#keep it up every single fic writer you guys are bones of this fandom

[brambleclawsdad]

warrior cats vs. good parenting 899-1

[the-darklings]

coa one year later & self-reflection

(*drags out a creaky metal chair and plops down on it heavily*)

Hi. It’s me, ya boi skinny--

Wait, wrong one. Do over.

Hi, it’s me, Kat, and I’m not dead. Clearly. Today being one year anniversary of COA has kinda put me in a reflective mood, so I guess I decided to sit down and just...talk about some things, thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling inside for a hot sec. Especially given how radio silent I have gone on here and people deserve a bit of perspective. 

And before anyone starts worrying, it’s all good, and I’m still around and currently in good health for the most part. 

So, let’s take it back to the start. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, we need to go back a year for that. 

By technicality alone, COA actually turned one year old on October 12th. That’s when the first part was posted. However, the reason I’m treating today as the aforementioned birthday is simple: I had no intention of this story ever being more than a short two-parter. I told this to the discord gang already but COA was only going to have two parts. V was going to die in Tokyo and the rest of the story follows glimpses of John throughout the movies and it’s her ghost that haunts him. Skipping ahead, it was going to have a bittersweet ending of John eventually dying, having completed his task, only to be greeted by V, Daisy and Helen in the afterlife. A peace of sorts. Then, I realised that, well, no. I have more to say on this world and intrigue about this placeholder character V kept growing. 

November 1st happened and I made a very last minute call to continue COA but with the added pressure of doing it during NaNoWriMo 2019. And boy did I. Most of the story was figured out during that very intense month. I posted Part 2 on this day a year ago because I was so eager to share it. Perhaps, in retrospect, a bit too eager. 

For those of you who may not know this, I work as a writer full time for my actual every day job. I’m the main writer for an original webcomic called In the Bleak Midwinter on Webtoon.com and have been for almost two years now. Getting what is essentially your dream job is amazing. I’m very lucky on that front but it also taught me stark realities of having your job and only hobby overlap. It’s a dangerous creative mix. Especially because I was not used to being constraint in what I create or the feeling like I have to please anyone else. Writing as a job is a whole other avenue of creative exhaustion. I love my job a lot and am very, very lucky to have it but it doesn’t change the fact that those initial stages made me fall back on COA a lot for creative freedom that I craved so desperately. To an unhealthy degree looking back on it now. 

But going back to November last year. NaNo time. I did it. Finished on the 24/25th I believe. A juicy final count of 52k+. All while maintaining a weekly update schedule for a fic that usually hit around 10k per update, if not more, even during those early days. Add writing an original story on top of that. Writing every day for hours on end (we are talking 10-12hr days) without any time for other hobbies or time for myself in general. I kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Losing weight and sleep in the process. I think the thing that convinced me that I should continue doing so is the fact that the outpour of support for COA ended up surpassing anything I ever expected or even dared to hope for. I’m not a huge numbers person but the outpour of love and just sheer investment in the story and characters blew me away. John Wick fandom is on the smaller side and has been going through downtime when I posted COA so my expectations were...well, small tbh. I like keeping expectations low to avoid any disappointments in general. But I’ve also always had an issue of being a massive 0 or 100 kind of person. If I love something, it consumes me. In this case, it brought me as much joy and freedom as much as it was steadily pushing me towards the ultimate crash. 

That being said, I can’t thank you all enough for every comment, like, reblog and message and fanart. You’re the reason I got this far. With your support. It brightened some really dark days for me.

But. 

To be frank, it’s never been about you guys. I never wrote or pushed because I felt like I had to appease anyone. That creative mindset is pure poison and I long since learned to let go of it. I kept pushing and kept working myself to the bone because I liked it. I liked how reading peoples’ responses made me feel. I liked the addictive nature of reading all the comments and theories after an update. I loved the idea of brightening peoples’ days and giving them something to cheer them up after what might have been a shitty day. Even if that was at expense of my own time/well being. But for a long time, it wasn’t. I love writing a lot but facts remain facts. 

It was beyond unhealthy and burnout wasn’t a question of if but when and that when was approaching at neck-breaking speed. 

So we come to the end of November. Part 4 has just come out. People were invested and I was invested alongside them. I was just finishing up Part 5 which (back then) was the biggest single chapter I’ve ever written and god I still recall my sheer dread because that was the beginning of Santino being established as a LI. Looking back on that now, it’s downright hilarious how worried I was about the reception of him and V together after John.

So honestly, I hit burnout at around Part 8. Because that’s the first time I recall struggling with writing a chapter. Part 8 came out on December 28th. I had a brief break for holidays. But my mistake was not taking longer back then. Because I continued writing with a barely healed burnout. Followed by almost a year of struggling and continuously creating through that state. It wasn’t like I eased off the pressure, either. Oh, no. The chapters grew in size, the world and the characters with it. AUs amassed quickly and while I adore every single one - again, I didn’t know how to pace myself well enough.

I’m spiteful though. The more the chapters struggled the more I pushed against the burnout. By the time Chicago arrived, however, I knew I was in trouble. I ended up writing 43k+ in a span of 2 months, I believe. And while to some it may not seem like a lot given the time frame, it’s a lot when you’re burnout to a crisp & writing an original story for work + deadlines. Which I was burned out and then some. Chicago was something I was looking forward to writing for months. I have built it up since Part 4. It was a long time coming. So while I’m still proud of it, I would be lying if I said that some scenes were not sacrificed for the sake of keeping to my invisible schedule that no one but me actually cared about. You guys have always been patient. I never felt pushed into anything. It’s always only ever been me doing the harm. 

Chicago was the downwards spiral for me mentally. I felt like I was failing to live up to my own expectations. That people were drifting away from it. I was plagued by the thought that the story I poured so much into was falling apart and growing weaker. Which this has always been an issue with me: I am my own harshest critic. Always have been. In fact, I’m a downright mean little fucker when it comes to just tearing at myself. I know writing is for fun - and it is - but I still like the idea of being proud of my work which only made everything worse despite the love each update received. 

This takes us to the beginning of June. Specifically, June the 2nd. Or, as I like to call it: Kat Makes Another Impulsive Decision but This One Actually Works Out For the Better. On this day, I created the COA Discord server. And damn, I’m not sure what exactly I was expecting when I did ngl. I did it for fun and as an escape more so than anything. But somehow it ended up being the best decision I made in a long while. I know some of you are reading this. So love you lots, dorks. It’s such a privilege to be able to call so many of you my friends even outside of COA now. That little community has given me some of the best memories from this year and helped me to crawl out of my own metaphorical pit I was stuck in. Mentally, I’m doing much better than I did beginning of this summer. Which could be summed up as a constant self-hatred cycle and a feeling of inadequacy. 

That, however, does not mean my burnout magically disappeared. If anything Chapter 17 just put a nail in the coffin so to speak. 2020 has been a shitty year just across the board for obvious reasons I don’t need to go into here but that can only partially be attributed to my mental state. Chapter 17 was...exhaustive. To say the least. But I was determined to stick with my vision and not split it up. I was also starting to be a bit more forgiving towards myself in terms of how long I may take to write it thanks to guys on discord though the feeling of failure and worry never quite faded fully. I’m proud of Part 17. Truly. But that was also when I hit rock bottom creatively on COA. It drained me completely. 

I tried writing Part 18 for weeks after, day in and day out, not getting past the first scene and hating every word I wrote. So I took a deep breath and stopped. Figured I let it marinate and wait instead of trying to piece one of the most crucial chapters in this story like some Frankenstein monster two sentences at the time.

So my solution was simple: give myself some distance from it and write other things. Get my spark back. Of course that’s always a good idea. Having multiple creative escapes is the best thing you can do for yourself creatively. There was just one tiny little problem. 

I was still burned out. Still am. The problem went deeper than just being burned out over COA. I was burned out over writing itself. 

Which is an issue for a person who only has writing as a creative outlet.

I don’t have any other way to express myself. So I was stuck in a runt, trying to write because it’s the only thing that makes me genuinely happy even when I really shouldn’t have. And let me tell you. It’s a shitty fucking feeling. My burnout worsened. I had a thousand ideas but every time I tried to get them down it felt forced, fragmented, and weak. Repetitive and dry. Now, this is also in part because English isn’t my native language, so my vocab is limited as a result, but I hit that sweet rock bottom in that regard, too. 

So, I worked on V (but in her OC form Clara), Lucien and The Elites. All those characters have grown so much since you last read about them. I have multiple original projects planned down the line that will feature all of them existing in their own world, with their own stories and no longer constrained by JW canon.  

Which, finally, takes us to the end of October and beginning of November 2020. 

I was convinced that the best course of action was to do NaNo again but with an original story this time (involving V). Suffice to say, it took a grand total of maybe 5-6 days and hating every second of writing it while also feeling like this project I’m so passionate and excited to write (still am) is just...going down the toilet to be blunt, to realise I may have made the wrong call. 

Still, the stubborn ass that I am, I pushed through. Convinced I can get into it if I just keep going. The realizations that I am sharing with you right now won’t have been possible if it hadn’t been for a rather curious turn of events about a week and a half ago.

I recently bought a gaming laptop, all in preparation for Cyberpunk 2077 dropping ofc. But, in the meantime, I kept recommending a game to a friend on the COA server. That game? Far Cry 5. (It’s a blast to play btw, just a side note.) And playing it brought back all the feelings of nostalgia from the days when I used to write for that fandom. So I revisited some old work. Checked the stuff I never published and that has been sitting ducks in my docs for months and hoo boy. Let me tell you it was a vibe check of the worst kind. 

The stark difference in the prose and the ease with which it flowed was...startling. It made me remember why I love writing so much and how proud I used to be of what I wrote back in the day. Which is not to say I’m not proud now, but it was just such a sharp dip in quality it was impossible to ignore.  

So I didn’t.  

I paused NaNo, moving it to another month. I paused writing for everything but work, which with our season coming to an end I will also get a rest from soon, too. I kinda paused in general. For the first time in a while, I finally forced myself to switch off. Rest. 

The reason why I haven’t been on here is simple: guilt and not having energy to be on here. I like making my blog a safe space for everyone. Similar to escape it has become for me. I couldn’t pretend I was fine when I wasn’t. I felt obliged to perform and being here became exhausting. I haven’t been checking my inbox. Haven’t done much of anything except occasionally dropping by and reblogging a random post so people know I’m alive.

And that’s that, folks. That’s where I am currently. Resting. Completely exhausted mentally but resting. Getting my energy back. 

So where does that leave us, huh? If you read this far, dunno what to tell you. Thanks, I suppose. It’s still odd to think people actually care about my existence sometimes.

I know what you’re likely thinking, too. So does this mean COA is never gonna be finished? What is gonna happen to it? Are you abandoning it?

The answer: no. 17 out of 25 chapters and 250k+ in, I’m too far in not to give it a proper conclusion. Not because I owe it to anyone other than myself. I want this story to be a stepping stone for my future as a writer. I want to prove to myself that I can get this done and finish it. As of right now (as you can no doubt tell with how long it’s been since last update) it’s on a soft hiatus while I rest. This rest? Not sure how long it may last. Right now, my plan is till mid December at which point I will reevaluate. Ideally, I finish the year with an update. But my New Year’s resolution is to finish COA. That timeline has become a little more murky now but, again, ideally it’s within the first quarter of 2021. Will that happen? I don’t know. And I don’t want to make false promises, either. 

All I’m saying is that it will be done. I’m just no longer sure how long, exactly, it may take me to reach that Epilogue. I don’t expect many people to stick around for however long it may take me, but if you do, thank you. Truly. I really and deeply mean that. 

So what’s on the cards for this blog in the meantime? Well, CP77 is coming out in under a month (if it doesn’t get moved again lmao rip) and I expect that to be my soft return to posting my writing on here again. We will see where the muse takes me, if at all. Regardless though, I’m excited. 

One doctorate thesis later, here we are at the end of this really long rambling session. I hope that this has given you some perspective on things going on behind the scenes. I spared you some of the gorier details but I think this post has been long overdue. I suppose I, myself, was just too unwilling to face these things despite knowing about them deep down for a while now. I’m too self-critical not to notice but acting on correcting this behavior has been a whole other matter clearly. 

Thank you for reading this post, my writing in general, and supporting me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still around. More is on the way in the future. I’ll be seeing you all real soon. And all my love to all of you. 

Love,

- Kat.   

[dehydratedpool]

hello again!! it’s the beginning of a new month, meaning a new fic rec post!! here are some fics that i read this month that are just... exquisite and deserve all the love and attention <3 

there aren’t as many as last time unfortunately, since i was quite busy this past month, but i promise next month won’t fall short! ((fics that i’ve reread this month are indicated with a **))

Foolishly Laying Our Hearts On The Table [11k] by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

Or; The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

--> this is a new comfort fic for me tbh. i got rec’d this after louis tweeted about getting his wisdom teeth removed, and i’m so SO glad i decided to give it a read. it’s so precious and lovely and personally, i found it to be a quick read. it’s the kind of fic that makes me both warm and fuzzy inside but also highly upset that i’m single and will surely be alone forever

Just Let Me [14k] by HelloAmHere 

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

--> ok LISTEN. as some of you know, i just recently got into reading a/b/o fics and this one is definitely at the top of my fave a/b/o fics out there. it’s an interesting take on the trope, almost a bit more realistic in my opinion, and to quote the author’s note, “’what if a/b/o but less biological determinism?’”. i believe i found this one through a masterpost of “touch-deprivation fics”, so if that’s your thing, give this one a chance!

my ugly mouth kept running [4k] by theankletattoo @hadestyles

Another seed, another try except they know what caused the first wilt. They will be careful, they will be kind and together they will nurture it to life.

sometimes second chances are more important than the first.

--> rori, the author, never fails to disappoint when it comes to all of her works. i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again, she’s so incredibly fucking talented it’s unreal. her imagery is so vivid and real it leaves simultaneously everything and nothing to the imagination. as usual, h and l’s dynamic in this is an addicting portion to this fic that has you anticipating how their dynamic will shift and grow up until the end. if you’ve yet to read any of rori’s work, i suggest you add that to your to-do list for the month, and get a head start to her collection with this one!

**As Wicked As Anything Could Be [21k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter

It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.

Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.

It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.

Somehow Harry comes to the decision that it would be a good idea for him to be in the room with Louis while Louis gets laid.

It’s a stupid fucking decision.

--> i discovered this fic a while ago on a whim and i have zero regrets. this is absolutely on my top ten fave fics list (that has yet to exist but perhaps i’ll post it one day). whoknows is a well known author within the fandom, so i’m sure i don’t have to say much about their immense talent, but SERIOUSLY, their plot progression, even their use of dialogue is wonderful in every way. as a writer, i envy them lmao. this fic takes me on a rollercoaster every time i read it, it’s yet another comfort fic of mine and never fails to disappoint every time i pick it up again. please, do yourselves a favor this april and read this.

Keeping The Flame Alive [19k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter 

Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.

The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.

What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.

--> yes, for the first time in dehydratedpoolfics history of fic recs even tho i’ve only been doing this for a month i am rec’ing the same author twice, but seriously, how could i not??? this fic took me on a literal journey like... wtf. i have no words. seriously, i have none, i’m just that blown away, go read it for yourself .

**a trail of honey through it all [27k] by bruisedhoney @yvesaintlourent 

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

--> okay look. i may or may not have a slight obsession with this fic. i reread it constantly, mostly for the iconic line, “are we fuckin’ or fightin’?”, because how can i not scream over that?? ((also patiently waiting for the sequel)) this is a literary masterpiece, one that defines an entire generation of this fandom i stg. but in all seriousness, hayley, the author, does such a wonderful job of giving the reader a vivid look into “nowhere, georgia”, and as a southern gal myself, i absolutely adore the itty bitty pieces of southern culture embedded into this, the tiny quirks that make this fic authentic. i could probably go on forever on why this fic is so iconic, but perhaps you should read it for yourself instead *wink* *wink*

SO. that’s all for this month!! if you read any of these, first of all, be sure to read the tags and author’s note (if any) before starting, AND please don’t forget to leave a quick kudos or comment, it means more than you may ever know <3

[tansypoisoning]

Tansy’s Spooky Challenge

Because the World is terrifying :D

To celebrate this milestone (1k followers :O) I’m starting a challenge which hopefully will give back to this community in terms of exposure of less known authors (or just authors that aren’t known by my followers) and in creating more stories. I’m so thankful for all the attention I’ve been given, and I hope to give you guys my attention as well.

I love writing challenges because they give authors motivation to write (sometimes even things out of their comfort zone), because they’re a great way for writer’s to promote themselves, and because it’s a great way for the person hosting it to find more stories and authors they could end up being big fans of :D I especially encourage people with less followers, or whose works I haven’t read to participate.

The main objective of this challenge is to write something that has an element of horror in it. It can range from a situation that seemed scary but is okay, to something that is a little eerie, to pure unadulterated terror. As for rules:

You DON’T have to be following me to participate.

You have to enter with a reader insert/OC fic. There doesn’t have to be any smut or shipping, and if there is, the relationship DOESN’T HAVE to be about dark!character or dark!reader.

I’ll read works for any fandom, but the ones I’m most familiar with are Marvel, Overwatch, Snowpiercer, Knives Out, Naruto, Avatar:The Legend of Aang

You can submit drabbles, one-shots, or an entry of a serialized story.

A single prompt CAN be used by more than a single person.

The fanfics can be of any length, but if they’re on the longer side, please try putting a ‘Read More’ in there somewhere to avoid making things difficult for people reading on phones.

Things that are not allowed in terms of content: underage sex, bestiality, graphic child abuse (allusions are ok) I don’t think anyone would submit an entry that I would have reservations reblogging, but if in doubt you can ask me for help. Give warnings for any sensitive topic you bring up.

Tag your fic with “TansySpookyChallenge2020”

Send me an ask or dm telling me you posted it, preferably a dm. Asks can get eaten by the inbox, and tagging doesn’t always work.

Deadline is November 24th. You can DM for extensions

PROMPTS BELOW

Choose one item from each list and work them into a story. I allow and encourage trying to game the system with multiple interpretations of a term, less literal readings, or wordplay.

List 1

Happiness

Jealousy

Nostalgia

Desperation

Fury

Triumph

Sadness

Acceptance

Fervor

Disgust

Awe

Confusion

Hope

Craving

Foreboding

Denial

Loss

Ennui

Adoration

Sympathy

Pain

Betrayal

Commiseration

Anxiety

Rancor

Determination

List 2

Sink or swim

Chokecherry

Crossroads

“Let me see what you have.” “A knife!”

French vanilla

Something forgotten long ago

The shore

The eye of the storm

Bathtub

Corn hell

Down by the river

Baby’s breath

A little fire

An old saloon

Unearthed bones

On the move

Before dawn

Dead men walking

By candlelight

Frankenstein

Prima Donna

A hill about a mile outta town

First dance

Ritual

Underground

A small request

These text prompts can be used however you want: whether you want to have them in your story in their entirety, use bits, write something around them, something inspired by them, or just something you think has a similar feel. Just let me know which you picked.

There is a Corvette parked in front of the building, just by the front door. You approach the vehicle as if compelled by an invisible force and look in through the closed window. There’s none inside, but you see, in the driver's seat, illuminated by the neon lights of the bar, a white cowboy hat with a golden band. This isn’t the first time you see this hat.

The hole is no more than eight feet long and three feet wide. You peer in deeper, but you can’t see the bottom. There’s a soft but grating sound coming from somewhere within, like sharp nails raking against a metal plate. You can’t see the bottom, but you think you can see movement inside.

You abandon the warmth of the laundromat for the biting cold of the outside world. To your right, the road extends for miles and miles into the night, as it does to your left. There’s no place for you to go, but you can’t go back inside.

The light of the neon sign proudly displaying “Rising Sun Motel” shines through your door. You had closed and locked it before taking your shower – you know you had, because you do it in every room you rent. You take a cursory glance of your surroundings. Nothing is out of place or missing. Must be a faulty lock. The night is windy and could have pushed the cheap door open. You go to lock it again, and when you turn around you see that the closet door is slightly ajar.

The land is flat as far as the eye can see and identical houses with identically manicured lawns sprout from it as far as the eye can see. You run up and then down the street (or is it down and then up?) but you can’t seem to find anything else. The people look so friendly when they smile and wave as they pass you by, but you don’t ask them for directions. You look at your phone. You have signal, but all you can get your internet to show you are advertising for washing machines and sites with recipes for awful things preserved in aspic. The date and hour on your home screen keep changing. You’re positive you’ve been in this place for hours, but the sun won’t set.

“B-but… I don’t understand...” “We have checked the security footage three times and found nothing. There are also no signs of forced entries. No fingerprints.” “-My phone! I took pictures, I know I took-!” “We found nothing on your phone, in the SD card, or in the Cloud. There’s nothing.” “That’s impossible!” “We searched as much as we could. I’m sorry, but… are you sure-” “I know what I saw! I know it! Look again!” You aren’t imagining things. It couldn't have been your mind. It couldn't, it couldn’t, it couldn't

What kind of convenience store has taxidermy heads for decoration? You ask yourself as you roam the aisles of the near empty shop. You peek from behind a row of shelves to one side and spot the clerk. He’s old and severe looking, and although his pupils are pointed in your direction, you get the distinct feeling he’s looking right through you. You move your head to the other side of the shelves and spot another one of those fucking deer heads. This one’s large, wet eyes are turned to a fixture in the ceiling, but you would swear it’s watching you.

Rain pelts you as you stand at the dock, waiting. You hope your boat will arrive soon. You look over your shoulder into the mist and see nothing that should give you pause, but your leg still won’t stop shaking. You touch your arm by reflex and wince when you brush your cut. You think your makeshift tourniquet is working, but it looks fragile, like it could get dismantled at any second. In this weather, you’re sure is just a matter of time. You look over your shoulder again. Still nothing, but you fear it won’t last. You hope your boat will arrive soon.

The living room is dark, but you don’t turn on the lights. You are still too close. You move to the kitchen, and there you feel safe enough to reach for the switch. The illuminated room, much larger than it needed to be, is a ghastly land of contrasts. The many counters and their many marble tops are covered in trash. The tile floors, formerly clean enough to eat out of, are now muddied, not a single spot spared. The eyes of the two stoves are covered by pans and pots boiling foul mixtures. Through the window you can see the sprawling lawn and walls of hedges. They will hide you, but for how long? There is something waiting for you in the hallway, something terrible. You have to address it before sunrise, but for now you’ll wait here. The kitchen isn’t half as bad as the rest of the house.

‘The Bystander Effect’ is the term used to describe the phenomenon in which people don’t intervene in emergency situations when in a group, and, the larger the group, the less likely they are to intervene. You know this to be true, even without doing any research, as you hobble your way through the maze of alleyways. Your cries for help had gone unanswered, bouncing off the concrete walls into a multitude of uncaring ears. It’s just how it is in the big city – every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost. So much for safety in numbers. The truth is, in this city, surrounded by all these people, you’re more alone than you’d ever been.

You take the first step with care, mindful of all the ice. The second is a little clumsier. On the third you almost slip. You skip the fourth and fall on the fifth, rolling down the stairs and landing face first in the snow. You scramble to get back to your feet and run to your car. You have to get home. You lock yourself in and don’t bother with the safety belt. You shove the key in the ignition and turn and turn but nothing happens. Did you leave it in the cold too long, or- There’s no time to think about it. You step out of the car and start running, into the freezing night. You have to get home, you have to get home now.

Cleanup time is always a hassle. You wish you didn’t have to do it, but it wouldn’t be fair to leave the mess all to your partner. You two near the open trunk of the car and load the heavy cargo into it. Your companion seems the most affected by the weight, and you offer an apologetic smile. Fair is fair though; it was your turn to carry the feet end.

Skinny dipping had seemed like a good idea when your friend suggested it earlier, under the sweltering sun. Now, standing in front of the pool in your bathing suit, all by your lonesome, you start to regret having agreed to her scheme. Wasn’t she supposed to have arrived forty minutes ago? She said she’d bring people too, because skinny dipping alone isn’t fun. Well, now you are all alone in the cold, and you suspect that is even less fun. Just as you make up your mind to leave, you see a car through the chain link fence. It pulls up just before the gate and the engine turns off. That must be them.

[kmomof4]

Today is the birthday of a dear friend in this fandom so I wanted to do something special for her!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @jonirobinson64!!!!! 

We may not have been friends long, but you have become very dear to me in a short amount of time. So to commemorate the day of your birth, I wrote you a little something. I hope you enjoy it! All the love and thanks to @kymbersmith-90 for beta services!!! 

Summary: This is a birthday fic for Joni, so it will include all her favorite things... or at least several of them...

Rating: M (smut)

Words: 2662

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Best Friends to Lovers

On ao3

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite​ @branlovestowrite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @nikkiemms​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

High Confessions and What Came Next

Emma was having a great time blowing off steam with her friends after a “week from hell,” as Regina had called it. The drinks were flowing, the music was great, and the company was even better. It didn’t happen that often anymore, but all of her closest friends were able to make it to the bar tonight, and they were determined to make the most of it. Ruby and Graham gyrated on the dance floor, M’s was crushing David at darts (not that he minded), and even Regina and Robin had joined her and Killian in a tequila shooters game. Everyone was having a great time, until Walsh showed up.

He made his move when Killian went back to the bar to “procure them more libations,” which he’d said in that smooth accent of his that made all his words, not just the fancy ones, sound ultra-sexy.

As soon as Killian had disappeared through the crowd, Walsh had approached. He came up behind her, placing his hands on her hips and nearly grinding himself into her backside. He must have taken her startled gasp as arousal because he then nuzzled into her neck while whispering huskily in her ear. “Come on, baby…”

But he got no farther. Twisting herself out of his grasp, she held up a hand, pushing him away from her. He tried to draw her to him again with what he must have thought was a sultry smirk.

“Get your hands off me,” she shouted, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?”

“Why would you want me to do that,” he retorted, with a lazy drawl, “when you’re over here teasing every guy in the place with that dress and all that skin on display?” His eyelids dropped, giving him a sleepy, half awake look rather than the sexy one he was probably going for.

“How I’m dressed when I’m out with my friends for an evening of fun is none of your damn business. And I suggest you take your attentions elsewhere, unless you want to become intimately acquainted with at least one part of my body, though definitely not the one you were hoping for.” She looked down at her other fist as if she was examining a recent manicure. “Get the picture?” She looked back up at him coolly, hoping that her hammering heartbeat at the fright he had given her wasn’t obvious on her face.

She was stunned when he reached for her again. “Ooooo, so you like it rough, baby? Well, I can give you what you want.”

Suddenly, a familiar hand landed on her harasser’s shoulder and spun him away from her.

“I believe the lady said to keep your hands off,” Killian all but growled at the man.

Walsh sneered back at him, “And I don’t believe I asked you. Stick your nose someplace else. She’s coming with me.”

Killian looked down at the floor with a chuckle. “I’m glad you think so, mate.” Quick as lightning, his fist appeared out of nowhere and landed squarely in the middle of Walsh’s face. Blood poured as Walsh staggered back, his hands cupping his shattered nose.

Killian moved toward Emma, her color a little better than it was when he first emerged from the crowd with their fresh drinks. “Are you alright, Love?” he asked, grasping her upper arm gently. Pain shot through his knuckles as he did. He released her with a hiss and looked down at the rapidly bruising area.

“We need to go get that looked at, Killian,” she murmured. “You might have some broken bones in there.”

“From Walsh’s nose? Impossible.”

Emma gave him a skeptical look. “The only time I’ve ever seen bruising happen that fast was from a broken bone. Let’s go.” Killian sputtered, trying to protest that he was fine, but she was having none of it. She turned him toward the bar and pushed him ahead of her. Jefferson had seen the whole thing and was waiting for them with an ice pack all ready to go. “Thanks, Jeff,” she said, relieving him of the pack.

Killian placed it on his knuckles and allowed his Swan to lead him out the door.

~*~*~

Emma helped her sometimes idiotic, most-of-the-time sweet, always a gentleman best friend through the front door of their apartment. He was pretty loopy from the painkillers they’d given him in the ER after he put that douche Walsh in his place.

It was a good thing that her job as a bail bondswoman kept her in shape. She all but carried him into the apartment before heading down the hall towards his bedroom. He was so stoned she knew that once she sat him down, he wouldn’t be moving until morning. So she was determined to deposit him in his bed, where he’d at least be comfortable.

She tried to stifle her giggle as he nuzzled into her neck, much as Walsh had done earlier, sniffing her hair and letting out a contented hum, his breath warm on her skin. She shivered with awareness, not minding his attention at all.

Of course, she’d always been aware of how handsome he was, but her attraction had been buried underneath the prickly armor she wore around everyone but her family and closest friends. By nature of their roommate status however, Killian quickly joined that elite circle of people. Emma kept her heart guarded, not trusting anyone easily, so she could count her friends on one hand. It hadn’t taken Killian long to demolish her walls with his easy charm and laid back, gentleman-like tendencies. When they had shared their pasts with each other one evening, when Netflix had failed to keep their attention, she had seen how similar they really were. Emma had handed over her heart and never looked back. She just neglected to tell him that.

But now, after removing his shirt and pants, and as she tried to maneuver him under the comforter of his bed, (he made his bed every. Single. Morning. How? she thought, shaking her head.) his unbandaged hand shot out and grabbed her. He pulled just enough to make her tumble into his bed, halfway on top of him. “Ah, now that’s better,” he murmured, encircling her in his arms. She stared down into his half-lidded, so blue eyes... eyes that she could easily drown in.

“What’s better?” she whispered.

The haze in his eyes lifted just enough that she could see the seriousness in his gaze. “Having you here. In my arms. In my bed.”

“What?” She was floored. Was it possible that he wanted her too?

“You heard me, Swan.” He tightened his arms around her slightly. “Will you stay?”

“I’ll just be in the next room if you need anything, Killian.”

“No, not there, Swan. Here. With me.”

Her tongue flicked out, moistening her lips. “Let me go get a few things and I’ll stay,” she replied. “I’ll always stay.”

“Mmmmmmm,” he hummed, apparently appeased with her answer.

She pulled out of his arms and got him situated in the bed before going to the kitchen to get a glass of water for later, when he’d take another dose of the pain meds, and an ice pack to wrap around his badly bruised knuckles. Entering her own bedroom, she changed into her pajamas before heading back to his. She opened the door to find him dead to the world, gently snoring. She leaned against the door jamb and let her eyes roam over him to her heart’s content. His black hair was tousled and flopping down over his face, his bare chest on display, his bandaged hand on top of the covers. She moved toward him, debating whether she should actually sleep in his bed with him tonight. His confession notwithstanding, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her hands to herself once she fell asleep. What if she cuddled up to him? What if he woke to find her there? Would he even remember his request? And if he did, what would happen then? What would happen to them?

She crawled into the other side of his bed, justifying her behavior by telling herself that since she was such a heavy sleeper she would be unlikely to hear him if he woke unless she was next to him. After wrapping his hand in the ice pack, she lay down on her side to face him, stroking her fingers lightly along his forehead before burying them in his silken hair.

“I love you, Killian,” she whispered, before she fell into dreams.

~*~*~

Killian awoke the next morning with an aching hand and a warm body pressed along his side. Looking down, his face was buried in a cloud of spun gold. He inhaled deeply before withdrawing slightly to see the love of his life cuddled up to him, her head on his shoulder, her arm splayed across his torso. His arm was wrapped around her, holding her close to his heart, the place she’d lived for nearly as long as he had known her. She stirred in his arms, burying her face in his chest where her drool had collected as she slept. He chuckled as her eyes scrunched in annoyance before opening and meeting his own.

Green pools that he would happily drown in stared up at him. Her mouth fell slightly open as her eyes scanned his face and she took in every emotion that he was powerless to hide in the early morning.

“What do you remember from last night?” she asked in a whisper.

Not exactly what he was expecting her to say in their current position.

“Uhh…” he gaped at her. There was no other word for it. But he wanted to answer her question before she realized exactly where she was and pulled back from him. He searched his memory. He remembered arriving at the bar with Emma, doing his damndest to keep his thoughts and his hands in the friend zone instead of where they could quite easily go if he wasn’t careful. He remembered tequila shots with Emma, Regina, and Robin. He remembered punching that wanker, Walsh, after he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He remembered Swan taking him to the Emergency Room, afraid that he might have broken his hand. After that though, things started to get a little fuzzy. He vaguely remembered Emma helping him into bed and her falling on top of him briefly when getting him under the sheets proved difficult. “I remember our evening at the bar and coming home after the ER. After that, it’s pretty hazy around the edges.” He grinned at her somewhat sheepishly.

“Do you remember asking me to stay with you?”

“Did I?’

“Yes. You asked me to stay with you here, in your bed.” Bless his dear Swan. Her eyes were wide in her panic and he could feel her heart beating rapidly against his rib cage. “You said it was better.”

Killian scrambled to lighten the tense mood that had fallen at her words. He wiggled his eyebrows, the action never failed at getting an eye roll out of her, as he hugged Emma  tighter to his side. “Having you here in my bed is always better, Swan. But I can think of some other, more enjoyable, activities that a bed is also good for- besides sleeping, I mean.” Emma looked down, blushing prettily. He maneuvered his injured hand under her chin and raised it until she was looking at him again. “But only if you’re amenable, darling. I may not remember exactly what I said last night, but I can assure you that I want nothing more than for you to share my bed and my life. Just as you’ve shared my heart for years.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “You’ve held my heart in your hands for years, Killian. And I would be very much amenable,” she replied, in a horrible attempt at his accent, “to share your bed and your life.” She lifted her hand to caress his jaw. “I love you, Killian Jones.”

“And I love you, Emma Swan.”

Words were no longer necessary as he pulled her up to meet his lips. His uninjured hand buried itself in her hair as the other rubbed up and down her back. His tongue traced the seam of her lips before she opened, allowing him to deepen the kiss. A moan tore itself from the back of her throat as their tongues tangled in a dance they had both desired for so long.

Her own hands were by no means idle. She felt the planes of his chest under her fingers and nearly giggled in delight when he tried to squirm away from her touch as she had apparently found a ticklish spot on his ribs. Their kiss broke and Killian pressed open mouth kisses along her jaw and down her neck as she threw her head back in ecstasy. Heat built in her core when he latched onto her pulse point and gave a firm, but not too painful, suck, marking her as his for all the world to see.

His hands continued their explorations, settling at her breasts where he kneaded and plucked at her nipples until they were hard points, begging for his mouth. She raised herself from his chest and straddled him, his prominent erection hitting her just where she needed him. She ground down, staring at the man she loved, his own eyes nearly black with love and desire. Desire for her. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of him looking at her like this, as if there was nothing in the world he could possibly want or need more than her.

“Oh, Swan,” he moaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. He reached for her again and pulled himself upright, surrounding her in his strength and his scent. “Lift up, darling.” His hands pushed her pajama bottoms and panties down as she kneeled in front of him. She wiggled them the rest of the way off as Killian made short work of his boxer briefs. “I hope I helped some when you undressed me last night, Swan,” he cooed at her, waggling his eyebrows again.

She rolled her eyes at him. “You were mostly out of it, but it wasn’t too hard,” she quipped.

She straddled him again and stared into his eyes before lowering her mouth to his in a sweet kiss. She melted into his embrace as passion made way for gentle tenderness in their lovemaking. Soft touches, whispered endearments, and breathless sighs filled the room as they both kissed, sucked, and nibbled all of the secret places known only to lovers. He thrust his hips into hers, coating himself in her juices as he drove her higher and higher. Rising up, she lowered herself onto him, the slight burn as she stretched around him making her gasp in pleasure. She nearly sobbed as he bottomed out within her. She had never felt so complete, so at home, as she did right at this moment. She never wanted it to end.

Killian’s own groan reached her ears as he started to move within her. “Emma, oh, Emma. How I love you, darling.” He captured her lips in a fiery kiss and tilted her back until she was flat on the mattress, driving into her at a frenzied pace.

“Yes, Killian, yes!” she screamed. “Right there! Oh god!” she cried, falling apart in his arms. Killian pumped into her just a few more times before he joined her in an earth-shattering release.

Emma held her love to her, content to feel his weight on her for a few moments more. He sighed deeply before rolling off and drawing her close. “You’d better be sure about this, Swan, because it’s too late for me. I’ll follow you to the end of the world. Or time.”

“Mmmmmm,” she hummed. “Good.”

The End

[bouncymouse]

Fanfic Ask Meme Answers

For @colormyworldpink :D

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

I have a (currently unpublished) CloTi short about changing feelings in a relationship that is definitely based on personal experience… I haven’t published it yet though because I wrote it when I was particularly bummed out and it cuts a little close to the bone. Apart from that, the plots themselves aren’t based on real-life (I haven’t been embroiled in any revenge plots or bar-top sexy-times) but some of what the characters feel is definitely drawn from personal experience. Tifa’s “slightly put-upon, always there for everybody else, life passing her by” nature is definitely something I resonate with, which means I sometimes struggle writing her if the scene is particularly emotional.

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with Reprisal?

Yes and no? There aren’t songs that inspired the plot necessarily. Head Automatica (Beating Hearts Baby) directly inspired Reno’s line “you don’t know what you do to me.” Apart from that, the Turks are pure My Chemical Romance (currently Welcome to the Black Parade, Mama, You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us In Prison, Teenagers, Thank You for the Venom). Great music to write fighting, chaos and explosions to. Tifa and Reno are Dead Horses (Birds Can Write the Chorus) and Florence and the Machine (Shake it Out). The line “looking for heaven, for the devil in me,” will definitely influence a fic title at some point I think. Sometimes it’s the lyrics that inspire me, sometimes it’s just the music. When I’m actually writing I listen to a lot of mostly none-lyrical music, most notably Slow Meadow (Palemote), Sophie Hutchings (By Night) and Message to Bears (You Are a Memory)

Once the fic is over I’d like to compile a playlist of Reader Recommended music though, as a couple of people have already made suggestions to me.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an "architect" or a "gardener"? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

As my beta will tell you, I cannot plan for shit. Sometimes I outline chapters, sometimes I sit down and write them from scratch. Reprisal is a rewrite of an old fic (that I’ve now purged from my FFN account) so the basis was already there… The ending has changed about ten times in my head, and the plot bunnies are running rampant. Luckily, my beta helps me hash out the problems with the pairing (of which, there are many) and helps me tie up all the loose ends I keep leaving. I should probably settle on my ending seeing as it’s coming fairly soon...

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

My beta Arisa_K (on FFN and Ao3) is definitely an influence. My writing is a hell of a lot prettier because of her. There aren’t many of us writing ReTi, and we got talking because of the sheer lack of writers for the pairing when we both returned to it. Apart from that, I drop in and out of fic quite sporadically, so there aren’t any authors (yet) that I specifically follow. My favourite writer outside of fanfiction is Terry Pratchett, although that doesn’t really translate into my writing… I read a lot growing up, and try to read as much as I can when I’m not working or writing. I mainly enjoy Science Fiction Romance now (because I am a horny nerd LOL).

S: Any fandom tropes you can't resist?

“Enemies to lovers” gets me every, single time.

T: Any fandom tropes you can't stand?

I’m not a huge fan of AU’s… I don’t mind a little deviation from the canon, but you have to be a really good writer or have a really good plot to drag me into a story that takes place outside of the fandom world. Fics set in Coffee Shops/High Schools/Real World don’t really appeal to me.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

Oh god, Reno all day long (I think you know this). I just… can’t leave him alone… 

Thanks for asking :D

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

THE BISEXUAL WYATT MANIFESTO: PART DEUX

The previous post simply got far too long for me to put it all in one place so here is part the second. Put below a cut and my apologies to mobile users!

Part one here.

PART THE SECOND: POURQOUI???

But why, Mads, you shout? Why decide to headcanon a character as bi? Is it just so you can write your dragon porn?

maybe

Ahem.

Listen. I love diversity as much as the next person. Y’all know I do. I mean, I’m a huge fan of Rufus and Jiya, and Denise, queen of my heart. But… I mean we already have a het ship with Jiya and Rufus. And I feel like, y’know, Wyatt being white AND cis AND male AND straight? Feels like a little much, y’know? And there’s no reason for him to be straight, he just IS, and that feels—I mean where’s the whole backstory about it, right? And it feels a little illogical to have… I mean I don’t have any friends who are white and straight and cis male. It just feels unrealistic.

Okay, okay, extreme salt aside and mostly out of my system…

As a character, even in season one when I did like him, Wyatt is boring. He’s the same white straight male soldier/law-and-order character that we’ve seen in literally every single piece of science fiction since the dawn of time. You will find an exact copy of him in Stargate SG-1 (my apologies to Jack O’Neill), Stargate Atlantis (sorry John…), 12 Monkeys, Sarah Connor Chronicles, Terra Nova, Battlestar Galactica, Andromeda, Star Trek Enterprise, Eureka… and that’s not even touching all the mystery/crime shows (CSI, Bones, Criminal Minds, NCIS, Law & Order, Blue Bloods, Take Two) and military shows (SEAL Team, 24, etc). He’s got a dead wife, fantastic, so does the Punisher, so does Sam Winchester (also created by Eric Kripke), so does GARCIA FLYNN, another character on the show, and Flynn’s wife’s death actually ties into the bigger mystery of the show. By God, if you’re gonna fridge a wife at least make her fridging the entire reason the show exists.

Yes, you heard me. Think about it. If Lorena and Iris Flynn don’t die, then Flynn never wants to go on a vengeful rampage, so Lucy never chooses to give him the journal, so he never steals the time machine… killing Lorena and Iris was the biggest mistake Rittenhouse ever made. If you’re gonna play the dead wife card then by golly at least do it like this and make avenging her death the entire reason for the show.

So not only is Wyatt the same cookie cutter character we’ve seen in every TV show ever, he’s also a repeat of Flynn. He’s not just boring, he’s redundant.

Wyatt is also the only character on the show that you could replace with someone else without changing any of the main plot. When I originally decided to do a fic where the team comes back to find one of them was erased from existence on the trip, I knew it had to be Wyatt—erasing Lucy would change everything (which I explore in The Void is Open), erasing Flynn would take them to a world where Rittenhouse has won, erasing Rufus would mean potentially no pilot… you see what I mean. But Wyatt is very neatly replaced with Dave Baumgardner in 1.14 and shows us that Wyatt is, literally, replaceable. Of course he isn’t to Lucy and Rufus at that point because they care about him but for writing reasons? For plot? Literally any soldier would do. Any. Denise could hop in there with them if she so chose.

Now, all this makes it sound like I dislike Wyatt. And I didn’t in season one. I quite liked our puppy. I liked him for two reasons: 1. He had a lot of potential and 2. his character mirrored/paralleled Flynn and I saw a copious amount of opportunities with that.

Both Flynn and Wyatt have lost their spouse. Both Flynn and Wyatt are soldiers. Wyatt had an abusive father and given that Flynn goes on a potential suicide mission for his mother but we never once hear him mention his father (he might as well not have one for his importance to Flynn’s life), I’m taking a guess that Flynn’s father wasn’t all that great of a person either. Both Flynn and Wyatt risk everything to save the people they love and both pay heavy prices for it and become people they’re ashamed of (Flynn all of season one, Wyatt in 1x13). Both Flynn and Wyatt care deeply for Lucy and look to her for guidance.

Wyatt and Flynn mirror each other. One is willing to break rules, and to forge his own path, while the other follows rules and is scared to strike out on his own. Both of them struggle with identity–Wyatt has no idea who he is now that Jess is dead, and Flynn believes he’s turned into a monster and who he once was is lost. Taking advantage of that mirror makes for compelling storytelling, and the writers failed in that in season two after setting it up so beautifully in season one.

The fun thing is, these parallels become even more poignant if you make Wyatt bi and have him be attracted to Flynn (and is a convenient shortcut to bring those parallels back to the fore).

We touched in the previous section how it’s easy to see Wyatt as attracted to Flynn and that’s why he lashes out so much, and indeed how that is the only rational explanation for why Wyatt is so goddamn against Flynn the whole time.

Let’s dive into that, shall we?

Of the original trio, Rufus and Lucy have ample reason to dislike Flynn. Wyatt? Has none. Flynn makes things personal with Lucy right out the gate, and Rufus’s family will be hurt if Flynn isn’t stopped. But Wyatt is just supposed to see Flynn as an enemy soldier. No personal vendetta involved. And before you say rivalry over Lucy–most of Lucy’s pivotal moments with Flynn in season one are without Wyatt present, and the ones she does have in front of Wyatt aren’t automatically read as romantic. Wyatt himself doesn’t even admit he’s got feelings for Lucy until season two, and as far as he knows, Lucy’s still dealing with Noah.

But Wyatt hates Flynn. As we’ve seen in our examples, he reacts to Flynn with a violence that is missing from Rufus and Lucy. And there is no reason for that violent dislike to be there.

Unless Wyatt is attracted to Flynn and is scared of that from internalized homophobia.

If Wyatt finds Flynn attractive, and has internalized homophobia from, y’know, growing up in Texas and having an abusive father and going into the army, then his anger towards Flynn, his stubbornness, his refusal to listen to Flynn (because if Flynn is right about things and Flynn is an okay guy that opens the door to other more ‘dangerous’ thoughts), and his tendency to react to Flynn’s time with Lucy with such anger–it all makes sense. The last one is partly about Wyatt’s jealousy and possessiveness over Lucy but if it’s coupled with attraction to Flynn it makes even more sense.

Having Wyatt behave this way simply doesn’t hold up. It relies far too much on the audience making leaps of logic about Flynn and Lucy’s relationship in season one and assuming that Wyatt and Lucy are meant to be together, without enough evidence for the latter and Wyatt not at all present for the former.

If Wyatt’s bi, it all makes sense and is logical and again adds another dimension to his character and to his interactions with Flynn.

Monkey Brain: heh heh Wyatt and Flynn kissing is hot as fuck

Wyatt’s toxic masculinity becomes even more interesting and important (and make more sense) if Wyatt is bi.

In this meta here (my first for the Timeless fandom!) I talk about Wyatt and his toxic masculinity so to avoid repeating myself howzabout you go read that and come back mmkay?

…

You done? Perfect. So. Now that you understand where Wyatt’s toxic masculinity comes from and how he displays it in canon, I can say this:

Wyatt being bi forces him to confront his toxic behavior in a unique and powerful way that he can no longer ignore.

Part of Wyatt’s toxic behavior is that his behavior is specifically based in the masculine and the patriarchal. And so most of his bad behavior is rooted in how he treats his romantic interest–which has been Lucy and Jess.

Wyatt was, by his own admission, jealous and possessive towards Jess. He didn’t know how to relate to Lucy when she was no longer a romantic option, so he keeps trying to be romantic with her instead, and his possessive behavior comes to the fore as he tries to control who she spends time with and tries to get her to be as emotionally intimate with him as she was before, despite his wife being back and that intimacy no longer possible.

Getting Wyatt to realize his toxic behavior is difficult, since so many people have bought into the lie that men are supposed to be territorial and possessive towards the women they’re in relationships with. However, most heteronormative toxicity falls apart and is recognizable as harmful once we put it in a new light.

When a situation is bad, you often need an outside perspective, or to change one of the circumstances, in order to see how bad it is. Wyatt’s been lectured at by Lucy, Rufus, Flynn, and Jess, and he didn’t see his behavior was unhealthy. But if we change one of the circumstances i.e. the gender of the person he’s attracted to romantically/sexually, then suddenly he has to look at his behavior towards that person in a new light.

Let’s take Flynn for example. Wyatt can’t treat Flynn the way he’s treated Jess or Lucy. If he tries to be possessive of Flynn, not only would he be unable to, but he’ll realize that it’s wrong of him to even think of it. Wyatt wouldn’t find it natural to try and be jealous when Flynn talked to another man, because Flynn is a man, and he wouldn’t automatically assume another man was flirting with Flynn, or that Flynn was flirting with that man.

Because the thing is, our society is pretty heteronormative still. It’s genuinely hard to tell when someone is just being friendly or actually flirting, but we tend to really assume that when a man is interacting with a woman, one or both of them are flirting. With people of the same gender (or of non-cis genders such as trans and nonbinary) it becomes harder to tell, and a lot of the time we assume that it’s just platonic. So for Wyatt to become jealous over Flynn talking to a man–that goes against the norm because it means he’s assuming romantic rather than platonic interaction, the opposite of what we assume when we look at two people of the same gender.

It would force him to take a second look at all of his behavior and choices. It would force him to realize that his behavior was wrong towards Flynn, which means it’s wrong towards Lucy and Jess, etc. It changes an element and so it forces him to see everything in a new light.

On top of all this—Wyatt’s character is pretty stagnant. I believe that’s why they brought Jess back, honestly: because without Jess coming back to complicate things, there’s nowhere for Wyatt to grow. Forcing him to confront his behavior towards Jess was, I think, what the writers ultimately intended for him (the smart ones, anyway). I don’t think they intended for him to end up with Jess at the end, at least not originally. There are things said by Shawn Ryan in interviews that suggest to me that they realized Flynn/Lucy and Wyatt/Jess was a more interesting dynamic than the originally planned Wyatt/Lucy, so they switched gears and planned to have Jess end up with Wyatt. BUT, whether a romantic reunion endgame for them was the plan or not, given the alley scene in 2x10 and other scenes in season two, I fully believe that prior to the nuclear bomb of dog shit that was the Christmas finale, the plan was always to give Jess a redemption arc and that Wyatt would become a better person through convincing her to turn double agent (and through becoming a father).

If you don’t bring Jess back, there’s nowhere for Wyatt’s character to go. Nothing for him to do. Rufus, Lucy, Flynn, Mason, Denise, Jiya—they all have hugely powerful arcs and tough situations. I could go into them but that’ll send me off into another tangent that we don’t have time for. Suffice to say, I can off the top of my head think of two internal struggles and places for each character to grow that would last a couple seasons. And that’s just off the top of my head.

But Wyatt? You can’t. He’s got nowhere to go.

Bringing back Jess is one way that you can force growth and give Wyatt a new arc, but you can’t just give a character one single arc. You have to give them multiple. No real life person is struggling with just one thing, we’re struggling with multiple things. Take Lucy in season two. She’s struggling with Rittenhouse, with her relationship with her mother, with her realizations about herself and what she’s willing to do, with losing Wyatt, with getting back Amy, and with her growing relationship with Flynn.

That’s a lot.

Rufus and Jiya have their relationship AND Jiya’s visions that lead to an arc about destiny versus free will, AND both struggling with the “what are we willing to do to win/who am I becoming” arc.

Give Wyatt JUST Jess, and that’s not enough. It’s also something that, to do right, you have to stretch over I’d say two seasons, seasons three and four. So you need something else to fill in more gaps.

Having Wyatt be bisexual and having him struggle with his sexuality gives him dozens of more opportunities for interesting interactions with other characters, it gives him more ways to address his toxic behavior (as we discussed), it gives him more ways to grow. Because we don’t just grow in a straight line. We grow like trees, with limbs stretching up all over the place and roots digging in deep and crisscrossing everywhere.

Wyatt is a stagnant character. Giving him bisexuality gives him a way to continue to grow that isn’t dependent on another character (Jess) and can be shortened or drawn out depending on how his other arc (Jess, potentially Lucy as well) plays out.

Having Wyatt be bi takes away all of his redundancy, and stops him from being boring, and stops him from being so easily replaceable. If a character isn’t intrinsically tied to the plot (Rufus is there because he’s the only pilot, Lucy is a history expert and tied to Rittenhouse, etc) then you need to think of other reasons for the viewers to really care about them and I’m sorry, but having a dead wife and then being stuck in a heterosexual love triangle doesn’t cut it in the year of our lord 2016 (or ’17, or ’18, or any other year that follows).

And no offense to anyone struggling with PTSD because it needs to be addressed, but the whole ‘soldier with PTSD’ has been done before and, despite making it a main feature in 1.05 The Alamo, it hasn’t been touched on since. Not once. So that’s I guess been thrown out the window by the writers as a plot device (although again that could be brought back by having Wyatt bond with Flynn and Flynn talking with him about shared experiences could be a way that Wyatt further develops feelings for him YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN!?!?).

It also, as I outlined in part one, explains all of his behavior. It takes behavior that made no sense and was toxic alpha male bullshit and puts a whole new and interesting and understandable spin on it. Note I said understandable, not justifiable, this does not in any way excuse any of Wyatt’s behavior. But boy howdy does it make it a lot more nuanced and layered. Having Wyatt be bi suddenly opens so many goddamn doors for his character I can’t even keep track. His PTSD, his relationship with his father, his relationship with Jess, his relationship with Flynn and Lucy, his time in the army, all of those things have new and boundless opportunities in them. It gives opportunities and explains and gives depth to one-note, shallow, cliche male behavior.

Not to mention, um, making him a repressed bisexual gives so many more opportunities for angst and hurt/comfort and all that delicious, delicious character conflict that we all love. Mmmm yes the precious. And, BONUS, it gives us character angst that doesn’t necessarily revolve around a romantic pairing! You can give a character a sexuality crisis without giving them a person to be paired off with! Wyatt can have his crisis over Ian Fleming or Wendell Scott or Rittenhouse Agent No. 5, and figure it all out with only platonic assistance from the team. OR he can be pining over Flynn without Flynn having a clue because Flynn needs his love interests to hit him over the head with a baseball bat to get him to notice and even then it doesn’t always work. OR have him worry about confessing to Jess and/or Lucy and fearing they’ll see him differently given their past sexual/romantic entanglements! ALL. THE. CHARACTER. ANGST. BITCHEEEEEES.

Finally, last but not least, why should Wyatt be bi? Because representation matters, that’s why.

Up until now I’ve highlighted why Wyatt, specifically, as an individual, should be bi. But stepping away from him individually… why the fuck not make your character bi?

It’s the 2010s. The world is finally waking up to the fact that LGBT+ people are here, we exist, and also having us as characters makes your ratings soar. People were ecstatic over The Day Reagan Was Shot, which focused on Denise and her coming out. Timeless’s diversity was a huge point in its favor and was a huge part of why critics loved it. Making, of all people, the most rough and tumble masculine man’s man of the cast be bisexual is important because it reminds us that anyone can have any sexuality, that there are no stereotypes, and that not all LGBT+ people are fashion gurus.

I’m sorry, Wyatt, but it’s true, you are no longer allowed to dress yourself, I’ve submitted you to Queer Eye.

What could be a more powerful storyline for today than a man who was abused as a kid, exhibited toxic masculinity, and was clearly unhappy with himself as a person and looking outside of himself to someone else to fix him, come to terms with himself, come to love himself, come to say “hey I love who I love and I am who I am and fuck anyone who says otherwise”? What could be a more wonderful representation of the diversity and family bonding themes of the show then to have Wyatt, the insecure difficult-with-feelings small town poster for typical masculinity come out, scared of rejection, scared of their reactions, only to have everyone show him love and acceptance and unwavering support? To have Denise hug him and tell him she understands how she feels? To have Lucy tell him she doesn’t see him any differently? For Rufus to joke this is why Wyatt can never choose a cereal and then reaffirm their friendship?

Having Wyatt be bi isn’t just good for him as a character, it’s good for the audience, and it continues the themes of the show and continues to break down stereotypes and honestly, there’s no reason for any character to be straight, either. We just ask “but why” because straight is still the default in our heads and all deviancy from the norm must be explained and rationalized. But there’s no need for that. Wyatt has the most typically heterosexual traits out of all of them, and he’s from a small town in Texas, and he went into the army. How powerful for people to see him come out. How wonderful. But Wyatt can be bi just because you damn well feel like it, because there shouldn’t be a big list of reasons (although I do have them, clearly). He can be bi just because, well, there’s no big tragic backstory for why I’m bi. I just am. And so is he.

In conclusion: Bi!Wyatt is ten times more interesting, nuanced, and unique than Straight!Wyatt, it adds depth and opportunities for growth, it gives layers to existing storylines and character relationships involving Wyatt, it explains his behavior and makes it more understandable, and it gives us needed representation.

My monkey brain adds that the opportunity for humor with this is also boundless and honestly I agree, good job monkey brain, you get a treat.

Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk.

[haught0pocket]

Fic Writers Week - Day 4

The Devil’s In The Details- Highlight small details you loved in the fics you’ve read or written.

Okay, this is really tricky because I have to resist the urge to write pages and pages about @piratekane , @sensitive-pigeon , and @iamthegaysmurf .

Ah. I’ll write them anyway.

Also, I’m a day late because ... well, if you click “keep reading” you’ll see. I just had a lot to say.

This will be long, so I’m just giving it the chop right here.

Reader:

HEY. GUESS WHAT. We’re talking about i don’t mind you comin’ here again! (You will have to physically remove me from my computer to stop me from talking about this. So.)

There is no mentioning details without mentioning @piratekane , and the amount of work and dedication that is put into the incredible 80′s Mixtape AU. I could write an essay on the details, the attention to them, how accurate and good they are. But I’ll choose one from the latest installment (which I’ll never be over)

Waverly stands with her hands on her hips. “If you didn’t want to come on an adventure, you could have-” “I do!” Nicole insists. She squats down, just barely avoiding a moss-covered rock. “Which way are we going?” She peers at the map. Waverly drew it on a piece of large construction paper. She probably used the crayons Wynonna got her for her birthday. Everything is in shades of green: the trees and the leaves and even the lake. There’s a crooked brown line that runs from the bottom lefthand corner of the map, up and across the page in zigzag lines that makes Nicole twist her head back and forth as she tries to follow its winding path. It eventually ends at a large red ‘x’ over a few black circles in the middle of the green-blue lake. “We’re going to cut through the woods,” Waverly says proudly, jabbing her finger at the brown zigzag. “I even wrote when we’re taking snack breaks.”

Like. Where do I start? The construction paper Waverly used because - hey - she’s 9. All the shades of green because Waverly would do that, to be as accurate as possible on her little map. The fact that the crayons came from Wynonna (because this fic is from the POV of little Nicole, and little Nicole would note these things! a;lksfjjfgiuhiaj;iasejf!! [Sorry. Excited key smash]). Waverly writing down when they take snack breaks.

The details in the setting, the character behaviors, the items they carry around with them, they’re all just outstanding. Mindblowing. They immerse you, %1000, into this world. This is so much more than a story because of these details. So, so much more.

Without details, a story doesn’t really exist. This couldn’t be truer for 180, by @sensitive-pigeon . I don’t know if there’s anyone in the Wynonna Earp (fic reading) fandom that hasn’t read this. It’s so universally appealing.

Once again it’s incredibly difficult to choose an example of a detail I love. Because I love. Love. LOVE. all of them. Every single one. They are all pitch perfect and so full of purpose. Here’s a delightful one that is particularly fantastic (ch 2):

@ssssspaggeti2: #alphabase is anyone seeing this [photo attached] I think shes dead. its been six hours. Check raw stream nasa.gov LivingSpace2 cause the public is off at 4am. No sound on raw =/ @StetsonBot: houston’s not said anything so she’s probably sleeping after work, nbd @ssssspaggeti2: @MarsAlphaBase @NASA @POTUS houston we got a sleeper... @BotanyisBest: wow what a surprise!! 14:35 on Mars too. whats that like 2pm??? @CBSNews: @ssssspaggeti2, do you mind if we use your photo?@BotanyisBest: hahah rip @EarthToWaverly please draw on her

Pigeon created twitter personalities. And it’s not just that she created these twitter personas. Each one has a specific voice, a specific purpose. Excuse me while my brain explodes.

Oh no but wait there’s more. All of this? All of Alpha Base, the science behind this - it works. IT. WORKS. Not only is Pigeon a brilliant author, she’s an actual genius.

I’ll tell you right now, if I don’t stop here, I won’t stop.

I might be slightly obsessed with @iamthegaysmurf ‘s You’re Going To Find Your Way Back Home. (read: very obsessed) Haven’t read it? K. Go Read. Seriously, right now. Stop what you are doing, go read, then come back (if you so wish).

...... Did you read? 

That was pretty great, right?

Smurf dug into a ridiculous amount of historical legends, myths, lore, etc, specifically for this Halloween fic. And then carefully adjusted them to make, big, incredible story. It makes it so intense and believable - the dedication and time that was put into researching all these factors she put in. Everything flows seamlessly, it’s Emily Andras level dedication to myths and lore and telling those stories. (Did you guys know that Emily is a total nerd for all things legend/myth/lore? This was the question I asked her on the reddit ama and she confirmed - yes, she is.)

Here’s a passage that is just ... whoa. You go to the movies for the visuals of it. But you read to get these kinds of descriptions (ch 7):

She can feel the jagged shards of bone littering the ground digging into her back and shoulders, ripping her flannel – and her skin – in places.  Feel the razor-sharp claws tearing at her ribs and throat.

She can smell the putrescence on its breath, hot and fetid in her face.  Smell the sour tang of its unwashed body, a century and a half of dirt and sweat and sulfur permeating its desiccated, leathery skin.

She can see its yellow eyes inches from her own.  See them burning not with the color of the sun or spring flowers or the eggs that Waverly makes them for breakfast on their lazy Sundays, but with that of infernal hellfire.

She can taste the copper in her mouth where one of her teeth sliced into her tongue with the impact.  Taste it mixing with the dust from the air and the clay from the ground and the ash from the aura that engulfs the creature, the flavor of it causing bile to rise in the back of her throat.

I mean. I think that speaks for itself. I can’t add anything to that. It’d just be air. It’s stunning.

Writer

Well, this was difficult. After all of that??

But here is a bit in You’re A Beautiful Thing that I am fond of:

She ran her fingers through those wonderful locks. It felt like silk. Like actual, real silk. The fact sort of confused her for a moment. No hair could truly be that soft. But it was. It really was.

Then a thought hit her.

Hands…

She laid the baby gently down in her lap and unwrapped the blanket, releasing the bundled up arms. Tears rolled down her face, and she sobbed, openly.

Waverly had been sitting quietly, letting the new mother wonder over her daughter. But at the sound of her sister crying, she went to sit next to her on the bed. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

Wynonna wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I was so scared of her hands.” She gazed in earnest into Waverly’s face. “But they’re so beautiful. Look at ‘em!” She took a little hand, and it immediately wrapped around her finger. “Oh my god,” now she whispered, staring once again at her daughter, awestruck.

Wynonna wondering at her new baby was always something I wanted to see, from the moment we found out Wynonna was pregnant. Because new babies are magical. So I just wrote it. (This was written before the finale)

And now I need to go do day 5! hahah

[msilet]

Hello, Beloved Husband (3/3)

Summary: Harry and Eggsy finally find Merlin lying in a coma in Thailand. Harry uses his marital status with Merlin to gain visiting right.

Ship: Harry Hart/Merlin

Chapter: 3 / 3

Link to chapter 1: http://msilet.tumblr.com/post/167977795700/hello-beloved-husband

Link to chapter 2: http://msilet.tumblr.com/post/168097068545/hello-beloved-husband-23

Link to AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12853176/chapters/29435082

Note: The wedding! Fluff, fluff everywhere! I love this fandom so much but sometimes we are just soooo angsty (ok, this fic started out as an angsty one-shot so I can’t really blame anyone). This is my fluffy gift to you guys. Happy holidays! 

Sorry, I could not post it right on Christmas, I had a big writer’s block and didn’t know how to write the wedding. Who would’ve thought drinking 12 yr-old single malt Scottish whisky could cure it.

Chapter behind the cut

6 months later

 Harry is woken up because the sun shines directly on his face. Damn, he thinks, forgot to close the curtain yesterday. Not that he had a mind to do it, he was too busy throwing his fiancé, technically husband, on the bed and getting his clothes off as fast as possible, fair to say curtains weren’t something his mind was concerning about. Merlin is still sleeping peacefully. Usually, the man beside him is the one to wake up earlier so he can work more. Must have tired him out, Harry grins.

 Not wanting to get up just yet, he turns to Merlin’s sleeping form and holds him tight from behind, inhaling the scent of the man. This is the best feeling, lying close to the love of his life in a beautiful luxurious hotel room in the middle of nowhere with no one knowing them and worrying about nothing in the world. The view around is amazing too but Harry hasn’t been looking around at many things, too busy doing something else, well, someone, to be precise. They have a whole week here; tourist stuff can come later.

 "G'morning, Harry.", Merlin murmurs, his voice still groggy.

 "Good morning, my love.", Harry replies softly. He loves using that endearment. There was a time he could only say it in his dream. "Ready for the big day?"

 "No, I need another ten hours of sleep.", Merlin turns to bury his face deeper into the soft pillow.

 Harry drapes himself on top of the stubborn man and pouts. "Hamish, you can't sleep through your own wedding!", he whines, "Don't you want to marry me anymore?"

 Harry can see Merlin smirking even with more than half his face hidden by the pillow and his eyes still closed. "I'm sorry, dear, but my boss is an arse that overworked me to the bones the last few months, both in and out of bed."

 Harry pretends to be offended, he exclaims dramatically. "An arse? You are too hard on him, love! He only wants you to work diligently and earn your keep. I am sure you are his favourite. At least he is a beautiful arse, yes?"

 Merlin's laughter is muffled by the pillow but his shaking shoulders give his mirth away. "You vain, vain man!", he says between laughs and turns around to look at the love of his life. "Why did I agree to marry you?"

 "I'm sorry but you can't return or exchange this product, sir, no refund either."

 "As if I would. Wouldn't have you any other way.", Merlin smiles and pulls Harry down for a kiss.

 After a few minutes, the older man pulls back and asks, "So, the wedding is still on?". That question makes Merlin laugh again. "Yes, you daft man. Give me a few minutes to get up."

 "Great! I wouldn't want to miss getting married at the place they shot a big part of Monty Python and the Holy Grail."

 "Aye, that's nice and all but I am more excited to see the part they use for the Starks' Winterfell myself."

 Both of them giggle like children. Sure, it is their wedding day and not many things are more important right now for them than that but being agents of Kingsman means that they don't have a lot of time for sightseeing, especially with each other. They jumped at the chance, figuratively speaking, of course, to hold the ceremony at Castle Doune. Not that they have a lot of guests but they need to have a place befitting the status of Kingsman's king and wizard. Also, it makes their inner geeks happy. Eggsy, Roxy and Martin fully supported the idea, in fact, they have taken over the organising job and insisted that their leader and handler only needed to show up on the day. The friends over at Statesman are also very excited to visit such an ancient place as well.

 A little more than an hour later, after they are done washing up, Roxy and Eggsy storm into their room as if they are a conquering army, hell-bent on taking down a castle with no survivor and drag Merlin away to "get ready". Harry wonders why Merlin is their favourite when he and Martin are the kids' mentors but sometimes, one just doesn't question things too much, especially when he also has preparation to make.

The castle is huge, he can see it from afar as his car takes him closer and closer to it. The weather today is marvellous, too, one can clearly see the blue sky through a few wisps of white cloud. After they arrive and Harry steps out of the car, he has to pause and takes the whole magnificent scenery. The grand, ancient castle stands out against the green grass and the trees. Harry notices, however, that there is hardly anyone here. He knows that the place is usually brimming with tourists. He turns around to voice his question to Martin, the friend who helped him get ready and drove him here. Martin guffaws and asks him if he seriously thinks Kingsman hasn't hired the whole damn place for the whole week, tourists be damned. Well, one certainly can't claim that Kingsman isn't a bit melodramatic.

 Harry looks around while walking slowly up to meet with Eggsy, his best man. He can think of so many things to comment about this place to Merlin when they finally have time to themselves to be tourists and smiles to himself. Eggsy is waiting for the two at the top of the stairs and waves as he sees them approaching. Martin hands Harry over to the younger agent, bids him good luck and goes off to prepare the rings.

 Eggsy looks dapper in his black morning suits with an orange waistcoat. Bold colour combination but it works. Harry himself is also wearing black morning suits but with a light violet waistcoat and a boutonniere on his lapel. Eggsy gives off the air of a puppy, so excited that his body starts shaking. He walks with Harry up even more stairs while explaining to him what the process of the whole thing is. Apparently, he and Merlin will walk down the aisle at the same time, his protégé being his best man behind him and Roxy being Merlin's best woman. They won't get to see each other right up until the moment they have to stand before the door.

 When there are only ten minutes left until they have to be there, the anxiety sets in. Harry can't even sit down next to Eggsy, choosing to walk around in a circle in the waiting room instead. Eggsy has to assure him that nothing wrong would happen, Merlin is not backing out and no one is dumb enough to attack a castle full of Kingsman and Stateman agents. Eggsy also assured that not only is the information on the wedding closely guarded but so is the castle.

 Harry is thankful for the care and effort from Eggsy to the wedding and he says it, to which the younger man replies, "Bruv, other than my mum and Daisy, you and Merlin are the most important people in my life, I would walk through fire for you. I want you two to be happy, you deserve it."

 Eggsy starts smiling cheekily and continues, "Although, I was not the only one responsible for this, you know? Love to take the credit but I can't. Roxy planned everything and the guests, I was her errand boy. Martin used his power and connections to get the castle to ourselves for the week. They were very against it at first but Martin just had to have his way. Whiskey set up and went through security details three times in the last month. The flowers, and I have to warn you, there are A LOT of flowers up there, came from Elton. All the booze is from Stateman, of course. Everyone had a hand in making this wedding because we all love you."

 Harry feels himself tearing up. It won't do to be a blubbering mess before the wedding even starts but he can't help being touched by the love everyone has for him. He thinks back on all the dark thoughts he used to have about ending up a sad, lonely old man and feels fortunate that he would not end up that way. He walks forward and pulls Eggsy into a fierce hug.

 Eggsy hugs him back for a few moments, then pats his back and says, "Well, Harry, it's time. Let's go get you married."

 With every step they make, Harry feels himself getting closer to being hysteric. What will Merlin look like, what will everything look like, is some random alien race going to land directly on this castle and declare that they want to take over the earth. He knows he is being unreasonable right now but hell, he has been dreaming of this day for so long, it feels unreal and too real at the same time.

 As they make it to the big door leading into the Great Hall, Harry sees Roxy first. She is looking very sharp, wearing a deep blue tuxedo with her hair done up. And then he sees Merlin and Fuck! The man looks good! If this isn't already their wedding, Harry would have suggested that they run off and elope immediately. His Scottish military regalia is absolutely beautiful. It accentuates his broad shoulder and slender waist perfectly. And that kilt! Harry will have to check later if he wears nothing beneath it as per tradition. His prosthetic legs make him look even more lethal in this get-up.

 Roxy clears her throat and grins, "Sirs, may I interrupt your ogling session for a moment and suggest that we proceed to the actual ceremony? You have plenty of time for that later."

 Both of them turn to her and nods, then take a deep breath and turn to face the door. Eggsy and Roxy push it open, revealing the Great Hall and the guests inside. The whole place is lavishly decorated with flowers everywhere and chairs covered in white cloths and golden ribbons. From here, Harry can spot and guess that every surviving members and staffs of Kingsman are here, along with some Statemen such as Champ, Whiskey and Tequila. Princess Tilde and Sir Elton John are here as well. Well, that's basically everyone they need.

 Then, the music starts. With only a few opening notes of the piano, Harry knows exactly what song that is. He specifically requested it. From the look on Merlin's face, so does he. Roxy and Eggy gesture that they should start walking.

 "Just to look in your eyes again

Just to lay in your arms

Just to be the first one always there for you

Just to live in your laughter

Just to sing in your heart

Just to be everyone of your dreams come true

 Just to sit by your window

Just to touch in the night

Just to offer a prayer each day for you

Just to long for your kisses

Just to dream of your sighs

Just to know that I'd give my life for you

 For you for the rest of my life

For you all the best of my life

For you alone, only for you"

 Even though he chose this song from John Denver because he knew Merlin would love it, it is also everything he wants to say to him. The words ring out through the hall and into his heart and they make him emotional. As they reach where the officiant and Martin are standing, they turn to look at each other in the eye. Only then does Harry realise that Merlin has been crying, his eyes red. Roxy reaches out and gives him a handkerchief to clean his face.

 The ceremony begins but Harry is too overwhelmed with emotions, as well as too busy looking at the love of his life to hear what the officiant has to say.

 Soon, he hears, "Do you, Hamish Andrew Ferguson, take Harry Hart, as your lawful wedded husband?"

 The sound "I do." coming out of Merlin's mouth might be the greatest thing he's ever heard, no song would ever compare to this.

 Then, the officiant turns to him to asks the same thing. There can be only one answer: "Of course I fucking do."

 Martin comes forward to hand them the rings and they put them on each other's hand. With that, the officiant declares that they are now married. As they kiss, the whole Great Hall erupts with cheers.

The wedding party is finally over and the guests are already on their ways. Harry and his newly-wedded husband, Merlin, are finally alone in front of their hotel room. He turns to the man in the kilt and asks with a pleading look on his face, "Hamish, please don't be upset or anything but there is something I really, really would love to do and I need your permission."

 "What is it, Harry?"

 "Can I carry you, bridal style over the threshold?"

 Merlin sighs but he smiles, "Fine, just this once."

 Harry's face lights up and he looks as happy as a child on Christmas Eve. He unlocks the door, grabs Merlin and picks him up to carry him into the room, closing the door on the way in with his foot. He then tenderly puts his husband down on the edge of the bed and kneels down in front of him, beaming.

 Merlin smiles back genuinely, then bends down to kiss Harry's forehead. "Hello, beloved husband."

 Harry pulls Merlin down for a passionate kiss that lasts until the need for oxygen becomes too much to bear. After that, both of them just sits there, grinning like idiots.

 After a while, Merlin starts yawning and Harry declares that they both need sleep. Merlin reaches down to take his prosthetic legs off but Harry stops him. "Let me.", he says. As Harrys meticulously, tenderly tends to Merlin, he finds himself singing.

 "Just to wake up each morning

Just to you by my side

Just to know that you're never really far away

Just a reason for living

Just to say I adore

Just to know that you're here in my heart to stay

 For you for the rest of my life

For you all the best of my life

For you alone, only for you

 Just the words of a love song

Just the beat of my heart

Just the pledge of my life, my love, for you."

PS: So I have finally finished my first not-one-shot! I came across John Denver’s “For You” as I was looking for music for this fic and I have to say that the first time I heard it, I cried. Hope you guys enjoy it.

Doune Castle:

If you like what I wrote, please continue supporting me by reading Captain Fantastic And The Gentleman Spies, it is also a Merlahad :D

[onlymorelove]

Fic: I See Fire (1/2)

For @gwennieliz , who gave me this prompt: “You can’t keep it all inside, you know? Bottling it up won’t do any good,“ from this list of sentence starters. Thank you for prompting me, sweetness! If anyone else sent a prompt, I promise I haven’t forgotten you; I’m just a painfully slow writer when it comes to fiction. <3 If anyone else wants to send me a prompt from that list, feel free.  Happy Pride month, everybody!

Title: I See Fire (½) Fandom: Timeless Ship: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan (garcyatt) Rating: PG-13 Summary: Lucy has a nightmare.  [Set sometime in the future. Lucy, Garcia, and Wyatt are in a relationship. Yes, all three of them.]

Read under the cut, on AO3, or at FF.net.

Tagging @grey-haven , @gwennieliz , @extasiswings  , @inbetween-the-moon-and-you , @nevergrowupnevergrowupnotme & @qqueenofhades . (Happy to untag or tag you; just let me know.)

If you read this, thanks. Feedback is treasured; constructive criticism is welcomed.

Lucy’s eyes opened on the wild current of a nightmare: trapped in her car, she watched it fill with water cascading through windows that were cracked open several inches but wouldn’t respond to her frantic grip. Already her body quaked from the chill of the freezing water, which was now up to her chin. Her head thrashed left and right, panic grabbing hold of her and shaking her like a rag doll in its inexorable grip.

To her right, in the passenger seat, sat a partially decomposed skeleton wearing a cowboy hat tipped at a rakish angle. Empty black eye sockets winked at her above ruined cheeks where the some of the flesh, warped and raw, dripped like melted plastic, exposing the bright gleam of ivory bone beneath. As she watched, the jaw dipped open and a swarm of maggots bubbled forth from the gaping maw.

Her head and her ears pounded with laughter that built and built, climbing until it climaxed in a shriek. She swore her ears were bleeding. Slammed by the grotesque image and the terrible laughter roaring in her head, on instinct Lucy inhaled, sucking river water into her mouth and deep into her lungs, coughing and choking on the burning scream that wanted to rend its way out of her tender, pink throat with razor-tipped claws.

The skeleton raised a bony hand, fingers rolling in a beckoning gesture before they reached out and stroked her cheek, shooting bolts of ice down her spine. As blackness swirled and whispered on the edges of her vision, Lucy slammed her car window—once, twice, three times—with the sharp point of her elbow. Pain echoed through her arm….

"—Ow! Damn it.”

Someone screamed. Loud and shrill as a whistle blast, the piercing cry penetrated the bony plates of Lucy’s skull and burrowed into her brain.

The terror and grief layered in the cacophony clawed at Lucy, drawing hot tears from her eyes. They spilled, scalding, in rivulets down the sides of her face and into her hair. Her eyes shot open to find Garcia leaning over her, straddling her hips. She tried to move her hands only to find they were pinned. “Garcia?” she asked, her voice like two thin, dry sticks rubbing together, and Garcia immediately released her hands and moved aside, sitting back on his haunches next to her. “What happened?” Her hand flew to her chest, where her pulse thundered loud and unpleasant, echoing in the marrow of her bones as her gaze searched the dark room. A single lamp on a bedside table cast an anemic circle of light and a plethora of eerie shadows. Lucy gasped. A hard shiver reverberated through her, making her teeth clack together.

Garcia frowned and pulled at the puddled blanket, pulling it up until it lay over her chest. Then he swept his thumb through the wetness on her face before he responded to her question. “You tell us, Lucy. You were screaming and thrashing around. Did you have a nightmare?” Worry inscribed deep furrows on his forehead.

Bits and pieces of what she’d seen floated back to her. Being trapped in her car again, like in her sophomore year of college, with water pouring in… A gruesome skeleton next to her… Just flotsam and detritus from the depths of her mind and her personal history. A nightmare. Yes.

“—Either that or I did something to piss you off,” Wyatt said from his perch on her other side, a wry note pealing in his voice.

She snapped her head in his direction. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, stretching his jaw.

“What?” she asked, frowning in confusion.

“You got in a couple good shots at me,” Wyatt said with the barest hint of a smile edging his lips. Wincing, he fingered his cheekbone gingerly, eyes squinted in discomfort. “Nobody warned me I’d need protective padding if I slept with you.” He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “I thought I was the reckless hothead in this relationship.”

Lucy groaned and started sitting up. Garcia lifted her pillow upright against the headboard and helped her settle back against it. Dread curdled in her stomach. “Oh no.” She shook her head and stretched a hand toward Wyatt, stopping just short of touching his face. “Tell me I didn’t hit you.” Her fingers wavered near Wyatt’s cheek until he caught them with his own and lifted them to his mouth for a soft kiss.

“It’s fine, Lucy. Don’t worry so much,” Garcia said, tucking the blanket around her hips. “Knowing Wyatt, he had it coming.”

“Ha ha, asshole,” Wyatt said, brandishing his middle finger in Garcia’s direction. “Real funny. Ladies and gentlemen, Garcia Flynn: comedian and douchenozzle extraordinaire.”

Lucy rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, didn’t realize you couldn’t take a joke, Logan,” Garcia said, emphasizing Wyatt’s last name.

“Oh, I love jokes, Flynn.” Wyatt grinned in challenge, flashing a lot of teeth, and Lucy braced herself for whatever absurdity was about to charge out of his mouth. He waggled his eyebrows. “Let me tell you the one about your mom—”

“Guys. Come on,” Lucy said, cutting Wyatt off before things completely disintegrated. Garcia’s mother was a sore spot for him, even in the context of ludicrous banter.

“No no. Please, Wyatt,"—narrow-eyed, Garcia climbed off the bed and stalked toward Wyatt—"why don’t you finish your joke?” Hands balled into fists at his side, Garcia stopped mere inches from where Wyatt still sat on the bed and tilted his head to look down at the other man. His lips twisted into a thin-lipped and insincere facsimile of a smile. “Then I can give you a bruise on the other side of your face. You deserve a nice, matching set.”

Wyatt rose from beside Lucy and advanced on Garcia, rolling his shoulders, back straight and sharp as a knife edge. “You could try,” he said with a pugnacious tilt to his chin and a smirk that made the fine hairs on Lucy’s arms stand on end.

The atmosphere zinged and snapped, teeming with livewire tension. Pregnant with the threat of violence. Lucy tugged at the scoop neck of her nightshirt; their bedroom felt ten degrees hotter than it had five minutes earlier. A bead of sweat skipped down her body and pooled uncomfortably at the small of her back.

The two men stood toe-to-toe, an air of waiting hovering over them, coiled energy vibrating from their tensed muscles. They looked like nothing less than two fighters awaiting a ringing bell to signal the beginning of their bout. They appeared to have forgotten she was in the room; the entirety of their attention focused, laser-like, on each other. Their chests rose and fell on a synchronized cycle of breaths. Each man’s exhale ricocheted off the man standing opposite. Their bodies cast hulking shadows on the gray-blue walls they and Lucy had agreed upon. Blue is peaceful and calm, she had told them when it was time to pick a paint color for their bedroom walls. They had shrugged and agreed that it was a nice enough color.

Lucy had to stop this—whatever nonsense was about to explode in their bedroom.

Bedrooms were meant for sleeping, cuddling, sharing secrets under cover of darkness, and fucking. All of that, yes. But not brawling.

The thing was—the thing was, Lucy loved Wyatt and Garcia. This life they shared, it wasn’t anything like what she’d expected to have when she’d been a girl imagining a future love. But it was real and hers and true. She knew they loved her, and she knew they loved each other, too, the same way she knew the sun would rise every morning. With that love came an intimate dossier replete with ways to bore under each other’s thin skin and cause an itch that would just have to be scratched.

A blind, deaf, and mute person could see neither Garcia nor Wyatt was going to back down from a direct challenge. (Lucy Preston was none of those things.) Garcia and Wyatt, on the other hand, well, they were idiots. But they were her idiots, and she wasn’t going to watch them follow each other like two lemmings sailing off a cliff into a valley of flaming refuse.

Wracking her brain for a solution, Lucy came up empty-handed. Not to be deterred, she grabbed the pillows on either side of her and launched them at Garcia and Wyatt, nailing them both in the face. Take that, she thought. It seemed her aim was better than she’d thought.

Both men swiveled to face her.

“What the —?”

“Lucy!”

With a nod of satisfaction, she threw off the blanket Garcia had snuggled around her with such care, hopped off the bed, and marched over to her idiots. She schooled her face into as severe lines as she could manage, then skewered both men with a diamond-hard glare. Neither held her gaze, choosing instead to stare at the floor as if it held the secrets of the universe. Their faces folded into identical expressions of sheepishness.

She tapped Garcia on the arm to get his attention. When he looked up from the floor, she crooked a finger at him, beckoning him down to her level. He acquiesced, and she stood on tiptoe and grasped his earlobe with her thumb and forefinger. Giving it a good tug, she pulled him toward the bed.

“Ah!” Garcia said, grimacing. “Is this really necessary, Lucy?”

“Yes, it is,” she said, releasing her grip on his ear and pointing to the bed. “Sit,” she added, and there was titanium in her voice.

Garcia sagged down on the bed, arms crossed in front of him, expression distinctly pouty. All the belligerence and swagger had left his posture, siphoned out like air from a leaky balloon.

Wyatt snickered behind Lucy. She rounded on him so fast his eyes widened. Though his hands shot up in front of him in a placating gesture, Lucy still took him by the ear and tugged him to the bed. She wasn’t going to treat him any differently than she’d treated Garcia.

“Ow. Luce.”

“Don’t you ‘Luce’ me, Wyatt Logan,” she said, releasing him and tilting her head toward the bed. “Sit,” she said. Her voice was a one-word command Wyatt dared not disobey.

Her blue-eyed lover sat poised on the very edge of the bed, his hands folded demurely in his lap, while the green-eyed one curled his body into a question mark, his upper body slumped and his bare feet flat on the floor. They so resembled naughty school boys facing a stern headmistress that Lucy fought a mighty battle not to smile. Marshaling her defenses, she set her hands on her hips and pinched her mouth into a thin line.

What, she thought, looking at their bowed heads, am I going to do with these two drama queens?

[seenashwrite]

“Sweetheart,” Dean said, looking right into her eyes, “I think you should...”

Careful! How you finish that line is gonna make-or-break how well you’ve captured Dean Winchester in that fic you’re working on. Why, you may ask? Keep reading. And to you who are familiar with this topic... 

NOTE: Any subsequent “add-ons” via others sharing their thoughts on the topic which resulted in other posts will be linked at the bottom!

Abstract

Persistent usage in fandom writings ascribing one Dean Winchester a mannerism that relates to interactions with those he is romantically involved - specifically, the substitution of their name with “sweetheart” - is shown via evidence-based research to be in conflict with this fictional character’s established persona and speech patterns thus far.

Data

For your quick ref convenience, “sweethearts” meant in the traditional sense of the word have a ❤️ by the episode title. Let us begin. The facts are these:

SEASON ONE

1.02 Wendigo

[TO FEMALE CHARACTER] Well, sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.

1.16 Shadow

[DEAN looks at MEG, who smiles at him] Oh, sweetheart—you’re dumber than you look…

Later–>

MEG: You know, that shotgun’s not gonna do much good. DEAN: Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. The shotgun’s not for the demon.

SEASON TWO

2.06 No Exit

[TO JO] Sweetheart, this ain’t gender studies. Women can do the job fine. Amateurs can’t.

SEASON THREE

(The writers’ room got a real hard-on for it this season)

3.04 Sin City

[TO FEMALE CHARACTER] You know, you’re piling it pretty high there, sweetheart. I’m not sure I’m buying.

3.06 Red Sky at Morning

[TO BELA] Well, sweetheart, I don’t need your kind of help.

3.07 Fresh Blood

[TO FEMALE CHARACTER] Well, I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but your blood’s never pumping again.

3.11 Mystery Spot

[TO FEMALE SERVER] ‘Scuse me, sweetheart? Can I get sausage instead of bacon?

3.12 Jus in Bello

[TO BELA] Oh, I’ll find you, sweetheart. You know why? Because I have absolutely nothing better to do than to track…

3.15 Time Is on My Side

[TO BELA] Sweetheart, we are weeks past help.

SEASON FOUR

4.01 Lazarus Rising ❤️

[DEAN approaches the IMPALA, runs a hand along it] Hey, sweetheart, did you miss me?

SEASON FIVE

5.09 The Real Ghostbusters

[FEMALE CHARACTER walks into the room nervously] I don’t wanna do this.

[DEAN leans around the corner] I’m right here sweetheart, I’ve got your back. Trust me, this is going to work. [he then pulls back so he can’t be seen grimacing]

5.11 Sam, Interrupted

[FEMALE CHARACTER walks in their direction]

[DEAN spots her] Oh, no, no, no. Not today, sweetheart. Come on, keep walking…

5.12 Swap Meat

FEMALE SERVER: Here you go, guys.

DEAN: You know, do me a favor, sweetheart. Would you bring me a cheeseburger with extra bacon? And fry an egg on top of it, would you?

SEASON SEVEN  

7.17 The Born-Again Identity

MEG: That hurts my feelings. I’ve been good to you, Dean.

DEAN: No, you’ve been good to you, sweetheart.

SEASON EIGHT

8.08 Hunteri Heroici

FEMALE CAREGIVER: You’re not supposed to be here.

DEAN: Well, trust me, sweetheart, you got bigger fish.

SEASON TEN

10.02 Reichenbach

[FEMALE DANCER is disgusted; she moves to leave]  And we’re done.

[DEAN grabs at her] Hey, hey, hey. Song’s not over, sweetheart.

SEASON TWELVE

12.17 The British Invasion ❤️

[DEAN looks down sight of newly-returned Colt] Welcome back, sweetheart.

SEASON THIRTEEN

13.16 - Scoobynatural ❤️

[DEAN prepares to swing sledgehammer at enchanted TV] Sorry, sweetheart.

.

SEASON FIFTEEN

15.10 - The Heroes' Journey ❤️

[DEAN grabs the grenade launcher] Hey, sweetheart.

Analysis

Of 15 seasons and 320 total episodes aired as of this writing, "sweetheart" appears in [*adult] Dean's dialogue 20 times in 19 episodes. So, 19 is 5.9375% of 320. That's not even one quarter.

He just doesn’t use the word often, folks.

[Note: to get a precise percentage of its appearance in his actual dialogue, you’d need to count every single word the man has spoken - I’d think taking out “a”, “and”, “the”, and “I” would be acceptable - and good luck, there. I ain’t your girl. Another possibility would be to compare “sweetheart” to other nicknames he’s given people - again, knock yourself out. This is just to illustrate its appearances across seasons. A tangential comparison? Take your number of fics involving Dean - i.e., your # of episodes - count the “sweethearts”, and do your percentage.]

Of the 20 usages, 4 are of a clearly affectionate nature: once to Baby the Impala, once to the Colt, once to the enchanted television, once to the grenade launcher.

The remaining uses - all directed at female characters - are of a false comfort, patronizing, and/or manipulative nature, because a portion of Dean’s persona is that of an irredeemable asshole. The character is greater than the sum of his parts, true - but that is an undeniable part.

Thus, this does not seem to be a substitute name Dean Winchester bestows upon persons of a beloved nature. It is scantly, possibly endearing - albeit patronizing - when he’s used it as a substitute name for waitresses.

Visual Aids

[Note: Someone jokingly asked for a pie chart last time - ‘cause hello, what’s a Dean topic without PIE! - and I did them and they were silly. Here’s the replacement, which IMO is an improvement and completely scientifically accurate, I’m sure you’ll agree]

Wrap Up

Could there be any exceptions?

Sure. If he's Demon!Dean and it's not romantic and is a pure smutty hate f*ck - in that instance, the data would most assuredly support the author’s choice.

Also supportable would be complete off-the-rails AU fics [as in: Dean's not a hunter, he's a mechanic from Regular Town, USA] because in those cases, no one expects him to be canon-friendly.

Here, have a cheat sheet:

.

And what’s my personal opinion?

Dean doesn’t call people of significance by that endearment in a heartfelt manner, reserving it solely for inanimate objects (Baby, the Colt, the TV, and the grenade launcher), because they pose no threat of rejecting him. So... maybe it actually does mean something loving and sentimental to him. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t used it on someone he’s crazy about.... has he met that person yet? Again, maybe. Are the writers doing this purposefully? Is Jensen maybe slipping a handful of ‘em in, as well? Ya got me.

In any event, there’s the obvious: They’re all objects to him, useful for specific tasks regarding things he needs/wants - food, beer, sex, baiting a ghost, mindless entertainment - or they’re an adversary who is standing between him and something he needs/wants. Either way, all ultimately disposable. That ain’t sweet, nor does it have heart.

Bottom line

If you are professing that your story is canon?

Stop. Having. Dean. Call. You. Sweetheart.

You, your O.C., the friend you're writing into a fic so they can get boned by Dean, any other character you're having Dean bang-a-rang... if they don't go VROOOOM or go BOOM or go ZOOM, it's an inappropriate nickname.

Hypothesis on overall reception by SPN fanfiction authors, specifically those writing Dean in sexual/romantic encounters?

Utter rejection.

* Final Note: there is Teenage Dean usage of a snot-faced “sweetheart” that further supports the hypothesis, however it has been excluded due to age - as the topic is Dean in romantic/sexual fanfics - and due to the fact this was already a slam-dunk case. 

Astute data-crunching followers have also pointed out the use of “sweetheart” by one John Winchester in a patronizing manner towards a female vampire. 

The original data crunch - linked at top - also noted the use of an affectionate “sweetheart” by one Mary Winchester, which was directed towards Baby. 

Sam is not covered here because I don’t care about him.

I’m kidding. To not care would be something, and I nothing Sam.

I’m kidding. 

See? He gets me. 

(Sources: Available SPN Wiki transcripts)

ETA: More sweetheart talk via “Dear Nash” HERE and HERE

ETA #2 [Feb. 2018]: Nash’s breakdown of how to assess & choose a NON-sweetheart endearment specifically for “Dean In Love” situations is HERE  

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* Up to date as of July 2020 *