#i get so lost in the sauce i forget im supposed to be writing

[praynot]

all of you with ocs are so impressive and awe inspiring i cannot even begin to comprehend it all

[marvels-writings]

Hey! Are you willing to write a Carol x R involving a best friend who was separated from other best friend for whatever reason (maybe a childhood crush and homophobic parents? idk) and then both grew up and ran into each other, reconnected/fell in love for real? possible plot twist, with R being on the Avengers, but disappearing during snap, and Carol doesn't find out its R until during or after the final battle? please make it angsty w/fluff

Lost Crushes (1)

A/N: Okay the request confused me a little, Carol knows its R the second they introduce. This is gonna be a long series tho. (m/n means mother name. f/n means father name). And for the record, I DO NOT SUPPORT HOMOPHOBIA OR DISCRIMINATION OF ANY FORM

Warnings: Homophobic scene (kinda in detail, sorry)

You tiredly made your way from your bed to the kitchen of the compound, completely exhausted from the mission and your current lack of sleep. Currently, you couldn’t stop having dreams, almost nightmares about your best friend, Carol Danvers. 

Usually girls got their first crush while watching TV and thinking ‘wow that guy/girl is hot’. You on the other hand, had gotten your first crush while watching Carol race when the two of you were 8. She got hurt, but didn’t really care to be honest. She was pretty, willing to stand up for herself, and nice. 

You groaned and chugged a glass of water, you hadn’t seen her in years, the two of you had gone separate ways, thanks to your parents…

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

“No y/n, this is not normal.” M/n yelled angrily, her fist slamming on the table causing you to flinch. 

Little 5 year old you swirled your fork in your spaghetti and meatballs. With expired sauce. 

“But we just kissed,” You replied earnestly, causing both of your parents to groan and sit down on either side of you. “It’s not that big a deal.”“IT IS A BIG DEAL!” F/n shouted, banging his fist on the table, you looked up at him in fear and shocked. He lowered his voice slightly. “You can’t just, KISS A GIRL! You’re spoiling our reputation!”

“We are NOT going to be dealing with a lesbian when we move to New York,” M/n said and got up, you were shocked as you looked up at her. “Are we sweetie?” She asked, almost threatening as she started emptied the dishwasher. 

“We’re moving to New York?” You asked, your fork dropped, your dad sighed. Not a tired sigh, an angry frustrated sigh. 

“Thanks to you.” He muttered and got up to comfort his wife. 

The next day you went to Carol’s house to find her parents wouldn’t let you in. Her brother came to the door and apologized but sent her away. But one thing you remember distinctly is hearing faint sobbing from Carol’s room. 

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

It’s a memory you definitely wanted to forget. You had moved away, well kind of got kicked out by your parents for your sexuality the second you were able to support yourself. The first thing you did, attend a LGBTQ+ pride parade, then sent them a flag by mail. 

It was fun after you moved out, you got a job in SHIELD after working in a coffee shop for sometime. You got the job through Fury when he’d come to the cafe. After watching you kick the ass of two homophobic assholes, he decided you should come to SHIELD with him. 

One thing led to another, and you, Coulson and Fury were working for SHIELD and on the case of a mysterious blonde breaking into Blockbuster. You sat it out, deciding to collect data instead of getting with everything. 

Turned out, the blonde was trying to warn everyone about some alien race invading the planet. Once Fury saw it, he tried to pursue the blonde, who’s name he said was Vers. weird name. He paged the entire team to come help him with the alien, you had to go of course. 

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

You saw Fury running away with someone and took a deep sigh, deciding to go with them and sending Coulson back. You weren’t supposed to be on the mission anyway so no one would notice you were gone, plus they needed help. 

“Carol?” You asked, dazed as you stepped back from the crates the three of you were hiding behind. 

You had seen the pictures in Maria’s home of her. You had been close friends with Maria before you had to move to NYC, but you found her number in an old phonebook and kept contact with her, visiting when you could. 

It always pissed you off how you’d found the phonebook and visited after Carol’s plane had crash landed. 

“Who?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowed under the SHIELD hat. She looked different, the NIN white t-shirt and black jeans made her look, well, like she was still the same. The same from the pictures, the same from the stories. 

“I’m Vers,” She introduced, then turned her attention back to the situation. You were stunned, after everyone got onto the plane, Fury explained everything he could to you. 

5 years ago the plane had crashed, 5 years ago Carol had left, now Carol was back. 

Maria was gonna have a heart attack. 

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

“Y/n?” Maria questioned, ducking out of her large camp behind the house. Monica ran out of the plane she was fixing and quickly ran over to hug you. 

“Auntie y/n!!” She exclaimed, running over to you and hugging you, you signalled Carol and Fury to stay in the plane until you could explain a few things to Maria. 

“What the hell are you doing in that?” Maria demanded, hands on her hips. She seemed more worried than aggressive. 

“Um, long story, but you remember Carol right?” You asked, Monica nodded against you, pulling away slightly with one arm still around you. Maria nodded grimly. “So-”

“Auntie Carol?” Monica questioned, then quickly removing herself from you and running over to Carol and hugging her. “See I told you she wasn’t dead!” Monica looked up at Carol to see no recognition. 

“I’m not who you think I am.” Carol confessed hesitantly as Monica pulled away. 

“Come, come inside, all of you.” Maria said quietly, heading inside. You followed right next to her, putting on arm on her shoulder and trying to explain the best you could. 

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

After everything was explained, the three of you sat, chatting while Fury and Monica went to get Carol’s things. 

“This is some crazy shit.” You joked, leaning back in the seat. Carol’s eyes quickly scanned over you before smiling. Maria sent a weird look her way before nodding. 

“Mind your language.” Maria reminded, nodding her head towards where Monica was excitedly running in. You raised your hands in defeat, causing them to chuckle as they bantered over what happened the day she disappeared. 

You couldn’t help but watch Carol, she was just so, so pretty. She flicked some hair out of her eyes once in a while, attracting your attention to her eyes. They were a beautiful mixture of green and hazel with gold specks in between. 

“Auntie Carol we found your things!” Monica yelled from the other room, breaking you from your trance. Maria saw how the two of you kept staring at each other and smirked, you knew that smirk but spoke before she could. 

“Let’s go, maybe you’ll remember something.” You stated, quickly. Carol looked up at you and Maria in confusion. You rolled your eyes and grabbed her wrist, pulling her over to the table. 

“This is gonna be a long day.” Maria joked as the three of you approached the table. 

Yeah, yeah it was. 

Tag list:  @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @5aftermidnight, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

A/N: This is gonna be a really long story cause I wanted a perfect backstory. So, stay tuned, ew im never saying that again. Feedback is amazing, thanks!

Part 2

Part 3

[livesincerely]

[Bits & Bobs] it’s so easy (too easy) to love you

Here’s the latest progress report/update from my javid domestic!au, formerly known as The One Where It’s Domestic. It ended up having too much plot for the Tease Series, but I’m still in love with the idea. (And there will probably still be a smutty epilogue, lol)

00000

Davey’s just gotten out of class—literally just walked out the door—when his phone starts ringing.

“Davey,” Racetrack says the moment he answers, not even giving Davey time to say hello, “Can you swing by the apartment real quick?”

Davey sighs. “Are you locked out of the house again?”

There’s a guilty silence. Then, “Or maybe I just wanna see you, huh? You don’t know.”

“Racetrack.”

“Crutchie’s the one that lost the spare,” Racetrack capitulates immediately, there’s an indignant “Hey!” somewhere in the background, “and I left my keys in my locker ‘cause I thought Crutchie had his—”

There’s a scuffle of noise, then Crutchie’s voice breaks in, “—don’t listen to him Davey, I asked him before we even got on the subway if he had his keys and he said he did but he didn’t even check—”

“—well, I thought you had yours, didn’t I?—”

“—and he was twenty minutes late picking me up from band practice because he was too busy flirting with Spot Conlon to come help me carry my oboe—”

“—that was supposed to be a secret you little shit!”

“—you started it!”

Davey pulls the phone away from his ear as the other side of the line descends into a mess of indistinct yelling. He thinks about trying to get their attention, but he decides to just start heading towards the apartment, muting the call while he waits them out—they’ll remember him eventually.

In the meantime, Davey sends a quick text:

Race and Crutchie locked themselves out of the house again

He’s not expecting a response, but Jack must be in-between projects because he gets one almost immediately.

jc again? 

And you’re going to have to get a new spare made

fuck okay i’ll take care of it. are you heading over?

I’m walking there now

ur the light of my life dave

Davey can’t help but smile at this, a soft feeling fluttering in his chest. Before he can write back, Jack sends a second text:

how did the ochem midterm go?

I feel good about it! Def did better than I thought I would!

duh youve been living in the library all week ofc ur gonna do great. ill swing by the grocery on the way home, pick up some ice cream to celebrate. do we need anything else while im there?

Get a bell pepper and some tomato paste, I’m going to make spaghetti for dinner. And we need laundry detergent.

fuck yes im starving. can we do garlic bread too?

Get home on time and we’ll see.

you drive a hard bargain sir. kerian owes me a favor so ill make him stay late. ill be home in a couple hours 

Grinning, Davey goes to respond but is distracted by a tinny, muffled sound emanating from his phone’s speakers. He unmutes the call and lifts his phone back to his ear.

“Davey?” Crutchie says hesitantly, and it sounds like he might’ve been calling Davey’s name for a while. They must’ve put him on speaker because he can still hear Race grumbling nearby. “Are you still there?”

“I’m still here,” Davey confirms, feeling a little guilty for forgetting about them, even though they forgot him first.

“So are ya comin’ or what?” Racetrack asks, ever impatient, “because I’m roasting out here.”

“Well, I was thinking about leaving you to ruminate on your poor life choices,” Davey responds dryly, “but I guess I can come let you in, since you asked so nicely.”

“Thanks, Davey,” Crutchie says.

“Hurry, will ya? Much longer and I’m gonna get heatstroke and die,” Racetrack calls.

Davey rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, Race.”

00000

Davey starts rifling through the bags almost before Jack can finish putting them down. “Did you get the—?”

“I got the tomato paste,” Jack says, pulling out a gallon of ice cream and sticking it in the freezer. “I also got some more of that fancy cheese you like so much, even though it costs half the grocery budget.”

“It balances the dish,” Davey insists around an armful of vegetables, “the salt cuts through the richness of the sauce.” He makes quick work of washing a green pepper and peeling an onion, then starts dicing both into small, neat pieces.

“All I know is, the shredded stuff works just as well and it doesn’t cost a fortune.”

“Watch your mouth, Kelly,” Davey says, wagging his knife at Jack teasingly, “smartasses don’t get dinner.”

“That so?” Jack asks with a grin. “Then why the hell are we still feeding Racetrack?”

“I heard that,” Race grumbles from the kitchen table.

“Yeah, you were supposed to,” Jack says, moving over to Racetrack and slinging an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a side hug. Race bats at Jack’s hand but makes no real attempt to get away. Then Jack says, “So, I hear you and your brother lost another set of keys.”

Race gives Davey a look of the deepest betrayal. “You told Jack?”

“Of course he did,” Jack says. “Someone’s gonna have to get new ones made, and it sure ain’t gonna be either half of the dynamic duo.”

“Crutchie lost the spare,” Race says, throwing Crutchie under the bus while he’s not in the room to defend himself. “And I didn’t lose my keys, I just left them in my locker.”

“Uh huh, save it for the judge,” Jack responds, ruffling Race’s hair. “Just know if I end up having to change the deadbolt, it’s coming outta your subway money.”

“Jacky, leave Racetrack alone,” Davey comments mildly over Racetrack’s spluttering protests. “He needs to work on that paper and you’re distracting him.”

“Yeah, Jack,” Race repeats, a little smug. “You’re distracting me.”

Davey turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. Racetrack quickly busies himself with his homework.

Davey goes back to the stove-top, adding the chopped vegetables to the ground beef that’s browning in a pan. He feels more than hears Jack sidle up behind him: the familiar weight of his gaze, the solid presence at his back. He stands there quietly, leaning against the counter-top and just watching Davey cook; unbothered, Davey lets him be for the moment and moves toward the pantry. With a bit of searching he unearths a can of tomatoes, then adds it and the tomato paste to the sauce pan and turns it down to a simmer.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Davey says, “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me with this?” glancing over his shoulder at Jack, a mock challenge. “You know there’s no loitering in my kitchen.”

“Well, I’m nothin’ if notta law abidin’ citizen,” Jack drawls in answer, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He rolls up his shirt sleeves, exposing the long, muscular line of his forearms, and washes his hands in the kitchen sink. “Where do you want me?”

Davey licks his lips. “Think you can handle boiling the pasta?”

...

“I’ve got to head back out,” Jack says. “Johnson’s got me working a night shoot and I have to be downtown by 9.”

“How long is the session?” Davey asks.

“We’re scheduled for five hours, but we might get to wrap it up early if everything goes well.” Jack’s hand brushes against the small of Davey’s back and they trade spots again, Davey stepping back up to the stovetop and Jack taking his place at the cutting board.

“Are ya spending the night or are ya headin’ back to your place?”

“Depends on how much help Racetrack needs with his history paper,” Davey replies. “We might be at it a while.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “Well, if you do spend the night, go ahead and take the bed. The extra blankets are in the usual place.”

00000

Davey notices the time and frowns. “Jack,” he calls, “it’s already 7:30. If you don’t leave soon you’re gonna be late for work.”

There’s a clamor of noise from down the hall, then Jack appears, freshly showered and fumbling to put on his socks and button his work shirt at the same time.

“Fuck, Mr. Johnson is gonna kill me,” Jack grumbles. He pats down his pockets, then groans. “Christ, has anyone seen my—”

“Your wallet and keys are on the counter by the microwave,” Davey says. “And take a jacket, it’s supposed to rain later.”

…

“Jack—”

“And Dave cooked, so you shitheads better do the dishes, get me?”

“Jack, you’re gonna be late,” Davey cuts in firmly, holding out Jack’s jacket for him.

“Alright, I’m going,” Jack says, shrugging it on, and he finally starts making moves towards the door.

He gives Crutchie one last pat on the shoulder and cuffs Racetrack on the back of the head in a slightly rougher, but no less affectionate goodbye, which is per usual. Then he turns to Davey, tips his chin up, and kisses him right on the mouth, short and sweet.

“Lock the door behind me and don’t forget to—” Jack stops mid-sentence, then turns bright red.

“Um,” says Crutchie.

“Holy shit,” says Racetrack.

Jack’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Finally, he sputters out, “I u-uh — I-I d-didn’t mean—“

Davey doesn’t respond. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to—he’s frozen in place, his mind a sudden wash of static. For a moment, they just look at each other. Then Jack blurts, “gottagoseeyoulaterbye” and bolts out the front door.

Davey’s not sure how long he stands there, staring blankly into space, utterly dumbfounded.

“Davey?” Crutchie asks hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

There’s a horrible, strangled, choking noise. A split second later, Davey realizes it’s coming from him.

[pxppinmolly-archived]

( mean anon ) the fact that molly has a mommy kink is a fact that constantly haunts me and keeps me awake at night. i have a new sleep paralysis demon and it is molly sitting on my goddamn chest talking about how nice her sexual partners have been to their mommy, and for this i will never forgive you.

but really though! i think you're one of my fav rp partners? maybe thats a lil odd to say considering we havent rped much recently ( and you can absolutely blame my muse for that. miranda is a fickle beastie and she stares at the asks youve sent and then decides to wander off to hunt damien for sport or just stare at a wall for several hours ) but youre legit just!! a pal!! and youre one of the few people on here where, even if i dont have a personal horse in the race with a muse, ill still check in on your blogs and see what youve been writing, because you legit just have that kind of talent!! its the rough equivalent of us just sitting silently in the same room, not needing to make conversation, and I LOVE THAT.

hell, i know i followed your molly to begin with bc of your monprom ocs, and i havent regretted it! you put so much thought, effort, and love into your molly, that im taken away every time you refine another little aspect of her, and i love that! even in sillier headcanons or more cursed ones, its the little things that really bring her to life to me, with such a perfect balance between her lighthearted bubbly side, her trauma and the weighter parts of her character, and her viciousness and darker sides that just shows how well-rounded she is and how well all these parts of her come together to make her who she is!

so although i know we dont rly talk much, i am just sitting back here giving you a thumbs up, excited to see what you have planned next!!

Speak Now Or Forever Hold Your Peace Until 2021

INSTEAD OF GOING INTO UR INBOX TO GUSH LIKE I WAS GONNA I WAS

I’MMA DO IT HERE BECAUSE YOWIE!!!!!!!!!

I absolutely 100 percent feel the same way, first and foremost, about the whole like. Us chilling in the same room w/o saying shit but being like. Nods. Thumbs up. Yahoo!!

I ALSO APOLOGIZE for not writing too much with you because Molly tends to also be. Fickle and sometimes shit with Miranda can be VERY HEAVY and so it’s a big fish (ha) to tackle so I take awhile and then forget and get lost in the metaphorical sauce. And with my OCs well - they come and go KSDJF

BUT REGARDLESS? We could never write and I’d STILL be here giving likes and thumbs up with your content because I LOVE the things you give and produce, not just for Miranda but for her family, her kingdom, the world building in general I suppose I should say, and also your muses like Milo and Polly!! You add such  ADEPTH AND DIMENSION to arguably 2-D characters and it’s something I absolutely admire and look up about you with!!

SO with all that said, any sort of praise coming from YOU is always something I take to heart and appreciate SO SO SO MUCH because you are SUCH an excellent writer and character builder. It’s like if God came down and was like “are ya’ winnin’ son ? you’re doing great.” ASOLDKFIJ

also that first bit is gonna get framed and put above my bed <3 thank u

[beatriceeagle]

do you have a favourite piece of TV meta/criticism? not to get meta (ha), but i personally love anything that talks about tv critically and carefully cultivate my favourite pieces of writing. not sure if im the only one....

Ohhhhh, I love this ask.

I read about television obsessively and constantly, so remembering individual pieces of criticism is actually pretty hard. Like, right now I read pretty much every piece published about Watchmen. But because of that, I could hardly point to a single article right now that I remember above all the others—let alone if you were to ask me in five years.

But there are a few pieces of writing that stick out in my memory, that I kind of turn over in my head for one reason or another.

Dragnets, Dirty Harrys, and Dying Hard, by Alyssa Rosenberg. A five-part series (link goes to the first part) for the Washington Post on the historic relationship between pop culture and law enforcement. I love the depth of detail in this, and the attention paid to specific historical context. In particular, I often think about the first part, which lays out the concessions that early police shows made to police departments (in terms of script approval, for example) in return for access, and the back-and-forth of actual, physical access and favors that Hollywood has required from law enforcement over the decades.

The Lost Will and Testament of Javier Grillo-Marxuach, by Javier Grillo-Marxuach. Technically, this is more oral history than meta; it recounts the development and writing process for the first two seasons of Lost, as witnessed by one of the writers in the room at thee time. But Grillo-Marxuach has a lot to say about television development generally, especially as it was in 2004 (and as that compares to how it was in 2015, when he was writing the essay) and I find myself thinking about things like, “You can’t kill the white guy,” a lot. Not as a guiding principle for my own writing, of course, but as a reminder of the forces that sometimes end up coming down on other people’s.

Television Without Pity Farscape recaps, by Jacob Clifton. Jacob (as he was known in his TWoP days) was by far the most controversial of the Farscape recappers, for really understandable reasons. His writing was opaque, he tended to overread into theme and imagery, and he generally did not give a fuck about using the site’s standard quippy tone. Reading Jacob’s recaps is sometimes more like reading longform poetry about Farscape than reading a review of Farscape.

But Jacob’s recaps were some of the very first writing I ever read that made me understand that you could think and write deeply about television. Even if they overreach—and they do, sometimes, overreach wildly—at least they reach. I would so much rather a piece of writing make me think about all the connections I could make about television than be afraid to say much of anything. I can always scale back, as appropriate, if need be.

(Here are two excerpts from Jacob’s recap of “Twice Shy,” to give you an idea of how he wrote:

“Commercial, I think, and then John's still in bed. Depression is the inability to think your way around a dead engine. The opposite of optimism. Complete lack of motivation and the inability to find a compelling way around the issue. The systemic inability to remember any of the tools in your toolbox or how to use them. It's not about being sad, it's about being nothing much of anything, and not remembering how you used to get yourself out of the hole; how you've done it every time before. Has there been an episode where John's clinical depression wasn't obvious to the naked eye? It's not that it didn't exist; it's that now he can't compensate. Maybe that's all Talikaa's really about.”

“She gestures to the creature and heads off down a corridor; Talikaa senses him. What does Scorpius smell like? I bet he doesn't smell terrible, like you might think at first. I prefer to think that Scorpius smells like Tabasco sauce and pipe tobacco. Just like my dear old grandfather, if you add Old Spice and whiskey. I think Zhaan smelled like sage and amber, because she is a vegetable but also a lifestyle liberal, and I think Aeryn smells like vanilla pods and the inside of a DVD player.”)

Freshly Remember’d: Kirk Drift, by Erin Horáková. This may be my favorite piece of television criticism of all time. It argues that the popular conception of James Kirk as a brash, impulsive womanizer is the result of cultural amnesia—of us forgetting, on a mass scale, who Kirk actually was in the series. I read it just as I was starting Star Trek, and then again just as I was finishing Star Trek, and it fundamentally shaped how I ended up viewing not just Kirk, but all of the captains. I don’t know that I agree with every argument the piece makes (in particular, I think it vastly undersells the sexism of TOS, even if Kirk was not supposed to be understood at the time to be sexist) but it’s a really compellingly argued, thoroughly researched piece of writing, and I think about it constantly. Mostly, I want to write something like it.