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notjustjavierpena · 7 months ago

Note

you mentioned wife being the first person javi opened up to about his mother.

imagine him walking with her around his fathers ranch and just showing her all the places from his childhood, his favourite hiding spots etc and causally just mentioning his mum here and there. reader is clinging to his arm and just basking in the day.

at night they’re staying in his childhood bedroom since it got late and they had quite a few beers with Chucho and eventually javi is holding wife/then girlfriend close and just says “i’ve never told anyone about my mother before like this” or something like that ahhh

Open

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A/N: This is extremely personal for me to write about as a person who knows what it is like to lose a parent when you are young. I have written this with utmost gratitude to Hubby Javi because I can process some feelings through him. I hope you enjoy this harsh thing. I hope you know that this heals me and I hope it heals other people too. It might not be completely how you wanted it but I hope you like it better.

Summary: Javier opens up about the loss of his mother inside his childhood bedroom.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, angst, talk about abusive parenting, talk about grief, descriptions of a child experiencing grief and the loss of a parent, descriptions of cancer and its effects physically and emotionally, talk about death obviously, hurt/comfort, love confessions, openness is beautiful!!! kisses, clit stim, sex to deal with emotions

Word count: 4.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56911576

Open

About two months ago, you promised Chucho Peña that you would help him with the annual apple harvest and suddenly, the leaves are turning brown, and September begins with magazines filling up with apple pie recipes.

Today, you have dressed the part for a weekend on your father-in-law’s ranch with your boyfriend. Dressing the part means that you have gone out to buy yourself a pair of denim overalls that make you look mostly like a caricature of a farm girl. Javier promises that he finds it sort of endearing, reassuring you every time you bring it up with embarrassment on your face.

“Stop worrying,” he says as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, standing on a ladder that you are holding whilst he plucks apples off what seems like the millionth tree in the orchard, “He likes you, baby.”

“I should have just gone with my usual clothes,” you argue with a little sigh. Javier doesn’t know how much it means to you that you aren’t seen as foolish, how much it would hurt to find out that you are seen as the butt of a joke behind closed doors. He doesn’t know how much you need this approval because Chucho Peña is the kindest and most gentle and attentive older man you have ever met, treating you like his own child with a soft mija (my girl/daughter) that had been enough for you to excuse yourself for a moment the first time you had heard it. He is not at all like your own father.

“You’re making an effort that doesn’t go unnoticed,” Javier offers as a consolation after you have stayed silent for a little too long, stepping down the ladder and taking off his work gloves. He stuffs them into his belt and kisses you with another reassuring smile, “He likes you.”

“I guess I'll just have to trust you,” you sigh dramatically and Javier pulls you into an embrace, the chuckle he lets out vibrating against your chest. You feel his lips pull into a smile as he rests his mouth against your cheek.

“You are kind and honest,” he compliments and sways you from side to side as he holds you close. You wrap yourself around him too, listening to his sweet words and breathing in his scent, “And he thinks the world of you. I might actually start to feel a little jealous.”

A little smile forms on your face as he squeezes you tighter and when he pulls back just a bit to kiss you, you nod at him, trying to play it cool despite thoughts of self-doubt nagging at you, “I did warn you about how I get around parents..”

“I know, mi amor (my love), I know,” he acknowledges and holds you close again, “But you did enough to charm him the first time to be invited back. And the overalls really do sell it.”

“Shut up,” you groan as he snickers in your ear. He always manages to make your heart flutter in your chest, teasing you relentlessly but grounding you as he does it. None of your baggage is too big for him, even as you present it with trembling hands from how heavy it feels to you.

“Just a few more minutes here and we can have a well-earned fucking break. I love you but not enough to skive off in my Dad’s garden,” he tells you and starts to loosen you from his embrace, “That okay?”

You nod and then you finally break apart. Javier gets back onto the ladder to pick the remaining apples off the tree in front of you. He starts the repetitive task once again, handing each one to you so you can carefully put them in the basket on the ground so they don’t bruise. While you do it, you find your mind drifting to the day you met Chucho.

You remember the drive to the ranch, your heart pounding in your chest at a million miles per hour, and the fake smile you had given Javier each time he had asked if you were okay. During your stay for dinner and drinks, and as you smiled and charmed, you hid the anxiety until you were all the way back at Javier’s apartment once more, only then letting your facade crumble and telling him that the dizzying nervousness he had seen on the drive back had nothing to do with his father and everything to do with your own.

Javier had asked you if your parents had ever hurt you and with a shaky voice, you’d had to explain that while the answer was no, what you received instead of deliberate cruelty was cruel indifference.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you had said with stinging tears in your eyes, “Being hurt or being invisible.”

“You’re not invisible to me,” Javier had whispered into your hair. He had held you tightly that evening, right in his hallway, feet planted on the floorboards that have become yours too, his arms a harbor of reassurance that things will never be like that again, “I will never allow anyone to treat you like that again.”

Now, as you place another apple gently in the basket, you think about how different Chucho Peña is from your father. Chucho’s attention is genuine and warm, listening to you with the same interest as Javier shows too, letting you know where some of your boyfriend’s mannerisms come from, whereas your parents’ show of care was always fleeting and conditional to the point where you wondered why they even decided to have you.

“Hey,” Javier’s voice breaks through your thoughts. He’s looking down at you from the ladder, concern on his face and gloves already off again, “¿Estás bien? (You okay?)”

“Yeah, sorry,” you feel embarrassed that it’s so evident on your face that you aren’t at ease but decide to be honest, “Just thinking about parents and overalls.”

Javier steps down onto the gravel again, laying the gloves on the top step of the ladder. He tuts, face serious for a moment.

“C’mon, you’ve been standing in the sun too long. Let’s take a break now and go for a walk in the garden. Still got a lot to show you,” he says with his hand reaching out for you. You take it with an unsure smile, but as you are interlocking your fingers and gently swaying your arms between your bodies as you start walking, you find that it feels more than alright to let yourself be comforted by him.

Javier leads you through the apple trees until you are out of the orchard completely. He talks quietly about the ranch but there’s a slight hesitation to dig deeper than the materials and the construction of his childhood home. You decide not to push it, knowing that it was not easy to reveal your secrets, and instead admire the many flowers that will bloom in next year’s Spring.

Javier seems to notice you taking in all the different bushes and flowers and you’ll never admit to seeing his shoulders slump slightly just before he starts talking again, “Mom loved this garden, you know. She spent hours here, tending to every single plant until her fingertips were green and dirt-smudged. I used to follow her around, pretending to help but mostly just getting in the way.”

“Didn’t get into trouble, did you?” You tease and lean into him as you walk.

“Loads and I would hide up there when she got angry with me,” he points to an old and slightly weathered oak tree, a rope ladder in even worse condition hanging down the trunk, “But she’d always soften if I apologized. Once she said she liked her hyacinths without their heads to make me feel better.”

“I’d swap parents in a heartbeat,” you sigh with your head on his shoulders and he moves to let you hold onto his arm instead. He goes a little quieter and you allow him to hold onto her memory by himself for a moment, looking up to see a slight crinkle on his forehead.

“Even when you’d only have one?” He eventually murmurs into your hair and from the way he exhales, you know that he regrets saying it, “I mean… I know you would.”

“You have beautiful memories of her, I can tell,” you say as gently as possible, “If you ever want to tell me more about her, I’m here to listen, you know.”

Javier clears his throat, “Thank you.”

A moment passes but nothing more happens. This would be the perfect opportunity but the silence stretches out until you walk beside him again, holding his hand instead of basking in his half-embrace. You want to say something but you are at a loss, searching for the right words to comfort him but failing just long enough for him to change the subject.

“We should go see how far Pop has gotten,” he suggests lightheartedly and steers you back where you came from, out of what used to be his sanctuary with his mother.

“Yeah, sure, baby,” you reply.

Another time then.

—

When the sun has gone down behind the horizon and the cicadas have come out from their hiding places, singing their hearts out, Javier takes you to his old room upstairs. The both of you have had alcohol with dinner and while Javier had offered to take a cab, his father had scolded him for even thinking about such nonsense, telling him that it was a joy to have him home so wholeheartedly. Your father-in-law had looked at you with a warm smile as he had said it.

Now, you lie in Javier’s old bed - just a little bit too small for the both of you - with the quilted bedspread lying neatly folded in the end. It somehow feels more intimate to be in his childhood bedroom than it would be to go through his underwear drawer.

Right above you, several posters are pinned to the ceiling and overlapping each other. The corners of the posters curl slightly and their colors have dulled since the 70s but they display the men of rock bands like Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. Some display the band logos too, they exist on the CDs that you have found in Javier’s glove compartment but he never listens to them when he drives you around. You make a mental note to casually put one of them on during your drive home tomorrow.

Seeing those iconic faces from the 70s stare down at you, you can’t help but glance fondly at Javier when he isn’t looking but instead standing by the open window on the opposite wall, smoking a cigarette. Suddenly, his wardrobe consisting of denim jeans, colorful shirts, and leather jackets makes sense.

You try to imagine Don Chucho coming in here with the determination to put out the cigarette in his son’s hand, holding in a lecture that would only have made the teenager roll his eyes. Then the snark that would have come out of Javier’s mouth, his face mustache-free and full of spots, and you smile so much that you turn around onto your stomach to hide your expression in his pillow.

It smells faintly of sweat and the cheap cologne only a teenager would have bought, so you turn to peek at your boyfriend again. He taps his fingers on the window sill, overlooking the garden that you have come to learn so much about earlier.

You spot small pieces of who he is everywhere; a stack of sociology books, paperback horror books with titles in both English and Spanish. The most worn down and loved one is El Resplandor which you guess to be The Shining. There’s also a corkboard on the wall with ticket stubs and polaroids, a framed photograph on the desk that you haven’t had the courage or chance to look at yet, beside it a figurine of La Virgen de Guadalupe that’s been tipped over in what seems to be frustration. Your smile drops a little as you feel the weight of the unfairness he must have felt.

From the window, Javier exhales a puff of smoke and reaches up to rub his eye with his free hand. You glance again at the photograph on the desk, curiosity getting the better of you as you rise from the bed and walk over to it.

As expected, the picture is of Javier's mother. What you didn’t expect is seeing your boyfriend at the age of what you calculate to be younger than ten. The resemblance is striking; her features are mirrored in his even with how much he still looks like his father.

You chew on the inside of your cheek as you pick up the religious figurine next to the picture, placing her upright once more so her head is tipped toward Javier and his mother. There’s a surge of emotion in your stomach that you try to suppress, a sense of urgency to reach through the photograph and comfort the little boy who has lost half of himself.

You hear him stub out his cigarette on the wood paneling outside, followed by the dry sound of him trying to brush the ashes off the wood again with his calloused hands. In his late thirties and still acting as if he’ll get caught by his father.

He turns back towards you and you act like nothing has happened, holding out your hand for him to take. He glances in the direction of his mother’s photo but decides not to say anything even as he notices the figurine standing upright once again. You flex your fingers to draw attention to your hovering hand, “Come to bed.”

You’ve both already been in your underwear for a while since it’s late and you’re alone - the overalls hang on the back of his door, scowling at you - so he simply takes your hand and you walk backward until the edge hits the back of your legs. You let yourself fall down onto the bed and into the mattress, moving backward until there’s room for him too.

Javier sighs the second he is lying down next to you, your shoulders touching from the missing width of the bed. He turns onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow and staring down at your face.

“What?” You ask with a little smile.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes and the fact that he hasn’t said anything yet makes you want to squirm nervously. He reaches out with the arm he has been lying on, splaying his fingers against your cheek as his thumb rests underneath your chin, and then he crashes your mouths together in a kiss that you know is him resolving back to past methods of dealing with it all.

However, you find yourself kissing him back at first, grabbing his wrist, and leaning into him to make out with him in a way that his younger self wouldn’t have believed was possible to experience. There’s a warm feeling in your stomach as you tangle your legs together, desire for him swirling below your belly button.

You gasp against his lips when his free hand slips into your panties, your heart hammering in your chest as he smears some of your wetness over your clit. He rubs you off until you breathe heavily, fingertip dancing back and forth over the hard nub.

“You’re so wet,” he moans quietly and slowly increases the pressure of his fingers. He really wants you to come, it seems. You didn’t have getting laid in your boyfriend’s childhood bed down on this year’s bingo card but you can feel your orgasm approaching so damn quickly that it makes you not able to think straight.

“Baby,” you babble, horny out of your mind from the intense emotions in the air, “I’m not gonna— in your dad’s house.”

“Yes, you fucking are,” he says in a low voice, kissing your open and panting mouth to shut you up. You might come but he won’t have you making noise loud enough to reveal what you are doing. He growls in the back of his throat, “You want my fingers? Don’t reply. Just nod or shake your head.”

You dig your nails into his wrist hard enough to create little crescent-shaped marks. You want to nod your head so badly but it feels wrong to be nothing but an outlet, a distraction from what you should be talking about. So instead, you shake your head with a moan, on the brink of bursting, “Stop, Javier. Stop.”

Javier raises his brow but immediately brings his hand to a halt, watching as you whimper from being edged. You clutch at your own chest, rolling away to not tempt him to fall back into his bad habit.

“¿Qué pasa (What’s going on)?” He asks with a crease on his forehead. He tries to kiss you again but you put a hand on his chest to create some space between the two of you. He scowls, “What? You’re not having sex with me because we’re in my Pop’s house?”

“That wasn’t sex,” you bite with frustration throughout your lower body, reaching down to fix the waistband of your underwear. The fabric sticks to you and your throbbing clit tells you to beg for forgiveness so it can have its release. You ignore it, “That was you avoiding the elephant in the room with intimacy and I don’t want to be a part of that.”

Javier lets himself fall onto his back, reaching up to push the heels of his hands into his eyes. He groans and lets his palms run down his face until his arms rest along his sides again. He heaves a big sigh, “Shit. Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you promise because it is. You aren’t even mad despite how you probably should be, only feeling the way your heart aches for the boy who had to grow up too fast. Without a word, you reach down to entwine your fingers and give his hand a reassuring squeeze, “I promise. It’s okay.”

“We talk about her but we don’t talk about her,” he says to the ceiling. You go quiet and choose to simply listen instead of breaking the streak of him opening up about something so vulnerable. Instead of using your words, you rub his hand in soothing circles.

“Pop likes to mention her occasionally but it’s with a little smile on his face and a funny story,” he continues quietly, “And that’s fine. Really, it is. I like remembering the good but he says all the right things without making it hurt. It feels as though he expects me to keep all the bad in check and believe me, there was a lot of awful shit. So much that sometimes it feels like I can’t move when I am reminded of it. Hospitals with never-ending halls, that poisonous shit they shot into her veins, her losing her hair, even her goddamn eyelashes, and suddenly not—“

He stops for a moment and swallows thickly. You turn onto your side and rest your forehead against his shoulder, still clutching his hand to let him know you are not letting go. He clears his throat to sound as if his voice isn’t wavering, “Suddenly not recognizing her anymore. This terrible sight of her turning yellow during her last few weeks. I was just a kid and it was horrible and unfair. I wish he’d acknowledge how horrible and unfair it was.”

You kiss his bare shoulder a few times. There are so many things you want to say but mostly, it is that you are so sorry for what he went through.

“I think I learned that nothing lasts forever,” he adds without looking at you, staring down at where his fingers are entwined with yours. He is quiet for a moment and you feel your heart pick up in rhythm as you try to find something to fill the silence with, something that debunks that belief. However, just as you are about to say something, he speaks again, “But I would like this to be. I would like us to be forever.”

“Javi,” you finally say softly.

He lifts his gaze to lock it onto yours. He looks at his most vulnerable, eyes brown and big as he waits for you to continue. You take just a moment too long and he is off again, suddenly very chatty.

“I know I haven’t asked you to marry me,” he says, “But I promise it’s coming. I just need to get it right.”

“You don’t have to talk about that right now. You know I love you and I know you love me too; I know it’s coming,” you say to reassure, pushing the idea of only letting him speak away because this topic is too big to stay silent on, “I’m not lying here with you because I want a ring on my finger, and I’m certainly not treating it like a condition for you to open up to me. I want to know you, Javier.”

“Thank you,” Javier looks grateful to hear that, saying nothing for a moment before looking at the ceiling again. He laughs softly, “You fucking terrified me, you know, the first time we sat down together.”

“I terrified you?” You furrow your brows, huffing out a laugh of disbelief.

“I pull my grief up to every table I share with a person I would like to have in my life, mi amor (my love). I was terrified the first time we were on a date,” he admits, “I kept thinking when you were going to ask about family… If I was close to my mother. I hated to imagine the way your smile and curiosity would drop but I don’t want to just focus on the way I want to remember her. You were so kind and thoughtful and damn bright-eyed - that was before I knew about your dad - and I didn’t want to share how I actually remember her because you might have not wanted to see me like that.”

“Javi,” you let go of his hand to put your palm against his cheek, turning his head towards you. You weigh your words, “I want to know everything about you. I want to know everything about her too. Especially if you’re gonna marry me.”

“She was incredible, loved music, always honest even if it meant war, and read so many books that Pop had to build her bookcase after bookcase,” he tells you with a tremble in his voice and a tear that threatens to spill down his cheek even as he smiles in remembrance of her, “But as warm and loving as she was hard. Believe it or not, Pop used to be the softie of those two.”

“I can imagine,” you say fondly. You let your hand fall down to rest on his chest, palm laying just where his heart is.

“I don’t think I’ve seen a woman so defiant in her ways but she grew up with a lot of expectations of how she should live her life,” he continues, “I think that hardened her a lot. I think it brought a lot of trouble too. She was so fiercely independent. She was fiercely protective of me and Dad too but sometimes even more of herself. I guess I know what it’s like to defend oneself from all the bullshit people give you.”

“Fiercely protective?” You tease, “Sounds like someone I know.”

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe I got that from her,” he admits with both pride and sadness. He puts a hand on your wrist, rubbing it with his thumb as a way to fidget, “That’s why it got so hard when she got sick because that defiance just crumbled. I was just a kid but I was old enough to see through the facade she put up every day. I was happy to eat takeout all the time - I was barely ten, so who wouldn’t be? - but I knew it was because she was too exhausted to cook. The music was too loud, the TV muted so she could sleep on the couch all the time or maybe it had the sound turned up all the way because she was throwing up in the bathroom.”

It seems he cannot stop himself now, hand tightening around your wrist and tears falling from his eyes, “She would look at Pop with a scared expression because she knew she had to leave him all alone with me. I don’t think we ever talked about that fact. I think I just realized it for myself one day.”

Your chest constricts at seeing him cry for the first time in your presence. You’ve seen him in the aftermath of it on the nights when Colombia creeps into his head as he sleeps, where he excuses himself to the bathroom and comes out a few minutes later with puffy eyes and a reddened nose. Seeing him now, upset like this, hits you harder than you thought it would and your heart aches as you listen to him talk about the loss of his life.

It is years of bottled-up cruel pain and sorrow flowing out of him, so you follow your instincts and throw your arms around him even if his arm is still trapped between you. You hold him tightly and feel his reluctance for a millisecond before he allows himself to tremble in your embrace.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” you say softly, “You were just a little boy, and you had to watch your mom suffer. No one should have to go through that.”

Grief is a funny thing because as you close your eyes, feeling his shuddering breaths against your chest in the midst of his emotional motion sickness, you swear that it is not an adult Javier that you are hugging but rather the version of him that had to let go of his mother.

When your muscles start to ache from squeezing him so hard, you pull back a little to stare into his tearful face, watching his eyes glisten. You wipe a tear away but it is just replaced by another.

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to mess this up,” he says and you’re not sure if it’s him or the little boy in him that speaks.

“You won’t,” you reassure him, your voice steady like a lifeline that he can hold onto, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

Javier sniffles with a hesitant smile. Like the instincts of a mother, you lift the hem of your shirt to wipe a few tears from his face. You lean close to kiss him afterward and then move to lie face-to-face with him, so close that your noses almost touch. Your voice is sincere, “I know she meant a lot to you and your dad, so thank you for telling me. It sounds like she was an amazing woman. I wish I could have met her.”

“She would have loved you,” Javier replies, “She had this way of seeing right through people, knowing if they were genuine or not. And you, you’re the most genuine person I’ve ever met.”

Despite the warmth outside, you feel a different kind flow through you at those words. You brush your lips against his in a tender kiss, “I need to make sure that I tell you that I love you even more when you are so open and gentle with me.”

He looks tired now but it’s the tiredness that fills the body after relief, “I love you too.”

“I think you should get some sleep,” you say softly.

“I’ve never talked to anyone about my mother like this before,” he adds, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You never have to find out,” you tell him and reach to rub a thumb between his eyebrows, “Close your eyes, baby. I’ll stay awake until you’re asleep.”

He does as he is told and smiles until sleep takes over, his face relaxing, his mouth going slack, and his breaths slowing down. He is so beautiful like this, looking peaceful, looking like home.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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weebsinstash · 6 days ago

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Sort of a specific idea but

Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham to become Batman in his late 20s and he doesn't retire (at least from working in the field) until I believe he's in his 60s, so

It's entirely plausible to think of a platonic yandere Batman scenario where, you were a child involved in a disaster that he rescued, and some 10, 15 years later he runs into an adult you by whatever means and he can see you're struggling to make ends meet and you're having issues that ultimately stem from the trauma caused by that incident all those years ago, and he wants to help you, save you from your current situation, and maybe even finds out you've fallen to the dark side in all this time you were out of his sight

Like, the added drama if, in a way, he feels partially responsible for your current situatuon; he was still kind of green when you went through your accident. Maybe he feels like he should've kept a closer eye on you after the fact, helped make sure you were OK; you were just a little kid clinging to him in fear, so small you fit into his arms to be picked up. Could you even imagine it's something like, you lose your parents in a villain attack and you're just this frightened little kid and some 10 years later Bruce meets you as an adult and you're either an addict, a criminal, both, and potentially even a metahuman on top of everything else so you have the capacity to be legitimately dangerous

See, a lot of the thematic elements of Batman as a franchise itself is that many of the Batman villains were sort of just, normal people that had horrible things happen to them that, while not being justified, may be understandable. A lot of Batman villains carry underlying themes of, being victims of abuse, victims of society, victims of disability or mistreatment for that disability, so, from a narrative standpoint, you then have Batman seeing you as not just someone he feels he failed to fully save, but now, you could potentially end up going down a dark path like so many others he's personally seen spiral, and he doesn't want to have to put you in Belle Rev or Arkham.

Batman loving you and wanting to protect you but for your own good he ultimately feels has no choice but to contain you until he can either convince you to control your powers or he finds a way to suppress them by force. Then, he wants to take you under his wing; you're broken and hurting, just like a part of him will always be. If you've got no one else to look after you anymore, he can be your new family.

Batman going into full helicopter Batdad mode where he's just, fully convinced that just about every negative action or choice you make is just stemming from trauma or some other problem he has to fix and basically, kind of in a way robs you of the autonomy and accountability that you have making your own choices as a whole. Oh, you haven't had mental healthcare all these years? Prepare for him forcing you to go to therapy and promising you he doesn't know what you talk about which is a lie because he has spy equipment to listen in on your sessions anyway. Hope you like being forced to take medication for conditions and disorders that you're not sure to believe you've even been credibly diagnosed with.

Then of course you have all your new "siblings" and comrades in arms watching over you, ESPECIALLY once Batman becomes convinced that fighting crime with him and the others will be the outlet you need for your anger just like it is for him and most of the others in his traumatized gaggle of adopted children. NOW you've got this entire, basically half dozen or so prodigies with their own sets of skills, traumas, obsessions. Some see you as a playful rival. Others see you as more of an equal. They ALL see you as "sweet cinnamon roll, must protect"

Batman having to keep you from becoming radicalized. Batman dealing with this super-powered angry version of you that wants to take justice into your own hands, in YOUR way, which yeah, involves a lil killing, as a treat. Bruce absolutely convinced, and perhaps being right, that he's the only one that can save you from doing something that will ruin your life forever

You'll don your new costume and you'll like it. You'll have his symbol on your chest marking you as his family and you'll like it. You'll spend basically every waking moment either in his home, with a member of his found family, or with him, and you'll like it. Hell, maybe you'll even be finding your last name was legally changed to Wayne without evem being discussed with you, and guess what? You'll have no choice but to learn to like that, too :)

#yandere x reader #yandere batman #yandere dcu #batman x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere stuff #sinprompts

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sabine-smitten-obviously · 2 months ago

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Good Omens - December reads part #1- fanfics recs 🤓🩷🎄

I ´ve decided to write a short summary each month about the books i read. I need this to let go of the stories, its a nice way of saying good-bye to them and to spread the love to the authors and to you. 🩷

I only read finished stories and rarely one-shots. You will find no WIPs in here, as i really like to dive deep into the plot and i keep losing track of WIPs. Also you will only find happy or at least hopeful endings here - i couldn´t handle anything else.

Thank you to @di-42 for inspiring me to do this with her own monthly review! 🤗 Check her out, she is an incredible author!

Also i try to find every author here on tumblr to link-to, but sadly some times i am out of luck. If you happen to know them, please tell them, write to me in the comments or DM me and i will update the post!

Multichapter Fanfics

Forbidden roman(ce) by WorseOmens

Sadly this story seems to have been deleted, also the author is not on AO3 at the moment. Maybe they have disabled or deleted their account. Its a pity, because it was a truly nice story.

It plays in ancient Rome. Crowley is living in a villa just outside Rome and "inherits" a slave from his uncle. For at first undisclosed reasons he tries to keep him away from his other slaves - and what other way is there than to spend time with him himself?

A nice story, only a bit angsty to me, and the last 2 chapters really cracked me to sobbing tears. I do so hope that the fic goes up again or that some of you might know the author and tell them about this. Maybe some of you have downloaded the story already (just like i had) and will still be able to enjoy it!

Lunacy by @snae-b

OMG - i have been a sucker for the whole Alien-Films for decades. If you know them (Sigourney Weaver - i mean how cool can you be stearing a hauling-robot to kill an alien?) - you know the feeling they produce.

This is exactly what this story is able to capture. Crowley is head of a mining-crew on the outer borders of the known space. Aziraphale is a geologist coming with them. The plot is an angsty pageturner which had me leave the light on at night. Just loved it and made its way to my re-read list. 👽

Love in the Garden by @tawnyontumblr

It´s the early 90ties, its UK and its gay. HIV and Aids are kind of a rumor, no one knows exactly what is going on. Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves right in the middle of it. This story is SO SO important, but please do mind the tags before you start. It will be a hard read. 🩷 To me it was very precious, this is exactly my teenager-time and i remember it all too well. Please remember i only rec stories with a happy ending! Apart from that - i am SO thankful for how far we have come concerning this disease.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Goodbye? by appleseeds

Human AU; Aziraphale is dragged to a Halloween-Haunted-Castle-"Party" by his friend Tracy. He clearly would rather curl up in bed with a book than being there, but thank Someone there is this beautiful stranger sitting across of him, who doesn´t seem to want to be here either. They go ghost-hunting through the castle - what will they find? 😅

The small ad by @theladydrgn and @sylwritesstuff

Tall, lanky ginger of arguable gender available to be your significant other ... This is the ad Crowley puts out and Aziraphale decides to call. With the family reunion ahead he doesn´t want to go there alone - again. Gabriel would be too much of a nuisance. You can imagine the rest!

I love the authors and have read more of their books in the past. They are always very easy to follow, funny and satisfyingly smutty. 🌶😁

Three two one, we go live by HazelSage

Crowley is falling in love with his secretary Aziraphale, while secretly being addicted to a camboy called "not an angel". What he doesnt know - Aziraphale has a secret side-hussle ...

The story is merely an excuse for writing lots of cam-scenes with Aziraphale having solo-sx for his fans-only-channel. Do mind the tags !! Plot-to-Smut-Ratio = 15:85 😁

Tastes by @tawnyontumblr

Aziraphale is bound to be wedded and searches Crowley´s help to become a rake so that his betrothed doesn´t want to marry him any longer. Love in regency times, gentle gender discussions in a time that no-one even knew or at least talked about it. Wonderful story that had me re-read whole pages because they were so touching. Also: very hot!

One-Shots!

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost by @theoldaquarian

I found this story through another rec from @di-42 and it really had me laughing. Crowley rents his flat out as an Airbnb and here you can read what people say about it. Very funny! 😅 The author seems to have deleted their tumblr-account, so i couldn´t link them.

Naked and afraid: Jingle Hell by @klikandtuna

Crowley and Aziraphale don´t know each other, they participate in the same TV-Show, which is called "Naked and Afraid" and is set in the Jungle. It´s a survival show. The rest is a very funny plot exclusively consisting of banter and scene-descriptions.

Not really a One-Shot, it´s over 20k, but i stumbled in and it was just so funny that i kept on reading. Biggest laugh: "I’m about to lose a testicle to frostbite." 😅 A christmas-story you can read all year through.

Some strangeness in the proportion by @trailingoff

Set after the end of S1. Aziraphale has been punished by the "destruction of the demon" and he grieves deeply. He moves into Crowleys flat and just wants to be alone. If just this angel wouldn´t keep showing up, trying to help him overcome his feelings.

Loved this one, it was written before S2 and somehow i wonder if it doesn´t hit to the point with its message ... Also a bit longer for a one-shot with 11.500 words.

Puttin on the Ritz by @moonyinpisces

It´s New York, it´s the 1920ies and Aziraphale is on a heavenly mission, when he accidentally bumps into Crowley. As part of their arrangement Crowley decides to take over and Aziraphale gets to watch a demonic temptation for the first time. Will he be able to resist? A short, funny, fluffy smut story. 😉

Incredible Artwork by Zoe @vavoom-sorted-art 🩷

Green Light by @dragonfire42

After the second not-coming Aziraphale decides it´s time for him to finally "cum". He uses all the historical appropriate terms to tell Crowley his wish and can´t fathom why Crowley doesn´t understand. At least at first. When he does, 6000 years of pining break loose. Very funny!

All i want for christmas by @naromoreau

Oh i loved that story so much! Crowley is the single-dad to Warlock, Aziraphale the single-dad to Adam. They meet at school for the christmas-party of their kids, where Aziraphale also acts as Santa Claus and asks Crowley to help him dress up. How they end up in the janitory closet? Guess you have to find out! Very sweet and hot. 🎅🩷

So thats 13 fanfics in the first 8 days - wow. I never kept track of my readings this way and i am a bit surprised myself. thanks to all the wonderful authors for making my nights! 🤗

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic rec #fanfic #i read my fanfics at night #thank you for your fanfiction

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vroomvroomcircuit · 7 months ago

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Do Not Enter is written on the Doorway

(A/N): A personal thank you to @foreveralbon for reading over certain parts and give feedback and ideas

Summary: Max helps his girlfriend through her anticipatory grief

Warnings: Talking about the future death of a family member, this is sad, but Max is the greatest comforter

Wordcount: 2.3k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ______________________________

Some news gives you this warm feeling in your stomach that slowly spreads over your chest and into your head and extremities. You smile, your brain barely able to keep up with the immense joy you feel. It’s like you could hug the whole world at once, this feeling giving you superpowers beyond imagination. That immense excitement, that’s a feeling you never want to lose.

This is what good news gives you.

But nobody talks about the stabbing pain you get in your heart upon receiving bad news. The sudden 100 pounds heavy weight settling into your stomach. The coldness you feel in your hands and feet never are mentioned. The spinning in your head, having to realize that after hearing what you have been just told, nothing will ever be the same.

You immediately wish to be the person you were moments ago, before your brain chemistry has been changed forever. Nothing is better than being in that beautiful bliss of unsuspectingness. But you can’t go back, you only get to mimic being that person in the first few moments after waking up, before the memory sets back in. The damage has been irreversibly done.

This feeling after receiving bad news is the one (Y/N) has been most familiar with during the last couple of weeks. One of her close family members is terminally ill and they are in a state where their symptoms are only managed after being taken into hospice care almost immediately upon receiving the diagnosis. They will be sick for the rest of their life expectancy.

For her, it’s like jumping through burning hoops with a broken leg every day ever since. She wants to be a good daughter to her mother, who relies on her for support. (Y/N) wants to be the good family member she usually is, spending as much time with them as possible.

But she also wants to be a good girlfriend to her Max. She wants to be with him at every race, cheer for his successes and support him through his losses.

Being all that and staying on top of her own feelings, that is not doable.

Max sees it. He sees the circles under her eyes grow. He sees the hunch in her back, yet the tension in her shoulder. He can’t remember the last time she smiled at him with those smiles that take his breath away and make him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Max misses her laugh, always sounding like music to her.

He sees it all, but feels helpless. Powerless. Something he swore to himself to never be again. This ever so disabling feeling, making your limbs heavy and your heart sink every time you think about it. And your brain never stops thinking about it. It’s going over and over again about the situation, trying to find an angle where he can finally get through to her. But everything he tries feels for naught.

In the moments where he hears her cry in the middle of the night, thinking Max is soundly asleep without a single worry, he is thankful to never have to experience what his girlfriend is currently going through. So he tries to make it better, even if it is just coming from a distant place, since she doesn’t let him close, neither emotionally nor physically.

During nights spent crying, Max turns around to her and hugs her closely to his chest, acting like he just needs his partner cuddled to him in his sleep. He takes over all the household chores, claiming “Oh, I just saw that we needed to wash a few clothes” or “I had some downtime, so I tried to make myself useful” not wanting to shame (Y/N) for lacking.

Because if your head is full of emotions, there is no strength left to do physical things. Max knows that out of personal experience, from a life where you are constantly under extreme pressure.

Still, he tries to get through to (Y/N), missing the person he fell in love with. “Hey, I thought about going out for dinner tonight? Just you and me at your favorite place with that dress you love so much?” Max asks her as she puts her shoes on to run off to work. He is hopeful, it’s an offer she never has said no to. On the contrary, he kind of expects her to let the second shoe in her hand fall to the ground to put her arms around his neck and thank him over and over again.

But to his shock, she does no such things. The young woman puts the other shoe on and shakes her head. “I don’t feel like going out at the moment. I will stay late at the hospice anyway after work, the doctor said that-” Her voice cracks. Max steps towards her, but she waves him off. “We don’t have much time left. And I want to take the time to prepare for, you know, it.”

Max nods, even though he does not understand her point. Not yet at least.

(Y/N) presses a quick kiss to his cheek before exiting the house in what seems like a great rush. She leaves a flabbergasted dutchman behind.

This was the first kiss he hasn’t initiated for several weeks now (22 days to be exact, although who's counting?). But the subject of preparing for someone’s death still doesn’t let him go. Not when he feeds the cats and cleans the kitchen. Not when he trains for the upcoming race on the simulator and in the gym.

The thought of trying to prepare for the inevitable is unfathomable to him. Isn’t the fear of getting stuck in your head greater than missing the current moment with that person?

His mind still circulates around this topic when he unfreezes some pre-made meals that are with his diet and to (Y/N)’s taste. He knows not to warm hers up already, he made that mistake quite a few times, just for the food to turn cold while it is waiting to be consumed by her.

Their habit of eating all to most meals together diminished to one dinner once every other week. That’s something else he misses. Just spending quality time with his partner. Still, he does not want to be demanding towards her. He is understanding of her situation and knows that it won’t be like this forever.

He already sits at his computer set up, playing a few rounds of a game to calm down before going to bed when (Y/N) enters their quarters. Max immediately greets her, clocking in the exhaustion in her face. “Hey, welcome back!” He softly says. “I’ll heat up your dinner. You can take a shower or a bath. Or sit down in the living room and put a show on. I’ll bring you your food.”

But (Y/N) just stares at him. He halts in his tracks, waiting for her answer. But he never gets one. Instead, his girlfriend bursts out in tears, sobs and snot.

Quickly Max gathers her in his arms, gently rocking her while drawing circles on her back with his fingers. He tries to maneuver them onto the couch in the living room, getting her sat in his lap with her legs straddling his thighs.

Now, to say the Dutchman is shocked by that outburst would be a lie. He has seen how much (Y/N) ran herself into the ground. It was just a question of time when all of the built up emotions found their way out. Between wanting to be the perfect daughter and the perfect family member, she forgot to be her imperfect self.

Yet, Max hasn’t expected today to be the day. Today has been so unassuming. There were no visible signs during their morning that could have prepared Max for the breakdown.

Not that he needed to prepare in the first place. Max has every tool he needs for this exact situation in close proximity. He throws a heavy blanket over them and hands (Y/N) a stuffie that coincidentally found its home permanently on that couch a few weeks ago. The plush lion itself is weighted with beans, being a nice pressure on her chest.

He continues to rock them back and forth and murmurs sweet things into her ears. His hands draw soothing circles and other shapes on her back. At one point he starts to trace letters.

“I love you too”, (Y/N) mumbles into his hair, her voice still tear stricken. “I love you so much, I can’t imagine a world without you or your support or your love or your… everything.” Max tightens his hold on her. She knows how to interpret that one. It’s his non-verbal way of saying how much she means to him.

They sit there for several more minutes in silence with Max listening to her breathing evening out. “Do you want some tea? I stocked up on your favorites. I can heat up your dinner during that.” The young woman nods yes, sliding off his lap and cuddles into the corner of the couch.

Max quickly puts the tv on, leaving on some random show to stop the eerie silence and quieten down the thought spiral in (Y/N)’s head.

He tries to be as fast as possible, until his phone rings. His girlfriend sent him a message, asking if they can share that frozen meal. Max’s heart clenches, realizing they finally have another dinner together. Of course, he obeys her wish and brings two forks along with two mugs on a tablet to the living room.

“Here is the food and drinks and I got some of your favorite chocolate earlier”, he says in a soft voice. (Y/N) smiles, his thoughtfulness is enough to change her mood.

In unity they share the meal and catch up over peas and carrots. With mugs in their hands they cuddle close to each other and pay attention to the movie that’s playing as soon as the food is gone.

“I’m scared to lose them. But I am even more scared to forget to cherish the time we still have together.” (Y/N) starts speaking into the dimmed room. Max looks down to her, showing his girlfriend has 100 % of his attention.

“You know, it hurts to see them hurting. And I know they will only get worse, which is weird to know. I am already hurting from an event that hasn’t even taken place. We also know that they will die soon. And I am already grieving them. I sit in the same room with them, talk and laugh and think ‘this will not be possible very soon’ and it is so… fucked up. Because I don’t want to think about this, they are still here. But I already miss them. I miss the old version of them, I will miss the current version of them and I’m dreading their future version. And I am hurting all the time and I kind of don’t want to see them, because how they are right now is the way I want to remember them. I feel selfish, because it’s all just about me meanwhile they are literally dying under our hands.”

Max realizes three important points at this moment.

He is very lucky to have never lived through her situation, watching a loved one dying. This must be another kind of hell on earth that he does not wish upon his greatest enemy. Seeing how his girlfriend, who is the strongest person he knows, struggles to the point of a mental breakdown, shows Max that he would not be able to live through these circumstances the way she does.

(Y/N) is under too much pressure, trying to be a good family member, a helpful co worker and an attentive girlfriend. He feels like he failed her by elevating more of that pressure, making her take some time off from work and reassure (Y/N) that he can support them financially as long as she wants him to, so she can spend more time with her family.

He voices his third conclusion out loud. “Several emotions and feelings can be true at once. You can be thankful for the time you got left and still feel bad about their current condition. You’re allowed not wanting to see them to protect yourself. Sometimes, being selfish sounds like the worst thing you could do to outsiders, but the best decision for yourself. It’s up to you entirely. Don’t feel bad for your anticipatory grief, it is normal. Your brain wants to prepare itself for the end.

And no matter what you will do or where you are going, I’m always at your side and support all your decisions. In this house we support (Y/N)’s rights and wrongs.”

Her laugh makes Max’s heart lighter. He knows the upcoming weeks and months will not be easier than the previous ones. But he is aware that they will get through it together.

“Will you read to me?” (Y/N) looks at him with her puppy dog eyes, something they both know he can’t resist. “Ok”, he says after letting out a sigh, ”Get your Faye smut book. But only because you had a hard day. Next time, you will read to me ‘how to build a car’.”

Before Max even ends his sentence, (Y/N) launches herself from the couch and runs to get her book from her bedside table.

After an evening like this, none of them wants to have it any other way.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x fem!reader #x reader #x fem!reader

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badaziraphaletakes · 1 month ago

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So I’ve seen autistics saying they want to k*ll themselves because the show is cut short 💔 and alltistics responding that they need to go to therapy, they’re immature, etc.

To those autistic people, I’ll be talking about this in another post.

To the alltistic people responding that way - please fuck all the way off. If you’re not one of us, you’re not invited to the discussion about how Autistic people should behave.

However, that's moot anyway, because when Autistic people are being shitty, it is NOT because of their autism (we talked about this in the aforementioned previous post). Autism does not make people bigoted. (Neither does any other disability, for the record.)

Second of all, NEVER just tell a stranger “you need to go to therapy” like that. Especially an Autistic person. Here’s why.

First of all, many autistic people can’t access therapy.

In the UK there’s a massive waiting list for therapy because the NHS is underfunded. The situation is similar in Canada and I would imagine in many other countries as well.

In the U.S., many, probably most, Autistic people don’t have health insurance, because 86% of Autistic COLLEGE GRADUATES are unemployed (I can only assume the numbers are similar in other countries) and famously, in America no job 🟰 no health insurance, because, idk, ✨ Freedom ✨ or some bullshit like that.

And even if we do get to therapy, most therapists are not autism-informed and may easily end up traumatizing us further. (This has happened to me.)

We are vulnerable. Many of us are stuck living at home with family forever for the reasons listed above. Which SUCKS, because our families are much more likely to ab*se us than their alltistic kids.

Many of us never find a romantic partner. And even if we do, again, we are much more likely to be ab*sed by our partners than alltistic people are.

It’s also exhausting for us to go out because of sensory overwhelm and the fear that people will take advantage of our diminished ability to judge people’s intentions (and because Black and Native Autistic people risk being murdered if they show signs of being Autistic in public), and when we do go out, it’s hard for us to make friends because people are so prejudiced against us. We sweat blood trying to exert ourselves to make friends with alltistics, and 99% of the time they refuse to meet us halfway.

In short, the situation ain’t pretty. (And if we’re multiply marginalized, as many of us are, it gets so, so much worse.) For every N*il G*iman, there are thousands of us who are told we should feel lucky to get a job being paid 50c an hour (oh, yeah, that’s right - I forgot to mention, in the U.S. it’s legal to pay us below minimum wage).

***Not to mention the fact that literally every single Autistic person has experienced trauma means that it’s virtually impossible to separate out what’s actually autism and what’s just a trauma response. Look how similarly autism, as defined by the DSM-V, and C-PTSD present. Difficulty regulating emotions. Avoidance of certain situations. Difficulties in sustaining relationships. Stomach issues. Sleep problems. Heightened risk of su*cide.***

That’s a HUGE part of the reason we get so "overly" invested in our special interests. For many of us, they're literally all we have.

The joy that comes through special interests when they're going well - that part is unique to us (and it's beautiful). It's an autism perk. Idk why. I guess God or somebody thought it was time someone did something nice for us for a change.

But the despair that comes through losing them - that's not the fault of autism, it's the fault of the ableist society we live in.

If you were, through no fault at your own, stuck at home with no job, no healthcare, no prospects, few friends, and nothing to look forward to, then you, my alltistic friend, would melt down just as hard as we do if your favorite show got cancelled. It would be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Those Autistic people freaking out over the Great Good Omens Mutilation of 2024 aren’t really "suicidal over a tv show".

The reason we carry around so much despair is because we are slowly being crushed to death by systemic ableism, not because our brains are "too obsessive" or some ableist bullshit like that.

So, alltistics, please stop psychoanalyzing us - your latest autism hot take is dead wrong, like they always are. And above all, for the love of God, PLEASE stop demanding that we do the labor to "fix" our "emotional issues" when those issues are the result of a problem that you fuckers created.

#good omens #goodomens #cw: ableism #autistic omens #cw: suicide

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bouncy-dog-funeral · 7 months ago

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I’m seriously considering rewriting teen wolf but I lack any writing skills

TW and CW before you read this long long long post: mentions alcoholism, child neglect and abuse, past SA, past grooming,and talk of chronic illness.

And my biggest warning!! I am a queer disabled person and I make some (a lot) of these charecters queer, disabled, plus sized,and or poc. If you don’t like that then leave. Unlike the original show, I want minority’s to not only be in the series but to have actual story’s and stay in the story’s. Not be written out. I am the woke mob that conservatives warned you about and I’m turning all your faves into minority’s

And finally before we get into this..

This is a total rewrite so befor anyone gets on me for not being remotely accurate or “WhY doNt YoU wRiTe YOuR OwN StoRY” uhhhhhhh don’t feel like it and I like these charecters soooooo 🤷 this post is long as hell so get a snack

Imagine this for me if you will

*I start rubbing my glass orb as the camra starts zooming in to my vision*

So our story is located at beacon hills local collage…

I HATE that teen wolf is set in high school! This could be b/c I’m in collage and want these charecters to be more relatable to me BUT I also think you can just do more with them if they are in college. In the teen wolf series, the writers and directors sexulize these HIGH SCOOLERS. IK that through out the show they go back and forth on ages and birthdays but we do get the information that in season 1 Allison turns 17 and is embarrassed about it b/c she’s been held back and is therefore older then everyone els. That would put the rest of the highscoolers at 15/16 at best. The fact that you are doing shirtless thirst shots to charecters who are underage??? Weirdo behavior in my opinion. I get that high schoolers can be sexually active, make sex jokes, and arnt innocent (I was a highscooler not long ago. I am freshly 20) but having a bunch of adults seriously thirst trapping a 16 year old…. Not something I care for. IK Tyler was 20 when they filmed season 1 so they weren’t technically doing anything wrong but idc. I’m not being a prude or anything. I understand that it was to appeal to the teenage audience. Obviously teens are gunna find other teens attractive BUT you could have just made them incoming collage freshman so that they are all at least 18. Also that makes all the death defying trips they go on a little more reasonable. IK jjk has highscoolers dying and fighting left and right but I think that show also is very aware of there teen age charecters and that’s what makes jjk a tragedy. It’s supposed to be sad that these kids are being put to war. Teen wolf was supposed to be a supernatural thriller drama seemingly more focused on drama while sprinkling in some violence for fun. (They also never go as on the ptsd this would cause but in my rewrite ptsd will be discussed) AGIN befor I get hate. Yes, you can write about kids and teens going through traumatic life or death situations as they do happen in real life and there are fantastic fiction and non fiction story’s like that (it is a great example of traumatized children) but I just think it would be better if it was set in college. I know it’s called teen wolf so a name change would probably be needed but semantics.

Beacon hills collage is a local collage that is relatively easier to get into as it’s not very popular and is not in a prime location and is kinda limited on what can be studied. I like the idea of beacon hills being a smaller town as it adds to the ambiance and smaller towns are well known for myths and the idea of the supernatural. I also think it would add to some charecters feelings of being outsiders b/c of their supernatural powers as they have to kinda hide who they really are in fear of losing social standing in there local communities and non supernatural family.

The charecters and why they are there…

So here’s where I’m really gunna throw you for a loop. This version of teen wolf has stiles stilinski as its main charecter. IK, huge suprise from the stiles kinnie but hear me out!! I think the story would be compelling if we were seeing the supernatural world through a humans eyes. Also stiles is not the only character that gets focused on, it’s just this time it’s through stiles eyes

Stiles is a smart guy. I mean like ivy level smart but when we start the story, he’s moving into his shitty shared dorm with Scott at a school that almost anyone can get into. Everyone in stiles life (which is Scott, his dad, and ms.Mccall) are really confused as to why stiles didn’t apply and go to a “smart people school” and get the hell out of beacon hills. For stiles that more obvious. Stiles lost his mom young to frontotemporal dementia. Through his elementary school years his dad and him were her care takers (along with Mellisa who they made friends with when moved to be on hills but she’s a nurse so she didn’t have a lot of time and she also had to raise Scott) as all her relitives live in Poland. (I think she would have been in America on a student visa for school and some how Noah and Claudia get together and moved to beacon hills to have stiles) stiles didn’t really understand what was going on but still tried to help his mom but things obviously got worse and as they got worse Claudia started suffering from the symptoms. She was more agitated and yelled at stiles saying things that truly did damage to stiles and his dad. She would try and sneak out of the house, would make inappropriate comments, have huge outbursts, and mild delusions. This would have been especially hard as this was the complete opposite of the sweet, adventurous, loving mother, wife, and friend. When she did die Noah turned to the bottle and for awhile just wasn’t a very good father to stiles. Noah never hit stiles but he was just neglectful. When he wasn’t at work, he was drinking and that just hurt stiles more. He would look for praise and love from his dad but his dad just wasn’t there. Some nights stiles would stay over at Scott’s house as melisa understood what was going on at the time. The sheriff (after a very firm and angry talking to from Melisa) sobers up tho it’s hard cuz he wants to be there for stiles. He lost his wife and he can’t lose his son. With a lot of hard work and help from his son and the community, he becomes a great loving dad. He’s not perfect but he try’s. A couple years later when stiles is in high school he gets a call saying his dad got shot in the leg (he’s still the sheriff so the job can lead to problems) . Stiles is obviously freaking out unlike his dad and stiles kinda pushes school to take care of his dad. His dad makes sure he’s still doing good in school but stiles really just wants to take care of his dad. The sheriff eventually recovers but he still has to use a cane (much to the sheriffs dismay) and stiles starts making him eat healthier and makes him go to his physical therapy appointments. He takes care of him. All of his dreams about collage are more in the back of his mind as he wasn’t to be there for his dad cuz he can’t lose his dad. When collage application time comes around, Noah forces stiles to apply to a collage (“any colloge will do stiles! You’re not giving up your education and futer to take care of me!”) and stiles being the sneaky stubborn little shit he is apply for the one closest to home. It’s not the best collage but it’s near his dad and hey! Scotts going there!

(Also forgot to mention but stiles is white more specifically half polish on his moms side AND HE HAS ADHD. It’s not a joke or something that can be debated. In my series stiles has adhd and it affects his life)

Speaking of Scott (BOOOO)

Scott is one of my least fav teen wolf character but he is important to the story and when I write him, he’s cool. So Scott is stiles bestie! He is mixed Latino (moms side) and white (dads side) He’s a little bit of a himbo. He means well and is very loving. He was raised by his lovely single mother as his dad is out of the picture. He wasn’t fantastic at school and stiles helped him study. Now while he was not the best at school (mostly math and English. Personal head canon Scott hates English class cuz he doesn’t really care about the touchy feely stuff that comes with it. Although he’s supper sweet and caring, he just prefers to be presented with facts) he was fantastic at lacrosse! Him and stiles were on the team in high school (stiles dropped it to spend more time helping Noah after he got shot which he was sad about but family comes first for stiles) Scott didn’t really care where he went school wise and when he herd stiles was going to be on hill college, he wanted to go to and he just so happened to get a sports scholarship do hey! Why not go. He wants to be a vet and is a huge fan of dogs. Scott gets bit (not sure by who. Idk if I want to keep the Peter story line) and becomes a werewolf in collage where our next charecter comes in.

(I have more to say about Scott but that goes into story and not why he’s at beacon hills collage

*sniff sniff* is that a weird loner I hear??

That’s right boys (and lady’s and gender non conforming people) it’s DEREK HALE TIME!!! Derek is Chinese (moms side) and Latino (dads side) and a born werewolf! His mom was also a born werewolf while his dad was human. Derek much like in the original series shows up in the first couple chapters (I’m thinking of this like a comic/webtoon instead of a tv series) to help Scott control his wolf. He does not go to beacon hill collage, I want to make that clear. He’s seemingly only there to help Scott cuz he herd through the wolfy grape vine that a wild werewolf bit Scott. He lives mildly close to the collage (as do a lot of the town. It’s about 30 mins away from Melissa and Noah) and while he seems mean and like he doesn’t care about Scott and stiles except for the fact that they are now an annoying problem that he has to deal with, he genuinely wants to help and have Scott acclimate to becoming a wolf. Derek is autistic and struggles to express how he feels and gets supper frustrated easily. This explains his behavior (being aggressive, not understanding that stiles is joking most of the time, wearing that gd leather jacket every day) but does not excuse it. That boy needs therapy. The reason he is living in beacon hills still is 1st b/c it’s familiar and 2nd and more importantly b/c his family all died there and he doesn’t want to leave them until they get justice. Yep that’s right folks, hale house fire happened and you wouldn’t belive who caused it. That’s right Kate argent is back (BOOOOOO IM RUNNING HER OVER WITH MY CAR) Kate argent burned the house down and I actually want to go over how she did it. She groomed 15 year old Derek when she was 25. I’m keeping that plot line BUT I want my version to actually talk about how fucked up that is. Derek suffers major ptsd from Kate and everything she did. She took advantage of a child and although she’s portrayed as evil in the show, they kinda just gloss over it and they make it seem like Derek was never affected by it. That all changes here. Grooming genuinely leaves a lasting affect and I think that not only does his autism make it hard to connect with people but his trauma with Kate makes it that much harder to be in relationships. That’s not to say he never forms another relationship, there just kinda flings. He mostly argues with stiles as to what should happen with Scott and how to help him. They both think they know what’s best and if they just came together they would work a lot better. I think this could truly lead into a enemy’s to lovers slow burn with Derek and stiles slowly starting to trust etchother (I’m a operative slowly pushing my sterek agenda)

Holy shit is that Lydia Martin??????

Now I would like to apologize as I don’t have a lot for Lydia as I’m still trying to figure out her story. What I do know is that she’s white (both parents) and she’s a supper smarty. Why would she stay at becon hills collage. I’d like to maybe take it in the direction that she stayed for Jackson (also booo) Jackson and Lydia both went to becon hill high with stiles and Scott. Jackson was going on a sports scholarship and I think that Lydia’s parents kinda force these gender roles on her that she needs to follow him and take care of him. She struggled with her identity in the show and I want that to continue into my series. I belive she’s trans and she still wants to be seen as a “normal” woman so she pushes her dreams only mildly behind (she’s still a bad ass and is still set on her dreams but family pressure and societal pressure goes crazy) in later chapters I think her and Jackson break up and with encouragement from the pack and maybe Jackson himself (I kinda want him in the pack but more redeemable. Maybe idk) she apply for ivy league scools and gets in and comes back intermediary to rejoin the pack on hijinxs. I also want her to overcome her identity and how she needs to present to be accepted. This is not saying she dresses less girly. She’s still the girliest girl. This is more to say that she doesn’t need to pretend to be a damsel to be a valid woman.

Now this is cool and all but what about the rest of the pack???

Great question. I have only really fleshed out the first couple of chapters. I haven’t really even thought about the relationships (romantic ones) or the rest of the plot (I need to bounce ideas back and forth and unfortunately the person I bounce those ideas off of is writing her own book and is very busy) so while I can’t give huge reasons why all the pack is there I can give mini facts and what not!

Erica is originally from Arizona! She came to beacon hills collage (btw I just found out I’ve been spelling beacon wrong… I’m dyslexic and too lazy to change it so sue me) cuz it was quiet and befor she was bitten, she was shy and preferred the quiet

Erica still enjoys the quiet as she was epileptic befor the bite and although she’s cured b/c of the bite, she still fears that she will have a attack if she’s not carful

Boyd and Erica start dating a little bit after both being bitten. They didn’t know etchother until after the bite and found out they share a lot in common!

Boyd was set to go to the military just like his father but got disqualified for having diabetes that required medication. He came to beacon hills collage to get away from his disappointed father

Boyd is the only one as of now that holds a job while at college. He works as a line cook at a local dinner

Erica after the bite starts working at the same dinner as a server

Issac is the youngest member of the group as he is 17 when they (everyone els except Derek and Allison) are 18. Yes you can be 17 in collage.

Issac has extreme ptsd from the start of the series at the hands of his dad

Issac is at beacon hill university b/c his dad forced him to go as that is where he went and he wants Issac to follow in his footsteps

Issac has mild beef with stiles as Scott saved Issac from being beat up by a group of guys and he now wants to be besties with Scott but Scott’s befriend is stiles and neither stiles and Issac are very good at sharing

Issac is Derek’s kid with out the legal binding. Derek first met Issac when the big bad of the week kidnapped him to get to Scott. Stiles and co obviously go and save him and Derek is the one who gets him out of the binding and comforts him while Scott and stiles are beating some freaks.

Derek is the one to give Issac the bite

Issac stays with Derek over the summer so he doesn’t have to go back to his dad

Jackson was a bully to stiles through out high school but starts to get better after some trauma bonding

Stiles does not easily forgive Jackson for his lowkey ability bullying of him in high school and cuz he still has a crush on Lydia but they arnt enemy’s

Jackson was adopted as a newborn by his two moms

Danny is also attending beacon hills on a sports scholarship but he is from Hawaii so he didn’t really know any one coming in but he is friends with Jackson and Scott as they are on the lacrosse team team together

Allison is the oldest of the collage students being 19

Allison was held back a year after moving around too much

Also I wanted to write Jackson as straight cuz I hate the narrative that you have to be bi or pan to date trans people and I wanted Jackson to be a dick but like not homophobic or transphobic but I later found out that Jackson being queer is canon and I did not want to write that out. But yeah, Jackson Whittemore says trans rights

That’s cool and all evens but can you make a more brief summery of all the characters?

Yes I can dear viewer!!

Stiles “Mieczyslaw” stilinski

He/him

Half polish

Bisexual

Trans (ftm)

Smart, sarcastic, jester

Has adhd

Human

Scott McCall

He/him

Mixed Latino American

Cis

Straight

Himbo

Nice, empathetic, gullible

Plays lacrosse

Turned wolf

Derek hale

He/him (he’s also fine with they/them but he doesn’t use them for himself )

Mixed Chinese Latino

Cis

Bi/pan (wolfs don’t care about labels)

Demisexual

Born wolf

Quiet, reserved, cautious

Autistic

Care taker of Issac

Lydia Martin

She/her

White

Trans (mtf)

Straight

Smart, head strong, bold

Dating Jackson

Human???? (Idk yet)

Erica Reyes

She/her

White

Cis

Bisexual

Sarcastic, sometimes shy, pop culture nerd

Turned wolf

Vernon Boyd

He/him

Black

Cis

Straight

Quiet, collected, serious

Has diabetes

Turned wolf

Issac lahey

He/they

White

Cis

Unlabeled sexuality wise

Loyal, hyper vigilant, nervous

Has ptsd from dad

Has generalized anxiety disorder

Turned wolf

Jackson Whittemore

He/him

White

Cis

Abrasive, stubborn, put together

Kanima

Was adopted by his two moms

Danny

He/him

Hawaiian

Gay

Cis

Smart, sporty, friendly

Human

Ok but what’s the story??

All right, let’s get into the meat and potato’s (speaking of which, I’ve been craving mashed potato’s like really bad)

So the story starts with stiles and Scott unloading the jeep of all there stuff for collage while the sheriff watches. He wants to be there to see his son off and Mellisa couldn’t come to see Scott off cuz of work so he’s also there for Scott. Just general banter of “you sure you don’t need my help boys? “No old man we got it, stop worrying” “hey don’t talk to your dad like that!” Just a lot of that. After unpacking it becomes night and Scott heads off to bed while stiles stays at his desk just dreading school starting. He’s worrying about his dad, hating that he didn’t just go to an ivy, just genral dread. On top of that, he’s always been a social outcast. Having adhd, being trans, and being Jackson’s number 1 opp tends to do that to you. Cut to school starting, his first day does not go well. No one talks to him, jackson seems to be thriving in the party crowd so now he doesn’t feel comfortable attending futer party’s, and he just misses his old life. Sure he was a loser but he was a loser with his dad and Scott and ms.McCall around. It’s just rough so when he gets back to dorm, he wants to curl up and sob but Scott suggest they go play lacrosse so Scott can practice cuz he’s on the lacrosse team.

“Come on stiles! It’ll be like old times!! I need help practicing blocking!”

He agrees but he wants to get dinner first (stiles as a little over the recommended hours for class taking and chose later classes so he could sleep in so he gets out later then Scott) by the time they get to the field, it’s dark so there’s no one around really. They are playing around and stiles is feeling a little better when Scott accidentally hits the ball out into the forest that just so happens to be right next to the practice field.

“Oh I’ll go get it!”

“Idk Scotty, it’s kinda dark out there”

“Nothings gunna happen dude! We live in California. What’s gunna get me?”

Scott run out into the woods to grab the ball. Stiles waits kinda anxiously for scott when he suddenly hears Scott scream. Without a second thought stiles runs into the woods too look for Scott. He sees him laying on the ground, lower half of his torso covered in blood with a rip in his shirt. Stiles obviously helps Scott up and calls an ambulance (“don’t call an ambulance stiles… there so expensive.” “Well I don’t think that matters rn cuz YOUR BLEEDING OUT OF YOUR STOMACH!”) the hospital patches him up and makes sure he doesn’t have rabies and alerts the school that there is a wild animal near the woods on campus and to watch out. They send everyone home. The next day stiles leaves Scott to recover while he’s in class. He forgot to charge his phone so it’s dead all day. When stiles comes back to the dorm he finds a freaked out Scott.

“DUDE WHY DIDN’T YOU ANSER YOUR PHONE!”

“IT WAS DEAD? WHY WHAT HAPPENED?”

Scott lifts up his shirt

“All right dude no need to- wait. Where’s the bite mark?”

“THATS WHAT IM SAYING DUDE!”

Proceed to many days of digging and Scott experiencing werewolf like symptoms. Stiles is so hyper focused researching that other than school, he is doing nothing but research. Stiles then figures it out but it’s a little out there. He finds Scott in the library in a small study group and he pulls him away to give him the news.

“Scotty, I think IK what’s wrong with you but you have to be open. I think you might be a werewolf.”

Scott is laughing his pants off while stiles insists that he’s being dead ass

“He’s right you know.”

Both of them jump and turn around to see no other then BUM BUM BUM Derek Hale. But they don’t know him yet… except for stiles who knows about the tragic hale fire.

“I’m who are you.”

“Derek hale” stiles and Derek say in union

Derek’s a little shocked and asks how he knows his name. Stiles then states his dad was on his case years and years ago. Derek doesn’t really want to talk about the hale fire so he just growls and moves on. He makes the duo folllow him out of the library and starts telling them that he heard through other weres that someone was bit by a rouge wolf. He wanted to get to him and help him befor trouble got to him first and subtly shows them the shift. Stiles won’t stop asking Derek questions while Scott is processing this huge news. Stiles is off putting by how aggressive Derek is and pulls Scott over and whispers to him saying that maybe Derek bit him. Derek having super hearing obviously heard that. Cue stiles and Derek bickering when Scott just yells at them to stop and he breaths in and goes

“What do I do now?”

….

And that’s all I got! Thank you for listening to me rant and if you ever wanna disscus my retelling, I’m always down!! I have so much to say. Have a nice day!!

#derek hale #derek x stiles #stiles stilinski #sterek #teen wolf the series #teen wolf #sterek ao3 #erica reyes #scott mccall #danny mahealani #jackson whittemore #vernon boyd #rewrite #lydia martin #issac lahey #rant #rant post #info dump

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ciderjacks · 1 year ago

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ngl I was ranting to my friend about this but I think the worst part of becoming physically disabled for me is not the shock, not the pain or shitty doctors or rescheduling or confusion or fear, but the way people start fucking treating you.

I have had so many people, good people, people I’ve known for years, start treating me completely differently. And not in like an oh it’s awkward now and sometimes they ask dumb questions way. I mean they’ve started observing my every movement, trying to find some inconsistency and “catch me lying”, calling me out openly and accusing me of faking, trying to prove I’m not really disabled. More than one person who I know has done this. I don’t know if abled people understand how insanely awful that is to do to someone. I don’t know what’s wrong with my body either, but I know what I can and can’t do. The idea that they know my body better than me is already shitty. Not only that, these people who I know and have known (often for years), are now telling me to my face that they think I’m the kind of person who would do something like faking a disability for attention. like are you fucking serious? Did you always think that low of me, or is it just because I’m a cripple now that you feel comfortable assuming that?

The main reason I’m avoiding getting a wheelchair even though my crutches aren’t working well for me anymore is because it will get worse. I can take most ableism, that attitude is not one I can take easily. It makes me nervous to exist in public, makes me nervous to do what’s right for my body.

Like, it’s disgusting, it pisses me the fuck off. How dare you treat me like I’m not a person anymore just because I’m disabled. And don’t pull that “well it’s hard for people to accept” bullshit. Shut up. You think that’s hard? I was a physically healthy person who went on walks everyday before this. Do you want to imagine being 17 in the middle of senior year and randomly losing that, and having no idea why, as it slowly progresses and doctors keep being useless? Does that sound awful to you? I bet it does- so then imagine you go through that, but the whole time your best friends and family are standing there and instead of supporting you, they’re obsessing over your movements and telling you to your face with no shame that they think you’re a lying attention seeking asshole. Imagine how terrible that would be. Imagine how betrayed you’d feel.

Idk, I wanna emphasize again that the people who do this are good people, because y’all seem to not want to acknowledge how normalized this treatment of disabled people is. You see it in media, comedy, conversation, everywhere. Abled people don’t want us to exist, so they accuse us of being fake and it seeps into everyone.

#vent #ableism #also if you’re able bodied at all *including nd* this doesn’t apply to you end of story thanks bye #Thinking about this makes me mad actually #cripple punk

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brucewaynehater101 · 9 months ago

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ok here's another wingfic au but taking it in the opposite direction from the last one. (different person from the original op btw)

what if tim and all of the bats did have wings but instead of the surgeon adding wings they actually removed them from tim?

now tim has to deal with the experience of losing his wings and not being able to fly anymore. maybe it took away his instincts so he can't reciprocate anymore despite once being able to do so with ease. or maybe he still has his instincts but the others find it hard to reach out to him now that he doesn't have wings anymore.

but tim is a stubborn fuck so what if we combined this with that one fake wing au where tim learns to build his own wings bc he refuses to never be able to fly again.

and maybe tim manages to pull it off to the point where no one even knows that tim ever lost his wings in the first place until it's revealed in a traumatizing manor idk.

the fake wing fic i was talking about is called "Loading and Aspect Ratio" by JUBE514

Oof. For some reason, I can't read fics where someone loses their wings. It's such an important part of their identity and being that losing it causes an insurmountable amount of grief. To me, I imagine it to be similar to a vital part of someone's culture being taken away from them (like forcibly cutting hair for some cultures or preventing someone from having access to an important part of their identity).

However, I would so be down for a fic where, after Tim loses his wings, he creates prosthetics. It would not be the same, but Tim could learn to find himself again in the pile of wires and metal he fashions into his ability to fly again.

I think this prospective fic could have many different themes it could address:

One, Tim would probably be pissed at people treating him as fragile or lesser because he lost his wings. This could be a great allegory to how people treat disabled individuals, especially after an incident that changes the person's ability. It could also address how folks interact with people who have gone through traumatic and life changing events.

Two, the experience is going to absolutely suck for Tim. Even when he creates new wings, it's not going to fix everything. They will probably cause him pain, the scars will hurt, he will be going through all the stages of grief rapidly and repeatedly, and they might malfunction. There will be days he destroys his wings in anger and despair. Sometimes, he won't leave his lab, won't get out of bed, or refuses to eat. He might get dysphoria or imposter syndrome, might lash out at loved ones, and will probably isolate. It will be a very rough transition for him.

Three, there might be social stigma against "fake" wings. Maybe it would ping the others' instincts wrong. They might struggle connecting with Tim before and after he gets the prosthetics. I would also imagine that Tim would need to implant a chip into his body/spine/brain (idk robotic prosthetic science) to have the wings work correctly. I doubt he would tell them before doing it.

Eventually, his family would rally to support Tim's choice for the fake wings. It's the dealer's choice on whether Timothy Drake is known for his fake wings or not. On one hand, Tim could be the face of WE's prosthetics department and providing support for people who have lost their wings (and he could address the lack of Cyborg rights currently in law [companies can reclaim prosthetics if you go bankrupt effectively taking a part of you]). On the other hand, it could address how people don't have to publicly embrace aspects of their identity. They are a person with unique experiences and don't need to fit themselves into boxes or become the poster child of a movement (it sucks, but sometimes embracing your identity means you get limited down to that subjective experience in how people see and identify you).

If the Waynes don't know about Tim getting his wings taken away and then replaced, that kind of reminds me of a fic I read where Tim's arm was replaced. He built it with YJ and his family didn't find out for years. I don't remember the name, but it was really good.

I haven't read that fic you mentioned, but now I'm excited to check it out ^^

#dc comics #dc universe #tim drake #thank you for the ask!!!!#I love exploring AUs and different dynamics with the batfam #wingfic

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ed-recovery-affirmations · 6 months ago

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I'm so tired. I feel like my whole life I've been fighting to have a healthy relationship with food and my body, and I just can't do it anymore. I can't fight anymore. And it's so, so easy in comparison to restrict and obsess over tracking everything I eat

I'm dealing with symptoms of a currently unknown disability right now, and I'm so tired. I'm tired of doctors saying "wow, I have no idea what's going on, I've never seen labs like this... but I'm sure losing weight will help!" (Or, worse, "looks like everything's fine, just lose some weight!") It's become this belief that if I was skinny my symptoms would be taken seriously. If I was skinny I'd be able to figure out what was going wrong because doctors wouldn't rely on my weight to explain everything. I know logically there are lots of disabled people who are still ignored while being skinny, who still struggle to be taken seriously, but I can't shake this feeling that everything would be easier if I was skinny

It feels like my life is in the hands of people who don't give a shit about me. And they still probably wouldn't give a shit if I was skinny, but maybe they would. I don't know, I've never been skinny, so I can imagine that everything would be perfect if I was

It's definitely at least partially a desire to have control over my body, too. I can't stop my symptoms, I don't have the tools to figure out what's wrong on my own, but I can starve myself! It seems very silly written out, and it is, but knowing it's silly isn't enough

I saw in your about that you've dealt with comorbid chronic illness and eating disorders, so I guess I'm asking... how? That's probably already on your blog somewhere, actually, so I guess I'm just venting more than anything. Advice would be appreciated, though

God, I feel this so hard, anon. So so hard.

First of all, I am so sorry I have taken so long to get to this ask. Work, ny studies, and my personal life have all been overwhelming lately and I’ve been having to focus on some wellness work for myself.

But yeah. What you’re talking about is a REAL problem, and you are not alone. And the constant medical neglect of fat people and the “I’m sure all your mystery symptoms will go away if you just lose weight” is just the cherry on top of the shit sundae that is chronic illness. It hurts peoples’ lives. It can kill. I don’t have a quick fix for this system, anon, but I just wanted to take a moment to validate you because I know that what you’re going through is so frustrating and draining and soul-sucking. I am mentally sending you strength.

First of all, I might have one suggestion for you: lie. Lie to your medical professionals about just one thing, and no other: tell them you are already on a weight-loss journey, even if you are not. If it gets you the help you need in this system - yeah, fib a little. But then, explain to your doctors that the reason you are seeking treatment for your symptoms so proactively is that they are preventing you from doing what you need to do to lose weight. Yes, of course you really want treatment to improve your basic quality of life, but when you’re talking to your doctor, sometimes you gotta frame it in a way they’ll hear. Explain how each symptom has made you unable to pursue an active lifestyle. Or how you’ve been too fatigued to meal prep, or how your symptoms are costing you so much that you are struggling to budget for dietary changes. You don’t have to actually be planning any of these things, but if it gets them to continue pursuing the source of your symptoms, just lie. I know it’s so triggering and awful to have to do this just to get taken seriously, so set aside time to prioritize something that you find self-caring after this.)

I know you say your desire to control your body seems silly written out, but it’s not silly at all. I get it. I really really do because I have the same impulse. When your body keeps acting out of your control in painful ways, it’ll make you desperate. And when you’ve had the message pushed your whole life that being skinny fixes everything, it tends to stick in your mind. You are not alone. You are desperate and being driven by a valid impulse.

Instead of pursuing an eating disorder, remind yourself that eating disorders only give you the illusion of control. Eating disorders only pave the way for the disorder to get more control over you. Not to mention, starving yourself will likely take even more of a toll on your health, doing lasting damage if you lose a significant amount of weight from starving. You are allowed to love yourself more than that. I know it’s hard. I know it’s hard to keep fighting for yourself.

Are you in any chronic illness support groups, online or in person? If you aren’t, I suggest you find some. You may find a good outlet to vent about symptoms, get advice on what got doctors to take other people seriously, and learn more about your own symptoms.

While I don’t recommend starving yourself, you could try tracking your symptoms in relation to certain foods and see if specific food sensitivities worsened them (this was true for me.) For me personally, it helps to remind myself that these foods aren’t “bad” foods - they’re just not good FOR ME, and choosing the ones that make me feel better is a way of taking care of and loving my body. (If you find your symptoms do not change based on dietary experimentation, you can disregard this advice.) For me, it can be really triggering having to avoid certain foods, so I definitely have to take a pause to calm down and talk myself through it sometimes.

Things like meditation exercises, gentle yoga, de-stressing exercises and therapy will not cure your chronic health condition, but may help keep symptoms from spiking as badly because stress is known to exacerbate physical symptoms. (Easier said than done, I know - what you’re going through is stressful. I am not telling you not to feel stressed, just to try and create small pockets of time where you try to give yourself a break from stress, which may not come naturally and may be hard because you cannot go to a place of escaping your symptoms. Just keep trying patiently and be compassionate with yourself.)

Anon, I really really hope this gives you some sort of help and comfort, even though it’s not a cure-all and I did get to it so late. There’s more I could say based on knowing specific symptoms if you’re okay sharing them, but for now I’ll just leave it at this. Feel free to vent in my inbox any time.

#chronic illness #medical abuse #medical fatphobia #self care #restriction cw #long post

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hunter-arceneaux-blog · 6 months ago

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Stop Waiting for Inspiration: Create Your Own Muse

Inspiration. It’s that spark that every writer, artist, and creator chases. We often imagine it as a sudden burst of clarity, a lightning bolt that strikes us out of nowhere, compelling us to create. But here’s the hard truth: if you wait for inspiration to come, you’ll likely be waiting for a very long time.

I used to be one of those who believed that the best work comes from a place of sudden inspiration or intense infatuation. I would sit on my sofa, staring at a blank computer screen, waiting for the perfect idea to arrive. Days, sometimes weeks, months, or even years would pass without a single word written. Even while wasting my time, I knew that waiting for inspiration was just an excuse for not doing the work.

Create Inspiration from Your Own Life

Sometimes, you must create inspiration yourself or carve it from your own life. The world around you is full of stories waiting to be told, lessons waiting to be shared, and emotions waiting to be expressed. Here are some ways to cultivate your own inspiration:

1. Draw from Personal Experiences

Your life is a rich with experiences that can serve as a wellspring of inspiration. Personally, I have drawn significant inspiration from being deaf and navigating recent physical disabilities, as well as having gone through fertility issues, miscarriages, and mental health challenges. These experiences, both the uplifting and the challenging, have provided me with a deep reservoir of emotions and narratives that I attempt to weave into my writing.

Think about the challenges you’ve faced, the victories you’ve celebrated, the love you’ve felt, and the losses you’ve endured. Write about these moments with honesty and vulnerability; don’t sugarcoat them. Authenticity is key to connecting with your readers. Not only will this practice help you find your voice, but it will also resonate with readers who have shared similar experiences.

2. Observe the World Around You

Inspiration can be found in the most mundane places. Take a walk around your neighborhood (or for those like me, a limp), sit in a park, visit a lake, lose yourself in nature or in another’s art. Try people-watch for a while, imagine conversations or dramas they’re facing, and try to notice the small details that often go unnoticed. The world is full of stories waiting to be told, and all you need to do is pay attention.

3. Set a Routine

Honestly, this has been one of the most challenging aspects for me. Managing unmedicated ADHD can be quite demanding. Creativity is rarely about waiting for inspiration but rather about cultivating it daily. The reality is, creativity thrives on routine. Set aside time each day to write, even if it’s just for a few minutes. The more you engage in writing regularly, the more you’ll notice inspiration flowing naturally. It’s about committing to the process consistently and putting in the effort, even on days when motivation and energy are lacking.

4. Engage with Other Creative Works

Read books, watch movies, listen to music, and visit art galleries. Engaging with other forms of creative expression can spark new ideas and provide fresh perspectives. Don’t be afraid to take inspiration from others and incorporate it into your own work. Creativity is often a collaborative process, even if you’re working alone. Just remember, there’s a huge difference between inspiration and plagiarism, so make sure you’re on the right side of the line.

5. Embrace the Process, Not Just the Outcome

Focusing solely on the outcome can stifle creativity. Instead, try to embrace the process of writing itself. Allow yourself to make mistakes, write poorly, and experiment with different styles and genres. The act of writing is a journey, and it’s through this journey that you often find the most profound inspiration.

Practical Tips to Keep Writing

Here are some additional practical tips to help you keep writing, even when inspiration seems elusive:

Set Specific Goals: Whether it’s writing a certain number of words each day or completing a chapter each week, having specific goals can help keep you on track.

Find a Writing Community: Surround yourself with other writers who can offer support, feedback, and encouragement. Join a writing group, participate in workshops, or connect with other writers online. I know this one’s not easy for a lot of creative types, myself included; being creative is often isolating, and it’s hard to break out of that.

Keep a Journal: Use a journal to jot down ideas, thoughts, and observations. It can be a valuable resource when you’re struggling to find inspiration.

Take Breaks: Sometimes, stepping away from your work can give you the clarity you need. Take breaks, go for a walk, play with your children or pets. Engage in a different activity for a bit to refresh your mind.

Be Kind to Yourself: Writing is hard work, and remembering to be kind to yourself is sometimes hard. As creatives, we are often our own worst critics. Celebrate your achievements, no matter how small, and don’t be too hard on yourself when things don’t go as planned.

Conclusion

Inspiration is not something you wait for; it’s something you create. By drawing from your own life, observing the world around you, setting a routine, engaging with other creative works, and embracing the process, you can cultivate your own inspiration and keep writing consistently.

So, stop waiting for the perfect moment or the perfect idea. Start writing now, and let the act of writing itself be your muse.

#Inspiration #WritingTips #CreativeProcess #WriterLife #WritingCommunity #PersonalExperience #CreativeJourney #DailyWriting #EmbraceTheProcess #WritingRoutine #OvercomingBlocks #WriteNow #Creativity #AuthorAdvice #WritingInspiration

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kudzuoath · 1 year ago

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Weft and Warp

The Annals of Karsus are within reach. And Gale plans to seize all they have to offer.

A single unwary footstep and all of them would have been burned to cinders. Only his quick thinking (naturally) and the willingness to listen from his companions saw them through. Well – Astarion’s disarming skills hadn’t hurt either. But Gale was the one to spot the traps first this time. He was well versed in the dangers of a magus’ tower, after all.

Even one in the incompetent (and by now quite cold) hands of a cad like Lorroakan.

And now. Now they were finally a room away from unlocking the door he needed.

It was a struggle to remain still as the aforementioned vampire disabled the pressure plate they’d arrived on. Something that was accompanied first by scoffs – then hissing invectives as it proved more challenging than it looked.

“Karlach, darling, if you continue to fidget, I’m going to poison you,” said Astarion.

“Nah, no you won’t,” she replied, smile in her voice. “I’m your favorite.”

“I have enough coin for the skeleton,” he muttered. “Try me.”

The jostling from behind him abruptly ceased, and he heard Karlach make a pleased giggle behind him suggesting that Temperance had probably hugged her.Their fiery friend still couldn’t help laughing each time someone so much as shook her hand.

Gale ignored them. Stock still, eyes riveted on the door ahead. His heart pounded, his head felt a little light. This book – this book – it would change everything. End his incarceration, his execution in perfect symmetry. If it held the answers he thought it did – everything was going to change. Everything.

He would make it so.

Goosebumps arose at the possibilities. A world unbound. A world where it was the gods themselves with their feet held to the fire. Not mortals. He could see it so clearly.

No more would children like Temperance be abandoned. No Karlach’s with their hearts stolen and replaced with fire. Or Shadowheart’s, lied to and manipulated. No vampire spawn who prayed to an empty sky for mercy. No one would need consign their soul to the hells just to save someone else.

No more wizards, picked up and cast aside at the first hint of boredom.

A world of perfect kindness and beauty. His world. His choices.

If, he thought. Damnable word.

There was a little clunk from below his feet, and a satisfied sigh from the vampire. Astarion stood and made an elaborate ‘after you’ gesture at them all. “Go on then, my dears. You’ve the run of this place.”

He’d hardly finished speaking before Gale was across the room and through the door. At one end, bathed in pale blue light, a leaver. He made a bee-line for it – only to be caught up short with a little ‘hurk’ as a hand snagged the back of his belt.

“Trap!” Temperance admonished.

His face burned. Out of the corner of one eye, he could see Astarion with that bloody smirk of his. “We hardly came all the way down here for roasted Gale. But if you’re so keen on walking into your doom…”

“No eating the wizard,” Temperance said dryly.

“Oh of course not,” he purred in response. “That’s your job, isn’t it? I wouldn’t dream of taking your place, darling.”

Temperance rolled her eyes, but turned to Gale rather than responding. He could physically feel the weight of her gaze. He gave her a sidelong glance. There was a line between her eyebrows, and a frown on her face. It was becoming familiar, this expression of concern. And didn’t it feel jarring to see next to his imaginings.

“You’re usually more careful than this,” she pointed out.

“You can’t blame me for being excited, I hope?” He leaned in, eyes overbright. “We’re so close to finding the answer to everything that plagues us, Temperance. One book! With my rather brilliant mind set to the information held within a solution is all but guaranteed.”

Life awaited. Life unbound.

“Just don’t completely lose your head,” she muttered.

“Of course not. I know what I’m doing.”

At some point his eyes had become stuck on the lever again. His mind back to spinning with possibilities. All of them tentatively featuring his paladin at his side. He found himself wondering if she even could have a second god. Was that what had her so unnerved? When he’d chastised Lorroakan, she’d stared at him as if he were a stranger.

But then there was her oath. Vengeance.

She would understand. He only needed to explain. Unlike Mystra, Temperance would listen to him.

“Sometimes I think you only bring me along to open doors and disable traps,” Astarion said with a put upon sigh. Followed by an encouraging clunk. “There.”

Gale was more careful the second time, but no more traps awaited. Only the lever. He was first to reach it, and when he pulled it the sound of unlocking doors made his heart sing. Made the crushing weight of impatience a little lighter. With every trap taken care of – or at least those relevant – he led the way back to Karsus’ vault. The roaring in his ears and the pounding of his heart drowning out anything the others might have been saying.

Inside at last, he found himself looking at walls of scrolls, and shelves of books. Each and every one of them humming with the Weave. Containing lattice-work spells. Some as delicate and complex as the finest lace, others brutal twists of magic akin to the ropes that might tether a ship to shore. Tapestries of power of the sort that made the ghost of a familiar hunger stir within him. Not the orb – but his own.

Gods, he hadn’t felt like this in years. On the brink of near-divine creation. Was there a single better feeling than those moments when thought and desire became action and creation? He went to the first shelf – ignoring the scrolls for now – and began to search systematically.

He was vaguely aware of Karlach speaking and Temperance responding. Of the other three each searching their own bookcase. Something that – even with his nerves twanging like a lute strung too tightly – made him smile.

This time he had more than his own hands. More than a feverish desperation to not be forgotten. (Though far below his conscious mind, that fear of being set aside lurked. An ugly, broken little thing that whispered as insidiously as Mizora.) This time he wanted more than the regard of his goddess. More than his own satisfaction.

(…Didn’t he?)

This would not be like the last time. He was Gale of Waterdeep. And soon enough he’d be more even than that.

“I think I found it,” said Temperance.

Gale naturally gravitated toward her so he was already beside her when she spoke. He turned, saw the book in her hands, and let out a sigh of relief. A locked tome, gilded edges, ancient parchment feathering from its uneven edges. Bound and then rebound many times, with an intricate tapestry of magic worked into the cover and the lock. Spells of preservation that kept it from crumbling to dust.

“The Annals of Karsus,” he breathed. Reverent. “The preamble to a civilization’s downfall, committed to parchment by the very hand that wrought its destruction.”

He managed to unstick his eyes from the book – the most important book of his life! – to look Temperance in the face. “If the crown we saw under moonrise towers was truly forged by Karsus himself – ! This book will confirm it. All we have to do – all I have to do – is turn the page.”

Gale held out his hands for it. Expecting Temperance to part with it as easily as she’d parted with those magical items miles and weeks behind them, out in the wilderness.

But his hands remained empty.

She was looking at him with a carefully blank expression. Her knuckles stood out white from her grip on the thing. And for the first time since Lorroakin’s death, Gale felt a tremor of unease. As if his spine were being meticulously taken apart and frozen vertebrae by vertebrae.

“I’m… not sure I want you delving into this,” she said quietly.

A pit opened in him. Hurt. Confusion. The tiniest flicker of anger. The gnawing teeth of anxiety, puncturing his lungs and suffocating him. Why had she come so far only to turn her back on him now?

“And since when have we sought to avoid trouble, eh?”

He rallied. She wouldn’t. That was the truth of the matter – wasn’t it? She wouldn’t have broken into the archives with him only to get cold feet at the last moment. Temperance was braver than that. And a good deal kinder, too.

“Come now, the knowledge lurking between those pages could help us greatly.” And when still she hesitated, he went on in a sharper tone. “Don’t be a hindrance after you’ve been such a great help.”

The paladin stared at him, still as a held breath save for her eyes moving across his face. Searching. Measuring. And then she offered him the book.

Some small part of him worried that if he waited a moment longer he’d lose his chance for good. So he opened it, then and there, scanning each page he turned with growing fervor. Ancient writings in cipher, for the most part. But diagrams – of the same crown he’d seen. Of the somatic components necessary for a spell of binding. The stones held by the chosen of the Dead Three.

He began to chatter about what he was reading. Unable to contain his glee. Because it was exactly what he needed. No – exactly what the world needed. He really could do this.

“ – If we can collect the crown’s setting, and the three Netherstones, and with the correct invocation of certain spells and gestures detailed in these notes… I think I could reforge it.”

But when he finally tore his eyes from the page to look up at his companions, he did not see what he wanted. Karlach was giving him a sidelong glance, eyes narrow, frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. Astarion seemed oddly calculating – approving, even. And his paladin still looked completely blank.

“Wouldn’t that make things worse?” she said at last. “We should be trying to destroy the thing, not make it more powerful.”

“Do not mistake the actions of its wearer – no, rather those controlling its wearer at present – as the nature of the crown itself. It is a tool, not some great evil. No matter the hands that guide it.” Nuance she should understand, given her upbringing amongst the desperate and the starving. “If we could restore it to its former glory, it would no longer be a mere leash and collar, used to subjugate friend or foe. It would be something greater. Something divine.”

“And yet when Karsus tried to use it, he destroyed his entire civilization!” she hissed, ask cracking to reveal – anger? Sadness? He couldn’t tell.

“Correlation, not causation. It was what he did with it, not that he created it! Say what you will of the Absolute and the plot of our nemesis’ but for all the horrors they’ve wrought our civilization remains standing. I don’t intend to make the mistakes of its maker, Temperance, I know better. And under my guidance the crown could be used for such good.”

“He has a point,” said Astarion. “If we have access to this power, why not use it? Unlike our tadpoles, this one won't even turn us into enslaved tentacled abominations! It’s a win from all directions.”

“Exactly!” he said, somewhat surprised at himself.

“Wizards,” Karlach sighed. And did not further elaborate.

“Just imagine it,” he said, stepping past their friends. Close enough to set one hand on her arm. “The power of the gods in mortal hands at last. We’d be free of doctrine and dogma, confined only by the limits of our imaginations.”

He watched her swallow. The way her gaze drifted to first the book, then where he was touching her. That mask she wore dropped when she looked up again. Her eyes were too bright – even considering that she was a tiefling – and her brow was knit. Hesitance. Something he almost never saw in her.

Perhaps he’d taken the wrong track. Her magic came from faith, from the will of the gods -- and the phylactery. Would she even be allowed to follow him without breaking her Oath? Would she dare to risk it?

I would be a better vessel for her faith, he thought.

But then – oh, then she took his hand and laced their fingers together.

“You’re starting to worry me,” she said quietly. “But I trust you.”

A sigh poured out of him like the tide. Not exactly what he’d wanted her to say. He had hoped to court her enthusiasm, her curiosity. But that she did not turn away… that was enough. For now.

“We must discuss this further,” he said, squeezing her hand, hoping to banish her fears. Of course a simple touch did no such thing. “But quietly. Privately.”

Karlach lifted her eyebrows at both of them. “Oooh, private conversations. Tough luck, Astarion. Isn’t your tent next to Gale’s?”

“Ugh,” said the vampire.

Gale pointedly ignored them, focus remaining on Temperance. “Find me later, and I will show you something truly divine. I will show you what this crown could mean for both of us.”

And then she would stand with him. Wouldn’t she?

Doubt crept in.

“I’ll hold you to that, Gale.”

“Trust me just a little further, love, I swear to you that I shall prove worthy of it.”

Another long pause as she looked at him. “Tonight.”

And that was that.

Leaving was even easier than it ought to have been. All it took was a trip through a portal, Astarion breaking them out of a locked office, and then they were the four of them back in Sorcerous Sundries. It was a bit jarring to see the projection of a dead man. And somewhat concerning how none of the patrons made any comment on their bloodied and battered appearances. But then, it was a magic shop. And Lorroakan had something of a reputation.

Then they stepped out into the sun.

And there was Elminster. Waiting like a red robed omen.

A chill filled Gale’s lungs. He hated that his first instinctive reaction to seeing his friend was suspicion, now. They had both always been hers – Mystra’s. Only now it seemed he was no longer. And that divide between them might be wide enough for him to fall into.

To his left, he felt Temperance bristle. He felt her light touch at his back. And it shored up his reserves of courage.

He knew what he was doing.

And he could handle this.

#bg3 #gale bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale #odette crier #gale dekarios #my writing #nothing like wizardly hubris and delusion #thankfully we don't also have paladin hubris to deal with because boy what a combo THAT would be #some canon dialogue

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