#i really should work on this

[satashiiwrites]

Fuck it Friday

tagged by @monsterrae1 to share something for Fuck it Friday. Thanks for the tag! Tagging whoever wants to play along, @tkwritesdumbassassins @outtoshatter (no pressure) or anyone else who wants to play along.

Posting an older wip that I should totally work on at some point…

Title: If I See You in My Dreams

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda

Pairing: MReyder as always

Tags/warnings: first draft. Reyes has prophetic dreams and it doesn’t always end well for him or his family historically.

Keema stared at him for a moment, hesitating before joining Evfra and the others.  “Sholaon?” She asked quietly.

He shook his head, biting his cheek instead of speaking.  Sara and half of Scott’s team was still in there and Scott didn’t need him too.  Reyes just needed to convince his feet to move and be productive doing something—anything—that wasn’t here. 

Gently patting his jaw with her hand, Keema gave him a pitying look before she entered the small medbay. She purposefully left the door ajar instead of letting it close behind her. 

“Scott Ryder—I hope you are well,” her greeting carried out into the hallway, spoken loud enough for Reyes to easily hear. 

“Keema,” Scott’s voice was a bit soft but still distinct. “I’m okay.  How are you.”

“I am good Scott Ryder.”

“Do I have to remind you it’s just Scott? Again?” 

Keema laughed. “At least once more Sholaon.”

There was nervous laughter that sounded like Scott’s.  “So how did you know we needed your help?  You got here so fast that it couldn’t have been the distress call.”

There was a pregnant silence with neither Evfra nor Keema answering. “Yes how did you know how to find Meridian?” Jaal—the smug bastard—asked.  

Evfra cleared his throat.  “We were forewarned and it is good that we got here in time to assist.  Had the Kett taken Meridian it would have been difficult to unseat them.”

“Yeah it would have,” Scott agreed. “But seriously.  Who alerted you?  I didn’t know you guys had such good kett intel.”

Reyes could feel the awkward silence and visualized Keema and Evfra debating what to tell his lover since Scott didn’t seem to be in the know. “You should ask our mutual friend,” Keema finally said. 

“What?”  Scott’s question was pure confusion while a woman’s voice Reyes sort of recognized asked, “Who’s your mutual friend?” 

More silence.  Reyes rubbed at his face tiredly, 

“Forewarned.  You said you were forewarned.”  His lover sounded like he was deep in thought. 

“Yes.  As I have been told you humans have a saying that forewarned is forearmed.”

Scott snorted. “Of course he’d say that.”

There was a few titters from what sounded like Peebee and Liam as well as a growl from Jaal.  Why was he the one angaran who didn’t like Reyes on sight? Had he offended Jaal in a previous life?  

He didn’t need to stand here listening to this.  Scott was up and talking.  He’d… he’d find Reyes later or Reyes would just message him to stop by Kadara when he had a chance.   Reyes slunk away down the slightly tilted hallways and out onto the surface, using the same emergency hatch exit he’d used to climb aboard the Hyperion.  Finding his people, he started directing them to help with the cleanup of the remaining kett forces.  They needed to make sure none escaped.

Quickly becoming buried in the work of organizing and coordinating between the Kadaran forces and the Resistance, hours slipped by and night fell.  Reyes was nose deep in a compiled local map projection and talking with the scouting groups when he became aware that someone was standing behind him. 

“Red-5 keep your heading. Take Red-3 and Blue-8 with you. There’s a tangle of the Scourge ahead so keep your speed down and reply back every five.”

“Acknowledged.  Reply back every five,” the pilot said. “Red-5 out.”

Dimming the map so it wasn’t blinding him, Reyes looked over his shoulder to see Scott had managed to escape the infirmary and was leaning against a stack of crates.  He was wearing a soft looking Initaitve hoodie with his arm in a sling but his legs were still encased in armor and his boots that were pretty scuffed up.  His vida looked tired, eyes bruised and skin pale as he studied Reyes with eyes that were gleaming electric blue in the reflected light from the map. In his hands he had two mugs that steamed invitingly and he held one out to Reyes. 

“How are we doing?”  Scott pointed his chin towards the dimmed map. 

Reyes shrugged and took a sip of the coffee which must have come from the Hyperion. “Mop up.  It’ll take a bit.”

Scott frowned, eyes following the movement of fighters on the map.  “How many kett are the still finding?”

“More than a few.”  There had been a surprising number of kett fighters that had scattered after the Verakan had been scuttled by the Architect.  There wasn’t much left of the Archon’s flagship but they’d had to push the other dreadnaught into crashing into the Scourge and that ship had time to try and evacuate so they were hunting all the escape pods and fighters that had been ejected before it’d blown. 

Silent, Scott was still looking at him.  “What?”

“Evfra said that the intel about the Archon heading to Meridian came from you—before I sent out that distress call.”  He said it as a statement not a question.

“Yes?”  Reyes deflected. “You needed help.”

Scott’s lips twisted as he pressed them together in displeasure. “How did you know?  You knew before.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Reyes asked mildly, not admitting to anything.  He was curious what was going on in his vida’s head. 

“I’m not.  I just find it interesting how you’re able to know these things.  It’s almost like…”

“Like what?”

“Like you can see the future.”

Reyes scoffed, nervous and trying to deflect.

“Don’t,” Scott said sharply, setting his mug down and approaching Reyes until there was less than a handbreadth between their chests, eyes searching Reyes’ face.  “You’re scared. Of what I’m not sure.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Reyes admitted softly, shoulders slumping. “I… it’s difficult to talk about.”

“How you got the intel?” 

“No—well yes.”  Scott was scowling now but he was reaching for Reyes to draw him in closer, free arm wrapping around his waist to close the gap between their bodies. 

“You know you can tell me anything right?  That what you tell me stays between us?  I may be Initiative but you and me… we’re… we’re what? Boyfriends?”

“Partners,” Reyes disagreed immediately trying not to make a face at being tagged Scott’s boyfriend. “Boyfriends implies we are just trying each other out.”

“And we’re not,” Scott agreed. 

“We’re more than boyfriends… at least to me,” Reyes admitted softly. 

“Good to know I’m not the only one.” The scowl disappeared but there was still a worried wrinkle around the eyes. “But seriously Rey, you can tell me anything.”

“What if this changes how you feel about me?  What if it’s… something that makes you think differently of me?”  He hadn’t been this anxious about telling Keema as he’d been too terrified at the time of Scott dying. 

Scott shook his head in swift denial. “I think there’s very little you could say that would change how I feel about you… which… I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.  I know it hasn’t been that long but I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

“Mi vida,” Reyes couldn’t stop himself and he was kissing Scott, hands coming up to cup around his face to get a better angle after setting the coffee down. Scott went willingly, mouth opening under Reyes’ as they shared breath. It was like coming home and it settled something in Reyes as they moved against one another.  Scott was alive and here in his arms, out of danger and in love with him. 

His dreams were coming true. All of them and it wasn’t the ones bathed in pain and blood. 

Pulling back to breathe, Reyes leaned his forehead against Scott’s with his eyes closed.  “Sometimes… sometimes I see things.”

The arm around his waist squeezed and released but still held him. “What kind of things?”

Reluctantly, Reyes opened his eyes.  This close, Scott’s eyes were the sapphire blue of twilight and focused fully on him. “Possible futures… and sometimes the past.”

“Really?”  Scott didn’t sound like he disbelieved Reyes but instead like he was processing. “Like how?”

Shrugging, Reyes tried to put a bit of distance between their bodies but Scott didn’t let him escape. “I dream every night… and the closer it is to the present the sharper it gets as there are less possible outcomes.”

“And it comes true?”

He could only nod, trapped by Scott but unwilling to pull away again. 

“Huh.”  Scott looked thoughtful, gaze unfocused as he processed Reyes’ confession.

“I thought for the longest time that I wouldn’t get to meet you.”

“What?”  Scott’s eyes sharpened and the arm tightened again. “What do you mean?”

Biting his lips, Reyes tried to explain. “I saw…something terrible happening.  War and so many deaths—genocide. It was why I joined the Initiative.  I thought it would take me away from you.”

“How long have you been seeing me in your future dreams?”

“Since before I can remember.”  Scott had been there forever except for the almost two years before the Hyperion had entered Heleus after he’d awakened from six hundred years of cryo which he thankfully didn’t remember any dreams from. 

Scott stared at him. “You’ve… you’ve been dreaming of me that long?”

Blushing, Reyes dropped his eyes to look down at Scott’s chest. “You’ve been the love of my dreams forever.”

Scott shifted and that band-like arm released him so that it could catch his chin and tilt it so he had no choice but to look at Scott so he closed his eyes.  He didn’t want to see the shock and horror he was sure he’d find. “Rey—look at me please.”

“No.  Mi vida please I mean that I’ve—“

Scott shut him up by kissing him again.  When he spoke it was against Reyes’ mouth. “You’ve been in love with me that long?”

Nodding dumbly, Reyes didn’t resist when Scott went back to kissing him, tongues tangling. Somehow, he ended up stumbling backwards into a stack of crates, Scott’s body pressing firmly into him like he wanted to climb under Reyes’ skin. Trapped between Scott and the hard surface, Reyes could only cling to his vida. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Scott whispered against his mouth. “I think you would only have to ask me and I’d do anything for you.”

“Never that,” Reyes said horrified. “Mi vida—“

“Love you,” Scott interrupted.  “So tell me… what do you see in our future. A bed?”

Caught flat-footed, Reyes looked around them.  There was nothing but stacked crates and anyone could wander by at any time. Scott snorted and then was laughing, his weight still pinning Reyes against the crates. 

“It doesn’t quite work that way,” Reyes grumbled. 

“Oh it doesn’t does it?  Because I definitely see a bed in our future.”

“Where?”  Reyes gestured. 

“I do have a suite on the Hyperion… with a very comfortable bed… and possibly a shower,” he said wrinkling his nose.  “We’re both kinda gross and I don’t know about you…”

That was when Red-5 did his five minute check in and made them freeze. “Red-5 no kett sightings. Continuing on our heading.”

“Acknowledged,” Reyes said into his comm before flicking it back off. “I need to continue coordinating.”

“But later?” Scott arched an eyebrow suggestively. 

“Later.  Give me an hour or two?”  He should have the majority of this done by then and he could hand off anything that wasn’t. 

“Fine,” Scott sighed leaning in for another brief kiss. “But only an hour or two and then I expect you in our bed.”

“Our?”

Backing up with a mischievous grin, hair disheveled from where Reyes’ hands had been tangled in it, Scott purposefully gave a long leer at Reyes. “What’s mine is yours? What’s yours is mine?”

Laughing, Reyes could only nod in agreement. “Yes mi vida. Let me get this finished and I will join you.”

“Can’t wait.  Don’t make me hunt you down again.”  Scott disappeared in the maze of packing crates with a wink.

[w1lmuttart]

The lake town

[noodles-and-tea]

Last part whoo!!!

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4

[jessepinwheel]

love rereading some of my writing like damn this person really knows how to write that appeals to all the things I personally love

[000bun]

[unforth]

Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.

That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.

That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.

That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.

That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.

That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.

That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.

None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.

I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.

If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.

Celebrate fan work!

To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[starlit-mansion]

there's something so poetic about coyote vs acme being the thing that causes wb's 'the producers' ass scheme of shitcanning movies for tax breaks to blow up in their face and cause them to turn to the camera, blink twice, and dissolve into a little pile of ash that their eyes fall down into with a little bounce

[heartorbit]

figure skating set right now please. thanks

[lolli-popples]

I think it'd be fun to do some kind of Life Series AU where they're ALL enhanced individuals (superpowers) but are afraid of telling anyone due to stigma. Then the plot would be everyone slowly realizing other people have powers too until it clicks that everyone has them.

But that's not the fun part. The fun part is I think Joel's "superpower" is that when he looks at someone, they are unable to use their abilities. But he doesn't know that. So there's an unbelievable amount of hijinks around people trying to prove to him they have superpowers while he continues to say they're all deluded.

[berenshand]

one of my favourite little things about the murderbot diaries is how present all secunit's friends are even if they're not actually physically present. it doesn't do the annoying thing where it jumps through hoops to bring back characters that aren't really relevant to the narrative but it also doesn't do the other annoying thing where it pretends they never existed either. like secunit talks about art and mensah all the time even when art or mensah aren't in the book. it's clear how bharadwaj has impacted its personal growth even when she's literally on another planet. it complains about gurathin and pin-lee when they're not there. it's still sad about miki and don abene and it mentions tapan and maro and rami even though it only knew them for a few days (because when you're new at being a person every interaction with other people is important even if it's short). iris reminds it of mensah. iris also reminds it of ratthi. its hair is fluffy bc it let amena play hairdresser off-screen and it messages her so she knows it's okay. it doesn't have to worry about protecting volescu anymore because volescu retired thank goodness. it's still using thiago's language module. etc etc etc

it's such good writing because it's such a little thing that gives the characterization and relationships greater depth and also reinforces the running theme of friendship in the series and then also subtly gives this sense of 'the people you love are a part of you/your story' and also reinforces secunit's role as a storyteller because it's constantly telling little stories about all its friends.

[soosoosoup]

Chord Striker Au by @thatbennybee

[kaet-draws]

…in the field, the ground warms as blood seeps into the dirt. (Nathaniel Orion G. K, "הבל | hevel")

[cattamouche]

I think scara is a sloppy kisser...

he can be so, so impatient and even more emotional. all it takes is your addictive smile and a warm welcome-home-hug after a particularly long day of work and his feelings start to spill over so quick at the reminder that hes so fortunate to have somebody to come back home to. someone who loves and accepts him even with all his flaws, who has stuck with him through thick and thin. his person, who does so much for him every day, just because you love him. of all people, you love him. and he gets so emotional over the fact. he wants to feel all of you, grabbing at every inch of your body he can reach and holding on so tightly as if you're moments away from disappearing. he gets so overwhelmed he forgets he's the only one who doesn't need to breathe, and you're left pushing his face away despite his attempts at chasing your lips just to catch your breath because my god is he relentless. now you're suddenly pressed against the wall, forehead to forehead and panting in your living room, his silent apology at the realization that he once again got too carried away is to just stare. admire the way your eyebrows crease and your eyes are half lidded, mesmerized by the way he singlehandedly got your chest to rise up and down at such a fast pace he almost begins to mimic it. but all he does is watch, impatiently so, waiting for you to catch your breath and give him the greenlight to keep going.

[jupitersmoon167]

TF141 x WronglyAccusedTraitor!Reader trope where they die from their injuries shortly before/after the task force learns that they weren’t the traitor (they watch in silence as the medics try and bring them back, but the wounds from all the torture the team brought upon them were too severe)

TF141 x WronglyAccusedTraitor!Reader trope where the team has to live with the fact that their teammate (who thought of the task force as their family not that it mattered when it really counted) died for no reason, afraid of the ones they thought they could trust

TF141 x WronglyAccusedTraitor!Reader trope where the team has to break the news to the their family that their child is dead (do they tell them that they’re the reason their child wasn’t coming back?)

TF141 x WronglyAccusedTraitor!Reader trope where the team never gets the chance to make up for what they did (not that they would ever forgive them in the first place) and take that guilt with them for the rest of their lives, always pondering what if?

[slfcare]

the most difficult thing about growing as a person socially, as in getting out of your shell and noticing that you are, is that there will still be times when it doesn’t feel like you’ve grown at all! times when you can’t really connect with anyone around you, times when you fail to enter into an existing conversation, times when you say the wrong thing (or nothing at all when in hindsight you probably should’ve). but that’s also kind of the best thing, because that’s the thing that helps you realize that sometimes, it’s not you or your lack of skills or any shortcoming. sometimes certain environments just aren’t for you and certain people aren’t your people, and that’s okay. that’s human. it’s okay to not feel the progress you have made all the time.