#may or may not have borrowed this idea from an old fanfic of my own

[tinky-dinky]

About Jango Fett

So I've been having a lot of thoughts and feelings about Jango recently, and I want to talk about him.

Fair warning: This is almost entirely my own headcanons. It is based on canon, but is not canon and should not be taken as canon. Having said that, though, if you want to borrow my ideas for your own headcanons or fanfics, go ahead. Just credit me, please.

Let's talk Jango Fett.

It's difficult to reconcile the two halves of Jango. The loving father from a culture that puts heavy emphasis on protecting children and the cold man who allowed innocent children to be enslaved, tortured, abused and killed.

I think there are multiple ways we can explain this dichotomy. The obvious reasoning is that Jango simply doesn't view the clones as human, as anything more than meat droids. He compartmentalised them in his mind so they didn't come under the Mandalorian cultural protection of children. Boba, under this rationalisation, doesn't count as a clone because he's unaltered.

I don't particularly like this explanation, as it makes Jango an asshole. It's probably the most likely answer, but it's the least interesting.

I think Jango is a very broken man. He grew up in a civil war, watched his bio parents be murdered in front of him when he was 8 years old, then watched his adopted father be betrayed and killed when he was 14. It's worth pointing out that by this time he was already fighting in battles.

By the time he was 15, Jango had lived through a war and watched three parents be murdered. Then he's put in charge of his people, when he's way too young to handle that kind of pressure, and only manages to lead them for seven years.

Then Galidraan happens. His people are slaughtered, and it's partially his fault. The bulk of blame is on the Governer and Death Watch for setting the trap and the Jedi for being easily manipulated, failing to do any kind of research or investigation and actually being the ones who carried out the slaughter.

But Jango did fire first. It was technically him that started the violence, although given the Jedi approached with drawn lightsabers, one could argue some kind of violence was inevitable regardless of what Jango did.

This is all made worse by Jango's inability to grieve or process the loss of his people, because he was sold into slavery. I cannot imagine an unhealthier way to recover from trauma.

It's interesting that Jango never seems to have sought out any remaining True Mandalorians after he escapes slavery. Some must have survived; it's very unlikely that every single one of them went to Galidraan. In Legends canon, at least, there was one other survivor of Galidraan, a Mando named Silas. Dooku captures and tortures him for information on Jango.

So why did Jango never seek out any of his people? It could be that he felt they blamed him for the slaughter at Galidraan and wouldn't want him around, or may even injure or kill him. It could be that he didn't want anyone around him, was afraid to get close to people again, because everyone he's cared about has died. His parents, his sister, Jaster, all of his people, they all died. It could be that Jango thinks his people might want him to be their leader again and he doesn't trust himself to lead again. He fired first at Galidraan, and it got his people massacred.

I think it was probably some combination of all three.

I also think the second reason, the fear of getting close to people in case they die, is part of the reason why he doesn't acknowledge the clones. He's desperate not to lose more people he cares about, and he knows the clones are made to die.

But, then, what about Boba? Why did he insist on having Boba?

Legacy. But not his. I think he was thinking about Jaster's legacy when he decided to have Boba. Jaster was a good man, a reformer with the desire to make Mandalore a better place and a beloved leader. Certainly a better leader than Jango believes himself to have been.

Between Death Watch and the New Mandalorians, Jaster, his reforms and his people have been largely forgotten. Pretty much everyone who knew Jaster is dead, the True Mandalorians are almost all gone and his reforms have been ignored.

Jango wants someone to know about Jaster. To remember him and his legacy. And deep down somewhere, in a part of him he's repressing, he longs for family too.

He's fiercely protective of Boba, because he's desperate not to lose anyone else.

This brings us back to the clones. Why would Jango agree to make them? Especially when the man who recruited him is the same man who led the slaughter of his people?

I'm unsure if it's ever confirmed that Jango knew that the man he was working for was Dooku before Geonosis. I don't think it's likely he did. Again, why would he ever agree to work with him? No, I think Jango found out he had been working with Dooku when he arrived on Geonosis.

Maybe that's why he decided to go for Mace Windu, head of the Jedi order, of all the Jedi on Geonosis. Maybe he realised he'd spent a decade doing the bidding of the man who slaughtered his people. Maybe that led to other realisations, about how awfully he'd treated the clones, what he'd allowed to happen to them. Maybe he wanted to die.

All in all, I don't think Jango was a terrible person. He wasn't an especially good person, but he also wasn't an especially bad person either. Just a very broken man, struggling with a heavy amount of trauma in a galaxy that clearly lacks any kind of mental health support or treatment.

[avelera]

I'm not sure where to ask this, so I thought I could ask you, maybe?

Do you know, if I expand on a magic system in a fanfic, meaning actually define what it is, create names for concepts and lay out rules that.... could be guessed from the orginal but aren't stated, sometimes, and sometimes just make up things, can I put that magic system, my parts of it, on a later date, into orginal fiction? Or, if I transform the world in the fic through the use of plot into a world which would resemble (or be, really) a world I'd use as setting for orginal fiction but, without the context of the fanfic, you wouldn't guess that that's that, can I do that? Can I reuse a plotline I would use for a fanfic, and portray it in an orginal work as something which happened in the past of the orginal work, with the events in the fic even as they were being plausibly, but not explictly, a part of the, uh, fanfic's orginal material?

I feel this may be a silly question, and the answer feels like it should be "obviously yes, those are your ideas", except for the last one which feels more iffy, but, I'm still worried? I dont want to start writing orginal friction right now, I want to try something more casual, but I feel that if I put the cool ideas about plotlines and worldbuilding into a world of something which doesn't belong to me then I'm like, giving it up? Like it doesnt belong to me anymore, it belongs to... I don't know, the collective conciousnes of the fandom in question or something.

Um. To ask in a way that is less, these long and confusing sentences up there: can I put something orginal into a fanfic (like an oc) and then use it in an orginal thing I'd sell for money? (without renaming the oc?) If you dont feel like you can/don't want to answer this, could you still post it, so maybe one of your followers might? 😅 Thanks in advance! ❤️

I think what you’re asking in a roundabout way is “can I file off the serial number and use something from a fanfic in original fiction?” And the answer is yes, it’s so common we have a term for it. Just look at 50 Shades of Gray, which is perhaps the most famous example of this, in which a Twilight fanfic was turned into original fiction.

Now for the next part of your question as I understand it with regards to the magic system: the things that get copyrighted, if you have a legal concern about using bits of another magic system, for example, in your own work tend to be things like proper nouns.

I can have a school of warrior monks who fight with magic swords made of light and channel the power of the universe to move objects, I just can’t call them Jedi. And if you look closely, many many magic systems in original fiction are borrowing bits from other magic systems. No one is getting sued unless you use specific proper nouns or original words that are unique to other stories. Otherwise it’s all plausibly deniable.

Now the bigger thornier question is: are you providing enough foundation in your own story once you make it original that a reader can understand what’s happening without knowing about the fanfic you wrote or the other universe? Because that’s the difference between a good original story and an incomprehensible one. You have to rebuild those foundations in your new story without leaning on the old one. The best way to know if you’ve done that correctly is to pull in a beta reader who is unfamiliar with the other work and ask if they understand your story as it stands on its own (and, of course, if it’s entertaining).

Hope that helps!

[mirajaneswritingshenanigans]

Somebody to Lean On

Fandom(s): The Avengers

Pairing(s): Friend!Tony Stark/Iron Man x SuperSoldier!Reader

Summary:  As if being an Avenger wasn’t hard enough to begin with for you. Steve was making it so much harder for you. You had no idea why. Until he finally lashes out and reveals the truth. His actions and words end up opening an old wound. Now you need a shoulder to cry.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this fanfic. They are owned by Stan Lee, Marvel Comics, the writers, producers, and directors of the films. I am simply borrowing them for this Fanfic.

A/N: Y/N-Your Name. In this fic Steve Rogers is angry and violent. The idea for this fanfic came out of nowhere, and I decided to roll with it.

Warning(s): Mentions of abuse. Steve hurts Reader.

Word Count:   3,143

"This is why I didn't want you on this mission." Steve stated harshly as Bruce stitched the gash on your side. "You sure this is why?" You gestured to yourself. A bullet had grazed your right side. It had gone deep enough to warrant stitches. Your face looked pretty bad from being hit with the front of his shield. The impact had busted your lip and caused it to swell. It had also bruised your cheek and eye pretty badly. Causing both to swell up as well. His shield made impact to the right side of your face. The impact had made you lose your footing and expose your side to the person you were fighting with.

On one hand your were thankful but on the other hand the pain in your face wasn't worth it. "Ya know, if you hadn't miscalculated your throw, my face wouldn't hurt or look like a truck hit it." You hissed as Bruce worked on the last stitch. "You're lucky you have a remix of the super serum in your system. Otherwise you would be suffering from a severe concussion." Bruce pointed out as he spread the bandage over your wound. Steve stood in the doorway glaring you down. Bruce gently turned your face towards him. He carefully took a cloth to your lip. You flinched at the pain the contact had caused.

He gave you an apologetic look. "At least this cut doesn't need stitches. It will be sore and tender for awhile, so avoid sour or spicy foods for now. However I am afraid if the swelling doesn't go down soon I will have to lance it to relieve pressure build up." Bruce walked over to a cabinet to grab a rag and then walked to the sink, soaking it in cold water. He gestured with the rag to hold it against your lip before handing it to you. "Try this for now. If the swelling doesn't go down in twenty minutes come back. For now I suggest changing your clothes." Bruce gave you a sad smile and began to clean up.

You held the rag to your lips for several seconds before hopping off the medical bed. "Thank you." You walked out of the room with Steve hot on your heels. "I didn't miscalculate on purpose. The guy bumped me as I went to throw it." Steve told you. You stopped dead in your tracks and turned to him. "That's bullshit and you know it. I may have been fighting the man you tried to aim at but I clearly remember a guy dropping BEFORE you threw your stupid shield. I was dumb enough to believe it WASN'T aimed at me." You finally snapped at him. Steve looked at you with both brows raised. "You're delusional." Steve said as he began to walk away.

"No. I'm. Not. You NEVER miscalculate your throws. I said you did in front of Bruce because I didn't want to damage your image. You and I both know that you can't stand me. I don't even know why that is." You yelled at Steve. Neither one of you realized that you had suddenly stopped in front of the lab. Allowing the other members to hear what was being said. Clint and Nat happened to be in the lab at the time, talking with Tony. Bruce had been walking several feet behind you and Steve because he was headed back to the lab to work on his latest project.

Bruce froze the moment you raised your voice. Everyone could hear the hurt and anger in your tone. They had been aware of the tension between you and Steve since day one. No one had been brave enough to question it. "You wanna know why? Why you are literally the last person I want to work with? Why I wish Fury made you join S.H.I.E.L.D. and not the Avengers?" Steve turned around and began to walk towards you. His voiced raising with every step he took. Rage filled his eyes. Everyone around the two of you stood quietly, ready to step in when they saw fit. Nat inched closer the moment Steve got too close.

"Enlighten me." You demanded. "Because you remind me of someone I knew. Because when I look at you all I see is him. It infuriates me that you stand before me and he doesn’t. Even though you have a serum similar to mine, you are nothing like me. You're just an experiment that came later than I did. You're nothing but a mistake." Steve pushed you hard against the wall when he finished. Clearly allowing his anger to turn into violence. The force of his push had caused all the air in your lungs to be pushed out. Resulting in you sliding to the floor and gasping for air. Clint was furious and used his forearm to slam Steve against the wall the opposite of you. Nat and Bruce rushed to your side. Nat had tried to stop Steve but she was too slow. Tony was too shocked to move.

"You didn't have to do that!" Clint yelled into Steve's face. Steve glanced at you, with a blank expression. Bruce had you lean forward, running his hand along your spine and ribs. Nat held you trying to calm you and telling you to take slow deep breathes. "I never asked to be like this. I never asked to be like a Super Soldier. I was forced to be like this, after my delusional father had recreated the serum. I just wanted a normal life. Fury found me and trained me. He KNEW. He knew I didn't want this, but he also knew that after being experimented on for 16 years of my life, I couldn't have the normal life I so desperately wished for every single night. He put me here because he said my skills are of better use here. I can't help that I remind you of someone from your past." Your voice sounded weak and broken.

Tears began to stream down your face and you held onto Nat as you spoke. Clint still held Steve against the wall glaring him down. He couldn't believe that he pushed you hard into a wall. Your lips quivered as a small sob escaped you. Luckily nothing broke when you were shoved but your back hurt something fierce now. Not only that but you were emotionally hurt. Steve's words and actions caused a memory to resurface. One that you had locked away because it caused so much pain.

“You had one job! One job and you screwed that up! How could you be so damn stupid!” Your father screamed at you. “Now I have some guy after me. All because you landed yourself on their radar.” You stood silently in his lab. Waiting for him to finish. “You’re a mistake!” He screamed as he pushed you hard causing you to lose your footing and slam down to the ground on your back. “I should have found a different test subject for this serum. Someone who wouldn’t mess up the way you did. You and this serum have failed me. I should have just sent you away with your mother. I shouldn’t have kept you. I should tweak this serum and find someone more suitable. Someone who isn’t you.” He slammed the door on his way out of the lab. Leaving you lying on the floor, wishing the ground would just swallow you up. Wishing you had been anywhere but in this moment. It wasn’t the first time he had knocked you around. But it had been the first time he had also hurt you with words. You choked back a sob as you raised yourself up. “I’m sorry to disappoint.” You said weakly to yourself as you left the lab to lock yourself in your room.

That was the memory that had been locked away since the day Fury had found you. Fury was kinder and had trained you from the moment he found you. Maria Hill had also been a huge help. Along with Coulson. All three had tested your abilities and pushed you to your limits and beyond. Coulson told you how proud of you he was. In your eyes Coulson was like the father you wished you had growing up. Maria said that she was glad to meet you. Fury said he had the perfect place for you. Thinking about it now, you felt like Fury was wrong.

Nat helped you stand up again. "I will inform Fury to never pair us again. Make sure we never end up on the same mission. Let him know you are the only one who doesn't want me on this team." You said weakly. Wiping the tears away as you began to stumble towards the elevator. Clint held Steve in place until you were inside the elevator and the doors closed. "How could you do that?" Tony asked furiously. Clint shook his head at Steve. "I'm leaving before I do something I’d regret." Clint said as he pushed himself away from Steve, Nat followed his lead. Bruce ran his hand through his hair as he walked into the lab. He could feel the rage bubbling within himself and he needed to calm down.

"I just got so angry and lost control." Steve replied. "Just like you lost control of your shield?" Tony asked. Steve stood in silence. He hadn’t meant to hit your face. His real target was your leg so that way you would be out of commission for a long while. He miscalculated his rage against you. This had caused his aim to alter and his shield to tilt when he threw it.

On one hand he was upset that he lay his hands on another being like that, on the other it felt good to allow his rage to take over. Tony stood silently glaring, waiting for an answer. "Because they’re too much like Bucky and I wanted them gone. There’s only one Bucky." Steve admitted. "So you decide to mess them up. To hurt them physically AND emotionally. Did you see the damage you caused? Did you stop to think maybe you shouldn't be an unbearable dick." Tony yelled. Steve said nothing and walked away.

Tony growled and walked into the lab. "Jarvis. Locate Y/N, I need to check their lip." Bruce spoke calmly. "They are in their quarters. I shall let them know you're on your way." Jarvis replied. Bruce nodded and began to leave the lab. He walked back to the medical room to grab supplies just in case he would need to lance your lip to relieve the pressure. When he stepped out he almost ran into Tony. "They asked for me to come along." Tony said sheepishly. Bruce nodded and walked alongside Tony.

The elevator ride to your floor was awkwardly quiet. Neither one of them knew what to say. They froze when they saw the state of your living room. You had thrown papers, cushions, and broken several pictures. You were kneeling on your knees amongst the chaos. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself and sobbed, rocking slightly. Tony calmly walked to you and pulled you into a warm embrace. At first you flinched at the contact until you heard his voice. "It’s me. Tony. It's going to be all right. I'm here for you." Tony whispered to you. You unwrapped your arms and embraced Tony back. Resting your face into the side of his neck.

Tony sat crossed legged and adjusted you into his lap. He rocked you gently, rubbing your back as you began to sob harder. Bruce's heart clenched at the sight before him. He had never seen this side of you before. Out of the entire team you seemed the happiest. Then he remembered the phrase 'you never know about the pain hidden behind a smile'. Seeing your pain made a lump form in his throat. He set the supplies on your coffee table and began to pick up the mess as Tony calmed you.

"It hurts so much." You whimpered and scrunched Tony's shirt in your hands and tightened the embrace. Tony knew you were trying to show him how badly Steve had hurt you by the way you clung to him. In return he hugged you tighter. Bruce had picked up the papers and put the cushions back on the furniture. He glanced around. You can see the pain in the destruction they caused. He thought sadly to himself.

Tony gestured for Bruce to help him up. Bruce helped Tony stand, he held you tightly against himself as he went to sit in a chair. He made himself and yourself comfortable. "Bruce needs to look at your lip." Tony whispered softly. Five minutes passed before you were calm enough to allow that. You carefully wiped your eyes and turned to face Bruce. You winced when you applied too much pressure to your right eye. Crying had caused it to swell shut completely and become tender.

Bruce’s stomach lurched at the state of your face. Not only had your lip and eye swollen more. But the bruising had gotten a lot worse. “I need to relieve the pressure build up in your lip.” Bruce stated. You nodded weakly and leaned the left side of your face on Tony’s shoulder. Leaving the right side exposed so that Bruce could tend to it.

Bruce held a cloth to your lip catching the liquid that came out from the cut. You winced slightly and he apologized. After he cleaned up the wound he put a small bandage on the area. “That’s all I needed to do. If you need anything don’t be afraid to seek me out.” Bruce said as he stood up. He gave you a sad smile before leaving your quarters.

“Stay with me?” You asked Tony softly. Tony sighed sadly and held you closer to him. “I won’t leave your side until you tell me to.” Tony gently placed a kiss on your forehead. The room fell silent and Tony was lost in his thoughts. He was trying to think of ways that he could make you feel better. At the moment he didn’t know that all he needed to do was be there for you. He was closer to you than the others. Everyone, except Steve had considered you a friend. When he noticed your breathing had evened out he glanced down at you. Noticing you had fallen asleep. He carefully lifted you up and walked to your bedroom.

He tried to lay you down but your grip on him was tight. Now he had to maneuver you carefully so that he could lay with you. When he was situated he sighed but noticed that your features had relaxed. He was lying on his back with your head carefully resting on his chest. It was in that moment that he realized you just needed a friend. Someone that could comfort you even when you weren’t awake. He eventually began to drift off into sleep.

✨✨✨✨

Steve paced his room. He began to feel conflicted about what he had done. He had imagined hurting you in ways that would make you not be able to join missions. He had never acted upon it until today. For some reason today was the last straw for him. He wasn’t exactly sure what made him put his thoughts into action. He plopped down on the foot of his bed. He rested his elbows on his knees and then put his face into his hands. He thought back to the first day you entered his life.

Steve was watching the TV in the common room when everyone suddenly walked in. “Turn that off for now. Fury is on his way up with news or something.” Tony said as he clicked the TV off. Steve rolled his eyes and stood with the others. Suddenly the elevators doors opened and the first one to step out was you. Fury followed behind with a smile on his face. “This is your new teammate, Y/N.” Fury stated. “Welcome to the team. I’m Tony.” Tony was the first to introduce himself. “I know everyone’s name. But thank you for introducing yourself.” You said with a smile.

Tony looked impressed. Steve felt conflicted. Your stance, your movements, and even your mannerisms triggered his memories of Bucky. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The moment Fury left, Steve went back to watching TV. Plopping heavily on the couch. He glanced over to you one last time before completely tuning you out. Tony and Bruce offered a tour of the tower. Nat and Clint went off to do workouts.

The memory slowly began to fade. Steve sighed heavily. The more he thought about it the more conflicted he felt. Steve thought that if he was cruel you would keep your distant, or maybe ask to be placed somewhere else. When that didn’t work he turned to violence. He felt like violence was his only option because he was just so angry in that moment. Steve glanced at the time and grunted. It was getting late and he was sick of today already. So he decided to change and go to sleep. Hoping tomorrow would be a better day.

✨✨✨✨

You bolted upright in your bed. Sweat pouring off of you and breathing heavily. Tony bolted awake and sat up with you. “Hey, it’s okay.” Tony gently touched your hand. You flinched and jerked your hand away. Your brain not yet registering your surroundings. “Hey, it’s me, Tony.” He said calmly. You calmed your breathing before turning to him. Tears blurring your vision. Tony slowly moved his hand to your arm. This time you allowed the touch.

“I had a nightmare.” You said weakly. “Do you want to talk about it?” Tony asked softly. “It was more of a flashback. That’s all I’m willing to say right now.” Your voice cracked, tears began flowing down your cheeks. Tony gently wiped the tears away. “All right. We can lay down again, if you want?” Tony asked. You nodded your head yes. Tony laid on his back again, you curled into his right side, laying your left ear on his chest. Tony wrapped one arm around you pulling you close to his side. You tucked your left arm in between yourself and Tony. Your right hand gently laid across his chest next to your face. “Thank you.” You whispered to him. “For what.” He whispered back. “For being a good friend and being here for me.” You replied. “Get some sleep.” He whispered.  After several minutes you had finally dozed off again. Tony stayed awake a few more minutes to make sure you were actually asleep before he allowed himself to be taken over by sleep.

Main Masterlist

[yersina]

Tbh I wanna ask the whole thing but to stick to the realm of reasonability may I ask 7, 10, 14, 23, and 29? And anything else you might want to answer if there's any. 🦭 [decompresses from the lack of pressure]

[weird questions for writers]

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

Ohhh what an interesting question! I think what I love most abt writing—why I still write even if it only results in unfinished wips—is… hm how to put this… an execution of an idea? Putting my own spin on a concept? Bringing smth to life from my mind and onto a page? Like I just love thinking about things, and writing gives me a way to share that w other ppl or put it into words, and that’s what’s best about it!

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

LOL uh the first definition that comes to mind for a piece of writing ‘haunting’ me is in the ‘god why did I write this’ sense, in which case I’d probably say my fanfic from my hetalia days……. A full ten years ago at this point…… But I’m also an advocate for not being ashamed of your writing no matter how old or cringy it is bc we all had to start somewhere right? And it still brought me joy at one point even if it doesn’t anymore, so I wouldn’t exactly say that it really does haunt me per se haha

The other sense of ‘haunting’ is probably ‘I think abt it a lot’ in which case—my wips haunt me. OTL

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

I do! Not as much (read: at all) anymore bc my friends and I have all diverged in terms of preferences and also physical location, but in high school, sometimes I’d even give my kindle acct in order to share ebooks haha.

But I’ve also always been a library person, and my physical collection is exceedingly small. I also don’t tend to reread anything? So I only buy books if there’s a reason I’d want to display it and/or come back to it. And it’s hard to lend books if you don’t own them haha. I would lend them if I had any though!

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

So. Most often I’m on my bed (full size, cheap, IKEA) and on top of my blankets (cheap, Amazon). I do most of my work in bed and lying down lol and also on my phone bc if I waited until I had my computer I would get nothing done. It’s probably either late at night or very early in the morning (bc I am unfortunately both a night owl and an early bird—no sleep for me!), so the light is rather dim. I have several larger stuffed animals w me on my bed (one is ice bear from CN, one’s a weighted dragon plushie, and one’s a really loooong shiba-dog-thing that’s probably close to my height) that I can prop my head up on or squash beneath me, depending on my mood. I also have an extra pillow to put against the wall for if I do decide to do anything while sitting up (currently cuddling it as I write this). A lot of what I own is a shade of blue or green. There’s a string of white Christmas lights around the wall next to my bed bc I can’t stand the brightness of the overhead light. Currently there’s a half-finished quilt rolled up beside me.

Really tho I write anywhere inspiration strikes me. Once I wrote a decent chunk while sitting in my car in the parking lot of a homegoods lol

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

Hm… my inspiration probably comes most often from other people! I had a ton of fun with all the sctir prompts I got a while back :) A lot of my favorite ideas that I’ve executed comes from putting a spin on an existing trope or concept, or from seeing smth around tumblr or twitter and wanting to write my own version.

My inspiration well runs dry very often, actually. I’m a huge binge-writer—most of what you see from me is stuff that I wrote within a couple days, which is why most of my fics tend to be short. I’m definitely not one of those ‘write a little bit every day!!’ kind of people—that would never work for me, and kinda drains my soul. Trust me I’ve tried lol (case in point: I managed to do an entire nanowrimo a couple years ago (the whole 50k!) and never touched or looked at that fic ever again. Was a fantastic exercise, but just not the way I work). Usually if I have an active wip, I do try to go back to it every couple days, just to make sure I don’t forget about it entirely haha. If I’m not actively working on an idea, I try not to let it bother me too much; the waiting is as much a part of my writing process as the actual writing. I’m all for making it easier for yourself—fanfic writing is a hobby, not a job, and I’m here for my own enjoyment more than anything else. I want to lean into it most when I’m happiest, yknow? :)

Bonus question for fun: 11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

Yes absolutely!!! This isn’t to say that you should ruthlessly get rid of what you love most in your writing, but definitely don’t be too attached to every single word you write. The writing advice that I’ve found most helpful so far in my writing journey is: if you’re stuck in your writing, the problem isn’t with the current scene or paragraph, it’s what happened before. I’ve also had an English teacher suggest to us once that we should try rewriting something from memory to pare down to what’s most important (bc anything you don’t remember isn’t essential). I start over all the time if smth’s not working for me and I delete and go back if I get stuck. If I’m getting rid of smth that’s longer, I do try to keep it around or move it to a separate doc in case I need to use it later, or to try and incorporate into a different scene so that I’m not dropping it entirely, but I’ve found myself doing that less and less as I go. It’s annoying, maybe, but I don’t grieve haha

Kill your darlings, for sure 🔪

(ALSO the best part abt fanfiction is that even if a scene that you really love doesn’t work in the main sequence, you’re allowed to write spin offs and side stories and extra scenes as much as you want to lol. Like killing your darlings doesn’t have to mean you resign it to never seeing the light of day, maybe you just fake their death and move them to a different neighborhood skdnejcbjdd)

[consistantly-changing]

[Image descriptions in order: a series of images that look like a slideshow. The first one is bright red with large white text which says "If I so much as catch a WHISPER that people are trying to monetize FanFiction on AO3".

At the bottom, there is small text which says "A non-selective plan for dealing with the resurgence of blatant Fic Commissions on AO3, inspired by the campus Tik-Tok".]

[The rest of the images are white with black text, which have a title followed by a bullet point list. They say:

If I see Blatant Commissions:

(Capitalized) I will report you

(Capitalized) I will report your ass

(Capitalized) I literally will not give it a second thought, i will just smash that report button

(Capitalized) I didn't survive the transition from LJ, and the purge of ff.net just to see people make ao3's job even harder than it has to be

On the right side of the slide, there is a PNG of a red button.]

[But fanartists...

It's different

(Capitalized) I know, I know

It's technically the same - it's just different

On the right is the meme of Ben Affleck looking tired, smoking a cigarette out of a window with a bottle of alcohol beside him]

[Why you so mad?

Copyright law violation

Copyright law violation = slippery slope to getting sued by OC's

Free Fanfic is made safe by the 'Fair Use' clause – which says that it's okay to transform copyrighted property because no money is being made off of it

When you charge/commission – you lose your ONE defence]

[Learn your history

Fic writers got sued in the not too distant past

Some of them were sued very successfully and made to pay reparations along with their cease and desist orders

The name 'Anne Rice' still gives old fic writers flashbacks

Historically Fic writers have been reminded, viciously, about whose sandpit we play in and on what terms (Not Ours)]

[(Toggle case) but I never said I own the characters

There are several screenshots of disclaimers that authors put on their works, which say:

Crowley, The Book of the Law, 57. Disclaimer: I don't own anything here, except the writing. No profit is intended except the sheer joy I get out of constructing this story.

JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. Fasa games owns Earthdawn.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and I make absolutely no money with this FF.

Disclaimer: Aragorn is mine! Allllll mine, my precious yessss..... (Just kidding, he belongs to Tolkien, who's probably spinning in his grave at this very moment...)

All characters belong to George Lucas and Lucasfilm Ltd., yadda, yadda, yadda...

Disclaimer: The raven belongs to E.A. Poe. I'm just borrowing the hateful creature for a little bit, okay?

Author's Notes: Sherlock Holmes and all related characters are original creations of the genius of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Original characters (meaning mine) will be noted. This fic takes place somewhere between A Scandal in Bohemia and Holmes's retirement. Please R/R.

Disclaimer: The dear boys belong to Victor Hugo, may he rest in peace and not be disturbed by whatever I do with (or to) them. The first names of Marcelin, Francois, and Etienne were Manon Goutal's brilliant idea. Alexandre and Laurent were mine. Claudette Prouvaire, Claude to her friends, is entirely a creation of my own mind (be afraid: oP). I'm not making money off this, nor do I want to. I have nothing. Have mercy on me. Archivists: Feel free to post this on your site, just let me know

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and/or plotlines and/or dialogue of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice nor Henry Fielding's Tom Jones. Duh.

Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries does not belong to me. New characters, are mine.

-- All the usual disclaimers apply -- I own nothing -- just borrowing these guys for a while --

Learn your history, it's only in the last few years that we haven't had to put disclaimers on EVERYTHING because AO3 protects us]

[but, but, I didn't know I can't charge...

(capitalized) read the terms of service

(Sub bulletted list): "You agree not to make available any unsolicited or unauthorized advertising (defined as solicitations for direct or indirect commercial advantage" [AO3 TOS Section I, D]

"Promotion of commercial products or activities is not allowed." [AO3 TOS, Section IV, B]

"Unsolicited commercial activity is not permitted on the Archive.” [AO3 TOS, Section IV B]

(capitalized) it's literally in the terms of service use your eyeballs

Below is clip art of cartoon eyes that are wide open.]

[(Capitalized) In conclusion

(Capitalized) don't fucking charge for fic

(Capitalized) don't put on ao3 that you're charging for fic

(Capitalized) don't link your ko-fi, patreon, paypal, on ao3

(Capitalized) just don't fucking do it

(Capitalized) thank you]

a non-selective plan for the resurgence of fic commissions

[veronicaleighauthor]

Fun Facts About “Tytchfell Abbey”

Last week, my story, “Tytchfell Abbey” was published in Black Cat Weekly 115. If you’re interested in reading it, you can buy it here for your Kindle. As with my other stories, this post is about the Fun Facts/Behind-the-Scenes of the creation of “Tytchfell Abbey.”

The title, “Tytchfell Abbey” is both a nod to the show/movies “Downton Abbey” and Austen’s gothic parody, “Northanger Abbey.” I actually based the descriptions of Tytchfell Abbey on Highclere Castle, which is where “Downton Abbey” is filmed. There is also a Titchfield Abbey, that I borrowed from.

The protagonist of this story is named Cassandra Hollingsworth. She was named after Jane Austen’s sister and best friend, Cassandra Austen. Cassandra was an artist in her own right; because of her talents we have the only authenticated portrait of Jane Austen. Hollingsworth was an old friend’s last name. I thought it sounded aristocratic enough to be used for a Regency Era story.

I pictured Cassandra Hollingsworth looking like Charlotte Spencer, who portrayed Esther Denham in Andrew Davies’ Jane Austen fanfic series “Sanditon.”

Methodist Dissenters is mentioned. In the Georgian and Regency Era, many Evangelicals wished to reform the Anglican Church and attempted to do so, and when that didn’t happen, they broke away. They were considered Religious Dissenters. Hannah More, William Wilberforce, the Wesley brothers were Evangelicals, just to name a few. Some who dissented formed their own sect which evolved into the Methodist denomination. A good book to read about the subject is “Fashionable Goodness,” by Brenda S. Cox. I did a review on it a few months back.

“Tytchfell Abbey” is the first Regency Era mystery I wrote. I always wanted to write a Regency Era story and I loved playing around with Austen’s themes and language. I’m due to write another story from that period.

I originally considered doing a series of short stories featuring Cassandra Hollingsworth solving mysteries…I may have to revisit that idea.

The story is set in 1813 – the year “Pride and Prejudice” was published. The novel was released in January and “Tytchfell Abbey” is based in May. It’s safe to say that Cassandra read the book and is waiting for her very own Mr. Darcy to crop up. Otherwise, ladies of her station would have to teach, become a governess, a companion, or they would descend into genteel poverty – like Mrs. Bates in Austen’s “Emma.”

Gothic novels are referenced. 18th century authors such as Ann Radcliffe, Horace Walpole, Matthew Lewis sold their hair-raising novels and the public loved them. Later, in the 19th century, Mary Shelley, Edgar Allen Poe, the Bronte sisters, and Dickens employed Gothicism in their fiction. Austen wrote her gothic parody “Northanger Abbey” (which was originally titled as “Susan”) in the late 1790s and sold it in 1803, but it sat in publication limbo for thirteen years. She had to buy it back; later her brother Henry informed the editor who let it sit in limbo, that the editor missed out on publishing the work by the famed-but anonymous authoress of “Pride and Prejudice.” “Northanger Abbey” was published posthumously, alongside “Persuasion.”

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Where the Crop Circles Grow ch.6

Summary: When things get out of hand at the Pines’ family farm, Ford asks an old college buddy to assist investigating anomalies and Stan hires a farmhand. Who knew asking for help would actually get you somewhere?

For @lemonfodrizzleart. Part of her Farmer AU and featuring her OC, Jackie Asante.

Ao3 link here.

ch.5 - ch.7

~~~~~~~~~~

Jackie was wide awake a good hour before the sun would rise, before Clock would wake the whole house, and yet she didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. Her mind was swimming with so many thought she felt like she was drowning.

Last night she had sex with Stanley Pines, her employer and friend. What the hell was she thinking?! She was thinking he was beautiful and smart and kind and everything she had ever wanted she just wanted to hold him forever, and thus it resorted to her losing her white dress to hay and walking out of a barn in Stan’s shirt and being caught red-handed by Ford and Fiddleford. (Thank God Tate was asleep and didn’t ask questions; if he had been awake Jackie probably would’ve killed herself.)

Her mind replayed what Stan had said to her before they got busy. He seemed to have meant those nice things he said to her, not just saying it to get her to undress. Jackie was a pretty decent reader of character, so okay, at the absolute very least Stan liked her. He wasn’t going to kick her out or dump her. But did he want to do it again? She knew she wanted to at some point, but…

Jackie groaned and laid on her stomach as she buried her face in her pillow. Really, would it be the end of the world if they were together? Probably not, but did Stan even want that? Jackie wanted to think so, but a small voice in the back of her mind told her he only saw her as an employee with benefits and to not get her hopes up. And of course there were the other men in the house. Ford was mortified when he discovered what they had done, but Jackie considered that it was only because he did not want to think about his twin having sex. Fiddleford, who had been married and even had a son, seemed a little too understanding and supportive. Jackie didn’t think she could stand to see their faces today, so she made up her mind to get up now, do her chores quickly before anyone else woke up, and lock herself in her room until dinner.

While the coffee pot brewed, Jackie quickly mixed together some simple blueberry muffins. While they baked in the oven, she quickly fed the chickens and watered the sheep and let them out onto the field. By the time she re-entered the kitchen the muffins were perfect and she let them cool while she tidied the sheep’s barn and gave them fresh hay. Jackie had just fixed her mug of coffee and plated herself two muffins when she heard footsteps and she hurried into her bedroom to indulge in a book.

It took a hot shower and a few sips of coffee for Stan to realize what Jackie had done. He laughed at himself to find the morning chores done and an easy breakfast laid out on the table. Shaking his head, he happily munched on a muffin on his way to the big barn to milk Luna and brush Truffles and he decided that he would check on her later.

~~~~~~~~~~

As the day wore on, as the sun crept higher and higher up the sky, dark clouds drifted into the scenery and hid the sun. Ford and Fiddleford had just enough time to retrieve their cameras so they could spend the rainy afternoon developing the photos in the thinking parlor before it started pouring down. It never escalated into thunder and lightning, but it was a merciless rain that kept the animals sleeping inside their barns and nests, but thankfully the lack of wind made it okay to sit on the porch and watch the rain, and that’s what Stan did until he fell asleep in his chair.

That left the four-year-old to snuggle up with a blanket on the couch and watch TV, but nothing good was on. Tate huffed and turned it off to try to think of what to do so he wouldn’t be bored no more. He could read a book, but he had done that yesterday. He could play with his toys in his room, but he didn’t feel like it. He wanted to get up and move, but it was raining too hard to play outside, Daddy said so when he came back with Uncle Ford with the cameras, so Tate decided he would do exploring.

He liked this house. It was big but not too big and it felt like home. He really liked it here, and though he knew it wasn’t good to be a sneaky peaky spy, Daddy and Uncle Ford and Uncle Stan and Auntie Jackie never got mad. Tate knew what most of the room were and where most doors led to, but there was one in the hallway that he didn’t know where it led to, so Tate opened it and he beamed to find raincoats, a vacuum, and a box of board games on the floor so Tate could reach.

Tate grinned and decided to pick a game to play. Maybe Daddy would wanna play, or when Uncle Stan wakes up he would wanna play. There was a small box of cards on the top of the stack; Tate thought it would be a good idea to play Go Fish. Tate saw Connect Forty-Four, Don’t Wake Stalin, Battle Chutes and Ladder Ships, but the game on top of the stack and right below the cards a game caught Tate’s eye. He liked the big red dragon behind the funny looking wizard, some kinda monster with big lips, and the pretty elf with the unicorn, all above a table of people playing the game.

Take picked up the green box and smiled. He was only four, but Daddy taught him how to read, so he could read the game and the rules. It looked like fun!

Meanwhile, Ford stretched his arms over his head and left the thinking parlor for a drink of water and possibly a snack. He looked down the hall and smiled when he found Tate in front of the closet where they kept the board games, holding a box he found intriguing. “Hello, Tate,” Ford said and walked up to him.

“Hi, Uncle Ford!” Tate piped and looked up at him and showed him the box in his hands. “Lookie what I found!”

Ford instantly recognized the well-used fantasy-talking, level-counting, statistics and graph-paper involved game from college and grinned. “Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons! That’s my favorite game in the whole Multiverse! I used to play with your father and some other fans of the game back in Backupsmore.”

“Can we play it now?” Tate asked.

Ford held his cleft chin in thought and smiled down at his best friend’s son. Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons was usually a complex and thoughtful game; you had to have a prepared Quest Master for starters, create a character and fill out a character-sheet, and use math and statistics a bit too advanced for the average four-year-old, but Tate wasn’t the average four-year-old. Ford knew he wasn’t good with kids and so he had somewhat kept his distance, but Fiddleford had often said the two were very similar and Ford was quicker to notice the similarities between the father and son, so Ford shrugged and got on one knee to be eye-level with the boy. He might not know much about kids, but he did know a lot about this. “Yes, I suppose we can play. This game involves both math and imagination, so I’m sure someone was intelligent as you will love it.”

Tate grinned at the compliment and watched Ford grab a black backpack from the closet’s shelf and then followed him to the living room to play on the card table. Luckily Ford had what he needed to be a Quest Master and knew the game well enough for the job, so he let Tate use a basic character to learn how to play and to see if he would like it. Ford looked out for any sign that the boy wasn’t having fun, but Tate took to it like a fish to water. The minute he learned he had to fill out a character sheet to play for real, he begged to fill one out and Ford happily showed him how to roll the dice and earn his character’s traits and skill-set.

Soon Ford had Tate the elf go on a magical quest. Tate found a dungeon by a river when he used his sword to cut away some plants, and Tate now had to battle boody-traps and devious gremlins to win the game. Ford started to roll dice in a normal manner, but after a while he reverted to his unique way: weaving the dice in between his fingers and picking it back up with his thumb, starting the cycle all over again. Tate nearly lost his mind and demanded to see it again. With hot cheeks, Ford happily showed the boy his little trick and Tate instantly tried to do it, too, but Ford chuckled and explained that it took lots of practice, and then it was back to the game.

“Alright, you enter the chamber.” Ford narrated, in his element, with the models in front of him and his guide for what to do, determined on what Tate rolled. Tate decided that he liked the way Uncle Ford told stories. “Princess Unattainable beckons you, but wait! It’s a trap!” Tate gasped in horror as Ford wiggled his twelve fingers and imitated an evil grin. “An illusion cast by Probabilitor the Annoying!”

“Oh no!” Tate yelled and shook the dice in his combined fists. “I’ll get him with my sword!”

“Hold on, he only has one weakness.” Ford chuckled. “Prime statistical anomalies over 37 but exceeding 51.”

“Oh. Isn’t an anomaly a weird thingy in the woods?”

Ford laughed; of course this kid would first associate the word with Ford and Fiddleford’s field research. “Yes, but… okay, okay, here’s what you do. You see the dice with 38 sides? Roll that with these two, and then I’ll roll these three, and then we get to do some math to see who wins.”

“Yay! Math!” Tate quickly rolled his three dice and Ford rolled his. Ford even took the time to show Tate on his notepad why you should add certain numbers together, and it looked like Tate barely beat Probabilator’s illusion. “Yes! I did it!”

“Good job!” Ford said and ruffled Tate’s hat. “You’ve Probabilitor on the ropes! Now…”

“Oh ho, so this is where you disappeared to.”

“Hi Daddy!” Tate said happily as Fiddleford stood at the doorway, smiling and amused by the scene before him. “Uncle Ford’s teachin’ me how t’play Dungeons, Dungeons n’ More Dungeons n’ be an elf n’ kick Probabilitor’s butt!”

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow at his old college roommate, his smile still standing. “You dug out that old game, then?”

“More like your son was nosy and I couldn’t resist teaching him a trick or two.” Ford answered with a chuckle and ruffled Tate’s hat to show there were no hard feelings.

“Ugh, are you serious?” Tate and Ford looked over to find that Stan had returned, rubbing his eyes with his fists, awoken by the sounds of dorks. “You’re teaching squirt that nerd game?”

“It’s not a nerd game, Stanley, you would like it if you gave it a chance.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I prefer to do my dice rolling in Vegas.”

“C’mon, Uncle Stan, don’tcha wanna play?” Tate asked and smiled up at him. “You’re always a lot of fun to play with! You can even pick the weapon I get Probabilitor with!”

Stan couldn’t hide the blush in his face. Before he could answer, Jackie walked behind Stan swiftly for a drink of water, but Tate saw her and quickly said, “Auntie Jackie’ll play, won’t you?”

Jackie jumped and darted her eyes all over the room. She ignored Stan and Fiddleford’s smug looks and tried to piece together what the boy wanted. “Um… what?”

“Dungeons, Dungeons, n’ More Dungeons.” Tate explained and even held up the box’s lid for her. “Can’t we all play together, pwease pwease pwease?” He begged, and even puckered his bottom lip out a little bit to sweeten the deal.

Jackie smiled sympathetically as she exchanged facial expressions with the adults. It wasn’t fair to Tate that there was no one his age to play with or to keep him company. While he had never once complained, it meant a lot of his free time was spent playing alone or helping with chores just so he had somebody to talk to. Just for one afternoon, it couldn’t hurt to give in and do this one thing the child clearly desperately wanted.

“I don’t see why not.” She said with a shrug. “Never played, but I’ve heard good things about it. Why don’t I pop some popcorn and make hot chocolate for a snack?”

“Great idea!” Fiddleford backed up. “I’ll go get my old character sheet!”

“Alright, Stanley come here and I’ll help you create your character.”

“Ugh, do I gotta be some sparkly elf or something?”

“No, you can be whatever you want to be. An ogre, a fairy, a centaur…”

“You had me at ogre! I’m gonna have my own swamp and kick out any annoying fairytale creatures!”

Later that evening, after all the characters had been set and the game was ready to begin, the card table became too filled to function, so everything was laid out on the floor and everyone sat in pajamas and snacked on bowls of popcorn, pretzels, chipackcerz, and mugs of hot chocolate. Clipboards for the players’ character sheets, colorful dice, and notepads also littered the living room, and as the room was lit with candles and the wood-burning fireplace to give it a spooky feel, Ford happily narrated his players through the game. “After your victory against the clan of goblins, you rest at a pub…”

“I’m gonna flirt with the barmaid to get some free drinks!” Stan declared and rolled a 38 sided die; once he understood that this game involved more risk and imagination than math, he started to warm up to it, and though he would never admit it, he had fun playing pretend.

Ford chuckled and looked down at the die. “You’re successful! The barmaid is charmed by your smooth words and strong stature, and slides you a free drink, but unfortunately your score isn’t high enough to earn everyone else a drink. Your players need to recharge from battle, so everyone needs to pay one gold coin for fuel.”

“Imma get chocolate milk!” Tate cheered as he changed the amount of gold he had in his bag on his character sheet.

“Okay, everyone roll your 12 sided die.” Once all the dice were still, Ford winced at the score and said with a devilish smile, “Your cheerfulness over your victory has caught the attention of your worst, and most annoying, enemy: Probabilitor the Annoying!”

“Dang it!” Stan yelled as he popped a piece of gum into his mouth.

“He’s accompanied by his trusty eagle, perfect for capturing victims, a hot elf, and his head ogre. Seeking revenge for taking down his army of goblins, Probabilitor attacks the pub with…” Ford rolled his dice. “... a math ray! Everyone roll your D-38.”

While Stan rolled a 32 and Tate rolled a 28, Fiddleford rolled a 17 and Jackie rolled a 2. “What!?” She shrieked, having been earning low numbers the entire game. “Stan, did you load my dice!?”

“Aw, c’mon, missy,” Stan laughed. “I wouldn’t cheat… okay, but not at a nerd game. It ain’t worth my best tricks.”

“While Goldie and Tate dodged the math ray in time, Hadron and Drizzle are hit, Drizzle left weak while Hadron almost made it to safety. The eagle takes advantage and takes them in his talons, following Probabilitor into the sky as the ogre and hot elf ride on the large bird’s back. Goldie, Tate, what do you do?”

“We go after them!” Tate declared.

“What happens if we don’t?” Stan asked.

“Probabilitor will eat their brains. It’s his thing.” Ford answered.

“Fine, guess we’ll go on another quest.” Stan ruffled Tate’s hat, the two paired into a team, and Ford had them set off into the woods for their team members.

“Alright, meanwhile at the campsite,” Ford went on. “Hadron and Drizzle are tied to a tree while the hot elf readies the brain-cooking pot.”

“Hold on, ain’t there a way we can escape?” Fiddleford asked. “It’s only rope, n’ I got my dagger, remember. If it’s in my belt by my hip…”

“Good ingenuity, let’s give it a try.” Ford cleared his throat and reread the rules to make sure it was fair. “Probabilitor, distracted by picking garnishes for your brains, doesn’t notice that Hadron has a weapon he can use without his hands. Roll your D-12, you have to get a 10 or higher to be successful.”

Fiddleford blew into his fists for good luck and let his D-12 go, but then slapped his forehead and winced at the 8.

“You managed to cut some of the binding holding you and Drizzle captive, but your dagger falls from your belt and lands on the grass and out of reach. Before Drizzle can even try to get it back with her foot, Probabilitor returns to do some more annoying dragging about how he’s going to eat you.”

“If I get my eight-year-old character killed over this, Imma lose it.” Fiddleford joked; there was no way he was going to die like this, right? Right?!

“Ugh, if my hands were free I’d break every part of his face.” Jackie growled.

“Oh ho, Probabilitor is so annoying he has even invoked the wrath of the peaceful druid elf.” Ford chuckled. “Helpless for the time being, it’s up to Goldie and Tate to save them, but first they must travel through the woods and reach the campsite.”

“Okay!” Tate cheered and punched the air, ready to beat up some bad guys.

“You two are getting close to your destination, you can tell by the frequent fairy bites. When suddenly your path is blocked by a huge ogre, armed with an axe!”

“Aw, come on, Manly Dave, I thought we were cool.” Stan said sarcastically and the whole room laughed.

“‘Halt!’ Dave the Ogre says.” Ford was using a deeper, gritter voice for the ogre, making Tate grin as the narrator had a way of making the story come to life. “‘You interlopers are trespassing on the ancient forest of Probabilitor the Wizard! If ye wish to pass, first ye must complete seven unworldly quests, each more difficult than the last…’”

“I bonk him over the head with my bat!” Stan interrupted.

“Okay, one, you have a club, not a bat, Stanley,” Ford explained for the uptheenth time. “And second, you can’t…”

“Sure I can! Our team members are gonna be dead soon, we don’t have time for seven stupid quests! So I use nature’s snooze button and bonk him over the head!” Stan argued and shook his dice in his fist.

“Fine, roll your D-38…” The room gasped as Stan rolled a 36. Ford, chuckling with disbelief, said, “You bonk your club on the ogre’s head and it knocks him out cold. He’s not dead, but he won’t be walking for a long time.”

“There’s no cops in the forest.” Stan hissed to Tate. “We take this to our graves.”

The boy actually pushed his hat and bangs back to show Uncle Stan his trusty wink, making the whole room laugh.

“Very well! You are approaching the campsite!” Ford narrated with wiggling fingers. “As Goldie and Tate hide in the bushes, Probabilitor tackles.” Ford cleared his throat and made the wheeziest, annoying voice he could muster, causing Jackie to snort and cover her mouth to keep from spitting out soda. “‘And now, a little math problem! When I subtract your brains from your skulls, add salt, and divide your team, what’s the remainder?’”

“YOUR BUTT!” Tate cried out.

“‘What?!’” Ford wheezed. “‘My butt isn’t part of this particular equation!’” The whole room laughed loudly and Ford had to wait for everyone to calm down before continuing. “Though your insult may have been funny, your cover is blown. Goldie and Tate now have no choice but to battle Probabilitor for the lives of Hadron and Drizzle!”

“Yup, we’re dead.” Fiddleford said and pulled out a clean character sheet. “Better start creatin’ a new character.”

“Hey! We’ve got this, right squirt?” Stan asked as he wrapped an arm around Tate.

“Yeah!”

“Let the battle begin!” Ford placed two small figures of ogres and said, “The ogres swing first! Roll your D-38s to dodge!” Ford rolled a 13 while Stan rolled a 14.

“Goldie uses a… Shield of Shielding to, you know, shield Goldie and Tate!” Stan made up.

“Probabilitor casts a reversal spell, and…” Ford rolled a 15. “... is successful. The shield disintegrates. The ogres attack! Now you can choose to attack or…”

“Oh! Giggle time bouncy boots!” Tate yelled out. “To jump over the meanie’s heads!” Both Ford and Tate rolled, but Tate’s was higher.

“The boots work!” Ford said. “Goldie and Tate bounce to safety, missing the axes and clubs by the skin of their noses.”

“Now they use flamey swords… no! SUPER hot flamey swords!” Tate declared, getting really excited. The boy rolled a 21, Stan rolled an 18, and Ford rolled a 2.

“Incredible luck!” Ford gasp. “Your swords are so powerful they destroy the ogres in an instant!” And he swiped up the little figures. “‘Drat you!’ Probabilitor screeches. ‘You’ll never outrun my Ogre-nado!’” And Ford rolled a 30.

“Yes we will!” Tate said and hopped up on his feet, shaking the die hard. “Centaur-taur will swoop in and save Tate and Goldie!” And Tate rolled a 32.

“A what?” Fiddleford chuckled.

“A Centaur-taur.” Tate repeated and showed a drawing he had made last night when thinking of weapons and characters. It was both horrifying and impressive.

“Tate, I am so confused n’ so proud right now.” Fiddleford said thickly with shiny blue eyes.

“The Centaur-taur dashes just in time and carries Goldie and Tate to the thick of the trees, where the ogre-nado is broken and destroyed. Goldie and Tate rush back to try to free Hadron and Drizzle, but Probabilitor’s score is still too high to be defeated.” Ford rolls his D-4, D-12, and D-38 to determine which of Probabilitor’s spells or minions to use; the Quest Master’s eyes widened as this specific combination of numbers meant he had to use the most powerful monster is all of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons.

Ford grinned sheepishly, and narrates slowly for suspense, “You think all is well and good, but Probabilitor was saving the worst for last. Just before Goldie and Tate reach their team members, they’re grabbed by a huge claw with three fingers and are faced with a mouth inside of a mouth and a fiery red eye.” And Ford slammed down the biggest statue they had.

Fiddleford gasped. “The Impossi-Beast! I thought they banned this character!” He argued.

Ford shrugged. “Sorry, but this is the original 1972 version. They didn’t ban the Impossi-Beast until the second version, released in 1975.”

“It’s okay, we’ll just think of some cool weapons…”

“Ya don’t understand, son.” Fiddleford said as he gripped the boy’s shoulder. “He’s so powerful that he can only be defeated by rolling a perfect 38! If not, then we all lose our characters!”

“Rollin’ a 38?!” Tate gasped. “The odds are…”

“Hey, long odds are what you want when you’re a world-class gambler!” Stan said and took up his D-38. “C’mon, c’mon… Papa needs a new pair of… elves!” And he let go of the D-38.

Tate held onto Stan’s arm as it rolled across the floor. Fiddleford’s knees were bouncing despite being criss-cross. Jackie had her hands in her hair. Ford bit his lip, wanting his first quest with the team to be a success. The little blue die looked like it might fall on 1, but at the last second it balanced perfectly on that beautiful 38.

“WHAT?!”

Tate jumped up and down as he cheered and punched the air. “YES! Yes, yes, yes! We won! We won!”

“What do you say, buddy?” Stan asked.

“DEATH BY MUFFINS!”

“Goldie and Tate then throw magical Death Muffins into the Impossi-Beast’s mouth!” Ford narrated. “The monster explodes and Probabilitor is powerless and pathetic as always. But keeping true to his name, he annoyingly disappears into a cloud of math, promising to be back for another journey, but for now Drizzle and Hardon are free, and Goldie and Tate are upgraded to level 2 and earn twenty pieces of gold.”

“YAY!” Tate quickly scribbled down the changes on his character! “Can we go on another adventure?! Maybe we’ll find a dragon this time! I wanna try to get a Trust Arrow!”

“Unfortunately that’s all I had plan for now.” Ford held his chin and gave it some more thought. “I suppose I could…”

“Not so fast, Sixer, that’s enough nerd-game for me.” Stan stretched his arms over his head. “Ole Goldie over here’s ready for some mindless fun.”

“How about a movie?” Jackie asked and looked under the TV for the box of VCR tapes. “We’ve got The Voyages of Lionclothiclese: Clash of the Genres.”

“Oo! Put it in!”

“I haven’t seen that movie in years!” Fiddleford said excitedly as his son sat in his lap up on the couch.

Ford moved up to the couch and allowed Jackie to put the tape in the machine and soon the TV lit up with the lights and sounds of the old film. Stan had collapsed into his armchair and Jackie held her knees by her chest, sitting between the couch and the chair. Stan noticed this and shook his head discreetly. No way such a pretty woman was going to sit on the floor, even if it was carpet. 

Jackie couldn’t help but feel someone’s eyes on her, and when they looked at each other Stan gave his lap a little pat so no one else would notice. The farm-woman hesitated, but being in his hold sounded amazing, and really what did she have to lose, so she slipped up into his arms and curled up in his lap, the gang allowing the old movie to fill the atmosphere and happily distract them from the real world.

[valentinsylve]

🌻

Heyyyy I am really good at leaving asks in my mailbox, just thought I'd brag about that. Anyway, one thing I was thinking about is how I started writing stories down when I was about 4 years old, and even wrote "fanfic" of my favorite stuff (Somewhere on legal paper is an unfinished Eros and Psyche tale I started when I was no more than 7 -- the dialogue was largely plagiarized, but it was practice). The idea that one could "be a writer" was a constant one, and I wrote shit down all the time. However, when I got older, there was a somehow oppositional idea pushed at me that there was a "proper" way to "be a writer". My 9th grade English teacher, a true favorite and a good guy, the one who exulted over my bawdy portrayal of Mercutio and my analysis of Hawthorne and Crane, may have asked me or I may simply have told him because I was excited, what I happened to be reading outside of class. I was absolutely enthralled with this thick anthology of horror fiction I'd borrowed from my mom. And I had been writing Shirley Jackson-inspired macabre little short stories for a couple of years at that point, too. "HORror??" He was incredulous. THat was GARbage! "But what about 'The Turn of the Screw'?" Oh, that was an exception, it didn't count as horror either really, no true Scotsman (I didn't know that phrase yet and he didn't use it but you get the idea). It was discouraging! I kept on writing fiction, but it got really, really dry or else really jejune and damp. I took the "write what you know" way too literally, because when I went too far out into the realms of the weird, it got no response or a puzzled one at best. I was a huge nerd and teacher's pet. I thought I was going to be an academic at that point and was working my ass off to get there. Thing was, I wasn't exceptionally good at it unless I got very imaginative and syncretic and had a teacher who was into that sort of thing.

By the time I was 20, I was still trying to "be a writer" and I even got a summer scholarship to a prestigious master class program. Heavy hitters teaching. Sharon Olds, Rick Moody. I got to take a class with one of my short-story idols, Barry Hannah, who said I reminded him of one of his old students: "She wrote beautifully, but she didn't have anything to write about. Then she published her first novel, and it was excellent." That novel was The Secret History, it feels both important and weirdly humiliating to point out, seeing as I have not published a novel at all, let alone something that awesome. The story I was the most proud of writing that summer (not with Mr. Hannah's class) was a rural gothic about vampires. It was also about adolescence, family, and transmuting the hunger of hardship, grief, isolation, and longing into something comforting or at least nourishing. The notes I got on the story were puzzled. Why was I writing this lurid grand guignol stuff? Meanwhile there was an 18-year-old in my cohort who was impossibly sophisticated and had an internship at The New Yorker (and no, I didn't hate her, she was a delight, I just had no idea how she did it). I was clearly supposed to be writing the sort of short stories or poems that got published in The New Yorker. Literature. Otherwise why was I wasting my time and someone's money studying?

My writing petered out pretty quickly after that. I just felt this phantom scrutiny every time I picked up a notebook or opened up a blank document on the computer. There was no joy in it. I stopped, and felt abject for stopping. Over the course of my adult life I had my hand in journalism and even wrote a column for the paper in a small city for a couple of years. I became a crack shot at editing other people's fiction, and ran the short story section of a local magazine. My own shit, nope, never made it out of the gate.

Then, in the fall of 2020, I decided to give myself a birthday present. I took a little 4-week online writing class. The teacher was a TV critic from the school of Television Without Pity and the general heyday of media blogs. I started looking at the frivolous stuff I enjoyed with a writer's mind. I think that was my first real breakthrough into writing for fun again. Then I gave myself another present and took a couple of a friend's erotic writing workshops. I wrote a piece in ten minutes that made people gasp and want to hear it again and again. That was the juice.

In 2021, I fell in love with an arty murder show and when it came to its breathless conclusion, I lost my mind. I needed MORE STORY. That's how I got into reading Hannibal fanfic on AO3. Some of it was not my thing, but some of it was fucking electric. I started commenting. A lot. It wasn't really parasocial (except when it was), it was a passionate engagement with stories and how to tell them over and over in so many different ways.

Yesterday I was showing some of my fic to my sister, and I crowed about how I'd written 3,000 words of blistering smut and angst and banter in an evening, and pushed through when it was tough going. "I just thought I wasn't good at writing after all, but it turns out I just hate writing literary fiction. I was born to write GARBAGE." Glorious trash. Stuff that makes people laugh or gasp. Louisa May Alcott wrote her "sensation stories", and I'm writing my fic about the arty murder show. I am happier than I have ever been. Last night I wrote 2,000 more words.

And that's how I became a writer. :)

[shyficwriter]

I've Got You

Guardians of the Galaxy Fanfic | Reader x Guardians (Yondu is alive)

Summary: After you never let anyone else listen to your music Rocket and the guys decide they want to see what potentially embarrassing songs you have on your music player, but find something else entirely.

Author's Note: ANGST! This story does NOT have a happy ending, or an ending at all really. It may be funny at the start but it's all angst at the end and it'll make you cry. Proceed with caution. This isn't even a joke- it gets heavy. I was going through some stuff... If you think this might trigger anything for you at all, skip this one.

Content Warning: Mentions of suicide/depression.

Word Count: 2,508

You didn't mind sharing with the rest of the gang. You really didn't. You'd share your clothes with Mantis, your food with Groot, and your books with Drax. There was very little you didn't share, except for one thing, and that was your music player.

Anytime someone would occasionally ask to borrow it you would always make up an excuse, usually: "Nah, you wouldn't like my music." and that was usually that for a little while. But, of course, eventually someone would ask again and you'd have to make the same excuses over again. Once you even told Peter it was all accordion music so he'd stop asking to compare playlists. That worked for a bit, until a week later you forgot you had told him that and said how much you hated accordion music when the topic of Polka was brought up. Oops. Well, there went that excuse.

One day was different, however.

You were walking in Peter's ship, minding your own business with your headphones in when Rocket motioned to you. He was sitting at a table with Groot. You paused your player and removed one of your earbuds. "What's up?"

"Groot was trying to ask if he could listen with you. but of course you had your volume up like always."

"You're going to damage your hearing if you keep that up," said Gamora, sitting on the other side of the room with Drax.

You ignored her, turning your attention back to Rocket. "Oh. I don't think that's a good idea.." you said with a wince, feeling bad for having to tell the little guy 'no.' Other than Mantis, he was the one you always felt the most guilty saying 'no' to. Those puppy-dog eyes were killer.

Rocket eyed you suspiciously. "Why? Quill lets him do it all the time?"

He was right. Peter did let little Groot listen to music with him quite often. But you weren't Peter.

Peter startled you when he came up from behind you with Yondu, saying, "Yeah, you're weirdly possessive of that thing. It won't hurt to let him have a listen."

'It might.' you thought. "He might be better off listening to your music, we already know he likes that."

"What's wrong with yers?" Yondu asked, who agreed with Peter about the weirdly possessive thing. You barely ever let that thing out of your sight.

You tried to think of something, "It's uh, not really appropriate..."

Yondu chuckled, "Are ya trying to say ya have dirty songs on that player of yers?"

You blushed. That's not exactly where you were going with that, but if it works... "I'd just say my music isn't exactly, uh.. kid friendly."

Your blush only made it more convincing that this whole time you had been hiding embarrassing music on your device. Rocket raised an eyebrow in amusement and Peter laughed too. "There's no way I'm gonna believe you have dirty songs on there. Let me see." he said, moving to reach for your music player.

You quickly put it in your pocket. "Nope! Bye." you said, turning on your heels and making your way to leave the ship, glad you were docked on a planet as it gave you an escape. "Gonna go head out for a walk, be back soon!"

Peter looked slightly disappointed, but let you go.

Once you were gone Rocket spoke up. "You know, I think I know a way how we can sneak a listen to what she's got that's so secret on there," he said, smirking. "Ya know, if you want..."

Yondu and Peter shared a glance before looking over at Gamora, sure she'd reject the idea in favor of your privacy. Surprisingly, she nodded in agreement.

"I have to admit, now I'm curious too." Gamora said with an almost embarrassed shrug.

And with that it was settled. Rocket told them his plan.

***

The next day when you went to retrieve your music player from your nightstand drawer, it was there as expected. However, when you went to power it on nothing happened.

You groaned, walking out into the common area to look for Peter. Once you found him you asked if he had any spare batteries, only to be disappointed when he didn't.

"Although," Peter said, "If you're gonna walk down to the store to get some I'll transfer you some units to bring back a case of soda."

You agreed to bring him back some soda, but told him not to worry about the units as you headed out the door, having been convinced to take little Groot with you last minute. You never could resist those little eyes of his.

The team waited a few moments to make sure you weren't coming back for anything before telling Rocket to make his hasty trip to go get your music player from your room.

Your batteries hadn't died, Rocket had just quietly replaced them with dead ones while you were sleeping. He switched them back once he got back to where the rest of the team had gathered around the table.

Rocket grinned, thinking he was about to hit the jackpot on embarrassing secrets from you. "What do ya think it is?" he asked, handing the player to Peter. "I bet it's boy-bands."

Peter powered on the player and snickered. "What if it's that Justin Bieber guy that was always on the radio when we went to Terra?"

"Oh, he was awful. I would also be embarrassed to be caught willfully listening to his music." Drax said.

"I dunno, I still kinda think she's got dirty songs on there," Yondu laughed. "Ya saw how she blushed."

Peter rolled his eyes and began scrolling through your playlists. He raised an eyebrow. "I hardly recognize any of these songs." he said. "The only ones I recognize are ones I've already got on mine."

"Let me see," offered Kraglin. "I know more Xandarian songs, maybe they're some of those?" He scrolled for a bit before as Peter got up to grab something from a trunk behind him.

Peter sat back down and Kraglin handed the player back, shaking his head. "I don't recognize them either. Maybe they're Terran?"

"We'll see." Peter said, plopping the device he got from the trunk on the table and plugging it into the player. It was a speaker. "Here, now we can all hear it. Which one should I try first?"

"What's in her 'Recent's' list?" Gamora asked.

"First one says "Stay Alive," Peter says, "Oh! I actually think I know that one. My grandad used to listen to it, it's so old!" he laughed. "I didn't expect her to be into disco music though..." Peter hit play and as the lyrics came out he realized he was mistaken. "Oh... that's... That's not the song I thought it was at all..." he said in surprised concern.

♫♩"... Stay alive, stay alive For better days to come around.

When nothing is right in your head And all of your tears are shed I know how it seems, you're in this too deep But take it from me, it's not the end..." ♫♩

"Um..." Peter swiped to play a new, hopefully less depressing, song.

♫♩"Do you ever feel like breaking down? Do you ever feel out of place?" ♫♩

Nope. Peter swiped again.

♫♩"All day starin' at the ceilin' makin' Friends with shadows on my wall All night hearing voices tellin' me That I should get some sleep Because tomorrow might be good for somethin' Hold on, feelin' like I'm headed for a breakdown And I don't know why" ♫♩

Peter furrowed his brow. The others shared concerned glances, but didn't say anything. He swiped again.

♫♩"It's caving in around me What I thought was solid ground I tried to look the other way But I couldn't turn around" ♫♩

*Swipe*

♫♩"Hello darkness my old friend..." ♫♩

Peter could already tell it was another depressing song, he backed out of the screen into the list of recently played songs seeing titles like: "Nightmare," and "I'm not okay (I promise)," and unfortunately more bluntly: "Don't try Suicide." They listened to a few more songs, and they were all depressing. You did have happier songs on your music player, but your "Recents" list was full of much more depressing songs, as if that's all you had listened to for a long time.

Nobody was smiling anymore, Rocket looked like he was sorry he came up with this idea. Even Drax clearly understood that they hadn't discovered anything good.

Yondu's expression was hard, "Well, I don't like this at all."

"I think we made a mistake." Mantis said, concern painting her features.

"But... she always seems so... ok?" Rocket said, his ears lowered. You were his friend. His prank buddy. He had no idea. "Do you really think...she, you know...?"

"I don't know? I mean, do you think she'd really not say anything if she was hurting this much? Wouldn't Mantis at least have picked up on it?" Peter asked. He looked over at Mantis expectantly.

"I can only feel other's emotions if I touch them," she started, "and... she's never actually let me touch her."

"What should we do?" asked Gamora.

***

You walked in a few minutes later to just catch the last bit of Peter saying something about having a talk with you.

"Have a talk with me about what?" you asked.

It was clear you had startled them, Gamora having spun to face you upon hearing you speak up, and she almost never got startled.

You chuckled, walking nearer the table to place your grocery sack on it. Groot hopped off your shoulder to run across the table to Rocket. "Oh gosh, I didn't mean to scare you guys! I got the soda you asked for- ...what's that?" Your demeanor changed from almost cheery to nervous, the blood draining from your face when you saw what was very clearly your music player plugged into a speaker. Your eyes shot to Peter, the one closest to your device. "Peter? What the fuck?"

"It was Rocket's idea!" Peter exclaimed, his guilt having managed to trip his self-preservation switch.

Rocket didn't even try to deny it. He looked at the ground, "I thought it'd be funny..." he muttered. Groot looked at him in confusion. His friend usually never looked sorry for anything.

You snatch your player from the table. It was currently off, leading you to believe there might have been a chance they didn't listen yet. "Boundaries!" you scold, putting the player in your pocket. "Seriously uncool!"

You went to turn around but you bumped into Yondu who had walked around the table while you were scolding Peter.

"Sit." he said, his face stony.

You look up at him in surprise before Gamora spoke up. "We... listened to the songs you had on your player... We just want to talk."

You just stare at her for a moment. "Seriously guys, what the fuck?!" you say, your tone exasperated and your eyebrows knitted together. "You know what? No. I don't want to talk. I'm going back out."

Yondu grabbed your arm as you tried to push past him. "No. Yer gonna sit." with that he walked you to the nearest open chair and made you sit. His tone wasn't angry, but it was firm.

You felt knots tying in your stomach. Gamora spoke again.

"Look, we're sorry we took your music player without asking, but now that we have, we're concerned."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. No. No no no. "I literally told you guys so many times-"

"I know," Peter said, "but please... Just- we need to know if you're ok."

"Of course I'm ok!" you lied. "Why would I not be ok?!"

"Cut the crap." Kraglin said. His tone didn't seem angry either, it almost seemed sad. "I seriously doubt you'd be listening to all that depressing stuff if you were actually ok."

You attempt to stand again, saying, "Look just screw off-" before you were silenced by Yondu firmly pushing down on your shoulder to stop you.

"Look, we care about ya, ya lil' shit, and we ain't about to just let ya keep suffering if yer hurtin."

That tore something in you.

"Please- guys." You clenched your jaw and looked at the floor. No. Fuck. Not right now. "Just-" You inhaled sharply. Dammit. You were not about to start crying right now. You screwed your eyes shut, before covering your face when you realized that wasn't going to stop the tears and not wanting them to see. "Fuck!"

It all flooded you. All the hurt. All the pain. The hopelessness. The humiliation of the current situation. The guilt of your friends worrying about you. The numbness shattering as white hot pain tore through your soul. You felt what you thought was Gamora putting a comforting hand on your shoulder and you tried to hold back a sob as every bad thought you had about yourself came flooding in. You started to shake, feeling shame as memories of thoughts about ending it all leaked out your eyes. How many nights you had stood in front of the airlock weighing whether that night would finally be the night you pushed that button.

From behind you you heard a strangled cry. A cry of pure anguish. It was only then you realized the hand on your shoulder couldn't have been Gamora's. It had come from behind you. She had been standing in front of you. You quickly jerk forward and turn around in your seat, wrenching yourself from Mantis's hand- but it was too late.

Mantis nearly doubled over, hands clawed into her chest as a sob lodged itself in her lungs. She had only wanted to make you feel better. She wasn't expecting the torrent to flood into her so forcefully, hadn't realized this wasn't something she could just make go away with her abilities. She had felt everything.

The others looked at her with wide, startled eyes. Drax pulled her in and held her, not really knowing what to do but trying to make the hurt go away. Poor little Groot didn't understand what was happening, and Rocket held him so he couldn't see. Peter and Gamora shared an alarmed glance.

You were speechless. You could only stare in horror witnessing what you- or rather your pain- had done to her. "Mantis-" was all you could manage, not knowing what else to say. You barely noticed your tears now started flowing freely down your cheeks. You stood up to run away, but just like every other time you had tried, Yondu stopped you. Only this time he pulled you tightly to his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head as if you were a newborn.

"Girl, why didn't you tell us?" you heard him say softly.

You allowed yourself to be held, not realizing until that very moment just how badly you had needed to be. Fresh sobs broke from you and you buried your face into his chest when he said, "Shh now, little girl, I've got you."

[mah-gah-lee]

You’re such a bitch - (Charlie Gillespie x reader)

Word Count: 2486 Request: no, again @jatpsmut​ inspired me with his fic “What Happens in Hawaii Stays in Hawaii - Charlie Gillespie x Reader (SMUT - 18+)”. I asked her if I could use the Hawaii idea and now I am writing this!

However, some details change from the original fic:

“Charlie and y/n haven't been best friends since they were kids, but from the first season of jatp. y/n is an additional actor on Julie and the Phantoms, also a dancer. Charlie didn't confess his feelings to y/n in Hawaii.

The only thing I got from the idea of @jatpsmut​ is the fact that something happened in Hawaii. So thank you to her for writing this incredible fic, without it this could not happen Summary: You and Charlie were best friends and roommates in LA. One evening, you heard it with a girl, the next morning, everything is awkward, bitchy and everything changes. Warnings: mention of sexual activities - language disclaimer: I don't know Charlie or his family personally or what his life is like. All you will read in this "x reader" is from my imagination. My point is not to invade Charlie's privacy. I don't want to offend him or offend anybody else in his life (family, potential girlfriend…). All of this is not the reality

 Tagged: @asdfghjkl-fanfics​ @standingtalllove​ @lukeys-giggle​ @happinessinthedarkesttimes​ if you want to be tagged in my next fic let me know ! 

--- 

You try to focus on the TV show you were watching, but obviously your roommate had company. And that company was way too loud in your opinion. You were rolling your eyes in annoyance when suddenly your phone vibrates, displaying the blonde head of your second best friend. If there was one thing you miss since you came back to live to Los Angeles, it was obviously living with this sarcastic character. Vancouver seemed so far away to you. You picked up your phone and Owen's face appeared.

 “Hi sweetie.” Owen told you with a smile “Oh, hey… Why that face?” he clearly noticed your annoyance. "Hi O." you said before complaining "Ugh, I miss living with you in Vancouver so much" "Yeah me too. We had so much fun. But hey, I'm sure we'll have a season two." "I hope so much"

You were an extra cast member on Julie and the Phantoms, you also were a dancer on the first season, just as Tori. You wished so much Owen was right about Jatp season 2 renew but Netflix seemed to enjoy making you patient. But the coronavirus had also literally messed up all your plans. However, you were angry, some series came out long after yours and got renewed while yours stayed on hold. It was clear that fans of the series as much as you were just waiting for the renewal of season two.

A moan came out of Charlie's bedroom with the sound of a bouncing mattress, you rolled your eyes again, groaning with a sort of anger.

"Jesus Christ ..." you complained "Wait, y/n, what's that sound?" “You know what I miss most about living with you in Vancouver O’? Rule #3. " “Rule #3? Rule #3" he seemed to think about what you said when he finally realized "Oh ... Oh! Rule #3! Wait.. Oh my God! Is Charlie being with a chick right now? ” He asked you with stupefaction. "Oh I wish you were wrong"

A laugh came out from you best friend mouth and you gave him a killer look through the screen, making him laugh harder. When you were in Vancouver, living with two boys forced you to set limits and rules for living. The first was; everyone cleans up their own mess. Second, the housework takes turns. Third rule: no one-night stand allowed in the flat. Surprisingly as it may seem, this rule had been followed very well by everyone. But at the same time, the boys' schedules really didn't make time to bring anyone home, and then after all, they were professional. But as soon as Charlie returned from his parents' quarantine, he forgot the existence of this rule, as if it did not apply to Los Angeles. It wasn't like he brought a different girl home every night, or even every month. It might have been the second or third time since you had moved in. But this situation embarrassed you more than you might have thought.

“Owen, don't make fun of me. I've been hearing them for about an hour now. " "Poor you. Now you understand how I felt in Hawaii" he smirked at you. "Wait, what did you say?" you asked him, in shocked. "Oh please y/n ... you heard me clearly"

Of course, you had heard what he said, but you were in shock at the revelation, so you needed confirmation. This story was supposed to be a secret between you and Charlie. The fact that Owen mentioned it could only assume two things.

"Did you hear us in Hawaii?" “I was in the room next door! Of course, I heard you. It's not like you and Charlie are the quietest couple ever having sex ... " "It seems Charlie is the loudest one…" you said, referring to your best friend having sex in the next bedroom. "Oh darling please, I can remind you of what you said that night. You two gave me nightmares." "Please don't. I feel so embarrassed right now"

Last year you went to Hawaii with several cast members and Kenny. A booking error forced you to share a bed with Charlie. It seemed that sleeping with a girl seemed more adequate than two boys sleeping in the same bed. Charlie and Owen had avoided that possibility the second the problem had arisen. One thing leading to another, after a few strong cocktails, you and the dark-haired boy had ended up having a horny night. The shame caused the next day made you both never talk about it again and "what happened in Hawaii will stay in Hawaii". You didn’t know that Owen heard you and it seems that boy can keep a secret for so long now.

The problem was that that night you realized that you felt more than an attraction to your roommate. It went beyond friendship or mere sexual tension at the sight of this Canadian. You wanted every aspect of what you might have experienced with Charlie and more: the laughs, the funny times, the lots of talking, the quiet times watching a movie or just playing Nintendo Switch, the sex. But you also wanted the PDAs, the feelings, just being with him like his girlfriend. But the actor was totally oblivious to your feelings for him, and you didn't even want to try to make him understand it on his own. You just created a shell for yourself and buried your feelings deep within yourself.

 “I don’t understand y/n. Why didn’t you tell him your feeling?” “Because I know he doesn’t love me back, O.” “Oh come on! You two are the most stubborn people I ever met!”

Again, for the third time tonight, you've rolled your eyes. You were pretty sure Charlie didn't feel the same way you did. Since Hawaii, neither of you had stepped forward towards each other, but sometimes your behaviors showed that you were more than friends. Another moan was heard from Charlie’s room and Owen's face on the screen was memorable. His eyes were wide and his cheeks were red.

"Okay, y/n. I'm sorry but I don't want to keep talking to you and hear my other best friend hooking up at the same time ..."

 You laughed and he hung up the phone not forgetting to say goodbye. You tried to focus on your screen again, your headphones being way too far away for you to catch them. Minutes later you finally heard the distinctive sound of Charlie's orgasm and knew you were finally going to be able to sleep.

 …

The next morning you woke up with a high level of fatigue. You casually walk to the kitchen to make coffee. While you were pouring yourself a cup of this much-desired black liquid, a person entered the kitchen.

 "Who the fuck are you?"

You raised an eyebrow, bringing your mug to your lips. The girl looked at you with a disgusted face.

"Roommate, darling. Not nice to meet you." "Why the hell are you wearing his shirt?"

A smirk appears on your lips, far too happy that she asked the question. When you were in Vancouver, it wasn't surprising to see you wearing the boys' t-shirts, although you had a preference for Charlie's, there were times when you wore Owen's. The boys never complained about this mania and you had to continue when you moved to Los Angeles with Charlie. The scene was pretty funny, you were there drinking your coffee in a t-shirt borrowed from your roommate while his conquest from last night stared at you in disgust, decked out in another Charlie t-shirt. You took a look at the Looney Tunes t-shirt you were wearing and just shrug your shoulders.

 “Old habits.” You simply said. "Yeah, you're gonna have to break this habit."

You laughed disdainfully. You didn't like this girl. Not because it was the conquest of your best friend for whom you had blatant romantic feelings. But rather because she had this condescension and believed that spending a night with Charlie gave her every right.

 "What makes you think that, sweetie?"

 You leaned against the kitchen counter, your posture offhand, a smirk on your lips. You weren't used to being such a bitch, but the girl in front of you pissed you off. And it was only nine in the morning.

 "Well, hello, I spent the night with Charlie." "Oh yeah sure, but that doesn't mean you're dating him." "Charlie is a great guy"

She wasn't wrong. Charlie wasn't heartbroken but he was still human and a twenty-two-year-old boy. Just looking at her you knew your best friend hadn't chosen her for a serious relationship with her. The little conversation you were having with her now confirmed that he couldn't date her. Another smirk spread across your lips as she looked at you with disdain again.

 "Who the fuck do you think you are? You are nowhere near his level" she said to you

This time, you couldn't help but laugh sarcastically. Yeah, she really pissed you off. Physically, she was everything Charlie didn't like about a potential girlfriend: big breasts, much bigger than him, slightly shallow. Oh but she had a fucking ass and maybe that was why he had chosen her. Her whole body reflected Charlie's choice for a one-night stand, but not the ideal girlfriend.

 "Oh honey, I'm nobody, but neither are you. Listen. You were just a one-night stand and me? Me, I'll still be here in his apartment with his t-shirts on when he brings you home, telling you that it was cool but that it will not go further. I will always be there ... "

Charlie woke up and headed straight for the kitchen. He greeted her conquest with a nod, giving her a hello. Instinctively, he approached you and put his hand on your waist before placing a soft kiss on your cheek. Charlie was tactile, it was his language of love. You couldn't help but smirk at the girl, giving her a victorious look. The actor looked at your outfit and a smile appeared on his lips.

 "So that's where it was! I thought I lost it in the Galapagos." he was referring to his looney tunes t-shirt

Your attention fell on Charlie and you smiled happily at him. You cheekily handed your cup of coffee.

"Coffee?" "Hell, yeah"

He grabbed your cup and took a long sip, leaving his conquest almost nonexistent to his eyes. The girl was so pissed off that she seemed to be boiling. She cleared her throat, annoyed.

 "Hmm, I'm going to go" she said. "Oh wait, let me have lunch and I'll bring you back if you want." "It won't be necessary."

You bit the tip of your tongue, amused, far too happy to hide it. Charlie's conquest returned to his room to get dressed. Your roommate turned to you and gave you a questioning look.

"y/n, what did you do?" "Nothing. We were happily getting know each other. I'm surprised at your choice, by the way" "Are you getting revenge?" "Get revenge for what?" "Since ... Hawaii, you've scared all the girls I've brought back." "Did I scare them? Stop, I haven't acted any differently than usual." “You scared them away,” he repeated. "Oh come on, Charlie, please, it's not like you're going to date them."

 He pulled away from you with a look of dismay. You were not wrong, he had never called back the girls he had brought back here, he did not intend to call back the one who was currently in his room. In fact, the only person he really wanted to spend time with was you. But since Hawaii, you seemed to be okay with never mentioning your night together again. This Canadian boy has been in love with you for months, maybe even years now. It quickly fell for you when you were in Vancouver.

"You're right. But I could have ..." he finally confessed "It's wrong. You know it's wrong Charlie, I know you, I'm your best friend. These are not the kind of girls you date. "Yeah… I couldn't date any of them. They just aren't you." He said, his last sentence ending in a whisper before hastening to take a sip from your cup of coffee.

You were paralyzed. Did he really just say what you've been dreaming of hearing for months? Did he just drop it like a bomb, in the middle of a morning conversation between sips of coffee?

“Wait, what?” “Nothing” “It wasn’t nothing, Charlie, you said something” “Nothing important” he repeats “Did you just say that if you didn’t date those girls it’s because they weren’t me?” “You seems to hear voices” “Charlie, I’m not joking… Did you say that?!” “Maybe” “Oh fuck, you’re an idiot!” “I am a..”

You snatched the cup of coffee from her hands and hurriedly put it on the counter. Never mind about the stains on the floor, you will clean up later. You didn't want to miss a second of this possibility. You wrapped your arms around Charlie's neck before resting your lips on his. Your best friend seemed surprised at first so much but quickly relaxed and wrapped his own arms around your waist as your lips moved to give the kiss more tender. The situation was most strange and funny; you were kissing your best friend, running your fingers through his long brown hair. You had to admit that even though you had found him attractive with his Luke's look but you couldn't imagine Charlie without that impressive mass of hair. Luke had short hair, Charlie had long hair. End of the discussion.

So, you were kissing your roommate, making up for lost time while in his room, a girl he had fucked the night before gathered her things. Charlie's conquest stepped out to head for the exit. You broke the kiss making Charlie growl in protest.

"I'm not showing you where the door is." you said. "whore .." the chick whispered.

Charlie stepped away from you and brought his one-night stand to the door, apologizing. He wasn't that kind of boy to go from girl to girl and the circumstances were really strange. The girl left, not without forgetting to curse him. When Charlie walks into the kitchen, you were sitting on the counter, a smirk on your face.

"You're such a bitch y/n" “It's my revenge for keeping me awake last night.” 

His gaze was sly, his smile was mischievous and you knew he was going to find a phrase worthy of the fucking boy he could be. 

"I can keep you awake for a while if you want." “A date wouldn't be too complicated, Charlie. Please be a gentleman. "You can count on me"

He gave you a softer look and you wrapped your arms around his neck again before kissing him. Ultimately, not everything that happened in Hawaii has to be restricted to Hawaii.

[alltooreid]

All Too Well

Spencer must go to him and Y/N’s once shared apartment to clean out his things and leave her life forever. While there he can’t help but look back on his actions, the ones that made him lose the love of his life forever

A/N: Hi!! This is my first fanfic ever published on here and I’m excited to share it with you all! It’s inspired by one of my favorite Taylor Swift songs All Too Well, but although I utilized some of the lyrical genius and imagery from it, the story is not the same as the story in the song. This is a very angsty fic, and there is not a happy ending. Although there are some cute fluffy elements, including a Reid’s purple scarf origin story, I would in no way call this happy. Additionally, because of a reason you may later realize, the content warnings are very vague. If anything even slightly mentioned in them may affect you, I advise you to maybe stay clear. On a lighter note, if anyone wants to request anything, whether it’s another song inspired fic or a general plot line you would like to see please do so!! Also sorry this is kinda short, I’m still learning but I’m really proud of this one :))

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Type: Very Angsty, Not a Happy Ending, (Y/N and Spencer do not end up together)

Word Count: 2.4k

Content Warnings(try to ignore if you would prefer to stay surprised): slight cursing, discussions of death and gore, discussion of car crash

Things to Know: Italics and bold are flashback moments :) let me know what you think!

“But you keep my old scarf from that very first week 'Cause it reminds you of innocence And it smells like me You can't get rid of it 'Cause you remember it all too well”

Spencer was packing up his things, finally getting the chance to clear out and move from the apartment he and Y/N once shared.  Their relationship was rocky and unconventional but he loved her all the same. Even though he left her broken-hearted and destroyed his most cherished relationship. Even though Y/N’s parents now hated him because of what he did to her. Even though hope of repairing what they once had was long gone and there was nothing else he could do about it. Even though he had torn up the masterpiece they once had together. He still loved her so much.

But the magic was gone and so was she. 

Now Spencer was left with memories, and since the apartment they lived in was hers instead of his, filed entirely under hers and her parents name. In his excessive knowledge and wisdom, Spencer Reid struggled to understand how the kitchen where Y/N told him she loved him for the first time as he lit the candle on the collapsing confetti cake he had attempted to bake for her birthday was in no way legally tied to him. 

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to Y/N! Happy birthday to you!” Spencer sang as he lit the single pink birthday candle he found after rummaging through his desk drawers for longer than he cared to admit. He knew it was in there somewhere, but at the same time there was a whole lot in there. 

As he looked at her face, eyes welling up with tears as she took in the sad, homemade excuse for a birthday party Spencer had thrown together after they got back from a case hours before, he couldn’t help but feel he should have done more. He wanted to take her to New York, where they would’ve enjoyed fine dining and one of those incredibly detailed floral frosting cakes he knew Y/N was infatuated with. 

However, the case in Oregon ran long. They had only returned to their apartment 2 hours ago, hours past their 7pm dinner reservations. Although Y/N tried to hide her disappointment, you don’t need to be a profiler to know that someone wants to celebrate their own birthday. So although they had agreed to go to bed and play everything by ear tomorrow, the young genius had, what he would still argue to be, his most brilliant idea when he saw Y/N asleep once he got out of the shower.

It was still her birthday.

And Spencer had just under 2 hours to throw you a party. 

So sure, Y/N deserved more than a cake that was definitely not cool enough to frost, but was frosted anyway due to time constraints. And she definitely deserved more than present hastily wrapped in his printed out articles and newspaper clippings. Spencer wished that he had time to go buy new candles, instead of lighting a green sparkly number 7 because it was all he could find.

But it was almost midnight, and that meant he only had 18 minutes before it wasn’t Y/N’s birthday anymore.

So instead of dwelling on it, he headed to their bedroom, shook her awake and watched her roll over to face him. He watched the smile overtake her face as she said the stupid party hat he was wearing, made out of a pom pom and a wedding invitation.

“Hey birthday girl,” he said softly, “you do realize you’re sleeping through your party right?”

She looked so happy that night, even as she saw the way too messy kitchen and her birthday cake that was melting by the second. She laughed as Spencer fumbled with the lighter. 

And as he finished singing her eyes started releasing tears. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I wish we could’ve done more for the first birthday we get to spend together. “

“No, no, no” she said as she wiped her tears away, “It’s not that at all.”

She smiled and looked up at him “I just love you so goddamn much Spencer.”

Although at one point, all Spencer knew was logic and logically Y/N had never ever known him when she filed her paperwork, the genius still struggled to grasp the concept. That even before the ending of it all, you had no legal, definite connection to her at all. 

How was nothing about this place, his? 

  All that he knew was that he had today to pack all his shit and leave. All he knew is that Y/N’s father had made it very clear none of their family wanted to see him again. 

He wished he could talk to Y/N about it. However all of his calls went to voicemail immediately. 

Logically, Spencer knew why, he had completely fucked up. 

But still, he called every single day, as there was nothing his heart wished for more than to speak to Y/N again. To apologize, to beg for forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.

As the cold air from the open windows blew into the apartment, Spencer couldn’t help but feel he was leaving his home behind. Everything left of her was going to be here, and he wouldn’t get to experience any part of the life you and him had once shared together anymore.

But then he saw it. 

The royal purple scarf Y/N bought the day of their first date. 

“You like this color right?” she asked as they stopped by a booth at the street festival she had taken him to. Spencer was too distracted as he watched the other couples on dates, as they walked hand and hand down the streets. He sometimes wished he could forget things like the number of germs and bacteria that lived on her hands. He at least wished he could forget long enough to gather enough courage to hold Y/N’s hand as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Hmm?” he said, looking back at her, then the scarf she was now wearing. “Oh, yeah! I love that color, it um- looks great on you.”

She smiled, then turned to the weird old guy running the stand. “How much for the scarf?” she asked.

He looked at her, then looked at Spencer, “depends which one of you is paying.”

Before Spencer could say anything, let alone pull out his wallet, Y/N already had hers out. 

“Well, for a pretty lady like you, it’s 2 dollars,” the man said.

She handed him five and turned to Spencer. “You hear that? I’m so pretty I get 80% off! Wonder what you would’ve paid huh pretty boy? He would probably owe you money.” The man handed her her change and whispered something Spence couldn’t quite catch. 

“Gross,” Y/N said as they exited the booth, “he wrote his number on my change.”

Spencer chuckled, “Did you really just buy that scarf because I like the color of it?”

She smiled, “Don’t get so cocky now Einstein, I like purple too you know? And maybe if you’re lucky I’ll let you borrow it.”

At that moment Spencer felt just okay enough to wrap his arm around Y/N’s, and she felt just right enough to wrap the new scarf around them both. 

The one she left next to her front door, after making the last minute decision to leave it at home the night of their final outing.

No one would notice if he….. Right?

Sure maybe Y/N would but what would she do about it? Hunt him down just to get a scarf she paid less than five dollars for? Definitely not. 

He wrapped it around his neck and closed his eyes, even days later he could perfectly picture Y/N singing in his car, fascinated by the autumn leaves falling around her. He felt the wind in his hair, but instead of the cold, dreary air from the open apartment window, he swore he could remember the warm air from that October night. 

“Spencer I know you hate it but please, please, please. I’m so tired.”

“Sweetheart you’re not tired, you’re drunk. Of course I have to drive you home.”

“Oh, whatever.”

A phone call broke him away from his memories, it was Hotch. Spencer was angry, how effortlessly cruel of him to call him during such an emotional time. Hotch knew how much Spencer loved Y/N, the whole team did. 

So he didn’t pick up.

Instead he walked over to the coffee table they used to put their feet on when they binged watched Doctor Who together. Letting the ringtone play out in the background, Spencer picked up an old photo album Y/N’s parents must have brought out. Of course he remembered it, it was the same one they flipped through when he met Y/N’s parents for the first time. He didn’t realize she had brought it home with her.

His eyes welled up with tears as he flipped through the old school pictures, remembering how embarrassed Y/N was of her big glasses. He saw her old athlete pictures from when she used to play tee ball, and flipped through more pictures until he reached the end of your softball career, in college. 

He remembered how hard Y/N blushed when she showed him her childhood bedroom. Her twin sized bed was full of stuffed animals and her walls covered in boy band posters. 

“You know what Spencer? I don’t want to hear it. I loved and still love the BackStreet Boys and I am not ashamed of that.”

He laughed, “You know, before we started dating I always thought you were so cool and unattainable. I imagined that you had always been this chic, beautifully brilliant badass. It’s oddly comforting to know that you wore tortoiseshell glasses and had a fruitless infatuation with Nick Carter.”

She gasped, before tossing her tabby cat stuffed toy at him, “You’re about to get it!”

Once again he was called out of the memory by his phone. 

And once again he let it ring.

Spencer went into their shared bedroom, most of his things were already put into boxes for him. Honestly he was surprised that they hadn’t been set on fire or thrown away after what he did. 

Soon it was time for him to take his things down to his car.

Except it wasn’t even his car. It was Morgan’s.

“Spencer, you are the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my entire life. I am infatuated with you, I want us to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“You sure that isn’t the alcohol talking Y/N”

“Look at me Spencer, no, no really look at me.”

He couldn’t imagine ever using his old car again after what had happened in it.

“You are my future.”

Not that he could use it again.

“You are my everything.”

It was pretty much destroyed, after that accident on that little town street.

“I want nothing more in my life, than for you to be in it.”

When he was so enamored by Y/N, so in love that he couldn’t take his eyes off her, that he ran a red light.

And the truck waiting to go didn’t stop either.

“SPENCER! SPENCER CAN YOU HEAR ME? I NEED YOU TO CALL 911!” she screamed, her voice filled with agony, her limbs mangled in a sea of crushed mental and snapped backwards by the emergency airbag she didn’t realize she was resting her feet on.

Spencer had already called 911. That was the sickest thing about it. Spencer was, physically, perfectly fine. Spencer would get to leave the hospital after just a few days. Spencer could’ve probably gotten out of the car if he tried to. But he stayed, he stayed with Y/N, as she wasn’t fine. As Spencer looked down on her broken body, and tried desperately to find just one piece of skin that wasn’t coated in blood, her blood, that is when he realized. That not only could Y/N not walk out of the hospital with him, but she probably wouldn’t even make it there.

So he sobbed, he struggled to breathe, not because of the ways Y/N did, but because he had caused all the reasons she couldn’t.

“Hey, Spencer, look at me.”

So he did, and he reached for her hands and held them so tightly, and wanted one last time to feel her squeeze back. And she did, just ever so softly. 

“Spencer, I meant everything I said to you. I want you to spend the rest of my life with me. Please.”

“I love you so much Y/N”

“I love you too.”

Spencer was drawn away from his memories once again as he got another phone call. 

But it wasn’t Hotch this time. It was Mr. Y/L/N, so he answered it. He owed him that.

“Are you out of her house yet? You’ve had hours. I want you gone Spencer.”

Spencer sighed, “I’m leaving now sir, I’m just putting the last of my things in the trunk and then I’ll be gone.”

“Good, I never want to see you again Spencer, you hear me?” Mr. Y/L/N said. “And you better not have anything of hers either. All that stuff in your car better belong to you and you only. If Y/N paid for even a dime of it it better still be in that house.”

Spencer looked down at this scarf he was wearing, the one that still smelled like her perfume. The one that he couldn’t bring himself to take off because he reminded him of so much innocence and beauty.

“Yes sir, I didn’t take anything.”

“Good. And Spencer do me a favor.”

“Anything sir.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Mr. Y/L/N said, and then hung up. Spencer sighed, he expected that and fully deserved it.

How else should a father react when you kill his daughter?

“'Cause there we are again when I loved you so Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well”

[olderthannetfic]

It's really surprising that you're so well versed in older fandoms and yet participate in new popular ones (that cdrama, kpop) is this by design? Im in my twenties and my interest turnover is already way slower than it used to be

You know, that’s a really interesting question. I wouldn’t say it’s by design exactly in that I do tend to just follow what strikes my fancy, and I can’t force myself to want to write fic for just anything. (I find it easier to like reading fic without serious involuntary emotional investment, but writing takes more. Vidding I can do on command most of the time, but I don’t usually bother unless I have a lot of feels or I’m fulfilling someone’s prompt.)

However, me getting into BTS was 100% due to me wanting to understand BTS enough to explain to people who weren’t very interested but wanted to know what was going on in fandom lately. Under normal circumstances, I run the dance party at Escapade, the oldest extant slash con. We borrowed vividcon’s thing of playing fanvids on the wall--all of them set to dance music--as the soundtrack for the dance party. This means I’m creating a 3-hour mixtape of fannishness, which has amazing potential to make people feel in the know about Fandom Today... and equal potential to make them feel alienated if nothing they care about shows up. Only about 100-150 people attend the con, so it really is possible to make a playlist that feels inclusive yet informative--it just takes a huge amount of work.

Every year, I do a lot of research on which fandoms are getting big and look for vids from vidders people won’t have heard of, so there is an element of consciously trying to keep up with things. Generally, I only get into these fandoms myself if I had no idea what they were and then suddenly, oops, they’re my kryptonite, like the buddy cop android plot in Detroit: Become Human, which sucked me in hard for like 6 months on the basis of a vid.

(So if you’re into cross-fandom meta and associated stuff as one of your fannish interests, you tend to have broader knowledge of different fandoms, old and new, than if you’re just looking for the next place you’ll read fic. It’s also easier to love vids for unfamiliar things than fic.)

But though I was only looking for a basic primer on BTS, BTS has 7 members with multiple names and no clear juggernaut pairing, not to mention that AU that runs through the music videos and lots of other context to explain. The barrier to understanding WTF was going on at all was high enough that to know enough to explain, I had to be thoroughly exposed... And once I was over that hurdle, oops, I had a fandom.

--

In terms of old vs. new, here’s the thing: kpop fandoms in English and c-drama fandoms in English right now feel a lot like anime fandom in English did in the early 00s. I had a Buddy Cops of the 70s phase in the middle, but my current fannishness is actually a return to my older fannishness in many ways.

What do I mean about them being similar?

Yes, I know some wanker will show up to say I think China, Korea, and Japan are indistinguishable, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the way that I used to routinely meet Italian and French and German fans, Argentinian and Mexican, Malaysian and Indonesian and Filipino too. English-language fandom of SPN or MCU may have all those fans from all those countries, but it feels very American most of the time. English-language fandom of a non-English-language canon is more overtly about using English as a lingua franca.

It also tends to attract people who as a sideline to their fannishness are getting into language learning and translation, which are my other passion in life after fanworks fandom. (I speak only English and Spanish and a bit of Japanese, but I’ve studied German, French, Russian, Mandarin, Old English, and now Korean.)

Nerds arguing about methods of language learning and which textbooks are good and why is my jam. This is all over the place in English-language fandoms of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean media. Those fandoms also tend to be full of speakers coming from a Germanic or Romance languages background who face similar hurdles in learning these languages. (In other words, if you’re a native Japanese speaker trying to learn Korean, the parts that will be hard for you are different than if you’re an English speaker, but you’re also usually not doing fandom in English.)

There’s also an element of scarcity and difficulty of access and a communal attempt to construct a canon (in the other sense) of stuff from that country that pertains to one’s fannishness. So, for example, a primer explaining the genre of xianxia is highly relevant to being a n00b Untamed fan, but just any old thing about China is not. A c-drama adapted from a danmei webnovel is perhaps part of the new pantheon of Chinese shit we’re all getting into, but just any old drama from decades ago is probably not... unless it’s a genre precursor to something else we care about. Another aspect here is that while Stuff I Can Access As A N00b Who Doesn’t Speak The Language may be relatively scarce, there’s a vast, vast wealth of stuff that exists.

This is what it felt like to be an anime fan in the US in 2000. As translation got more commercial and more crappy series were licensed and dumped onto an already glutted market, the vibe changed. No longer were fans desperately trying to learn enough of the language to translate or spending their time cataloguing what existed or making fanworks about a show they stuck with for a bit: the overall community focus turned to an endless race of consumption to keep up with all of the latest releases. That’s a perfectly valid way of being fannish, but if I wanted that, I’d binge US television 24/7.

Anime fandom got bigger, but what I liked about anime fandom in English died, and I moved on. (Okay, I first moved on to Onmyouji, which is a live action Japanese thing, but still.)

Hardcore weeaboos and now fans of Chinese and Korean stuff don’t stop at language: people get excited about cooking, my other other great passion. Times a thousand if the canon is something like The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, which is full of loving shots of food preparation. People get excited about history! Mandarin and Japanese may share almost nothing in terms of grammar or phonology, but all of East Asia has influence from specific Chinese power centers historically, and there are commonalities to historical architecture and clothing that I love.

I fell out of love with the popular anime art styles as they changed, and I’m not that into animation in general these days. (I still own a shitton of manga in art styles I like, like Okano Reiko’s Onmyouji series.) I’ve become a filmmaker over the last decade, and I’m very excited about beautiful cinematography and editing. With one thing and another, I’m probably not going to get back into anime fandom, but it’s lovely to revisit the cultural aspects I enjoyed about it via live-action media.

BTS surprised me too, to be honest. I really dislike that early 90s R&B ballad style that infests idol music (not just Korean--believe me, I resisted many rounds of “But Johnny’s Entertainment though!” back in the day). While I like some of the dance pop, I just don’t care. But OH NO, BTS turn out to be massive conscious hip hop fanboys, and their music sounds different. I have some tl;dr about my reactions in the meta I wrote about one of my fanvids, which you can find on Dreamwidth here.

--

But back to your comment about turnover: I know fans from the 70s who’ve had one great fannish love and that’s it and more who were like that but eventually moved on to a second or third. They’re... really fannishly monogamous in a way I find hard to comprehend. It was the norm long ago, but even by the 90s when far more people were getting into fandom, it was seen as a little weird. By now, with exponentially more people in fandom, it’s almost unheard of. I think those fans still exist, even as new people joining, but we don’t notice them. They were always rare, but in the past, only people like that had the stamina to get over the barriers to entry and actually become the people who made zines or were willing to be visibly into fanfic in eras when that was seen as really weird. On top of that, there’s an element of me, us, judging the past by what’s left: only people with an intense and often single passion are visible because other people either drifted away or have seamlessly disappeared into some modern fandom. They don’t say they’re 80 or 60 or 40 instead of 20, so nobody knows.

In general, I’m a small fandoms and rare ships person. My brain will do its best to thwart me by liking whatever has no fic even in a big fic fandom... (Except BTS because there is literally fic for any combination of them, like even more than for the likes of MCU. Wow. Best fandom evar!) So I have an incentive to not get complacent and just stick with one fandom because I would very soon have no ability to be in fandom at all.

My appetite for Consuming All The Things has slowed way down, but it also goes in waves, and a lot of what I’m consuming is what I did back in 2000: journal articles and the limited range of English-language books on the history of m/m sex and romance in East Asia. It’s not so much that I have a million fandoms as that I’m watching a few shows as an expression of my interest in East Asian costume dramas and East Asian history generally.

I do like to sit with one thing and experience it deeply rather than moving on quickly, but the surface expression of this has changed depending on whether I’m more into writing fic or more into doing research or something else.

But yes, I do do a certain amount of trying to stay current, often as a part of research for fandom meta or to help other people know what’s going on. Having a sense of what’s big doesn’t automatically mean getting into all those things, but I think some fans who are older-in-fandom and/or older-in-years stop being open to even hearing what’s new. And if you’ve never heard of it, you’ll never know if you might have liked it.

[iiwontgiveuponmilkk]

Prison World

Kai Parker x reader

*not my gif

A/n: Soulmate au. I got this idea from two fanfics I read. Currently unedited with a horrible summary :/

Summary: Y/n can’t control her magic and with her link to Kai it doesn’t take long for the Gemini coven to find her

Word count: 2259

Warnings: none?

*1994*

Y/n never quite understood the tattoo that magically appeared on her rib cage. Just under her breast was the Gemini symbol and the initials MP in oddly neat writing. It was the mark of her soulmate. The tiny marking made her oddly curious. It wasn’t unusual for supernatural beings to have a soulmate mark. In fact, only the supernatural beings got them, but they rarely showed up at the age she received hers. She was only fifteen when it burned itself into her skin. That night was also the first night she discovered that her magic was beyond her control. The loss of her grandmother nearly flooded Mystic Falls. Twice. So of course, it didn’t take long for the Gemini coven to find her in 1994. The coven had discovered Malachai’s mark before sending him to his personal prison world. All they had to do was wait for another cosmic event to send the twenty year old into the prison world as well. 

Arriving in the prison world felt like she had been sent to hell. Y/n was all alone, and incredibly confused. She searched for hours to find someone. She even went home, but no one was there. Y/n had no idea what was happening. Was she dead? Mystic Falls was completely empty. It was just her, all alone. Y/n was so confused and slowly starting to panic. She searched the house, trying to figure out what had happened. When she entered the kitchen, her attention was immediately drawn to the cup of coffee and the morning paper on the table. Her dad always read the paper before work in the morning. She picked up the paper. May 10th. This paper was over a week old. How could she be here? She began to read through the paper. There would be an eclipse today. She looked up at the clock. It was in exactly two hours. 

*1997*

Living in this world was, well, it was hell. Y/n had spent three years alone. At first, she spent her time trying to figure out why this place had been created, who it was for, and why she was here. She had two leads. One in Mystic Falls. Another in Portland. She spent a lot of time in Mystic Falls. Partially to investigate what happened at the Salvatore boarding house, and partially so she could be close to the only thing she had left. Her family home. But eventually she convinced herself to go to Portland. She was terrified of what, or rather who, she might find there. A part of her knew she would find him there the second she connected the dots. Parker family. Portland, Oregon. Massacre. Her mark.  This world had been created by the gemini coven for Joshua’s son. Malachai Parker, her soulmate. That’s why she was here. Her soulmate had killed four of his siblings. Her soulmate mark had gotten her into this hell. She was stuck here to make sure he could never access the real world.

 Y/n had packed her things and was off to Bell’s for snacks. Then it was off to Portland. She found herself racing across the country in a blue camaro, courtesy of a Bell’s customer who left the keys on the dash. She had a road map with her. She had carefully marked the easiest route from Mystic Falls to Portland. Yet she always found herself lost. Y/n kept missing her exits as her mind raced with what was going to happen to her. What would he do to her? He couldn’t kill her. Well, he could, but she would come back when the world reset. She was worried what he could do if he had magic. If he was stronger than her, she wouldn’t be able to stop him. Her four day road trip ended up taking her twice as long. She couldn’t count the number of times she had gotten lost. When she finally arrived in Portland, she pulled into the first gas station she saw. There had to be a map of the town, or at least just the state. She dug through the maps until she found what she was looking for. She began setting up to do a locator spell. She was pulling candles out of her bag when she froze at the sound of the door opening and the bell above it jingling. She slowly stood up, turning to face Malachai. 

“Hi. I’m Kai. I’m a sociopath.” The man smirked at her.

____

When y/n woke up, she was terrified, but nothing was happening. Her magic was gone. She had no idea where she was. The room she was in looked like it belonged to a teenage boy. Y/n turned her attention to herself. Her hair was still wet, but she was in dry clothes. She panicked looking down at the shirt she was wearing. It wasn’t hers, and neither were the sweatpants she was wearing. Had that man changed her clothes? Why did he take her magic? And what did he want with her? Her head was spinning. She had to get out of here. She quietly shuffled to the window and opened it. She tried to pop the screen out, but she had been spelled in. Her heart felt like it was in her throat with how hard it was beating. She slowly made her way to the door, finding that it was unlocked. She was hoping that she hadn’t been spelled into the room, and luckily she hadn’t. But that meant she was spelled into the house, and she didn’t have her magic. She slowly moved through the house, trying her best not to make any noise. She was almost down the stairs when the next step loudly creaked. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard footsteps approaching. “G-get away.” She stuttered out. Y/n felt hopeless without her magic. Kai stopped in his tracks, looking at her. He almost found her state comical. He knew he wouldn’t have stopped if he hadn’t seen her soulmate mark. His initials. His handwriting. His “coven”. He put his hands up, sighing almost as if he was annoyed by her behaviour. Y/n stared at this man, her voice caught in her throat. Neither of them moved for what seemed like hours. Finally she spoke up. “Why did you take my magic?” Her voice was quiet and still seemed panicked. “Well, you see, I don’t have any magic of my own. And you seemed to be bursting with it so I thought I’d take some. I know, what an abomination.” He rolled his eyes, but then continued. “Your magic will be back before you know it. You’ll be all juiced up after you rest.” Kai seemed to be bored with her. “You know, I was going to keep you here as a little magic battery, but then i saw your little mark and I had to laugh.” He chuckled, his eyes never leaving her. Y/n felt like she was frozen in place. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. “The universe is so funny. Of course my soulmate would be someone who is overflowing with magic when I don’t have any of my own. And of course my coven would send you here. God, how dumb could they be.”

*2003*

Y/n had come to know Kai in ways that she didn’t think she could. She knew what he had done to his family. He was sent here to be punished for his crimes. She was sent here due to their soulmate mark and bond. She didn’t think she could grow to trust the monster she had met in 1997. She didn’t think she could ever think of him as anything but a monster, but here they were. Kai was making Christmas dinner with her sitting on the counter, and definitely in his way, but he wouldn’t tell her that. Over the past six years, y/n had learned of Kai’s past. How his family treated him for being a siphon, something out of his control. How he was seen and treated as an abomination. How he wasn’t allowed to touch anyone for his entire life. Her heart almost aches for him. A part of her could understand him, but another part, in the back of her head, clung to the fact he had done atrocious and unspeakable things. Yet she still found herself climbing into his bed when she couldn’t sleep, holding his hand when she was starting to lose control, and even almost kissing him on multiple occasions. “You know, I’m starving.” She spoke up, looking up from her book. The aroma in the kitchen was causing her to salivate. “Dinner will be done in thirty minutes. Please don’t get hangry. I’ll have to restart the whole meal if you bring this house down on us.” He joked, causing her to glare at him.

Y/n laughed at the sight before her. Kai asked if he could “borrow” some of her magic to do the dishes. She agreed, knowing it would at least be amusing to watch. And it was. It was also an absolute mess. Kai had dropped multiple dishes, shattering them. Only uttering a small “oops” each time before trying to concentrate on his task. He loved hearing her laugh, and as much as he hated to admit it, he loved being around her. He wasn’t sure why his coven had sent her here, he knew it wasn’t for him. They probably thought locking her away was the only way to make sure he never got out. He stopped wondering why she was here two years ago. That was the first time that he opened up to her. He had chosen to basically ignore her for a long time, but she almost brought a house down on them with an earthquake, crying that she felt so alone and just wished she was dead. He tried to blame the mark for how he felt about her after he started to grow close to her, but he knew that wasn’t true. Some people live their entire lives without finding their soulmate. Some supernatural beings never even got one. Some got them after being alive for three hundred years. It wasn’t the mark, but he just wanted something to blame for these feelings he was having. Kai could barely believe someone could know what he was and not think he was an abomination. But there she was, laughing as he failed at washing dishes with magic.

“You know, I got you something for Christmas.” Y/n mumbled, pressed to his side and wrapped in a blanket with him. They were sitting outside, star gazing. Y/n had wanted to sit outside and look at the stars every Christmas night. Last year, she finally told Kai that her and her parents used to do this every Christmas after everyone had finally left to go home. “I thought you said no presents?” He asked, lightly squeezing her to his side. “We both know what I said and what I meant are two different things.” She laughed, pulling herself away from him. She reached into her sweater pocket, handing him a small box that was delicately wrapped in red paper with green ribbon and a bow. Kai took it from her, opening it carefully. She watched him, almost impatiently. He could tell; the closer they got, the stronger their bond seemed to be. He opened the small decorative box to find a black velvet ring box. He smirked, cracking the box open. There was a silver ring with a hollowed line around the band. “Are you asking me to marry you?” He asked, making her laugh. “Oh god, Kai. It’s a present, not a marriage proposal. Besides that’s your job.” Y/n rolled her eyes, glaring at Kai in a playful way. He laughed and slipped it onto his middle finger before he reached into the pocket of his jeans. “I didn’t wrap it, but I did get you something.” He told her as he pulled a delicate necklace out of his pocket. He put the necklace on her without giving her a chance to look at it. He brushed her hair out from under the chain as she picked the pendant up off her chest, admiring it. There was a (f/c) gemstone in the middle surrounded by an elegant halo of diamonds. It was small, but beautifully full of detail. “Thank you.” Y/n whispered.

*2007*

“Malachai Parker! If you’re joking right now, I will kill you.” Y/n said, staring down at Kai who was down on one knee, holding a ring in his hand. “I’m not, y/n! God! Will you marry me or not?!” She could feel how nervous he was. His energy seemed to be pulsing through her, almost making her nervous. “Stop being so nervous. Of course I will.” She laughed as he jumped to his feet, planting his lips on hers, and kissing her hard. When they finally pulled away for air, Kai rested his forehead against hers before grabbing her hand. He slid the ring onto her ring finger before kissing her again.

[chuuulip]

The First Kiss of Love

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female Reader

Warning:  Fluff with a smidges of angst

Words: 3262

Prompt: hey i was wondering id you could do a hannibal lecter one where the reader doesnt realize that hannibal likes her and she gets jealous when hes talking to another woman. when she calls him out on it he cant help but laugh. the reader is basically a oblivious dummy type and way too much of a klutz .

Summary: “Dr. Bloom is really beautiful.” your small, joyless voice continues its sentence. “Ah...yes indeed.” Hannibal replies casually.

A.N: This is for an anon that request some Hannibal fanfic. I’m sorry that it takes me so long xD I hope you like it! whoever you are ❤️ Thank you for @jewels2876​​ for helping me with this piece, love you ❤️ Also tagging fellow Hannibal fans 😉 @venusdemonroe​​​ and @detectivehannibal​​​ thanks for feeding me Hannibal content and discuss him with me ❤️

__

It’s been a couple of months since you’ve worked with Dr. Lecter. You were once a librarian; due to an accident, you lost your job as a consequence of a long time recovery.  Hannibal Lecter literally was an angel or your angel to be precise. Vividly, you remember the time you met him. By chance, Hannibal is in the clinic when you do your physiotherapy. He catches a small stack of books that you buy that day. He manages to balance the books in his left hand while his right-hand catches you before your face kisses the floor.

Long story short, both of you have some sort of conversation that leads to you applying for a job to be Hannibal’s secretary. You are excited but also nervous when you do your interview. You have no idea that Hannibal is a well-known psychiatrist not only just in Baltimore but also in Maryland. There is a fear that Hannibal will not choose you because of your clumsy tendencies. You are naturally what people will call a klutz. Physical activity somewhat hinders your ability to shine among others. You are either too slow or too weak. Not to mention lucky stars seem to distance themself from you. But not that day, the day when you get an email of your employment. Hannibal is pretty impressed with your CV and how good your skills on scheduling and data management, 

“Good morning.” the soft, accented voice of Hannibal greets you. Today, he wears a dark blue windowpane pattern jacket suit. He chooses a somewhat dark metallic floral pattern adorning the red-brown tie. His white buttoned-up shirt makes the color of his suit and ties pop. Hannibal always dresses elegantly, something that you always look forward to seeing.  

“Good morning, Dr. Lecter.” You stand up and follow Hannibal inside his office. He takes a seat on his brown leather chair. Everything looks immaculate as always.

“Schedule for today?” he unbuttons his suit jacket and you quickly help him hang the suit. “Thank you, my dear, you didn’t need to do that.”

“It’s alright Dr. Lecter.”

Sometimes when it’s only you and Hannibal in the office, he accidentally calls you my dear. You aren’t sure if it's because that’s the way he usually addresses someone he is in contact on a daily basis, or it means something more? Oh, you wish.

“Dr. Lecter…, for this morning you will have two appointments. Mrs. Potter and Ms. Randall. Also-- Mr. Franklin said he might need to reschedule.” Your slightly breathy voice points out other appointments Hannibal has outside the office. Your work had become kind of a blend between his secretary and personal assistant, to be honest. It was actually Hannibal's idea to engage you more into work that’s not strictly his office related. Not that you are complaining because it let you take a peek on Hannibal’s other persona. Not to mention that the payment is pretty generous. 

Not once does Hannibal ask your input on what type of thing should be added in his office, and by that, you are pretty proud of yourself. Not a lot of people give any thought about your opinion. Although Hannibal, like when his office has this sleek look and somewhat minimalist style, he always mixes something that you could say was classic inside his office. You have been inside his office quite a lot, but sometimes you help him tidy up his books and document. He’s somewhat more of a hard copy type of person than a soft copy one. Like you. You like the smells of an old book although some of Hannibal’s books smell too clinical for you. Like the smells of a hospital or a place with a lot of disinfectants.  

Pretty proud of your experience as a librarian in the past, and knowing Hannibal is a perfectionist himself, you practically turned the side of his office into a perfect mini library. The medical record shorts are alphabetically arranged while his other books are listed by genre, then in an alphabetical manner as well. When Hannibal stays longer in the office, sometimes you catch him drawing. A hobby that he said he has since childhood. One day he told you, “Growing up, I found my hobby really useful when I decided to be a medical doctor.” and you can’t help but agree. After he finishes with what he sketches at that time, he specifically calls you into his office and shows you the final product. That action simply makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Thank you, you can leave for now.” He gives you his subtle yet beautiful smile. Those eyes of his when he smiles always send some sort of quick rush to your brain.

Giving Hannibal a short nod, you quickly excuse yourself. You stumble upon your own shoe and almost fall, face first. Luckily you can prevent that from happening, hoping Hannibal doesn’t notice, although you think he did. Scurrying from his office, you station yourself on your spot. Continue typing and archiving what Hannibal asks you. 

Sipping your now cold latte, your eyes shift to the books next to your PC. It’s a book called Les Fleurs du mal renaissance, a volume about French poetry that Hannibal had lent you after you finish some short of psychology 101. You have read a few pages of it, and since it’s in French, it takes you some time to understand it. 

Sometimes Hannibal invites you to his office to let you read his book while he draws things. Trying not to get caught red-handed, you glance at him from the corner of your eyes, savoring the scene in front of you. Wondering what Hannibal actually does on his day off, is there anything he can’t do? Your brain likes to take a detour on what Hannibal does at home when he’s not seeing other people’s minds.

A soft clink of steps on the mahogany floor wood, momentary pauses your fingers on the keyboard. 

“Good morning Mrs. Potter.” you stand up immediately. Greet her with a polite, shy smile. One of the things you are still learning from working with Hannibal is being confident. Since the secretary is usually portrayed as bold and beautiful, while you on the other hand are quite the opposite, Hannibal makes sure you take your time to adapt from ‘less contact with people at work’ to ‘in contact with different people almost every day.’

“I’m here for my appointment.” her British accent tickles your ear. It’s rare for you to meet a Brit, especially as posh as Mrs. Potter. Although you never glance at a patient’s medical record, you do actually google them. When you find out Hannibal’s reputation, you know that most of his patients are a somewhat well-known person. Mrs. Potter is an owner of exquisite but limited jewelry store on the east coast. From several articles that you read, she has had quite a lot of scandal. Despite that, you will not deny her beauty. She may be quite older than you, but the way her cheekbones stay supple and very few wrinkles decorating her face sometimes makes you jealous. 

“Yes, sure. Please wait a moment,” immediately, you walk to Hannibal's office door that's just a foot away from your desk. Giving a soft knock, you open the door and inform Hannibal that Mrs. Potter is already here. He gives you a quick nod, and you open the door wider, to let Mrs. Potter start her session. 

Hannibal isn’t a strict boss. Or that’s actually what you thought about him. Of course, you are a professional employee as you can be, but sometimes you spend time reading the book you borrow from Hannibal between your desk job. Mostly because you already do whatever Hannibal tasks you with. On some occasions, you join Hannibal when he attends some appointments, such as when he needs to be a keynote speaker in a well-known conference around Maryland and DC. An experience that you guess is his way to widen your social ability. 

“Thank you Mrs. Potter. I’ll see you in the next session.” Hannibal’s accent cues you to stand up and bid your goodbye to Mrs. Potter. The rest of the day comes out like it usually is. Typing and arranging schedules for Hannibal while also scrolling on another book to read. Even though you were a librarian before, there’s just so many books and so little time to read. 

When it’s time for you to go home, you knock on Hannibal’s office door and open it slightly when he answers you with a soft, “come on in”. You excuse yourself while also giving Hannibal’s friend a smile. Although Hannibal doesn’t have a lot of appointments today, his friend, Jack Crawford visits the office and you know that means Hannibal will stay late until dinner time.   

*** 

The next day your work finished earlier than you thought so you spend some time at work to continue reading the poetry book. Some people may find it weird that you like to stay a little bit longer at work than going back home. There’s always this thought of knowing there is someone close to you, without the need to do conversations in every millisecond, calming. When your eyes shift to your gold bronze table clock, you haven’t realized that you are pretty late, as the sky already turns dark. 

You know Hannibal is still in the office and you plan to excuse yourself before it’s getting really late. You don’t want Hannibal to drive you back home since you feel embarrassed about it. He always makes sure you arrive at home safely when you spend more time at the office or going home pretty late since Baltimore isn’t the safest place on earth. However, there is always a thought in your head that Hannibal being a little bit protective towards you, his employee because you are just a much of a klutz and he feels responsible. 

You aren’t sure what possessed you to move too quickly and it just messes up your footing. The point of your left oxford shoes hit the castor office chair. Ungracefully you trip to the floor and bring the chair with you. The falling chair let out a loud bang while you landed on your hands and knees, grimacing in pain. 

You aren’t sure when but your brain kind of mid freeze for a second. When you look up, you see Hannibal crouching down and calling your name, worried, “-- are you ok? Can you stand up?”

“I--I’m ok Dr. Lecter,” you try to stand up but you hold up your right hand in a sign of I need a minute. 

Hannibal takes care of the office chair first, putting it back in its original position. He carefully lifts you up, supporting you and letting you sit back on your office chair. “I’m sorry my dear, but I need to check?” He asks you for your permission and you quickly give him your approval. With an expert examination of his hands, Hannibal checks your knees for any swelling or visual deformity. Since your past accident, you are prone to any joint and soreness on the knees. Delicately, he gives a little pat on both your knees. “I think everything is ok, you may need to have some pain killers.”

“Thank you Hannibal.” you blurt it out. Sometimes you call him by his first name when you aren’t in office hours, although rarely.

He graces you with that smile of his, subtle yet it always makes your heart quiver, the kind of smile you infrequently see. You notice that sometimes he has his professional smile, it is short and kind of cold. The smile you always notice when he meets his colleague. You don’t know a lot of Hannibal’s friends, but when he has some impromptu meeting with Jack, you slightly witness more smirk and sometimes there’s this naughty element like he is planning something evil, although humorously.

“Wait a minute, I will drive you home.” Hannibal left you to go inside his office. 

There’s a guilt in your stomach that you feel you are being a burden to your boss. When your concentration dispersed like vivid smoke, the corner of your eyes caught the beautiful woman you have seen a couple of times visiting the office. Unlike other women who mostly visit Hannibal for a session, this woman is indeed different. 

“Ms. Bloom.” You greet her. Your smile may look blankly courteous even, but you definitely are not in the mood to give her your big smile this evening.

“You look unwell, are you ok?” 

“I-- I’m ok.” you try to answer her, less tense.

“Alana?” your eyes shift to Hannibal as he opens his door.

“Hey, Hannibal. I try to call you but I thought I might as well just drop by.”

Hannibal’s eyes divert from you to Alana, and he gives Alana a quick nod, letting her quickly enter the office. “It will be quick. Can you wait for a while?” you give him a nod and smile at him nervously.

At first you aren’t sure why you are nervous but something finally clear on your head. Maybe you are jealous. You know a lot of women near Hannibal are not only beautiful, or rich, they are also acutely intelligent. Although you aren’t rich, you aren’t that bad looking and you will not say you aren’t intelligent but when you compare yourself to someone like Alana, there will always be inferiority engraved in your mind. Not to mention that she has known Hannibal longer and better than you.

Hannibal's office door opens and Alana exits the door with Hannibal following her. “I heard what happened to you from Hannibal.” Alana stops in front of your desk and gives you her sympathetic smile. “Get well soon.” She gives you a pat on your shoulder and says her goodbye to you and Hannibal.

“Shall we?” Hannibal changes his focus towards you and you nod in agreement. Let him help you out of the office. 

***

“So…,”

“So?” Hannibal glances at you momentarily while driving, asking you to continue what you have in mind.

“Dr. Bloom is really beautiful.” your small, joyless voice continues its sentence.

“Ah...yes indeed,” Hannibal replies casually. 

Your eyes glance at the dark street. Hannibal’s office is located in a quite busy place and it’s nice to see less traffic when you get out of the area. 

“Did both of you date?” you blurt it out. Your eyes widen in horrors as you blatantly just spill out something unprofessional. “Hanni-- Dr. Lecter, I-- I-- didn’t mean to pry on your personal life.” 

Hannibal looks at you and lets out a laugh. Something really rare, something that you even have witnessed. The crinkle on his eyes when he laughs lets his somewhat cool and calm demeanor melted. It takes you sometimes to register on what just happens. 

“I’m sorry my dear, that’s just quite funny.” Hannibal stops laughing and sends you a quick smile.

“Also that might not answer your question but the answer is no, Alana and I, we aren’t dating. I’m her mentor and our relationship is more of colleagues and friends.”    

You aren’t sure why you hold your breath, but after listening to Hannibal's answer, you let out a long exhale, feeling that something heavy has been lifted up from your shoulders. 

Hannibal’s Bentley stops in front of your apartment complex. Ever the gentleman that he is, Hannibal asks you if you need help. You decline his help as if you can’t embarrass yourself enough in one day. 

“Before you go, I have something to tell you.” Like a deer caught in a headlight, you look at Hannibal. He switches on the light inside the car and pulls his bag from the backseat. He handed you several papers that looked likely to be a job application. Your eyes widen, vision blurry as a sudden tears drop from your eyes. This is it, maybe Hannibal has enough of your clumsiness. He doesn’t find you worthy as he sometimes needs to ‘babysit you’ when you do something you don’t intend to do. 

Feeling that he may be approaching this the wrong way, Hannibal tries to comfort you. You put both of your hands in front of your chest, like a shield in a defensive manner. Try to accommodate his tall frame, awkwardly Hannibal turns his body to the passenger seat and embraces you. He shushing you and pat your heads 

When your silent cry turns into a hiccup but more calmer, Hannibal pulls away from you. With a stutter, you explain to Hannibal that you understand if he doesn’t want you to work with him again and you are thankful that he’s been a very great employer to you. 

“Hey,” Hannibal swipes the tears that rolls down on your cheeks with his thumbs, “--it’s not that. Look, my dear, the reason I handed this paper to you is not that I want to fire you, but I have been pretty impatient lately.”

You look at him, eyes full of question on what the fuck he means by that? Although you don’t let it out loud because you don’t want to make any rude comment. Because Hannibal doesn’t like that.

“I’m one of those people who do not agree with office romance.” 

Office? Romance? What the hell? No one has any romance in the office, you thought. 

“I have been pretty much intent to court you,” his eyes flicker to your lips and back to your reddish eyes. “Alana came today because she wants to give me the application personally, there’s a librarian vacancy in her University and I pretty much just want to hand it to you.” Your brain wiring, try to connect the words as if you forgot how to speak English.  

“Apologize if I’m being rude my dear, but I have observed you for some time and I encourage myself to just lay it all here so I didn’t make you upset. Of course, if I am proven wrong, you can stay and still work as my secretary. No harm, the position will always be yours.” 

“Hanni-- Hannibal, does this mean that you like ‘like’ me?” 

He answers you with a quick nod and the smile that always makes your heart flutter. You try to reach Hannibal but your knee prevents you from doing such a thing. Hannibal let out a small chuckle as he finds your difficulty quite amusing. 

You eye him in disbelief but your anger melts right away as his face gets closer to yours. His right hand's cup at the side of your face as his lips inches closer towards you. With eyes close, you feel the brushes of Hannibal’s lips. The kiss is soft and delicate as if he is just testing the water. 

You let your hands sneak at the back of his collar as you seek more contact. Both of your lips slide and glide against each other. Letting out a whimper, you grant Hannibal’s tongue to slip past your lips. Teasing and flicking languidly, exploring something that makes you shudders in want. 

After some time, Hannibal withdraws his lips from yours. Eyes fluttering open, you can see Hannibal’s pupils expand. He let his foreheads rest at yours while his hand still cups on your face. “So...I believe it is a 'yes''?” There's humor in his voice. 

With a broad smile and less reddish eyes, you answer Hannibal with a confident nod and grant him another kiss on the lips.

__

As always, like, comment and reblog are really appreciated ❤️. Let me know what you think about this xo

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 5

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1591

Warnings:  Pregnancy

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 5: I do

The month that led up to the wedding went by very quickly.  We were all super busy setting up the compound to run without any of the actual Avengers there to run it, making sure the Tower was ready to move back into and making sure the hotel was ready for our wedding.  Both Natasha and Wanda had both started experiencing morning sickness, but most days they could keep it under control with ginger pills.

The doctors had arrived and were running their tests and just before we left to our private Caribbean island, they each had their first ultrasounds and we got to see their little peanut-shaped lifeforms growing inside them.  Everyone was excited and I was finally at peace with the idea that they were getting the kind of support I didn’t right from the start.

Two of Tony’s private jets took everyone to the island.  One contained us and the kids and the other took Rhodey, Happy, Jax, Clarke, Sam’s siblings, May and Peter Parker, Vision, and Hill.  That was the entirety of the group attending the wedding.  The bonding on Asgard had been the real wedding, this was just making a legal part and our honeymoon.

The honeymoon villa had been renovated to suit us specifically.  It had been there in the original hotel, with two bedrooms, a dining room, and living area, as well as its own private pool and a hidden entrance that led right out onto the beach.  The dining table went from a six-seater to a twelve-seater and the master bedroom was extended out and a bed to fit all ten of us was built specifically for it.

We didn’t separate at all the night before the wedding.  We’d already done all those traditions, and besides, we were far from traditional.  Instead, after breakfast, the men went to a different hotel room to get ready, while I had Natasha, Wanda, and a small team getting us ready for the ceremony.

Getting dressed wasn’t too hard.  We were wearing simple lace dresses.  Natasha and Wanda’s were in matching long red lace.  Both were fairly transparent, and while Natasha just wore matching lace underwear in the same shade of red as the dress under hers, Wanda wore a fitted black playsuit under hers.  My dress was white lace, loose fitted, and very short, only barely reaching past my ass if I raised my arms above my head or bent over.  It was also extremely transparent and I wore a matching white lace bra and panty set under it.

When we had our dresses on, they went about doing our hair and makeup.  Riley and Pietro were dressed and ready already and we were also keeping half an eye on them so neither would mess up their hair.  Riley had a long white lace dress on with her long blond hair in a halo braid with a crown of small white roses on.  Pietro had a similar crown that his shorter blond hair curled into, and he wore a pair of white linen pants with a white linen button-up shirt that was not tucked in over it.

“How nervous do you think Tony is right now?” I asked as the make-up artist put the finishing touches on my makeup.

“Groomzilla?”  Natasha asked.  “Three thousand.”

I laughed.  “But we already did the proper one.”

“Yes, but this is the public one,” Natasha said.  “And it’s legal.  You’re a Stark now.  Yeah, there was the prenup, but you now have him.  Legally.  He’s going to start thinking he’s going to fuck it up.  Plus you know that no matter what, it’s going to get out.  I can cloak us, but people will post photos.  Those photos are going to get out.  And even if they don’t - word will.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” I agreed and the makeup artist moved away making room for the hairstylist to put my crown of white frangipani on.  My hair was just left in loose curls that hung down my back and over my shoulders.

“Mm-hmm,” Natasha hummed getting up.  Her hair was in a half braid with small red roses worked into it.

The stylist looked me over and gave me a nod.  “I think you’re ready,” she said.

I stood and did a half-twirl.  “What do you think?”

Wanda looked up at me from where they were threading red Frangipanis into her braid.  “He’s going to cry.”

“It’s gonna make his pirate liner run,” Natasha teased.

I gigged.  “But I barely even look like a bride.”

She shrugged and they let Wanda up.  I picked up my bouquet of pale green, pink, and white tropical wildflowers and looked around.  “Do I have everything?”

“Old, new, borrowed, blue? Garters?”  Wanda asked.

“Well, I can see you’re wearing your underwear, so that’s no problem,” Natasha teased.

“I don’t have any of the other things,” I said, making a face.

“How can you have a proper American wedding without the traditional wedding things?”  Wanda asked.

I shrugged.  “I don’t like to do traditional things.  Also if I add a garter to this outfit I’ll look like a stripper.”

Natasha looked me up and down.  “Confirmed.”

I laughed.  “Thanks, Nat.”

“You’re the one that dressed as a stripper for your wedding,” she teased.

Wanda picked up the bottle of bubble mix and the little satin cushion with the rings on them, while Natasha got both of their bouquets of red and white wildflowers.

“Okay, let’s go get married,” I said.  “Come on, kiddos.”

We went down to the hidden entrance.  I could see the wedding arch standing on the sand, the men all milling around it.  In front of them were chairs set up in an aisle with our very small group of guests sitting at them.  There were threads from me to every single person there, except the staff.  It looked like a big web of light.

Wanda gave Riley her bottle of bubbles and the cushion to Piet as a staff member gave the nod to the duo on acoustic guitar and they began to play ‘Fluff’ by Black Sabbath.

“Okay, kiddos.  It’s time,” I said crouching to talk to them.  “Pietro, can you walk down to your daddies?  Not too fast, not too slow.  Go with the music.”

“Otay, mommy,” Pietro said and went through the gate and down the aisle that was laid out with petals.

When he was about halfway down I pointed Riley in the right direction.  “You next, bug.   Make sure you blow lots of bubbles for everyone but follow your brother.”

She nodded and took off after Pietro a little too fast.  I chuckled as I watched her and Wanda took her flowers from Natasha.  “See you down there, my love,” she said and kissed me gently before heading out after the kids.

I took Natasha’s hand and squeezed it a little too hard.  “Oh, so now you’re nervous?”�� She teased.

I nodded.  “Just a little.”

“It’s Tony,” she said.  “And us.”

I nodded.  “I know and we did it already.”

She looked at me with her head tilted.  “Will you be okay for two seconds?”

I nodded.  “Yes.  I’ll be okay.”

She kissed me gently and let my hand go.  “See you soon, Mrs. Stark.”

I watched her walk down and when she got to the end I stepped out through the gate.  Tony looked up at me, his eyes shimmering.  He was fidgeting a little, shifting from one leg to another and tapping his fingers on his thighs.  When I reached him I offered him my hand and he took it quickly, his hands shaking slightly.

“Hey,” I said softly and gave his hand a small squeeze.

“Hi,” he replied, just as softly.

The celebrant stepped up to us and began. “First,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’d like to begin by welcoming everyone and thanking each and every one of you for being here on this happiest of days.  It’s no accident that each of you is here today, and each of you was invited here because you represent someone important in the individual and collective lives of Tony and Elise.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of these people.  A union that has already been made, but will now be formalized in front of you, their closest friends and family.  Not just two hearts but many using these two individuals as a symbol of their group’s unity,” he said and focused his attention on Tony and I.  “This contract is not to be entered into lightly, but thoughtfully and seriously, and with a deep understanding of its obligations and responsibilities.  Tony and Elise have prepared vows that they will read now.”

Tony cleared his throat and looked into my eyes.  “I, Anthony Edward Stark, take you, Elise Frances Cooper, to be my wife.  I promise to never lock you out of my lab, especially when you’re only wearing a lab coat and nothing else.  I promise that I’ll never enact the ‘kick you out of the tower’ protocol on you and that we will get Shake Shack after every stuffy event I take you to.  I promise to make sure I cherish you every second we spend together but to make sure I let the others do that too.  Today, tomorrow, and for our forever.”

I teared up as he spoke despite the soft laughter from everyone around.  I squeezed his hands and took a deep breath.  “I, Elise Frances Cooper, take you Anthony Edward Stark to be my husband.  I promise to be patient when you get all caught up with your work and to try not to distract you from it unless I’m only wearing a lab coat.  I promise to not get all weird when you give me presents and to listen carefully when you say ‘I love you’ when you aren’t using your words.  I promise to love you with all my heart, just exactly the way you deserve so you never doubt that I am here for you and I’m not ever going anywhere.  Today, tomorrow, and for our forever.”

“Do you Tony, take Elise to be your wife?”  The celebrant said.

“Can I say maybe?”  Tony teased.  “No?  Too late?”  I giggled and pouted playfully and he caressed my cheek with his thumb.  “I do.”

“Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her until death do you part?”  The celebrant asked.

“I do,” Tony repeated.

“And do you, Elise, take Tony to be your husband?”

“I do,” I replied.

“Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him until death do you part?” He asked.

“I do,” I repeated.

“Then can we have the rings?”  He asked.

“Dat’s me!”  Pietro shouted, getting up off the ground where he and Riley had been building a mound in the sand.   He bounced over with the pillow and Tony crouched down and took it off him.

“Thanks, bumblebee,” he said, kissing his son’s forehead.  He got back up and untied the rings from the cushion and handed one to me.

“These rings are forged from precious metals taken from the earth, raw and imperfect.  They were shaped and molded into the perfect circle.  Unbroken and never-ending.  Just as the love you have for each other was rough and imperfect and was shaped and molded together to something strong and eternal.  Place them on your fingers as a symbol of your love,” the celebrant said.  Tony’s hand shook a little as he slipped the ring on my finger and while I slid his into place on his.

“By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.  You may kiss each other,” the celebrant announced.

“About time,” Tony said, pulling me flush against me and dipping me back as he kissed me deeply.  Around us, the others kissed too, and our small gathering of friends and family all cheered.

When he let me back to my feet, he held my hand tight and the celebrant held up his hands.  “I now present to you, not just the happy couple, but the full polyamorous family!”

The guitarist started to play an acoustic version of ‘Back in Black’ and we made our way back down the aisle in pairs, a legal binding now part of our family bond.

// NEXT

[jeannereames]

Dancing with the Lion already has some fanfic up. How do you feel about that?

If somebody is writing fanfiction based on Dancing with the Lion, my first reaction is…

DAMN, I’m flattered.

That something I wrote inspired somebody else to want to write in that world is pretty cool, no? All authors should be so lucky.

Same thing with fanart. Draw fanart and I might even repost it! 😊

I won’t read the fanfic, however, for two reasons.

First, I think it’d make the writers nervous to know the original author is hanging over their shoulders to check out what they’re doing. What if I don’t like your take on Kampaspe? Or Hephaistion?

Second, it protects both me and the writers, legally. The usual advice of agents to original creators is not to read fanfic (or similar) just so that there’s no question of accidental influence, especially in a world where the original creator intends to keep writing. That caution springs from the old story of Marion Zimmer Bradley (who was a deeply messed up person anyway) and the fan author who sued her for “copyright” infringement. It’s mostly passé these days, but still holds a certain thrall over agents and other legal types in publishing.

So the first point is, really, more important than the second.

I’m not spying! I promise! If folks want to write fanfic, go have fun.

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Related: fanfic of historical fiction is its own peculiar category. When I received the contract for Dancing, there was a subpoint in their boilerplate where I promised my work wasn’t a work of fanfiction with the markers removed. I struck it to be removed, because it seemed silly. Who was I potentially plagiarizing? Plutarch? Like he’ll come back from the dead to sue me? They insisted the line stay anyway, so…whatever.

But with historical fiction, I’m working with original sources that other authors can also consult. Ergo, if someone simply likes my take on Alexander, thinks it accurate, then writes a story using Plutarch or Arrian or Curtius for events, but with a similar view of Alexander… is that fanfic?

I’d say not really. It’s no different from me reading an article by Beth Carney about Olympias, deciding she has the bead on her, then using that to construct Myrtale. One’s fiction, one’s academic non-fiction…but it’s a similar principle.

BUT if someone writes a story giving Hephaistion the family I assigned him in the novels, that’s fanfiction because we know nothing about Hephaistion’s family aside from his father’s name. I made up everything else. Same thing with the character of Kampaspe. Or, say, making Kleopatra a mathematician. Those are my inventions, so borrowing them would be fanfic. I don’t have a problem with anybody doing so (kinda like the notion of mathematician Kleopatra!), I just thought it useful to clarify what’s fanfic and what’s just a similar read on actual ancient people.

Edit to add: I think ancient people with more known about them (like Alexander, Philip, or Olympias) are more subject to the “similar ideas using ancient sources.” With lesser known figures, like Kampaspe, or even Hephaistion, borrowings may be clearer. For that matter, most ANY modern fictional treatment of Bagoas as significant at the court is fanfic on Mary Renault.