stuffy summer morning without so much as a goodbye. A birthday cake with candles unlit spending hours on the kitchen table until his mother had had enough and sent it straight into the bin.

He realizes, with a bitter taste on his tongue, that he still hasn’t really come back from that day.

He can’t possibly read it now. Not when Jack is out by the fields, waiting for him under the scorching sun—though he’s probably now lying under a tree’s shade with his hat over his face, just “resting his eyes, darlin’, you’re welcome to join”.

He should pick up their lunch, go to his truck and make his way back to Jack. He wishes so desperately to walk out the door, forgetting the letter to deal with it some other time. But it’s as if his feet are made of lead. He can’t help but just…look at it. As if by sheer will power alone, he could set the offending piece of paper on fire by glaring at it.

How dare he?

After two decades, two hearts broken, one that buried the pain in her eyes and the other that ignored it until it grew too much to handle, now he decides to check up?

What could he have even written that would be worthwhile?

Can’t really know it without reading it though, can you?

He can’t read it now. Not when he knows that it will set him off course, distracting him from all the work that needs to be done by the end of day. Distracting him from Jack.

Jack. As if he could hide anything from him. Jack would know something was up the second he laid eyes on Mateo’s flushed face, eyes reddened from trying to keep irate tears at bay, voice strained from trying not to choke on his words, trying his best at keeping his sobs trapped in his throat.

He knows he’ll regret the moment he goes to pick up a knife from the dish rack, making his way around the kitchen table, knocking his hip to its side, can’t help but slicing the envelope open in one fell swoop, letting his curiosity run his movements.

Breath catching in his throat, he can’t help his eyes run over the disheveled lines.

-----

Jack had never been so worried.

Mateo hadn’t been the same since he came back from the house, hands empty of the lunch Jack was planning on turning into a picnic under the linden trees.

Jack’s standing over the stove, trying his best to not to appear overbearing, focusing on the chili that’s slowly steaming. When he had decided to make the dish, he was hoping he could bring a sense of calm to Mateo’s otherwise silently thundering mood. He sneaks a look at him, sitting on the desk by the window, just outside the kitchen’s open entrance, his soft brown eyes almost black as he stares off into the distance, the sad grimace that had taken over his face during the day a permanent fixture on his handsome farmer’s face.

He had an inkling that something was off in the way Mateo had made his way back. When he had asked if everything was okay, a dangerously level “Yeah, sure” and a deliberate attempt at trying to hide from his gaze had convinced him.

It had simply been too long since Mateo had tried to run from his eyes. Not that he was ever any good at it. Shyness was never really in his nature. Jack had made him out be a natural flirt when they’d first met, taken aback since he would always be the flirty one. Back then, Jack couldn’t help but revel in the fact that Mateo could ever really be interested in a man like him. Apart from the initial uncertainty of the situation, it had been a long time since he’d let himself meet someone—anyone—new in an intimate way. He’d been scared that he might have been getting ahead of himself. Mateo had just offered to buy him one drink, after learning that Jack was to be one of his neighbors. So, he was just being neighborly, surely.

After three rounds of cheap whiskey that turned both their esophaguses to dust, Mateo had offered him a ride home.

Jack couldn’t possibly say no.

Those first few months were filled with intimate moments laced with a haze of uncertainty. Jack had picked up on Mateo’s careful distance with a grain of salt. He could tell that what Mateo needed was enough time and space, and Jack had—for the first time in a long while—been willing to be patient.

He understood better than most, that even though time was fleeting, he couldn’t control the speed at which a heart was willing to go. 

Mateo had always needed a bit more time when it came to relationships and opening up. Jack had always been all to willing to give him whatever he needed to be worthy of his trust. Which is how he knows that if he were to push Mateo to talk about whatever was bothering him now could only go sideways.

But something about this was different.

He doesn’t remember ever seeing Mateo so…unmoored.

He had been distracted all afternoon, forgetting to pack their lunches that he had gone to the house for in the first place, avoiding giving full sentence answers to Jack’s worrisome tone that he tried so hard to hide.

“Don’t tell me you ate both our lunches darlin’? I know you said it wouldn’t be romantic with goat shit around but—” Jack had chuckled his way through the question. Mateo had appeared to have remembered the sandwiches growing soggy on the kitchen counter when Jack had brought them up.

“Shit, yeah sorry. I must’ve forgot.”

 Avoiding looking at him was Jack’s second clue that something was wrong.

“Nah, it’s alright hon’. You run into someone or somethin’?”

That had drawn a weary sigh from Mateo. “Yeah…something like that”, he had mumbled under his breath making his way over to the wheat fields.

Jack knew better than to ask exactly who Mateo had “run into”. He knew he wasn’t about to get a satisfactory answer when Mateo was so reluctant to even meet his eyes.

The smell of spices filling the house, Jack steps out of his thoughts. The cornbread that was siting warm in the oven—Mateo’s favorite—is taken out, placed on the table. Jack tries his best to keep worry out of his tone as he calls for Mateo, “Dinner’s served, darlin’.”

He tries his best to keep worry out of his eyes, as Mateo seems to be taken away from his mind, numbly making his way to the dinner table.

He fails at not feeling a little bit defeated as Mateo opts not to make a comment on his favorite dinner.

Jack is sure he can wait it out; wait for Mateo’s spirit to settle, see if he decides to tell him about whatever it was that cast a shadow across his eyes.

Jack is sure of him; the rest will never be as important.

-----

Mateo had never been so unsure before.

He can’t help but get lost in his thoughts at the dinner table.

Jack had made his favorite; chili and cornbread, the shared comfort recipe a pleasant surprise that had bonded them tighter years ago. The smell of paprika, garlic and a spice he still couldn’t put his finger on—a secret from Jack’s grandmother—a comforting reprieve from his racing thoughts.

Not that he succeeds at that. He tries to eat, manages to go through a couple bites before giving up, his stomach locked up tight since he read his father’s letter.

How dare he?

After reading the letter a fifth time, deciding that anger was still on the forefront of his mind and body, he had wanted to tear the piece of paper apart and burn it. Forget it ever existed. Forget he ever read it. It was another kind of anger when he realized he couldn’t bring himself to do any of those things. He wanted to burn it to a crisp. He wanted to strip it apart word by word. He wanted to swallow it whole, make the words brand themselves inside every inch of his being. He wanted it to swallow him, giving in to darkest parts of his mind, letting it take root until nothing of him was left.

He wanted to write back.

He wanted to tell him to fuck off and die in a ditch somewhere for all he cared.

He wanted to ask him why he had to be so cruel all his life.

He just wanted to know: why?

Everything he ever felt about the man, everything he tried drowning out over years was slowly swimming their way up to Mateo’s surface.

While his soul grew more restless by the second, he felt suspended in his body as if the world went on moving without him. A nightmarish heaviness seeping inside his bones, he wants to scream, yell, and cry until he stops feeling altogether.

Jack must be a saint, he thinks.

The scrape of a chair on the tiled floor makes his eyes go up as Jack gets up from his seat to start clearing the table and washing the dishes. Mateo gets up to help. Jack stops him as he tries to pick up his plate.

“I got this, darlin’. Why don’t you go relax on the porch a little? I’ll bring us a couple beers when I’m done and we can drown out the day, huh? What do you say?”

A small nod was all Mateo could manage, still not looking at Jack long enough to break.

He slowly drags his feet to the porch, letting his limbs weigh down on the rocking chair that was held by duct tapes and a prayer. He tries to take a big breath, filling his lungs with fresh air, his nose taking in every note of peace and calmness that nature holds. Jack had been nothing but patient all throughout helping Mateo with the barn, a worrisome look on his face as he had left to tend to his own farm, the promise of coming over and making dinner firmly in place. He had no idea how grateful Mateo was that he hadn’t pushed him for what happened on the spot. Even when he had every reason to.

He wonders if any of the others before Jack would be as understanding of the turmoil wreaking havoc in his mind. Not that he had ever let them in enough to find out. For a man whose heart never ceased to seek a lover’s warmth, it was somehow also the one thing he kept under strict lock and key. Can’t break something that you never had.

Or so he thought.

He remembers them, then.

Dylan, who he could only describe as his first love, with sand burnt hair and eyes that revealed his heart without abandon, he was one of the first people who Mateo felt free with for the first time in his life. Two teenage boys, limbs unsteady, hearts even more so. One who could have all the girls his heart desired and the other who would rather hide beneath the other’s shadow, hoping dreadfully that maybe it would be his heart the former desired.

Lovers in a small town never really stayed a secret; but Mateo and Dylan had no other choice.

He remembers then; 16 and as reckless as he can be, driving aimlessly to the edge of town, windows drawn down, watching how the wind rustled those blonde locks more than he dared watched the road. Not that the road went anywhere important. They would only have the courage to go as far as the century old oak tree that every small town seemed to have, trying their damnedest to imagine being anywhere but here.

It was in that same car, parked under the big oak tree that they shared their many firsts. Their first kiss, tentative and shy meeting eager and impatient. The first time they realized salvation could be found in the embrace of another. Their first heartbreak.

Mateo shuts his eyes, Dylan’s tears a distant image he still can’t bear to remember.

He lets his mind wander. Blonde streaks of hair and teary eyes make way for a pair of earth warmed browns, the color matching perfectly with a head of curly hair that left the breeze of lavenders wherever she went.

When he’d met Leonie at 25, his heart had already been broken once and Mateo had tried his best to keep its fluttering at bay.

He never could fool his heart.

Leonie, with sparks in her eyes and ideals the size of the world on her heart. Leonie, whose eyes never failed to mask her anger and sadness at the cruelty of the world around them, yet whose soul held so much hope for the future. Despite the surefootedness in her bones, her heart had always been soaring for all the time he knew her.

Leonie, with that wicked grin that would have him on his knees. Leonie, who could kiss him stupid and make his heart soar along with hers. Leonie, who could see straight through him, all his wants and desires, never once judging him for the pieces of him not yet ready to meet the world.

Even though he knew it was coming, it was a different kind of sadness when he realized she was not going to stay forever tethered to his side. Even though he had tried so hard to silence the prayers for her to stay maybe just a little bit longer trying to burst free from his chest.

Her eyes bright and shining, a little impatience in her steps with her heart on her sleeve but guarded nonetheless, she would not rest until she met the world.

He had driven her to the airport himself. It was then that he had learned how to keep his tears to the road back home.

He had found a semblance of stability five years after she’d left. A stability that didn’t necessarily scare him at first.

One night, after the loneliness of the farm had seeped so deep into his bones and he had no other choice but to drown out the silence with the steady hum of a burning liquor, Mateo had found himself in a dive bar two hours out of town. About an hour after downing two glasses of the liquid, he had found himself rustling in scratchy motel sheets with a man who looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Maybe it was the solidarity of the feeling that drew Mateo to Frank’s arms.

Frank, with his broad shoulders and work roughened hands. Frank, who was also running from the lonely life of a rancher, newly widowed, grieving a soul gone too soon.

Neither ever visited the other’s town…neither really had an inkling to. It was at this halfway point that they first drowned out drinks as if distant friends were catching up, and then driving to a motel and drowning out their sorrows in the other’s warm embrace. He still desperately wishes to forget that dingy bar’s name.

It was Frank’s way of touching him that always had Mateo’s heart in a vice grip. Calloused hands that never strayed from making him feel cherished. Their need to make the other feel good would always end up in both burly men on a heap in tangled sheets.

Mateo knew he was in danger when it had become harder and harder to peel himself away from Frank. He thought he was doing them both a favor when he didn’t ever go back to that bar. Maybe it was a good thing, he thought, that he had left Frank’s life the way he came in. Without a message, without any trace. He had learned not to shed any tears by then.

His heart never really did heal from that one.

Not until a pair of deep brown eyes met his own about four years ago, introducing himself as the new farmer moving into their town. Jack had made quick work of his late aunt’s farm with all the enthusiasm he could muster after losing the last family that he truly loved.

It would be Mateo who would end up covering him with a warmth Jack had abandoned all hope of feeling long ago.

Mateo gave him that hope; and without knowing Jack had done the same.

Kindred spirits, Mateo’s mother would call them if she could see them.

We’d drive her insane, he can’t help but think. When had Jack’s voice started to mingle so seamlessly with his own inside his head? The sharpness in Mateo’s chest softens with the thought.

He looks over at Jack sitting next to him. Face turned toward the horizon, mustache stained with the beer that’s grown lukewarm in his hand, he is still the most beautiful man Mateo has ever seen.

When they’d first met, Mateo couldn’t help but stare at Jack without abandon. From the subtle curls trying to peek out beneath his hat, the way those whiskey brown eyes sparkling with mirth, to the crow’s feet that graced his eyes, he had Mateo a goner from the beginning. In those first few months of getting to know one another, both out in the fields and in each other’s embrace, Mateo could see the life lived within Jack, hiding in the wrinkles that adorned his face. He had pondered on how he could add to those wrinkles perpetuating his every expression, along with the lines and dimples that came out of hiding whenever he smiled.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be a mark of a life well lived on this man’s face.

The thought hadn’t scared him as much as he ever thought it would.

-----

They sit next to each other on the old swinging chairs on the back porch, overlooking first the yard and then the fields, each with a cheap bottle of beer in their hands, a couple empty ones sitting on the creaking floorboards beneath them.

The old radio just inside the doorway gives a crackling sound before finding its footing, the crooning of Karen Dalton making way for John Denver’s.

Time might’ve been what Mateo needed but sometimes a little push could go a long way. Jack had learned that back when he finally came clean to Mateo about being in too deep, laying all his fears at the altar of Mateo’s soul, praying to a love long lost that maybe he didn’t mess up his second chance at happiness.

He had never been gladder to have taken a leap of faith.

So, he asks.

“You going to tell me about what happened on your way back to the house today or are we still playin’ three monkeys, baby?”

Mateo finally let his eyes meet his. Jack always knew when to steer him to shore. He was actually surprised he had waited this long to bring it up.

Mateo’s heart breaks a little at the thought that he had been nothing but chummy at this loving man all day. The man who hadn’t left his side all this time.

“I got a letter in the mail today, from someone I thought was long gone”, he chokes out, surprising himself with his own honesty, “Someone I thought I wouldn’t ever hear from again.”

Ah, then. There it was. The one part of himself Mateo had been adamant about keeping strictly under covers. It’s not as if he hadn’t ever talked about his father to Jack; he had glazed over the worst of it in the still of the night a couple times, when sleep was inexplicably absent from his bedroom as the sky turned from dusk to dawn.

Jack knows about the infamous Mateo Lanzo. The farmer turned husband, then father, then a John Doe, to a deadbeat divorced father. He knows about the heartbreak that killed Mateo’s late mother, and the heartbreak still suffered by the man he loves.

Jack also knows something about patience. How Mateo had more of it than he gave himself credit for, especially when it came to feelings of conflict. He simply gave himself too much time not to feel but to bury everything that ached in his chest.  

Jack remembers how it had taken about a year and a half to muster up the courage to share how he’d lost his wife and child himself. Mateo could already see the scars; both the ones that he could spend hours tracing with his fingertips, his lips, his tongue, and those that would only be visible in certain moments. In the swift pain that clouded the spark in his eyes whenever he saw a jet-black haired woman with a child, in the hitch of breath he took whenever he talked about life back in Kentucky, in the still of the night whenever he woke up with a quiet gasp and sweat dampened hair, eyes looking for a face long gone…

He had always appreciated Mateo not pushing him to talk about them. Or more so, pushing him to talk about them in the right moments.

This, this seemed like a right moment for Jack to do the pushing. He could help. Whatever it was that he held back about his father, he could help Mateo carry it.

“What’s he saying then?”

Mateo bristles.

Jack knew it wouldn’t be easy to talk about, but he couldn’t help but hear a voice inside his head yelling out that he deserved to know. Jack also knew that that’s not what Mateo deserves.

So, he waits.

The shock of the question, of being seen, wears off when Mateo finally answers, “A bunch of nonsense really.”

Another attempt at hiding gone sideways as Mateo sees Jack raise a single eyebrow, as if he’s challenging him.

He never could hide from him long.

“He wants to talk. If I’m up for it that is”, Mateo sighs out.

“Well, that don’t sound like complete nonsense to me”, Jack drawls carefully; it always takes a little coaxing for Mateo to give any details. “Did he write why he wants to talk now? After, what, twenty-five years?”

Mateo corrects him a little too quickly, “Twenty-seven.” He tries to swallow down the knot that doesn’t seem to go away from his throat. He wants to talk about this, just not with snot and tears all over the place.

Anger flares up inside him then. This man, who left him and his mother to fend for themselves, without so much as the courtesy of saying goodbye, sending his mother down a spiral thinking that the worst might’ve happened to the man she loved until the young postman handed her trembling hands divorce papers. Oh, how Mateo wished the worst had happened to his father after all.

No. This man did not deserve his tears. His heartbreak.

How dare he?

“I hate him. I never could say it to my mother, she wouldn’t let me. Still loved that bastard after everything he put her through. But I hated him then. Still do now.”

“You know, you don’t have to do anyth—”

“I know that”, Mateo spits out, harsher than he ever intended.

God, he just wants to go back. To last night, after a long day’s work, drifting off into a comfortable sleep with the man he loves. He would even take going back to this morning when life seemed just a little bit easier than it does now. He wishes he didn’t ever see that letter, willing to have let it go to trash unknowingly with the junk mail.

He knows he’s being a wimp.

He knows that dealing with this letter is more than dealing with just a piece of paper.

He also knows that Jack just wants to help. In whatever way Mateo would allow him to.

“Talking about him…it’s not easy. I want to, with you, I really do. I just—", he stops. He feels the sobs climb up from his chest up to his throat, catching in the wind of the breaths he desperately tries to take. “I don’t feel anything but anger when it comes to him. And” he takes a deep breath, sighs out, “…it scares me.”

“Scares you how?”, Jack asks.

He can’t stop the tears that blur his vision. “Scares me how comfortable I am in it. It’s constant. I don’t think I can ever remember a time where I was happy with him there. But after a while it grew dull, you know? The anger, the loathing. So, it got easy to just…let it grow. But I never wanted it to poison me. Him not being here helped with that though. After a while I just liked to think that he died. Not like I could do anything about him being gone, confronting him.” Not like I ever thought about it, Mateo thought with a poorly veiled grimace.

“You have thought about it though”, Jack offers.

Mateo’s first instinct is to try and deny. Jack stops him short.

“Don’t act as if there’s a chance that I don’t know you Teo. You have no idea how many times I’ve seen you for you. I know you. And that’s okay darlin’. I’m here ‘cause I like what I see”, Jack declares with a smile that can only be described as in love, his eyes crinkling around the corners.

Mateo sees himself in those lines.

His heart stutters a beat at the realization.

They’d said their “I love you”s a long while ago. But something told Mateo that whenever he uttered the words from now on, it would hold a heavier meaning. A heaviness he felt elated to carry.

“What’d you imagine saying to him when you were younger?”, Jack implored, eyes almost pleading, as if to say “Come on, baby, you can let me in. Promise I’ll make it worth your while”.

So, Mateo sucks in a lungful of air, the smell of linden trees waltzing through the fields with an early autumn breeze.

He remembers his mom and how she would let him play around for hours running up and around the branches of that same linden tree. The same tree that she would pick from to make tea with whenever Mateo got close to catching a cold after running around and sweating through his shirt. The same tree that he used to climb up and hide in whenever his father’s voice became too loud to handle.

Mateo squeezes his eyes shut against the memory.

He sucks in another breath. Lets it out.

He wants to unfold.

Jack wants—and deserves—to help.

So, he begins.

-----

Waking up was slow going this morning.

They’d gone to bed later, much later, than they normally would.

Last night—and well into dawn—was the first time Mateo had been at his most vulnerable. If you asked either one of them, they would both admit that this had been a long time coming, but that it was worth it. Every scar, every hurt, every shortcoming, every fear was laid bare before Jack’s heart. He hadn’t faltered in his promise; every piece of Mateo that fell away to reveal a new part of the man he loved, Jack would quietly pick up the piece, holding it dear to his soul. Mateo hadn’t realized when his tears had started to flow without restraint.

He had told him all. How it felt as if his father was the one piece still missing from him, how he felt guilty at the prospect on behalf of his mother who kept going as long as she did with a broken heart; how he’d been a coward for most of his life, breaking hearts first because he couldn’t bare to live through someone else breaking him again; how even though he is filled with anger, it is actually the thought of forgiving and being forgiven that makes him tremble with fear, filling the darkest corners of his soul.

Jack had listened and held his hand with a firm grip, his weight never wavering; at once Mateo felt both the weight of his past lifting from his shoulders and never feeling so grounded before.

He was intent on being the rock Mateo leaned on.

And Mateo leaned.

There was Jack’s voice echoing inside his head as they’d both finally drifted off to sleep.

A suggestion that he actually thought would be useful.

“Why don’t you just write to him? Not to send out a reply but just to let it all out, maybe. Take it one step at a time. Write, see how you feel, and then decide what to do with it. Chop it up and burn it or send it. It’s up to you darlin’. He doesn’t get to dictate how you feel about this. You don’t owe him anything. If you do end up wanting to burn it, I’ll bring the matches. If you end up wanting to send it, I’ll find you the stamps”, Jack had said when they woke up, voice sleep rough but mind alert as ever.

Jack had learned to find the ideal path to any solution long before he and Mateo had met.

He used to be a strategist; using every piece of information he had to his advantage was something he’d not only needed to learn but excel at. Under much undesirable conditions, working for his life by putting it in danger for someone else. They’d call it “the greater good”; though, toward the end he’d realized it was anything but. By the end, he knew better.

He didn’t need to be a strategist now. He just needed to be there for the one person he loved, however he might need him to.

Mateo could find solace in Jack for that kindness alone.

He takes the afternoon to try and focus on his small garden of flowers in the yard. His hat on his head, the afternoon sun still scorching at his back, he feels his mind clear as he tends to the soil, clearing out the weed and the leaves and flowers that have withered over time. He feels tethered here, hands and knees digging into the dirt.

He always treated any place out in the yard that had ever been tended to by his mother as gifts left from her. He knew exactly how to care for them, how much water and sun they’d need; he had learned how to care for them from her. Just as she’d learned from his father.

A blurred memory unfurls suddenly; his mother planting daisies on the edge of the yard while his father gives them their first splash of water.

He decides not to think of it any further, trying his best not to muddle the clarity his mind had gathered from the earth. His work done, flowers cared for and watered, he makes his way inside the house.

Inside, his mother’s desk in front of the window catches the setting sun’s last rays, gathering heat into its old woods.

-----

His mother had never told him that the flower beds were a joint effort. Never reminded him of the fact. A symbol of their love, she’d always thought. And for a while it was. Those early days of their marriage taking care of the flowers together was the brightest part of her days.

It was a different kind of heartbreak when he stopped caring, leaving her to take care of them by herself.

She had tried so hard and for so long to keep them alive. She had hoped Mateo would have more luck when it came not just to flowers but to affairs of the heart as well. Having seen him run from a happiness the world seemed intent on being against enraged her more than she ever let on. She had wished with a tenacity few possessed, that her son could one day be fearless in his love. It was as if only she could see that her boy held so much love in his bones.

If only he knew that his heart would one day be his savior.

It is with that heart that he sits at the old wooden table his mother used to sit at, writing letters to distant family, using it as a knitting station when her hands grew too restless to write.

It is with that heart he now picks up a pen and paper, a warm baritone voice echoing in his ears, encouragement dripping from every imagined syllable.

It is with that heart he now puts pen to paper; and bares his soul.

[guppybubbles]

FAKE FIC TITLE!!!!!!!!

Roll me a 6 🎲

Roll me a 6 (Discontinued Draft)

SBI plays homebrew DND and borrower Tommy sucks at being a giant.

Word Count: 1594 words

CONTENT WARNING: zombies, thats it im p sure

(A/N: i wrote this a really long time ago. i think the moment this ask was sent, this is the one i wrote first until i went to write the other fake fic titles. i lost motivation and inspiration to finish it and i dont have enough knowledge about dnd mechanics and doodads so !!! have this instead, since i dont want it collecting dusts in my drafts :DD )

"Tommy, slow down!" 

"I caaan't! Look at me, I'm a big man! THE Big Man!" 

Fortunately for the twins, Tommy did stop running, proudly puffing his chest with his arms crossed. Wilbur gladly took shelter from the sun behind his younger brother's massive shadow, sweating profusely— though he doesn't know whether that was from the sun or from the fact that he struggled to catch up to Tommy. Maybe both.

The Phantom glanced over to his Piglin twin, who could be less bothered. More resistant to the sun’s deadly rays, Techno barely broke a sweat, preferring a slow stride and taking his time to carefully scout out their surroundings. If anything, he was supposed to be in the front of them rather than the back. He held the map, and he was more knowledgeable in adventuring for treasure. Wilbur was 100% sure Tommy didn’t know what he was doing.

“Tommy, slow down, you know Wilbur loses hunger faster if he’s always invisible. I think he has a worst appetite than you.” 

“WHAT? That’s not true!”

Tommy looked behind him, finally noticing that Wilbur took shelter in his shadow, away from the sun that reminded him of a vampire. Oh. Right. He was a phantom. If he can remember correctly, they were fine in the sun if they remained invisible, but being invisible for a long time makes Wilbur get even hungrier and Techno mentioned they have to save their limited supply of food. They agreed to keep moving and waste less daylight by having Wilbur shield himself through Tommy, but he guessed he was too excited for his first adventure and ran way too much for the phantom’s liking. “Right. Sorry, Wil.”

“Whatever, child, it’s fine.” Wilbur waved a hand, “It’s almost sunset anyway, we need some rest. Tech, where can we set up camp?"

"Uhhhh." Techno shuffled through his inventory for the map, and his eyes scanned for the perfect place for a camp. "We won't encounter a village for a long while, but there is…" He trailed off for a bit, moving closer to Wilbur so he'll be able to see where they're heading.

"There's a big clearing in the forest we're heading to, we can take night shifts to protect each other from mobs so we can all get some good sleep." Techno pointed to a forest labeled ‘Everglades Forest’, there was a noticeable empty patch of green surrounded by trees not far from where they stood. They could make it there before the sun fully sets and camp up for the night.

“Got it, lead the way. And Tommy, walk slower please, I don’t think I can take another run for today.” Wilbur pleads, gently patting Tommy’s knee when he crouched down to take a look at the map as well. “Not my fault you are so incredibly slow.” 

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

The clearing was beautiful. After making a campfire, the brothers sat in a circle and drifted from conversation to conversation. Their topics shifted from food, to the past adventures Wilbur and Techno had together, and currently, to the first ever adventure the twins had. 

“No, it wasn’t the village raid one, was it? I remember our first adventure had to be the one with the tomb!”

“Nahh, It was the village. Remember when the village was asking for Phil’s help but he sent us because he thought we were old enough to do it?”

Wilbur and Techno went back and forth about what their first one actually was that even Tommy isn’t sure which side he should believe in. Oh, they were growing so old and forgetful… But it doesn’t matter because Big Man Tommy is here to be the best one out of the three of them! “Just tell me one already.” He whined, hands pulling out incredibly small blades of grass to fidget with. 

“Okay, Okay. We’ll just tell you about the tomb one, I think that was pretty cool. Cooler than the village raid.” Wilbur looked at Techno for their opinion.

“Yeah, ‘cause villagers getting their houses raided is pretty boring.” Techno sarcastically replied, but silently gestured for Wilbur to continue anyway.

The phantom only rolled his eyes in response, but begun his story about their supposed first adventure. “Alright, Phil told us about this mission that no one was taking because it was really dangerous or whatever, so me and Techno decided to sneak out at night to travel to this abandoned tomb and restore this uhh— this stolen artifact that was taken by bandits.”

“The artifact was something like.. The Totem of Undying, I think? It’s been rumored to give people an infinite amount of lives.” Wilbur waved his hands around as he told the story, and Tommy felt himself getting entranced by it. “Infinite? Have people tried stealing it before? How good were those bandits?”

“Well, some would say they were—” “Shh.” Techno cut him off, and Wilbur looked at his twin. When Wil gave him a questioning look, Techno whispered, “Can’t you guys hear it?”

Tommy looked around the clearing, trying to hear anything else besides the crackling of their fire and the rustling of the trees. No one dared to make a sound. There was a grumbling noise to their left, and in unison, their heads turned to the same direction. “Why does it sound like a zombie..?” Tommy asked.

“I forgot to mention… This forest is infested with zombies.” Techno nonchalantly said, taking his axe from his inventory. “Oh, and you just forgot to mention?” Tommy exclaimed, relaxed posture suddenly moving to stand up. A large group of zombies emerged from the darkness, their rotting skin and visible flesh and bones were a disgusting sight to see. The giant swore the air started to smell of decomposing flesh, twisting his stomach to the point where he could almost taste what he recently just ate.

“To be fair,” Techno started, running up to the zombies first. His moves were powerful, cold and calculating. Wilbur has mentioned before just how heavy the Axe of Peace was when he tried lifting it, yet now as Tommy watches Techno, it was a fast flurry of strikes— like the axe weighed absolutely nothing at all. “The map said this clearing was almost always safe.”

An arrow shot from below, and hit a zombie in the eye. ‘That had to be Wilbur’ Tommy thought as another shot fired through, this time with the strong smell of a poison-induced arrow. "Emphasis on the almost!" A disembodied, familiar voice yelled.

He wanted to help too. Tommy could just stomp them all out, but he had to look out for Tech and Wilbur. Techno, who was in the middle of the horde and Wilbur, who was invisible somewhere within the clearing. Tommy stood up, and tripped.

He tripped on zombie guts.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

“I’m sorry, WHAT?!” Tommy yelled.

They all let out a laugh. Phil pointed to the dice, “Sorry, mate. You rolled a one.”

“Is that not a good thing? It means I’m number one!” Tommy patted the Twenty-sided dice.

“That is literally the worst number you can get.” Techno laughed, a small fond smile on his face. 

They were playing a tabletop roleplaying game, with their own rules and their own made up characters and species. It was Tommy’s first time playing with them, so everyone was less strict on the rules and more so trying to let Tommy enjoy their family game.

After watching a few of their sessions within the walls of their home, Tommy didn’t understand their game, but he felt immersed seeing Phil make up a completely imaginary world, and seeing the twins follow and make it even more fun with their decisions. Maybe he got too immersed.

He wasn’t a giant. He was a borrower. 

Tommy moved into the house many months ago, and it was a rare occasion to watch the family play their fun story game. Phil was always busy with his job, and Techno and Wilbur with college, but whenever they had enough free time to spend with one another, this is one of things they would spend hours doing. There would be a couple of their friends to join in from time to time, but it would mostly be just the three of them.

“It’s not my fault the dice is super big, it’s hard to throw!” Tommy picked up the dice and held it close to him as evidence. “Oh my god, look at you holding the dice! You are so teeny!” Wilbur cooed teasingly, gently poking Tommy's side, to which the borrower responded with a smack. “Stop it! Phiilll.” He whined, dropping the dice and attempting to wrestle with Wilbur’s finger.

Phil chuckled, “Wil.” He spoke in a warning tone. Wilbur continued to coo at Tommy for awhile before stopping after ruffling his hair. Techno picked up the dice and rolled it around in his hand, “Well, if you want, we could roll the dice for you instead?” 

Tommy immediately agreed, finding Techno’s good luck with his dice throws enough to accept the offer in an instant. “Yeah, do that!”

“Why not let me roll the dice? I have great luck too.” Wilbur also offered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, like you don’t roll six every single time in a game session before.” Tommy argued. The other two chimed in and agreed.

“Come on! My luck isn’t THAT bad.” Then Phil ushered them to calm down to continue their game, changing the subject so the adventure could continue without Wilbur and Tommy jumping into an argument.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

( A/N: i had more ideas i wanted to write down but this is all my brain could whirr out, ty for reading until the end tihi :> )

[muppet-chaos]

Feeding the Bear for the fanfic meme

I feel like this one might be harder to talk about since I literally just wrote it but we'll see how this goes. Fic here

Originally the plan for this was a one two chapter non-con fic with both Tex/Nobody and Mdawg/Nobody (and that is definitely still coming I swear I won't leave this one in wip hell) but I started writing the Tex/Nobody scene and the sex just... wasn't going to happen, so I ended up deciding to make it even longer and get some build up in there.

Nobody was woken up by the creak of the shed door opening and the light shining onto his face, not that he’d slept much, uncomfortable, chained down, and with the ever-present threat of the actual bear still looming. He glared up at Tex, alone this morning, who stared back at him with an expression he struggled to read.

I'm not sure exactly when this is set relative to 157, whether it's taking the place of the events as they happen in the show or just ambiguously sometime in the time they had Nobody as a prisoner. Either way nobody is already in rough shape here.

“If you ain’t gonna eat the damn fish so I can take the plate back then you don’t get to have it on a plate. A little dirt is good for you. You’ll manage.” Tex had already turned around to leave but he glanced back over his shoulder at Nobody who was staring at him aghast.

I'm kind of proud of the direction of Tex feeding him on the floor, considering everything that was happening to Nobody this ep it feels very in line and the back and forth about it was fun to write.

“You can’t be serious? You expect me to eat this off the floor. Like a fucking dog.” Tex almost laughed at that, a gruff bark of amusement. “You ain’t no dog. A dog would have earned the dignity of eating out of a bowl.”

Something something not beating the puppy allegations, except Nobody kind of is here, which I guess good for him that's a big step away from being Mike Walters.

Something in the way that Tex carried himself, from the last time they had met, had changed. Something in the way he stood, and moved. Nobody had fashioned himself into a bit of a monster when he needed to be, when the situation called for it, he thought. But whatever this was in Tex it wasn’t an act of self-control.

This bit of contrast here is fun, trying to get at how Nobody views himself. He's embracing his ability to do some pretty horrible things and seemingly not feel very bad about it, but that feels like a conscious choice on Nobody's part. Tex on the other hand felt remarkably out of control this episode. It's a neat juxtaposition in the actual show too.

“Fuck you.” Nobody growled right back, and gasped as Tex gave another hard pull on his hair.

I'm surprised I haven't written more hair-pulling by now, cons of mostly writing characters that I usually headcanon as having pretty short hair I guess.

Tex laughed for certain this time though it sounded hollow. “You really are stubborn but I know I should expect that.” Something in Tex was becoming more relaxed though he was just as unyielding. He was letting his weight do the work of holding Nobody down, his legs wrapped around Nobody’s waist. He moved the hand that wasn’t pulling at his hair, scooping up some of the scattered remnants of salmon and pressing his palm against Nobody’s lips. Nobody kept his mouth resolutely shut, the smell of salmon flooding his nose.

You can kiiiind of see the remnants here of where this was going to become more overtly horny but then I changed my mind and went for the force-feeding instead. Something something checkovs salmon. Side note... the texture of cooked salmon is very hard to describe? I was struggling. The best I got is flaky but that didn't mesh with the tone of the piece lol.

“Open. Your mouth. Bear,” Tex hissed. His only response was a closed-mouth grunt. The pull on his skull finally lessened, all the weight of his head in Tex’s palm and then that hand reached around to his jaw gripping hard and trying to wrench his mouth open. Nobody was half thinking to give in and open then bite down hard on the hand that was trying to feed him, but he had a violent clarity on what direction that would take him. He was weak from the time he’d spent here, with bad sleep and not enough food and Tex finally managed to wrench his jaw open and force the handful of flakes of lukewarm dirty salmon into his mouth, slamming it shut again as quickly as his hands were free of Nobody’s teeth. His hand rested around Nobody’s throat, surprisingly gentle, though the threat was there. “Swallow it.”

All I could thing while writing this part was Cannonball going "It's like pilling a cat" in season 4.

Nobody braced himself, half expecting it to come back up, and swallowed, the feeling of dirt and oil still stuck to his tongue. Control was slipping away from him. He felt like he was out of touch with his own body, experiencing it all secondhand. Without thought a whine slipped past his lips, no longer even trying to keep them closed. It was too late for that.

I wasn't planning on writing Nobody dissociating I just got to this point and it seemed like what would be happening at that point.

Anyways, this fic was fun to write and I'm looking forward to doing the rest of it. I've been looking for an excuse to try writing force feeding for a while (I've got a Ryanball wip with it that I finally cracked the block on) and this one just sort of blindsided me out of nowhere. I hope this look behind the curtain on it was interesting.

[courfee]

krabat au origin story | wc 1.2k | cw: death

i started writing a jegulus krabat au, then wrote the backstory to this au to understand the world better. i don't think i'm ever going to finish the actual fic, but the backstory is sitting at 1.2k words so i thought i might as well just put it here

Albus Dumbledore had sworn he would do everything to make the world a better place.

When, in his young years, he had fallen in love with Gellert Grindelwald, plans were easily formed. They wanted to help, but it had to be in a way that mattered. A way that lasted. It wasn’t enough to settle down and build on some farm land, to hand out food to people who needed it and provide shelter to those without. It had to be something grand, something monumental, that would change the very makeup of the world entirely. It had to be something that would last forever. But for that to achieve they decided they, too, would have to last forever.

It wasn’t until long before they found out about the Deathly Hallows. Three unassuming objects, three tokens that together would grant them power over Death himself. What exactly that power meant they weren’t sure, but it was easy enough to assume that they would gain immortality, and maybe even get to grant life where they saw it fit. Quickly it became the very core of their plan for the greater good.

The first object Gellert found. A book, not ordinary in any way, filled from front to back in rusty red ink, laced with words upon words of magic and wizardry. Along with power to bend the rules of the physical world to their will it gave information about where to go from where they were to where they wanted to be. And with that information, not long after that Albus found the second object, a stone that when turned over the bones of those passed on could pull them back for a moment in time, no more than a shadowy representation of them. Not having any bones nor anyone they’d like to talk to, the stone got sat aside in their pockets as a means to the end of defeating Death.

It was on their way to the third object that they began fighting. It started innocently enough, a simple squabble between lovers, nothing more, but the closer they came to where they knew their final piece to power rested, the more heated the argument became.

It was in Godric’s Hallow, ironically enough the same place that Albus’ family had moved to after his sister had fallen sick, that the Elder’s Book said a piece of cloth was hidden, a perfect piece of finely woven silk, buried with who was said to be one of the very men who had bested Death all these centuries ago. There broke out some debate between the lovers whether or not they could disturb the final resting place of Ignotus Peverell to take his shroud from his aged, dusted bones. Gellert, in the end, took the Elder’s Book and threatened Albus, started speaking cursed words that would have forced Albus’ hand either way, and so he relented, agreed, and with the help of Gellert – and the book – dug up the last of the Deathly Hallows.

They expected some grande something to happen once all the objects were reunited in their hands. But nothing of the likes took place. Nothing at all, not even when Albus confirmed the shroud to be the truthful last Hallow, wrapping him in invisibility when he laid it across his shoulders. And that was when doubt started taking root. The lingering dispute between the lovers only enforced the negative feelings, the fear that all their plans, their working together had been for naught.

This was how Albus’ brother and sister, on their way to visit their mother’s grave, found them in the end. Arguing back and forth about what went wrong, about if they were on the right track. Gellert thought there had to be a clue in the book, and spell after spell he spoke, trying to pull Death from his misty shadows, to bend to their will. Arguing became shouting when Albus spotted his siblings, not wanting them to see the witchcraft they were doing, nor the still freshly turned earth behind them. Words turned vile when his brother Aberforth did see and put together the pieces, condemned them both for playing with things that should never be played with, out of nothing more than arrogant conceitedness. And when he tried to rip away the book from Gellert’s hand was when Albus, too, in a last attempt to preserve what him and Gellert had worked for for years, spoke the words he still recalled from the book. In combination with his lover’s words the artless spells turned into deathly curses until finally the youngest Dumbledore child, small, innocent Ariana, lay motionless on the ground, yet another pile of lifeless flesh and bone on top the hundred others underneath the earth.

Silence fell then and Gellert’s eyes onto the passage, which up until that point had kept itself hidden from the men.

“They all have to be used,” he deciphered, “All the Hallows have to be used at least once to complete their owner’s triumph over Death.” And it was obvious what he suggested from the way his eyes glimmered in premature triumph. Use the stone over the bones of poor Ariana. No remorse, not until the way to the greater good had been paved to its completion.

And in a blinding moment of clarity, with his sister lying dead and his brother sobbing over her frail body, Albus lost all sense of love he had ever held for the other man. With the shovel he had used to dig up what was left of the youngest Peverell, he now caved another hole deep, deep into the chest of his lover. Until he, too, lay there, bones over bones, blood as deep red as the letters in the book in his now cold hands. And when Albus turned the stone over his remains, Gellert’s ghost appeared, laughing and laughing and laughing, until in a flash that shook the layers the world was made of and rippled the folds of the universe Albus got dragged away from all the people that once loved him.

He found himself in a dim room, the plaster on the walls crumbling, the floor covered with a thick layer of dust, and to his feet the Elder’s Book, the stone of resurrection, and the shroud that would make everyone turn a blind eye to the wearer. And in front of Albus stood, tall and clothed in scarlet red, Death himself.

He bowed his head in front of Albus, and with a voice that seemed to come from all around the room, he said, “I bow to you as my Master, and as long as this mill is running I shall bow to you still, and you shall live. But beware, a mill needs a miller, and a miller needs apprentices twelve to keep the mill alive, and at the end of each year, one of you thirteen must join me. And as the Master over Death, onto you befalls the power to choose whom that fate may meet.”

And Albus, who had come this far, who had lost his sister and his lover and his morality within the same night, decided a single life a year was a fair price for the Greater Good. And so he accepted the scarlet feather, which, with long, bony fingers, Death plucked from his hat and reverently placed in Albus’ outstretched hand, where it burst into flames without burning away.

[irregularbillcipher]

i know that i'm extremely biased because i'm the fic writer that went "fuck it, make 'em both disabled actually" wrt flatlander bill and kryptos, but i saw some people going back and forth over whether kryptos would count as having a birth defect by flatland standards and wanted to toss my hat in the ring!

because honestly? the fact is either one of them could be seen as having some form of disability in flatlander terms just because of how gravity falls draws flatlanders. kryptos has some flatland canon traits, of course-- eye on the vertices and brightness-- and bill has, again, brightness, and the combined eye and mouth which, yes, is canon!

[ID: a section from Edwin Abbott Abbot's Flatland. It is partially cut off and says "line; when the end containing her eye or mouth-- for with us these two organs are identical-- is the part that meets our eye, then we see nothing but a highly" the rest of the quote is cut off, and the word "mouth" is highlighted in green

end ID]

so kryptos has the proper eye placement, according to canon, and bill has the proper organ, according to canon. now, would a separated organ or a misplaced eye count as an actual irregularity? kind of unclear, since a square only ever discusses uneven sides as an irregularity. for my own personal flatland hcs/worldbuilding, i created an offshoot of irregularity called "abnormality," but idk how someone with kryptos' type of birth defect would be classified and treated in the book canon... i can just say that in a eugenic-heavy state like flatland, i cannot imagine he would have had an easy time of it

i also know that most gravity falls flatland truthers just sort of automatically draw all flatlanders as looking like, bill, and tbh i do too! i generally see bill as having a standard flatland "face," or at least a standard "gravity falls version of flatland" face, and kryptos as being the one with a facial abnormality, but i thought it would be interesting to point out that both of their character designs break canon flatlander rules, so hcing either of them as not fitting flatland's ableist standards for beauty and regularity would fit with how their character designs deviate from actual flatland canon

(now, if you're like me and you draw/write flatlanders like bill but still like playing around with the idea that bill isn't completely regular... bill is mistaken for an isosceles on a few occasions by other characters and gets remarkably touchy and defensive in the reddit ama when someone suggests his sides aren't even, which i'm just gonna say is... interesting!)