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yellowocaballero · 3 days ago

Note

a while back you mentioned having written ~40k of a steven moon knight fic as well as some of a frenchie fic? i was just wondering if those would ever be posted/shared or if they will stay in google docs superhell forever (also love your work!! your star wars swap au i particularly enjoyed as well as the tma evilcon + associated fics) best of days to you !!

Look at this evilcon fan over here. Deep fucking cut.

Ah, yes I have. The 40k fic was written for Marvel Trumps Hate, and I didn't post it due to some vaguely complicated but not altogether important reasons. The Frenchie fic was the unfortunate victim towards me very abruptly falling out of MK, lmfao. I think all of my fandoms have The One Abandoned Fic that I was working on when I just Got Over the fandom (Human Relations sequel, so cruelly abandoned....).

Kind of a shame, since the Frenchie fic was not bad and just got kinda roadblocked at the end. I've tossed around maybe finishing it when MKS2 comes out and I inevitably get sucked back in. I don't want to post the MTH fic on AO3 right now (maybe in the future when MKS2 comes out and I get sucked back in etc) but there's honestly no reason not to show you...I think...looking back over this, I think I may have decided that the fic's sense of humor was just too insane. It's very.......uh.....

Uh, ok, just between you and me and other people reading this then. It's a fic about a normal guy who thinks that schizophrenia makes you immortal and autism gives you superpowers.

I'll put it in a follow-up post. In the meantime here's the first few scenes from the Frenchie fic. I really do wanna finish this one day....

“A phone call?”

The jackal barked in elderly confusion.

Steven leaned back in his chair, scratching his stubble. Jake was insisting that they experiment with facial hair and it was best to let him have these little victories. “Well, under the human American law each citizen is entitled to a phone call if they get arrested. That’s probably what he means.” The jackal barked dismissively. “Have you tried telling him that?” The jackal barked again, aggravated. “I see. Quite a pickle. Well, I don’t see any harm in giving him the call. We’d have to warn him that this is a faux legal system and that he’s not entitled to any lawyers, but perhaps he could tell his wife he won’t be home for dinner? That would be nice.”

The jackal growled.

“We could be nice,” Steven said reproachfully.

The jackal barked again.

“If you really think about it, nothing’s stopping us. Masters of our own fates and whatnot, right? Well - yes, yes, I know the gods are the masters of our fates, that’s not quite - look, sir, there’s no point in worrying a man’s wife unnecessarily, is there? How would your wife feel if you disappeared off the mortal plane?” The jackal hung its head, and Steven sighed as he stood up. “I’ll lend him my mobile.” The courthouse only had landlines, and even then that was iffy. Magical ancient Egyptian constructs still struggled with 4G. “But if he messes about with my Twitter then we’re adding another thousand years onto his sentence.”

Situations like this were why Steven still showed up to work. This zoo often struggled at little things like this without him. The place had gone to the jackals while he was gone - literally, they had taken over many administrative positions - and it would take months just to clean up the wreckage. Steven didn’t mind - nothing made him happier than a good little routine. Ten to two, that was his preference. Downright inhumane to make a man work any longer than four hours a day. He had even scheduled a deli or restaurant to visit for lunch each day of the week. And Marc and Jake were not allowed. Steven only zone. A man’s office was his castle. Besides - if they knew what he got up to all day they might complain about it.

The two were deeply asleep - Jake because he found Steven’s entire life dull as dirt and Marc because all of the mandated socialization they were doing lately really took it out of him. Steven found it delightful. Jake’s friends were really nice once you got to know them, and you could reliably get a pained expression out of any of them once you told them so. Marc found their whole thing exhausting and if Jake wasn’t entertained he wanted to die, so around noon the two slept like Alexander the Great’s mummy. Might as well build them little tombs. That was cute. Steven knew exactly what his own tomb would look like. He was practically a pharaoh and everything - maybe Khonshu would make sure he got one? No, Khonshu didn’t care about them nearly that much. Boy, but wouldn’t that be nice.

He gave the Bast statue guarding the elevator its usual nose pat, he smiled and waved at the lumbering shabtis, and he stopped and said his usual ‘hello how are you how’s Nephthys Osiris talking to you again yet’ to the Set statue as the jackal gave him the stink eye for holding them up. Kindness was key, Mr. Jackal. Steven believed in positive Steven-god relations. He lived in hope that the other gods would model good behavior for Khonshu and eventually sway him into becoming less of a dick.

The ibis perched adorably in a little booth checked his identity as it picked up a little visitor’s badge with his beak and dropped it into Steven’s outstretched hand. It pecked at the computer keyboard a few times, accomplishing nothing other than mangling the G and H keys, and a series of papers ground out of the ancient fax machine. Steven cautiously reached over and fetched the papers, scanning them. They were details of the prisoner’s case, which made Steven feel a bit like one of the Forbidden Lawyers. The jackal led him down the winding paths of the jail as Steven fumbled in his pocket for his glasses, squinting down at the pages.

“Well, this doesn’t seem too nasty,” Steven announced. “I’m sure we can get this sorted out. Certainly not a problem for our Jake, eh?” He looked at the jackal out of the corner of his eye. “Eh?” The jackal did not respond. “Right?”

Steven made the executive decision that this was a bureaucratic issue and therefore not a Marc or Jake issue. They’d just over-involve themselves and pretend they knew anything about the fake legal system. Marc and Jake were like baby brothers playing video games with you on an unplugged controller. They needed to feel like they were doing something or they’d throw a hissy fit.

The jackal didn’t have to stop and point out the prisoner. Steven could hear him from all the way down the hall: empathetic, pointed, and incessant French patter. The man sounded like he was arguing against a parking ticket, which displayed a disappointing lack of cognizance as to the severity of his situation and the high likelihood that he was about to experience extrajudicial horrors beyond his imagining.

Poor guy. Imagine being from France.

For the first time in Steven’s life his shaky French that he could not actually remember learning but that Marc and Jake did not know actually came in handy. As he got closer he could more or less puzzle out what the fast talking man was saying to the two unamused and unswayed jackals. Could the jackals speak French? It had to be some magic thing. The only animals around here who could actually talk to the humans and explain to them what was happening were the baboons, and they were never polite about it.

“ - one little call! That is it! I will never darken your doorstep again, I swear it. One phone call - and, maybe, letting me go! We can talk about it, let’s talk about it! You and I, we are reasonable men - jackal, I am a reasonable man and you are a reasonable jackal - unless you are a woman? Are you a woman? You are still a jackal at any rate. You are a very reasonable gendered jackal, and I am innocent of all crimes - and even if you are a nongendered jackal, I do not judge, I have friends of all kinds - if you give me one phone call I may call one of my friends and he can help, I am certain he is friends with very many of you people -”

The man cut off the second Steven walked into view of his cell. The cells were very basic, with only a cot and a toilet and one wall of metal bars. He was standing up against the bars, fighting with the two unamused jackals standing against the cement wall in the hallway. The man’s head jolted away from the jackals and fixed on Steven, forgetting his captive audience entirely. His slicked back hair was frayed and mussed, gelled strands sticking up every which way, and his blonde mustache twitching in surprise as his eyes widened.

Steven was sympathetic. Human prisoners were always shocked to find a real bloke around the place.

He waved a bit awkwardly, his reading glasses flopping in the air. In shaky and awkward French, he said, “Bonjour! My name is Steven Grant. And you are…” He shoved his glasses on, squinting down at the intake form. “Jean-Paul Duchamp?” He pronounced it ‘Jean Paul Dew-Champ’, and judging from the man’s twitch he had mangled it. Oh well. “Right. Do not worry, everything will be fine. You wanted a phone call? I have a phone for you.”

The man stared at him. Steven silently suffered this. He knew he was attractive.

Finally, the man said in accented but thankfully perfect English, “I have changed my mind. May I speak with you in private, Monsieur Grant?”

The three jackals barked simultaneously. Steven rolled his eyes. Honestly! He knew he was the Avatar of Khonshu now, they didn’t need to be like that! “I don’t think that’s allowed. For security reasons and all. Not that there’s anything you could possibly do to me.” A grizzled jackal with one eye barked. “Emotional - hey! I would have you know that my Myers Briggs said I was the resilient type!” Steven considered the matter for a second. “Oh, but I did have a bad horoscope today. Maybe you’re onto something. Do we have any augurers on staff?”

“Excuse me,” Jean-Paul butted in, increasingly wild eyed, “Do you care to explain what is going on, Monsieur Grant? Because the only explanation I’ve received so far was from paperwork on papyrus and a rude baboon.”

Why was he saying his name like that? The French were so weird. Steven leaned down slightly to whisper in the nearest jackal’s ear. “And he must have been really bad if a French guy is calling him rude.” The jackals cackled. Jean-Paul’s eye twitched. “Never fear, Mr. Duchamp. I’m sure we can get this whole thing sorted out before supper. Let’s review the details of your case, shall we?”

“What case?”

“Oh, you’re in an ancient Egyptian courthouse for ancient Egyptian crimes,” Steven said vaguely, sliding on his reading glasses and flipping through the pages again. “Yes, the Egyptian gods are real, no they are not aliens, you better believe in ghost stories Ms. Swan you’re in one, etcetera. Alright, alright…I see…ah! There we are! Charged as accessory to one count of tomb raiding…oh, just a little asterisk here, let’s see what that’s all about…you stole from a children’s hospital!?”

“I did not know that is what we were doing!” Jean-Paul cried. “Someone tells me to fly a medical helicopter, I do not ask questions! If I made a habit of interrogating every one of my clients I would not have a great deal of clients, monsieur!”

“Organs from a -”

“It is called professionalism!”

“It’s called evil!” Steven said, appalled. The jackals barked in agreement. “I have to say, Mr. Duchamp -”

“It’s doo-shamp. And John-Paul. Mon frere.”

Oh wow, oh no, sorry for the French microaggression. Honestly. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you betrayed your clients the second you discovered what they were stealing and refused to pilot them away you would be facing the same punishment they are. It’s quite karmic. Do you know what Egyptian canopic jars are used for?” Jean-Paul looked a little queasy. “Exactly. Do you still want that phone call, Mr. Duchamp? You’ll receive your sentence from Thoth with or without it.”

“Then why give it to me?” Jean-Paul asked waspishly.

Steven shrugged. “I wouldn’t want your husband to worry.”

“Rest assured, I am quite single.” Jean-Paul stuck his hand out through the bars. “Give it here.”

Steven pulled up the phone function on his mobile and passed it to Jean-Paul, ignoring his thoughtful expression. He tried to convey ‘mess with my phone and I’ll mess with you’ through rigorous eyebrow tilting, but he knew he was very bad at it.

Jean-Paul stepped back, swiping on the mobile. It did not look like he was punching in a number. Steven abruptly became anxious that he was snooping on Steven’s mobile. He had remembered to delete his text history with Layla, right? Right?!

He typed something on it before looking up, holding it up oddly to show Steven the screen before passing it back to him. “I changed my mind. No need for a call. Thank you for lending me your phone, monsieur, but it was unnecessary.”

The screen was open to the notes app. Steven abruptly felt like they were passing notes in class. Except not quite, because Steven was the Avatar of an Egyptian god and the other party was in jail for magic crimes. The note read -

marc what is the plan

Oh. Oh!

Steven looked up, and now he could clearly read the man’s irritated ‘why are you looking surprised, this is a matter of utmost secrecy’ eyebrow twitch. “Goodness, I’m so sorry. The egg is really on my face here, I’m so embarrassed.” He looked down at the jackal next to him, who twitched its ears attentively. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. It seems -”

Steven stopped short.

This man knew Marc. He now knew Steven. Marc really, really, really hated it when this happened.

Marc had spent the vast majority of his life masking. His family had been big believers in the ‘never talk about it and pretend it doesn’t exist’ school of mental illness, which had resulted in a great deal of very terrible problems. Marc did not learn from any of these problems and continued to hide the DID from everybody he had ever met up to and including his own wife for a depressing yet impressive length of time. Steven hadn’t really agreed with the wife decision, because it was a slightly huge aspect of their lives that was very much Layla’s business, but Marc believed in privacy. Steven couldn’t fault him for that.

It wasn’t anybody’s business if Marc didn’t want it to be their business and they were not Marc’s actual wife. Jake spouted off about shame and internalized ableism, which was undoubtedly true, but nobody was really entitled to his health information. He had the right to self-disclose when he wanted and to who he wanted. Steven only wished that this reasonable desire did not lead to sitcom-esque hijinks as they all switched mustaches and pretended to be each other. Sometimes literally. Jake had his whims.

Marc wouldn’t want this random pilot knowing personal stuff about him. He was probably just some colleague he had worked with one time and never saw again. And Steven was very dedicated to helping Marc and making his life easier, just like Marc was dedicated to helping Steven and making his life harder. Jake was dedicated to being a bully.

Being involuntarily outed was traumatic for Marc. The last time it happened he fell asleep for four weeks and plunged Steven into a Jake induced nightmare. What if he went back to sleep? What if he never woke up this time? What if he left Steven alone with Jake forever? He couldn’t take that chance.

Marc didn’t have to find out about any of this. No point in stressing him out over nothing.

In a stunning show of cunning, cleverness, and subtlety, Steven looked down at the jackal next to him. “Actually, can I talk with Mr. Duchamp in private? There’s some things we need to discuss.” The jackal asked what. “Human things.” The jackal asked why it had to be private. “They’re private human things.” Steven paused a beat. “Like periods. We’re going to talk about our periods.”

The jackals knew enough about humans to know that periods were private human things and not enough to know that cisgender men did not get periods. They gave him dubious looks anyway, but when Steven mimed yanking a crescent knife from his chest they obligingly filed out. The grizzled one-eyed jackal turned around and gave John-Paul a gimlet ‘I’m watching you’ eye, but John-Paul just sniffed and looked above it all. French people sure were good at looking snooty.

The second the jackals turned the corner and disappeared from sight Steven took a deep breath and changed.

He straightened, folding his expression into a deep scowl. He tilted his head forward in Marc’s faux intimidating fashion and affected Marc’s terrible Chicago accent - which was just as fake as Steven’s very real to him British accent, thank you very much! Jean-Paul straightened too, eyes widening again.

“What the hell?” Steven demanded. Ugh. It was hell on the throat to talk like this. “How did you even get yourself into this mess?”

“Me? I am the one in the mess?” Jean-Paul stabbed a finger at Steven, who scowled deeper. “What was that? What is this? Why are you working for an ancient Egyptian courthouse under a false identity?”

“It’s a long story,” Steven snapped. It was really easy to avoid questions as Marc. You just had to be mean. “And it’s none of your business.”

“At this point I think it is very much my business! Jesus, Marc!” Jean-Paul exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead in a forcible attempt at zen. “What is this, some sort of op? Are you undercover?”

“I said it was none of your business!”

“This is why you don’t run the ops,” Jean-Paul said. Steven was offended on Marc’s behalf. “I am impressed at your acting skills but not at your subtlety.”

“The usual, then,” Steven said wryly. “I’m impressed with your talent at getting arrested.”

“I get it, I get it. Marc Spector twenty, Jean-Paul fifteen. I swear, Marc, only you would get yourself in these predicaments.”

“You’re the one in the predicament. I’m doing fine.”

“My predicament is your predicament.” Why would that be true? He said it so casually, as if it was a given fact. Quite presumptuous of him, in Steven’s opinion. “At least now I don’t have to waste a hope and a prayer that you would pick up your phone this time. How are you going to get me out of this one? They have a giant baboon! Have you seen the baboon!”

“The baboon’s very understanding about my medical needs, so watch it.” Wait - had he wanted to spend his one phone call on Marc? Why? They were talented, cool, and altruistic, but… “Look, I’ll do what I can. But the gods aren’t exactly easy to argue with. I’ve tried to get them to overturn a sentence before and it failed miserably.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard my friend try to do things the legal way.” Jean-Paul folded his arms. “Just bust me out. Isn’t that more your style?”

What a suck-up. Marc didn’t have friends. Steven smiled anyway, brittle and thin. “Don’t worry, Jean-Paul. I’ll do everything I can to help you. Just please try and understand the position I’m in.”

Jean-Paul stared at him. Steven forced himself to look the other man in the eyes even though it made him uncomfortable. Marc always stared down people he didn’t trust.

“So, uh,” Steven said, “I better call the jackals back -”

“Please admit you do not know who I am.”

Steven froze. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Jean-Paul sighed. He kneaded his forehead again, shoulders slumped, but something about the gesture had changed. My predicament is your predicament - what did that mean? “Why didn’t you say - non, non, you would have no reason. Marc, please listen to me.” He looked solidly at Steven, and Steven found himself looking away. “It’s Frenchie. I’m your friend. We met in Afghanistan and we’ve worked together ever since. You’re having another amnesiac episode. This happens to you sometimes and it is nothing to worry about. Do you believe me about this?”

Steven opened his mouth. He closed it.

He couldn’t help it - he hunched his shoulders, clutching at his sleeve and drawing away. “I don’t have friends. You’re lying.”

“Call up Layla and ask,” Jean-Paul said. His voice was even and steady, and it struck Steven oddly. The man was literally in a jail cell about to be Egyptian tortured and he was comforting Steven? Looking out for him in a mental health episode? Did the world contain two Lukes? “Do you know Layla? Your wife? Now there’s a thief for you. I am but a humble pilot in comparison.”

That cinched it. Marc would never tell anybody he didn’t trust about Layla. Much less about what Layla really did for a living.

But Marc didn’t trust anybody. Marc wasn’t supposed to trust anybody. That was Marc’s whole thing. He only trusted Steven and Layla. He only trusted Steven and Layla and - Frenchie? What kind of nickname was that? That was so stupid.

Marc was really bad at naming things. Movie poster, pilfered ID. Frenchie. Jeez.

Steven put it down. He let his shoulders hunch back into their natural slouch, bent his voice back towards its natural tilt, and dropped the mean expression. Despite himself, he groaned.

“Marc’s going to kill me!” Steven wailed. “He’s going to go to sleep again and leave me with Jake!”

Jean-Paul recoiled, surprise turning into shock. Wow, wow, big surprise. Marc or Jake’s friends freaking out over Steven. Stop the presses.

“He’s gonna blame me for this, you know,” Steven cried. Not whined. Nope. “This is why he doesn’t trust me with anything. As if it’s my fault that his friends keep getting arrested? Maybe I should get a little more recognition for being the only one without delinquent friends. Honestly, I don’t know why we can’t keep better company sometimes. A book club? A Dungeons and Dragons group? Anybody who doesn’t punch people for a living? Is that too much to ask?”

“Hm,” Jean-Paul said. “Your dissociative episodes have grown stranger.”

“What were they like in the military?” Steven asked, morbidly curious. “Marc didn’t even mention amnesia episodes. He can be right frustrating, you know.”

Slowly and carefully, Jean-Paul said, “Do you remember the manic episodes?”

“We’re bipolar?” Steven asked blankly.

“That is what I thought. I do not think I was correct.”

Wait. “Did you think Jake was a manic episode?”

“Jake?”

“The other one,” Steven said helpfully.

“Ah. Yes, I think so.” Jean-Paul paused - not as if he was uncertain, but as if he wasn’t sure how the words would be received. “I understand DID is a very difficult disorder.”

Something tugged at the back of Steven’s mind, then yanked. Steven felt himself fall backwards, and something else surged in him -

Frenchie stood in front of Marc, right in every way, wrong only in the eyes - only in the way he was looking at Marc -

Cautiously, he said, “Steven? You look dazed.”

Dazed. That was what he’d always call it. Whenever Marc zoned out and left his body, whenever Frenchie caught him wandering listlessly around camp with no memory of having even left bed - you look dazed, Marc -

“Do you ever get tired of your front row seat?” Marc asked hoarsely.

But Frenchie just smiled - a little cockily, a little kindly. “The view is quite good.”

Marc couldn’t do this. He never could, he could never do anything - but he couldn’t do this. Humiliation crushed him, Frenchie’s affection and acceptance its strange shadow. The shadow was worse than the weight. It was the shadow he couldn’t handle. He couldn’t handle this.

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Frenchie alone in the cell with no promise of rescue and no aid given, and he found himself walking faster until he turned the corner. The jackals were still huddled like a football team growling thoughtfully at each other, and they perked up when they recognized Marc. He ignored them, walking through the crowd until they leapt away.

Marc’s walk turned into a run. A drum beat rocked his head, pushing hard at his heart. The beat threw him forward, turning his run into a sprint down the winding cement halls. His desperation reached out and thought of a word, and once he thought it he just couldn’t stop.

Jake. Jake. Jake! Jake, I can’t do it again - Jake - !

Marc woke up face first in Jessica Jones’ hair clutching a bottle of Jack.

He yelped, jerking away automatically and falling off the couch with a heavy jolt. The bottle jumped out of its hands, landing on the stained wood coffee table with a heavy thump and rolling against a bulwark of beer bottles.

Marc bolted upright, ignoring his pounding head to take inventory of his surroundings. He relaxed the second he registered where he was. Heroes For Hire apartment. Morning. Luke Cage was passed out in an armchair, sawing wood. Colleen’s bra was draped across the back of a couch. Did these people do anything other than party?

Jessica flopped over, squinting blearily at him in the morning light. Cars honked outside and traffic blared, the sound cutting harshly into his throbbing head. Jessica waved a hand limply at him. She mumbled something that Marc could somehow translate into ‘what’s your problem?’.

Nothing. No problem. Not right now, not here. Marc climbed back onto the couch, pushing Jessica aside to reclaim his spot. Amazingly, they were barely even cuddling - their couch was one of those IKEA types that you could just keep adding onto, it was fucking ginormous. He left the bottle of Jack on the table, whiskey slowly sloshing in the glass. Jessica went back to sleep immediately, her warm breaths pressed against his back.

The sunlight faded into night, then nothing.

“ - and that’s why I wouldn’t fuck Mr. Fantastic unless Sue Storm was watching.”

Marc bolted upright.

“I left Frenchie in prison!” Marc cried.

“Man, what kind of weird dreams are you having?” Danny asked. Marc could hear his voice from behind the couch, accompanied by the rattle of silverware and the hefty scent of bacon. “I can interpret it for you if you want. The prison’s probably a metaphor for -”

“Your psyche,” Colleen intoned.

“That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Luke said.

Marc rolled off the couch again, slouching his way to the breakfast table and collapsing in his chair. Somebody put a bowl of cereal in front of him and began shoving it in his mouth. Everybody went back to ignoring him and resumed their conversation about the most fuckable superheroes.

“Monica Rambeau at the top,” Misty said, for what sounded like the five hundredth time. “Very top. Except my girlfriend.”

“I’m the last heir of a samurai clan, not a superhero.”

“Very top. Monica Rambeau.”

“Do you think the Avengers have these conversations about us?” Danny asked Luke. “Like, they have to, right? I don’t think they’re above it.”

“They have mimosa brunches. Man, you know they do. I don’t want to know what the hell they say about me.”

“One time Hawkeye flirted with me and I snapped his bow over my knee,” Jessica reported. “It’s about controlling the narrative, Luke.” Marc’s hand reached out and swiped bacon off her plate, cramming it into his mouth. “Watch it, asshole!”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Luke told him, half-amused. “Who do we got today?” Marc glared at him balefully, but he held up the ASL finger sign ‘M’ anyway. “Good to see you, Marc. You’re the early bird, huh?”

“Jake was complaining about you yesterday,” Jessica told him gleefully, as if she was snitching on her classmate to the teacher for saying the b word. “He told us all about your intimacy issues. Is it true that you yearn for acceptance, yet are terrified of receiving it?”

“And why,” Marc gritted out between clenched teeth, holding his spoon at a vicious angle, “is Jake always telling you my goddamn business?”

“He likes to vent.”

“Then tell him to shut up next time.”

Misty scraped up eggs with her knife primly. “Five times a day seven days a week. Never listens.”

“Five people live in this apartment, there is no such thing as your own business,” Colleen said, dead-eyed. “I haven’t had privacy in a year.”

“It’s not that different from the monastery,” Danny said philosophically. “Smaller, though.”

“Drunker?” Misty asked.

“Not really.”

“Damn. Guess you had to do something without television.”

Marc’s grip on his spoon tightened so hard that his bones creaked. “Then you can just go tell Jake -”

Tell me yourself.

“Shut up, Jake! You can all tell Jake that next time he decides to overshare -” Hissy fit ten minutes after waking up, new record. “I wouldn’t throw a hissy fit if you stopped doing shit just to piss me off!” You are an egomaniac. “That is so rich.”

“Still weird,” Misty decreed.

“Yeah, still weird,” Colleen said.

Luke cut into his hash brown. “I’m just glad that they’re all talking again.”

“Totally glad that Jake’s back to his healthy, regular state of talking to himself,” Colleen said. “Maybe soon he’ll become normal and only serial kill on weekends.”

“I know none of you care about my personal drama,” Jake said flatly, “but would a little respect be so outta line for youse?” Jessica mumbled something around her egg. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, woman, have some self-respect.”

“Steven and I were talking about going to the zoo and looking at the sloths,” Danny said brightly. “Do you still want to do that? I want to see them so bad. All we have back home are sloth bears but I don’t think they’re the same animal.”

“Sloth bears?” Misty asked.

“They mostly eat termites and ants, really,” Steven told her, “not nearly as scary as you’re imagining. Quite adorable. But nothing really beats sloths on the cuteness factor.”

“Steven! Good to catch you. When do you want to go to the zoo?”

“Oh, boy, maybe Sunday? Do we have anything on Sunday?”

I was going to get drunk.

Same.

“Looks like Sunday’s free!” Steven paused a beat, a smile fixed on his face. “You know, fellas, I can’t help but feel as if we’ve forgotten something.”

We forget stuff incessantly, Marc said, tired. Frenchie was always dragging me out of bars I didn’t remember walking inside.

There’s an alternate explanation for that one.

See, that’s what I thought, but Frenchie never thought so.

“Frenchie!” Steven cried. He jerked onto his feet, sending his plate rattling. “We left Frenchie in prison!”

Danny reached out and patted Steven on the forearm. “It’s okay, Steven. It was just a dream. The French can’t hurt you.”

“Not if they’re in prison, anyway,” Misty said.

Luke, the only one who ever remotely was on topic, put down his fork and looked at Steven. “Who’s Frenchie? Since when do you know other people?”

“He’s my best friend,” Marc said. He scrambled away from the table, faintly registering that he was wearing Jake’s outfit. He and Steven had their own changes of clothes in the guest bedroom, he’d have to take a minute and change. They hated wearing each other’s clothing. It felt so invasive. Jake hated polyester, Marc hated wool, and Steven hated layers in non-freezing temperatures. “Damn it, what kind of friend am I!”

Jessica squinted at him, sipping her orange juice. “Wait, you have other friends? I thought we were your only friends.”

“He’s my friend, not Jake’s. You’re Jake’s friends.”

“I’m not Jake’s friend,” Misty said.

“Jake’s my friend but I don’t like him,” Colleen said.

“Jake’s my friend and I like him,” Danny said eagerly.

“No comment,” Luke said.

But Jessica just continued squinting at him - as if she could read something between their three faces, unremarkable individually but painting a clear picture together. “This is what stressed you out so bad yesterday, yeah?” Marc shoved the chair back into the table, averting his eyes. “Why don’t I come with you? Like, buffer zone?”

A part of Marc did want her to come. He didn’t know if that part was Jake or Steven or himself. He never knew where to put himself anymore, how to partition out his life into the good and bad. How to fit together Jake and Layla, how to give Steven the reins on the courthouse work, how to fit into the Heroes For Hire in a space carved for Jake yet welcoming of anybody.

It was so easy. It scared Marc.

“I can handle my own army buddy,” Marc said gruffly. He bent down and kissed Jessica on the cheek. “I’ll call.”

Marc swept out the door, ignoring Jessica calling “You better!” behind him.

#my writing #my asks #so much of the fun of the frenchie fic was marc x HFH dynamics it was so good #and frenchie himself ended up being such an interesting character. what an ass.#trivia: i wrote this THEN l2urh when i got writer's block #and frenchie's thing there was honestly just a speedrun of his arc here.#'steven's based off layla but jake's based off frenchie' was the most based decision

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graciedollie · 11 hours ago

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hii hi, could you make one where grayson and reader are wives and work together as council guards until one day reader arrives injured and grayson becomes extremely worried. I would really be happy if you did that! ❤️‍🩹, I love your writing, do it in your own time!!

Complications

Pair: Grayson x FemCouncilGuard!Reader

Summary: It was a pretty normal day while you were doing your normal duties, having to be sent to make an arrest in the grimy streets of Zaun. The arrest wasn’t going to go smooth obviously, but it definitely wasn’t supposed to go this way either.

Warning(s): Description of injuries (stab wound) ,mention of bleeding, swearing (ofc), reader being stubborn, Grayson scolding reader, fluff added too ofc <3, reader is kind of a smartass

A/N: I love writing for my bbg <3 also feel free to leave any requests

The sun was slowly turning in for the late evening, casting a beautiful hue of orange and purple across the hazy skies. You were handling your usual duties before you were requested by the councils, figuring it would be about handling a certain case. It didn’t take you long before you stumbled upon the large room, seeing all the members and your wife, standing attentively.

Grayson looked over at you as you stood next to her, flashing you a small smile before turning her serious focus back to the council members before one of them spoke, who happened to be council Mel Medarda.

“There have been reports of a group—preferably from the Undercity—causing havoc among our city, leading to the people being understandably upset. I trust that you will sort this problem, yes?”

Before Grayson could even speak, you quickly agreed with a swift nod and eager words. “Yes ma’am, of course. I can assure you this little mishap will be sorted.” In return, Mel gave you a soft smile and a firm nod before dismissing the both of you.

As the two of you soon left and walked along the long hallways, you were suddenly stopped by the large hands of your wife on your shoulders. You turned to look at her with a confused expression before she started to speak, “Sweetheart, I think it’s best if you let me take this one with you, yes? I know you’re well on your own, but you haven’t gone much in the Undercity as much as me.”

You couldn’t help, but grunt in slight irritation at her words, knowing she only worried for your safety—you were her wife for God’s sake. “Baby, I can do just as fine on my own. I’ll just take Marcus and backup with me, it’ll be fine.”

She narrowed her eyes at you, obviously not fond of the idea of not being partnered up with you for this case—especially such as these. Her eyes stared in yours intensely before softening, nodding slowly with a sigh.

“Alright…but, if I hear one bad thing goes down there..”

“It’ll be fine, Honey. I can handle it, plus I’ll have hep with me.

How hard could this possibly be? All you were doing is going down to the Lanes and making an arrest, nothing out of the ordinary.

Oh honey, you were wrong.

The night took over the golden sky, leaving the sky blanketed in a dark cover. Venturing into Zaun wasn’t the most extravagant thing, if you’re being honest. It was grimy. People giving you dirty looks. And definitely different from Piltover. Neon lights and signs crowded the dark streets, every angle except the dingy alleys.

The more and more you ventured into the streets, the more you realized how this arrest was going to be anything, but easy. You and your crew walked through the streets, looking around with hardened gaze at the peering standbys—obviously noticing the fiery glares.

Based on the information you and your crew were given, it seem that the group hung around a certain abandoned building—which didn’t take too long to stumble upon. You glared at the group, seeing how their teeth were yellow and how buffed they looked.

“We can make this easy or not so easy. All your choice.”

The group looked around at each other with disbelief before turning back to you with a chuckle, eyeing you as if you were prey—which you definitely seemed so to them. “Would ya look at that? Think you’re gonna take us in? We’re not going down without a damn fight.”

Sometimes you wondered why you even chose this damn job sometimes.

“Let me make this clear.”

That was all you said before you and another of your crew pulled your guns, aiming them directly at the group, earning a grunt of shock and irritation.

“Last chance.”

The group scowled at your crew as the rest of the crew pulled out the restraints, seeing how they dangled dangerously in their grasp. All of sudden, one of the members charged at you before you quickly aimed at the man before..

WHACK.

You don’t know how it happened or what did it come from, but all you knew was that you were on the floor and had blood dribbling down your lips—most likely from being brutally punched. Your eyes glared at the mysterious person, seeing them emerge from the shadow and saw that it was woman. You quickly shuffled onto your feet, looking over at your crew while they were busy handling the others before focusing your attention back to woman.

She had a nasty grin on her chapped lips, slipping a sharp knife from the back of her pants as she eyed you steadily—seeing how you were focused solely on her. “Oh c’mon, can’t handle a little punch?”

You grunted at her taunt before trying to reach for your gun, but saw that it was fucking gone? Fucking great. Luckily, you had close combat experience. You were steady on your feet, keeping eye contact with the woman before she lunged at you with her knife, causing you to lean back and grab her arm to pin it behind her back as she stumbled to the ground and the knife clatter out her hand.

“Made this way harder than it had to be.”

Your eyes narrowed down at the woman as you pinned her wrist behind the small of her back, only moving one hand to reach for the cuffs, but that was your biggest mistake. The woman quickly reached for a knife on her side and sliced you on the side of your stomach, earning a pained yelp as you scrambled back from the woman.

“Wonder how you made it this far..”

You sneered at the woman, panting heavily as you applied pressure to the bleeding wound before slowly standing up as did she. It started to feel that maybe—just maybe—you should’ve listen to your wife.

The woman chuckled lowly before quickly charging at you, but was quickly clocked in the back of her head by Marcus with a gun—specifically, your gun that was scattered to the side—successfully cuffing her. The rest of the crew cuffed the rest of the group, herding them back. He added the woman in with the her group as they were escorted away, shouting out streams of profanities and whatnot.

His eyes immediately snapped back to you as you huffed heavily, seeing the blood seep through the clothes onto your hand gradually. He quickly helped you, throwing your arm over his shoulder as he helped you walk.

“Shit—you ok? What the hell happened back there?” He grunted lowly as you both shuffled back through the grimy streets and onto the bridge, crossing over to piltover.

“Some fuckin’—shit—girl came from nowhere and just punched me…and stabbed me..” Your voice was strained and heavy, trying not to wince too much as the slash only continued to bleed heavily.

“God…do you have any idea how stupid it was to take this case? You know Grayson is already going to be on mine and your ass.”

“Mhm, I know…let’s just focus on me not dying, yeah?”

and brother, was he right.

You laid in the infirmary, laying slightly uncomfortably as the slash on your side was still recovering. The blood loss wasn’t too bad, but scary and a blessing that you survived. The infirmary was nice and quiet, despite having doctors check in on you and here and there, but that didn’t last long until..

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Your eyes shot up quickly at the familiar voice, seeing your absolutely enraged wife rushing over to your side, quickly embracing you before caressing your face with a firm grasp and stern glare.

“Baby, listen—“

“Don’t give me that! I told you that I didn’t feel right about you going there. I trusted that you could handle it. Do you have any idea how worried I was when I was informed to hear that my wife was in the infirmary—being treated for a stab wound? Do you really?”

Her voice was stern, but held a edge of obvious concern and worry—though she was pissed. You frowned slightly as she scolded you, which was definitely expected from her, but you knew she was only concerned and worried for you.

“Honey, I know you’re upset, but I handled a good bit on my own…” Your voice was raspy and low, due to being sleep for a good while or so. She let out a heavy sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose, looking at you with a gradually softening before her hand caressed her cheek.

“I know and I’m proud that you did, but still, it was a risky idea to even take that case in a first place…you could’ve let me handled it.”

Though she was pissed, she still was worried and highly concerned for her dear wife, who happened to look like an angel despite being injured. Her thumb brushed over your cheek, gazing at you with obvious fret in her eyes as she murmured softly, “I swear I have to keep my patience in check with you…”

“Aww, I know you still love me.”

She couldn’t help, but chuckle at your cocky little remark, looking at you with a raised brow and an amused smile etched on her lips before brushing her hand over your thighs.

“Of course, I do, love. Though sometimes you make me want to strangle you..”

“Like how that woman wanted to before she stabbed me?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at your worst-timing joke, glaring at you with a tight pursed frown on her lips as she pointed a finger at you, “That is not funny.”

“What, you brought it up!?”

It would definitely be a wild before you ever got a case to go back to Zaun…it was definitely for the best to avoid complications.

hope you enjoyed and hoped this was to your liking, anon <3

#grayson arcane #grayson x you #grayson x reader #grayson arcane x reader #guard reader #this lowkey rushed #send asks #lesbian #fluff #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane s1 #older women <3 #graciedollie ᯓᡣ𐭩 #https://graciedollie #gracieasks!!#wlw #wlw blog

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who-killed-audrelia · 2 days ago

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Stupid Feelings

📑| in highschool, wilson fell in love with you. he was your secret admirer. and now, you're his patient. he's afraid that house will find out about it but he's too nervous to look at you.

genre: fluff, no smut

warnings: harsh words, inaccurate med stuff

pairing: james wilson × patient!reader

a/n: gee, IDK MAN THIS IS MY FIRST FANFIC AND I'M TREMBLING WHEN WRITING THIS STUFF. anw thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated owyeahh

based on this polling, reblogs are appreciated!

"hey chase, can I talk to you for a sec?" asked wilson while they're walking to the nurse office. chase just looking at him while tidying up papers.

wilson sighed, "can you guys help me for a patient? I don't think I can do this on my own."

chase frowned. usually, wilson can do things on his own. he can diagnoses cancer for many patient, why this one. "why are you asking me tho?"

"it's hard to explain." looking nervous, he looked around and walked closer to chase, "I- I- she's my highschool crush, I- I don't want house to find out about this." and he ended it up with a big sigh.

"oh.. okay.. where's the file.. I'll hand it to the team and house." wilson gave the file to him and walks away.

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

"I got a new case, 27 y.o female who claims that she has a lump on her breast and struggles breathing." chase threw the file to foreman sitting on the team's table.

"breast cancer?" cameron striked.

"well I-"

"that's brilliant of you, cameron" house cut off chase's talking while stiring his coffee. "why are we taking this case, doctor?"

"becau-"

"isn't wilson supposed to take this case?" now it's foreman turns to cut off chase's talking.

"and that's genius of you too foreman. my kids growing up so fast, huhu." house walked out the office to wilson's office.

"jeez, spent almost my life to med school just to be cut off by my colleagues." chase sighs and walked away

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

as usual, house opened the office door roughly, "blushy wushy wilson." then he looked at wilson's confused face. "why did you gave my team your case?"

"well- that case is really complicated and I have a meeting with one of my previous patient."

"okay then," house opened the door and half walked out from the office, "but you have to follow us to checking up on the patient." he emphasize the word 'you' and walked away.

"fuck."

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

"nice to meet you, y/l/n. I'm dr house and I'm your doctor." house opened your charts while talking.

chase started to look at your IV bags and cameron looked up your breast. foreman just asking you some questions about your struggles.

"I see why you can't take this case alone," house whispered to wilson in his mischievous face.

"w- why?" wilson stuttered and walked out the room.

house holding him back from leaving the room with his cane, "bewbiess" (boobies). wilson walked back and foreman walked to him.

"it's definitely lupus cancer. go check it by yourself." foreman handed the file.

nervous, wilson started to walk to you. "hi there, y/l/n," the team gather around but house stayed in his position, "um- you see, there's a lump on your chest- left one." while him showing you an x-ray.

"that's a big one." you said in a sad tone.

"but thankfully, dr. wilson is thee good doctor in here." house cut off, "times up, see ya." he dragged out wilson out of the room

"what are you doing?" wilson closed the door behind him and crossed his hands.

house looked at him up down, "what are you doing?" he emphasized the 'you' again.

"did you hand over us this case because of the boobies?" said house closer to his face.

"or.. because of she's your highschool sweetheart?" at this point, house's smirks is no longer louder than wilson's heartbeat.

"I- I- well no I-"

"aha!" house exclaimed and looked behind him. "ten bucks."

chase handed out 10 dollars out of his pocket. "ugh."

"you made a bet out of this!?"

"why not?"

"look wilson, just face her; give her the prescriptions, and you're done." chase is really in a badmood for this stuff because of losing an easy bet.

"man.."

"we need a crash cart here!" cameron shouted to the nurses nearby. you just start seizing while being examined again by cameron.

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

"it's actually just a lump, not a cancer," wilson explained to you while you're eating your lunch. "I will write you a prescription and you'll be out of here."

"thanks

... james."

his eyes widened, you remembered him. his highschool crush remembered him. "oh- yeah- not a problem, y/n."

"you still remember me, james?" you giggled and sipped the water, "you're a cutie."

"of course I remember you. you're my-" he almost let it go but covered his mouth with his hand. "... friend."

"hehe." your giggles still the same from highschool and it's embedded in his brain.

"do- do you wanna go to dinner with me tomorrow? I- I think I have to apologize to you because of the previous diagnosed." wilson tried his best to not blushing and call the nurse to get him an ice bag.

"sure why not, wanna exchange our numbers too?"

... to be continued

#james wilson x reader #james wilson #house md fanfiction #house md #james wilson x you #james wilson x y/n #audrelia's writing ♡¸.•*'

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my-introverted-self · 3 days ago

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Casually rewatched s1 recently and got reminded (of how I felt during the first watch) that Buck’s “most transformative” relationship with Abby was less about love (not saying he wasn’t in love or falling) but more about his personal growth and making intentional choices to change and be better.

Buck was couched by Bobby trough almost every step of the relationship, he hesitated a lot and I actually think that he’d agree with Abby to break up (as she suggested to set him free from the hardships of her life situation at the time) had he not JUST have a conversation with Bobby where he openly admitted it was too “adult” for him to deal with and he wanted something less complicated and heavy despite his feelings towards Abby BUT Bobby yet again reminded him that being with such a great woman comes with a price and it’s what an actual serious relationship requires. That’s why Buck dismissed Abby’s suggestion and said he is ready to face it all with her. Only for her to leave next episode.

And the value this relationship gained (to the extent of ghosting the narrative) was not through it happening and being so great and full of love but through Buck’s longing and reflection in next seasons. Because he committed for the first time and it confused and hurt him how it ended. So you know it’s seems more about Buck than about Abby…

But it got me thinking that I would REALLY like to know why Buck thinks that now Tommy is his most transformative relationship after Abby. Because with Abby we got a lot of transparency through Buck articulating his feelings and concerns to Abby, Bobby, his friends and family in different increments before, during and after. And then we got to see the impact of all that on his life and character. So eventually the whole thing seems bigger than it really was in my opinion. But with Tommy we sadly got almost nothing. No mentions or remarks woven in casually, no heart to hearts/gossiping with or asking for advice from his friends and family, no conversations or arguments with Tommy himself, no cryptic voice-overs. So we didn’t really get to see the content of their relationship or Buck’s thoughts and feelings about it. But he considers it the most transformative of his life. I just want to hear more about it in canon 😢 Is it purely about Buck and his revelations about himself? Or is it actually about Tommy and experiencing something solid in their relationship dynamic? Was he truly falling in love? Did he find in that partnership what he was looking for all along? Will it have meaning beyond Tommy being his first man? What was so different about them?

We may never get to know…💔

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 abc #endlessly love fanon spec but long for canon elaboration #I just want more bucktommy in their feels on my screen

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grimmcheems · 1 day ago

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More Future Chichi👊🏽💥

This has been in my drafts for so long🗿💀👩🏽‍🦯anywayssss, just future timeline shenanigans. I’ve made a couple of arts about this future chichi timeline but I don’t think I’ve ever rly provided much context or story for those. Don’t mind her she just hates Goku Black and he terrorizes her unnecessarily bc yeah…….

she has muscles but the jacket hides it (I hate drawing clothes on buff characters bc it ends up hiding most of it😩)

I also thought of Zamasu developing a thing for Chichi bc Goku’s body literally doesn’t allow him to hurt her or their direct family (in this au he had to kill their sons indirectly bc Goku’s muscle memory? just wouldn’t allow it) but like, not rly??!? It’s complicated🙏🏽🗿 he hates humans but his interactions with her confuse him for the most part and since it will never fully be his body there’s always a lingering unknown feeling at the back of his head. Chichi hates his ASS tho. She ain’t holding back fr. I’ve tried to make arts of Chichi and trunks and mai but they never come out good so that’s why I haven’t had any yet.

I will try to get to drawing parts of this au though, at some point…..👩🏽‍🦯Chichi basically raises Trunks and Mai in this btw.

Also the world ends but dw bc a lot of background characters left her things to use and she helps save what’s left of humanity and maybe becomes a goddess for centuries to come but who knows(every time I revisit this au in my head I go insane)🤭

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not-poignant · 6 hours ago

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Hi Pia

Sorry is this ask is bothersome but I need some advice.

I while ago I was going through a really bad time mentally but found solace in a fandom. I became friends with a person that I met in a particular fandom and they encouraged me to get into fanfiction and it really helped my mental health as a form of escapism.

After about a year I took the plunge into writing my own fanfics for the fandom and at first they were well received. But then a gender swapped the characters.

For context- in this fandom most of the characters are male and almost all the fanfics available are canon compliant in this regard and I so I wanted to explore an au where all the characters were women instead. I posted a few chapters and was excited for feedback but then my friend from the fandom saw my new fic and messaged me telling me to take it down because it was problematic.

I asked them to explain why and they said that changing canon like that just for the "fun" of it wasn't ok and that if I'm going to "mess around with the characters identities" then I should make them trans instead.

I told her I wasn't comfortable making the characters trans because I myself am not trans and don't feel like I am educated enough to write about gender identities/experiences that I haven't gone through and I don't want to accidentally write something disrespectful.

My friend got back to me and said that take was even more problematic. I asked her to explain further because I was really confused by this point but she didn't get back to me.

A few days later I found out she had told all the people in the discord we were in together that I was being problematic regarding canon and I'm guessing she also went to my bookmarks and sent screenshots to everyone of the "problematic" ships and fics I like??

And now I'm getting hateful messages from people who used to be my friends in the fandom and I don't know what to do.

Should I make the characters male again like they are in canon? Or take the fic down altogether?

Hi anon,

So the short answer is:

You can write genderbending. Every fic is problematic somehow to different people and audiences. Trans people don't all agree on genderbending so you're not going to get a single "correct" answer. Don't take down the fic unless you want to. Don't change the fic unless you want to. Get some better friends. It's worth educating yourself further about this subject.

The longer answer is behind the Read More:

Genderbending is complicated and nuanced and there's a ton of discussion about it. I highly recommend you go somewhere like FanLore to check that out. Especially the further reading section, to see multiple sides of the discussion to then decide how you feel.

There are trans people who love cis genderbends. There are trans people who hate them. There are trans people who don't think they should exist. There are trans people who don't give a shit. There are trans people who want more to exist. There are trans people who think only trans people should be allowed to write any kind of genderbend. There are trans people who think no trans person should ever want to write cis genderbend.

My perspective (as a trans person) is closest to this archived Tumblr post linked here.

With this quote from mercurialmalcontent:

Changing a character to the ‘opposite’ cis gender is a very different thing than making them trans or nonbinary. Insisting that people only change characters to trans is also really damn invalidating, because it implies that being trans is interchangable with being cis. Whoopsie doodle!

And then the entire response from roachpatrol, especially:

so like. people now reducing the issue to ‘cis people are gross and hate trans people’ is pretty ridiculous. it ignores basically twenty years of women questioning, confronting and then dismantling the de-facto heteronormative, exploitative male gaze in order to create the radically progressive fandom atmosphere as we know it today on tumblr.

And then also this from curriebelle:

there’s nothing inherently transphobic about art that explores gender - quite the opposite, I think - and that’s what genderbends are about. It can be hugelybeneficial to imagine male characters as female in order to explore roles that aren’t traditionally given to women

I think the main thing is that in fandom, many trans people have been forced to confront how they feel about genderbends (or cis swaps), whereas many cis people never have to think about it due to cis privilege. That doesn't mean writing it is bad by default, it doesn't mean fics that feature it shouldn't exist, and it doesn't mean problematic fanfiction is bad either. Like I said, everything is problematic to someone.

What actually bothers me the most is that people who you think of as "friends" are trying to police you in this way. Obviously I don't know the full story or the content of the fic, so maybe there's greater context going on that I'm missing. But on the surface, genderbends aren't inherently transphobic, even if some trans people don't like them, or feel dysphoria over them existing.

Ultimately genderbends aren't also often about the trans experience. It's really weird for your friends to assume that writing a story about a bunch of cis women, and a bunch of trans women is going to be exactly the same, or that one is inherently "better" than the other. Trans women experience some different issues (depending on the world), and the stories are likely to have different elements to them. And you're right, not feeling comfortable telling a trans story when you're a cis person wanting to write about cis women does actually make a lot of sense. That doesn't mean you can't do it, but it does make it clear why you didn't do it.

Anon, a friend who is quick to tell a whole bunch of people on a Discord server that you're writing a fic with content they don't like is not a friend, let alone a good friend. They might have once been very caring, but their response here indicates they're putting up a chance to seem righteous and 'moral' above actually caring about you or what you have to say. Especially in a situation where honestly a lot of trans people don't agree with each other, but we all mostly agree not to be dicks to people who write this stuff and to just live and let live.

(Also, trans people can write trans fic that other trans folk feel is transphobic! Something that heals and helps one person, hurts another, that's why the rule in fiction for things like this is very much: "don't like, don't read" and also: learn about it, do some research into it, but you don't have to morally justify what you like in fiction and fiction is the place to write this stuff - it is literally pure fantasy. Heck, some trans people love cis swaps precisely because it's a cis swap instead of a specifically trans narrative, the same reason some trans people hate them. We're not all a monolith with one opinion. Thank god).

Going into your bookmarks to reveal the 'problematic' things you like to a bunch of randos screams of anti-nonsense, people who judge other people's morals based off the fiction they enjoy. Folks like this think it's okay to humiliate, degrade and abuse people over what they enjoy in fiction.

Honestly, if it were me, I'd block these people. Trans people aren't magically free from being abusive shitheads, just like everyone else.

Your friend may have been a friend once, but what they're doing now is just shitty. Ironically, it's also pretty transphobic to the trans people who love and write cis swap and also the trans people who love and read it.

#asks and answers #can't speak for any other trans people here but like #for myself i just think your friend sucks #truly if this is the first place they go based on fiction you're writing #they haven't been caring about you for a while #their behaviour is far more 'high school drama' than it is 'genuine friend'#if they were a real friend who was really concerned for you #they would not be trying to make this into entertaining drama for everyone else around them #where they get to feel mock righteous outrage #over being assholes to a real person for something fictional they're writing

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ziekaramaik · 22 hours ago

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Before You Jump, Tell Me What You Find

(Word count: about 1700)

(Sorry for the wait. Wasn't sure I'd continue it at all, but @shadybisexualpirate and @psychicsolanum asked for it. Also, @maro0on and @ssherbet-shares )

It had been a week since I was at William's house. Mr. and Mrs. Kaplan seemed happy to see me again. I guess the no-visitors-while-grounded rule was less strict after the first week.

Or maybe it was never a rule and William was just using it as an excuse to avoid me. But I didn't ask or start an argument. We were already past that.

We left the door to his bedroom open a crack, as usual. William pulled out his desk chair for me, and he took the bed. We sat down facing each other.

I'm no mind reader, but I knew exactly how he was feeling. The awkwardness was written all over his face. "I guess I should start with--"

"Can I say something first?" I interrupted.

"Of course."

"I was kind of being a hypocrite earlier," I admitted. "You know, about how boyfriends shouldn't keep secrets. There are things I don't talk to you about. And that should be okay -- everyone deserves a little privacy."

"I totally agree," he said eagerly. "And I've tried to respect your privacy as much as I can, I promise--"

"Let me finish… I'm not trying to be the possessive type of boyfriend that makes you tell me everything you do. I was only upset earlier because it felt like you were ghosting me. Now something obviously happened to you that day. And it's still bothering you. But I'm not forcing you to talk about it if you don't want to. I'm only asking 'cause I'm worried. And… I can't shake the feeling that you're getting involved in something dangerous."

He listened to me, and he nodded. "You're not wrong. I wanna tell you, it's just hard. A big reason I haven't told anyone is because it's all so unbelievable. Like, seriously, Eddie. It is literally crazy. But then again… We live in a world after The Snap, and with the Avengers, and Norse gods, and all that. So…"

He looked at the tiny opening at his door, double-checking that his parents weren't listening outside. And then he softly said, "The first thing I should tell you is, I have special powers."

My eyebrows shot up. "Really?" It was a surprise. But for me, maybe not as unbelievable as he expected.

William reached out towards his bookshelf. In front of his palm, in the air, a blue circle appeared, like a hologram. A second later, a book shot out from the shelf, passed through the circle, and landed in his hand. The glow faded away.

"Whoa." I blinked. "That is… not where I expected this conversation to go. Was that, like, magic? Is THAT why you're into," I waved my hand around, gesturing vaguely to all the posters and notes taped to his walls, "all this witchy stuff?"

He nodded. "Kinda." He shook his head. "I mean, no. This is new. I mean--" He winced. "It's complicated. There's stuff that happened three years ago. And stuff that happened last week. And it's all connected. I didn't know where to start, but I think I can explain to you without using words."

He leaned forward. "I learned a new spell for this. It's kinda like the spell Agatha used to see Wanda's past, but in the opposite direction. I can send my memories directly into your mind. That way you'll immediately understand where I went last week and everything that happened to me. Will you give me permission to do that? Will you allow me to put those memories into your mind?"

I stared at him with a little confusion. "I dunno. Will it hurt?"

He stared back at me. "It's not… supposed to?"

In other words, he never tried it before.

I stared a bit longer. Then I nodded. "Okay."

William got off the bed and kneeled down directly in front of me. He placed his hand on the side of my head and closed his eyes. It was very "Vulcan mind meld".

Williams whispered, "Non quarere, non dico mendacium."

A second after that, memories of the day of the car accident, meeting Agatha Harkness, gathering the coven, and the Witches' Road appeared in my mind. It was like my brain was an internet browser and a dozen different tabs opened up all at once. It was overwhelming.

A second after that, I got up, ran to the bathroom and puked into the toilet.

A little later, after a concerned Mrs. Kaplan heard me and checked in, and I told her I just ate something earlier that disagreed with me, and William backed up my story and told her not to worry, I got a glass of water to rinse my mouth out and returned to William's room.

"Are you okay?" William asked gently.

I was rubbing my head. "First time magically downloading memories. It feels like a headache, a hangover, and staying up all night to cram for a big test all at once. Next time, we're doing it the slow way."

"Sorry."

I slowly sifted through the info-dump. "Okay… So… Your soul was created by Wanda Maximoff."

"And the Vision. Technically."

"Yes. Okay. And Vision. And when the original William Kaplan died, your soul took over his body."

"That's the theory, at least. It's a little ambiguous."

"You have a twin brother--"

"Tommy."

"--Who's been reincarnated somewhere in someone else's body."

"Uh-huh."

"You met up with a bunch of witches -- real witches -- and your magic powers created the Witches' Road -- by accident -- and most of those witches died there."

"…Yes."

"And speaking of died, Death is a person. And a lesbian."

"Now do you understand why it was so difficult for me to talk about this?"

Yeah, if he simply said all this, I probably wouldn't have believed it. But it was hard to argue with the memories in my own head.

The magic-hangover was mostly gone by now. The info-dump had settled.

I looked up at Wil -- No, at Billy. He called himself Billy now.

He's a mind-reader, I thought. I knew he couldn't help it, but now that I knew, I couldn't help but feel exposed in front of him.

"It's not like I hear every thought," he said defensively. "Only the loud stuff in the front of your mind. I don't go snooping, I promise."

No wonder he always seemed to understand me so well. And now, I understood him in a way no one else did.

I sat right next to him on the mattress. I grabbed his hand, and entwined my fingers with his. "It's not your fault they died, you know," I said.

"What?"

"Mrs. Davis and the others. You made that place. But what they did there -- that's not on you."

He calmly replied, "Thanks for saying so. But if an architect builds a house, and people die because it collapses, it's absolutely the architect's fault."

"Hey, listen." I looked him right in the eyes. "It was awful. But it was an accident, Billy. Nothing more."

I really thought that. So I knew he knew I meant it.

He stared at me. His eyes started watering. Then he looked away, smiled, and rubbed his nose. "I don't deserve a boyfriend like you."

"Yeah, well, you're stuck with me."

"Am I though?" he asked, his smile faltering.

"What?"

He spoke nervously. "Today at school, you didn't want to break up. But… You thought I was a normal boyfriend. You never signed up for all this craziness."

"Bill--"

"A-And it's not just the witchcraft and the mind-reading and looking for Tommy. I have to warn you: the Personification of Death doesn't like me very much. She agreed to let me go for now. But if you stick too close to me, you might get into trouble."

"That… is a scary thought…"

"Like I said, you didn't sign up for this, Eddie. If you want to ghost me this time… I'll understand."

I confess, I did think about it. The death thing aside, I spent a long time wishing for a normal life.

I loved this boy. But when I said that, there was a lot I didn't know about him. Just like he said: He was like a different person now.

But now that I did know who he was… I didn't not still love him.

I came to a decision. Holding his hand a little tighter, I told him, "I try not to think about this too often -- which is, apparently, why you never knew it -- but even if I left you, my life still wouldn't exactly be normal."

Billy's face looked into mine. I fought down the urge to kiss him and continued, "You know how I'm adopted? My mom found me and raised me on her own?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she adopted me from… a lot farther away than I led you to believe."

I held up my hand, the one that was still holding his. I concentrated, and my hand turned green. The skin became thicker and harder, like leather, or scales. We stared at my green fingers intertwined with his pale pink fingers. And then I made my hand and forearm look human again.

I nervously looked back at Billy's face. He stared at our hands in shock for several long moments.

"Well, say something," I blurted.

Finally, he grinned and said, "That is so cool."

I giggled from relief. I leaned in and was just about to kiss him when--

"Huh, a shapeshifting alien," said the ghost that appeared RIGHT BEHIND ME.

"YAH!" I fell off the mattress.

"Yeah, she does that sometimes," said an unamused Billy.

"I knew an alien once," the ghost said. "We almost made a movie together. Long story."

I got to my feet and stared at the translucent woman. I recognized her from Billy's memory.

"Agatha, this is Theodore Altman," Billy said. "He used to go by Teddy, but people kept making Grey's Anatomy jokes, so now it's just Eddie. Eddie, this is Agatha Harkness. My semi-evil, semi-dead, witchcraft mentor."

"Uh… Hi?"

"Good choice for a boyfriend, Billy," Agatha said with a smirk. "Shapeshifting will keep things fresh."

"So you're his… familiar?" I looked from Agatha to Billy. "That's the term, right? You're a witch now, and she's your familiar."

Billy smiled at that. Agatha did not.

"I take it back. You have horrible, horrible taste in boyfriends."

"Glass houses and stones, Agatha," Billy replied.

Can You Read My Mind?

(Spoilers for Agatha All Along)

(Word count: about 1500)

William was missing all night. Then all day. And then all night again.

At first he declined my calls. Then the phone just kept ringing. My texts were left unread.

I was totally prepared for something bad to happen to him while we were in a parking garage to meet a stranger from the internet. Except that turned out to be nothing. The guy was a paranoid nut, but harmless. It was after William dropped me off at home and drove away safely that he went missing. I didn't know what to think.

After a full day of worrying, he finally called me back early next morning.

"Are you okay?!" I asked.

"I'm fine," he said, sounding completely exhausted. "Well -- Yeah, I'm -- I'm fine."

"Where have you been? I've been trying to call."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's been a crazy day. And night." He mumbled to himself, "Did all of that happen in just one night? Oh man, what day is it?"

"You've been missing for over twenty-four hours," I explained. "Your parents are probably ten seconds away from calling the police."

"Yes, I'm sorry for scaring them. I'm driving home right now. And… Look, Eddie. Can you do me like a really, really, really huge favor? …Can you please tell my mom and dad that I was with you the whole time?"

"Actually, no. Because they already called me, and I told them I had no idea where you were."

"Oh… Right…"

There was a pause.

"Are we just skipping the part of the conversation where you tell me what happened?" I asked. "You didn't meet that Ralph guy again, did you?"

"No, it wasn't Ralph."

"Then where--"

"Eddie, I do not even know where to begin. I promise I'm okay, but I'm tired. And I really shouldn't be on the phone while driving in the first place. All I wanna do right now is get home, shower, and maybe take a nap. Can we please talk about it later?"

I didn't want to, but I said, "Okay. Later." Then I said, "I love you."

"Me too. Bye." And he hung up.

Only we didn't talk later.

William was grounded. He couldn't use his phone and I couldn't visit him. Or at least, that's the excuse he gave me when I saw him at school. I couldn't shake off the feeling he was lying.

He wouldn't talk to me at school either. Any time I tried, he made some excuse and took off. "Later. Promise." He stopped coming to the GSA too. Not because of his parents, he said he was too busy for it.

Once I caught him on a computer in the school library. Looking over his shoulder, I saw that he was searching news websites. But it wasn't about the Westview incident this time. He was looking up articles from all over the country about people who drowned, or nearly drowned.

When I asked him about it, all he would say was, "I'm trying to find someone." He was frustrated. "They're all dead ends. It probably didn't make the news."

I tried to get him to talk more, but it was about time for next period. He had to go. Again.

Whenever I saw him in the hallways, he gradually looked worse. He had stopped putting effort into his hair and make-up. His black nail polish was old and chipped. Instead of eyeliner he had dark bags under his eyes. I could tell he hadn't been sleeping well.

This went on for a week.

"You're avoiding me," I said. It wasn't a question.

I cornered him at his locker. He looked back at me and said, "I'm not avoiding you, Eddie," in a calm tone that completely contradicted his deer-in-the-headlights expression.

"You really sort of are."

He sighed. Struggled to say something. "I -- I'm sorry. I've just been really distracted lately. I'll explain everything later. I promise."

"You've been promising that all week. Frankly, it's not good enough anymore."

That's when the school bell rang. Everyone around us headed for class.

William looked at me guiltily and said, "I'm really sorry."

He tried to walk away, but I grabbed his sleeve. "Eddie, we're gonna be late for cla--"

"Then we'll be late!" I snapped. "This is important."

He stopped protesting after that. I let go, and even as the hallway nearly emptied, he didn't run off.

"William, be honest with me," I pleaded. "Is this because I told you I love you?"

"What?"

"Because I can't help but notice this radio silence started right after that. I came along with you to meet Crazy Ralph. But then as soon as you don't need me any more, you suddenly want more space." I meant to sound angry. I hated how pathetic and desperate I sounded instead. But I kept going with, "Don't say you love me back just 'cause you don't want to hurt my feelings. If I scared you off, just say so."

Is it wrong that I felt a little bit relieved when I saw how heartbroken William looked?

"No. No, Eddie. It's not like that. I promise." He held both my hands. "I love you too. Seriously, if I could, I would be with you all the time. It's just that I really am busy now."

"Where did you go missing that day?" I asked point-blank.

He looked guilty again. Hesitated. Then he answered point-blank, "I can't tell you."

"What have you been so busy with all week long?"

"I can't explain that either."

The hallway was empty by now, except for us.

"I'm sorry, but that's not good enough," I said. "You go missing for almost two days, scaring the hell out of me and your parents. You're meeting strangers from the internet. You look like you haven't slept through the night in ages. Something is obviously wrong, William. Tell me."

He rubbed his face, exhausted. "Listen. A lot of different things happened. There's a lot that's still going on right now, and every part of it is really difficult to talk about. I know I'm not being fair, but can I please keep this to myself for a while longer?"

"If we love each other, we shouldn't keep secrets. I don't keep any secrets from you."

I shouldn't have said that, I thought guiltily. It's a lie. I'm keeping a huge secret from him.

William furrowed his eyebrows. "That's a lie?!"

I froze. Clearly, my poker face wasn't nearly as good as I thought.

"I'm -- I'm not lying," I said lamely.

He was both angry and confused. "How are you keeping a secret from me? I've never heard any--"

"We're not talking about me," I said defensively. "I get that you're going through an identity crisis. I get that it's complicated, and you think researching all this conspiracy stuff will help. I've been extremely supportive and patient with you -- And a lot of boyfriends wouldn't have."

"Do you think I enjoy keeping this all bottled up?! I don't! It's giving me nightmares, Eddie. I keep seeing their faces and thinking it's my fault--" He caught himself and stopped abruptly. "I want to tell you. I just can't."

"Why? What could possibly be so bad that you can't tell me? Did you kill someone?!"

I said it sarcastically, but William froze.

A second later he pressed his eyes shut and put his hands on his head. "I can't have this conversation right now…"

"Willia--"

"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The lights flickered a bit as he yelled that, but I didn't pay attention.

Once the lights returned to normal, I turned on the spot and walked away from him.

"Eddie? Where are you…?"

I didn't answer him. I just walked away.

I didn't know where I was walking to. I was thinking… Actually, I don't remember what I was thinking in that moment… I wasn't thinking much of anything. Except leaving him alone.

"Oh my god," William said. "No, no, no! Snap out of it!"

He ran behind me and grabbed my hand. The moment he touched me, I stopped and blinked. I hadn't even realized how badly I was spacing out, but suddenly I was alert again.

William ran around to face me and grabbed my head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Eddie," he said quickly. "I'm so, so, so, so, so, so, sorry. I didn't mean to do that, I swear." His eyes were watering.

It seemed like a pretty extreme reaction for shouting at me. "I-It's okay," I mumbled.

I grabbed his hands and gently pulled them away from my head. "Are you ready to talk now?" I asked.

He stared at me, still on the verge of tears. His mouth trembled. But after a second, he nodded.

"Yes… You're right, I can't keep this bottled up… Just, can we please not get into it right this second, in the middle of school? Come over to my place this afternoon. I'll tell you everything then."

"All right. When I come over, are you actually gonna be there this time?"

He looked guilty at that, and nodded again. "Yes."

"Okay."

"I'll explain everything today, Eddie. All of it. I promise. For real this time."

#agatha all along #agatha all along spoilers #post series #long post #fanfiction #constructive critism welcome #teddy altman #billy kaplan

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