#might one day make a full fledged fic of the concept

[kirishwima]

I've been thinking a lot about scarily possessive Satoru.

Not in a creepy, stalkerish way. More like...Satoru who thinks love's meant to be painful, because that's all he's ever known.

Satoru, and his thoughts of consuming the one he loves because he knows no other surefire way to keep them beside him.

He's so uneasy the moment they step away, he knows they could never be as strong as he is, could not be protected as well as they could beside him, if their body melded into his, and so he bites and nips and laps up the bloodied marks.

You think its his kink or something, but it runs so much deeper. It's his need to keep you as safe as possible yearning to keep you comfortable in his mouth because his fangs are sharper than anyone else's-and so long as you're trapped between his canines, no one will ever even think of stealing you from him.

He'll be careful, he promises-but he's clumsy with love, never knows just how hard to bite down to keep you safe, keep you near, and how much will make you bleed and pull away.

One day you try to teach him love's not about biting at all, it has no use for teeth-what it needs is gentle lips to kiss, hands to interlace, but he just laughs. He's always learnt to hold the things he loves with sharp talons and never let go. All good things leave him if his grip's not tight enough, and you? You're the one, sole thing, he'll never let go. Even if it hurts. Even if it bleeds. Since that's the only way he'll know for sure you're his.

[the-wandering-mage]

Gotham Bats ruin and save Spiderman's Operation Nest

This is like a story concept written out for a Spider-Man Batfam crossover fic I don't have the time to write fully. This is more developed than a prompt but, still is thought I'd share and maybe you guys will enjoy it and/or somebody will pick it up and develop it into a fully fledged fic. So here it goes-

A more spidery Spider-Man is dropped into a DC universe right into Gotham. It's the beginning of fall in Gotham which is a problem for a Spider seeing as he is stranded in another universe with nothing but his Spidey suit and his AI companion. He has no access to the synthesized hormone cocktail he's been taking in the winter to keep him from going into hibernation. Now Peter could get together the stuff to synthesize the medication but, he need a stable place to set up a running lab to make it as he'd need it fresh and take it on the regular. That is a lot of work and resources he'd have to come up with and maintain. Also he is a depressed boi and a long nap actually sound really good. So instead of trying to set up a lab he starts Operation Nest. He is going to find a small enclosed space and prepare it for his long winters nest.

Peter also decides pretty quickly with all the crazy dangers of Gotham and all the warnings of what Karen was able to find after connecting to this world's version of the Internet to keep the suit on and just be Spider-Man full time. The suit would keep him safe from chemical attacks and the overall pollution of Gotham as well as keep him anonymous in the very likey event he has to use his powers to defend himself. Which will let him keep a nice civilian identity that Karen crafted come spring if he chooses to.

Peter's first two objectives in Operation Nest are to get money and find a location. The first Karen helps him with easily setting up a company, then filing and selling some benign patents, since this world is really behind in tech. She also helps him get more immediate cash without crossing into stealing just by doing online commissions for simple tech support type things while the patent money is still pending. Peter gets a laptop that he uses to help with some of the tech work even though Karen can literally do five jobs at once under several fake IDs she made herself.

Most of the day for Peter however is spent looking for real estate. Which is harder in Gotham than one might think considering the rival gangs, rival super villains constantly blowing up things, and all the homeless fighting over whatever is left of the abandoned buildings. The only good thing about all this is a giant spider nest will go relatively unnoticed amongst all the other craziness. Peter's adventures running all over Gotham trying to find a place to hunker down for a couple of months cause him to run into all sorts of characters.

Peter is in a weirdly apathetic state towards himself with all his trauma so he saves people obviously, and is still empathic, maybe more so with trying to get the villians to be better people and just talking with them like real people but, he is really basley about his own safety. He has already lost everyone he cares about and he's faced down Thanos, so none of the villians at this point faze him. He doesn't see them as a threat to himself. He ends up making a bunch of friends with villains by continuing what May believed in, what Ben believed in, and helps the villains out so they can hopefully make a change.

The bats hear about him and decide to investigate but all of them get terrible first impressions and they assume he's a villain or going to be one if they don't find him. Peter is OP and scary. He's not given up his friendly neighborhood spider-man but he has stopped trying as hard to look human type of friendly. He just has slow given into being a spider and is creepy. He also leaves spider webs everywhere, since his natural ones don't dissolve like the artificial ones that he uses sparingly. This also freaks them out and there is debate on whether what they are hunting is a meta human or an intelligent spider creature. Also at least one bat at the beginning runs into one of the webs and at least one gets temporarily stuck to a criminal they are trying to free from a cocoon

By the time the bats find Spider-Man they are all convinced that he's a villain plotting something big but really they've just been stalking Peter as he completes his to do list for Operation Nest. All the dangerous equipment and suspicious purchases from villains were really to get his nest set up. Peter knew his friends had some of the stuff he needed like a cytogenetic freezer to keep some of his food from spoiling over the course of a few months since he doesn't want anyone making deliveries to his house while he's hibernating. His friends were happy to help although he still paid them despite their insistence not to.

Karen thinks it's hilarious. Although they acknowledge itd be better to just explain the situation to the bats before Peter is in active hibernation and let them find them. They totally ruin their bust by opening the doors of a small dilapidated old tailors shop in the fashion district, where Peter had set up his nest in the basement. Peter isn't happy with them feeling very territorial. He wants them not to touch anything as he shows them into his nest. He warns them and they are a bit freaked out when he hisses at them when they inevitably ignore he's instructions out of curiosity but then settle a bit when they notice how tired he is. Cass probably gets them to back off. He explains things enough so they leave him to his hibernation with the promise of hanging out in the spring.

Or alternatively. Karen is too busy setting things up she doesn't notice with her smaller processing power disconnected from Stark Tech as she is to notice the Bats noticing them. Then she is being wired into the Nest when they start getting close so, she doesn't know they are closing in. Then she is doing system checks to make sure she is able to monitor Peter when he's hibernating and can use the machines and mechanical arms to help Peter for the parts of his hibernation he will be awake or partially awake to handle his bodily needs before cocooning back into his Nest made of his natural webs and blankets.

Karen doesn't know they are there until they break her perimeter alarms and she is forced to use her defensive measures since Peter has just gone into hibernation like a day ago. The bats having more resources than Karen at their disposal and coming at her from all angles breach her defenses and get into The Nest. Karen does her best to rouse Peter with alarms blaring but she is only able to get him into a semi state of consciousness. Not enough to move him without drugging him which would be dangerous for his health and with so many coming for her charge she does her best to throw her mechanically arms in front of him to guard him where he is.

The bats once they see a sleepy confused Peter with a strange woman's voice begging them to leave him alone they feel bad realizing they judged him wrong. Especially after seeing him adorably yawn with his fangs popping out.

[thekuraning]

fic writing asks : 17 and 27, 28?

hope you’re doing well!! I’m just about to finally catch up with the latest chapter of moving on in a maelstrom (I haven’t checked my ao3 inbox for updates in a hot minute!!), thank you as ever for writing!

WASABI THANK YOU FOR SENDING im hanging in there i hope youre doing good too <3 and i hope you enjoy the latest chapter grelhbqughoeiqg

:') i talk a lot gomen

17. talk about your writing and editing process

so i'm definitely not the kind of person who sits down and outlines their story and all the plot points or does a ton of planning (kind of a bad habit probably!!) and mostly my fics comes from some broad concepts or ideas, vibes, or any sort of vivid scene I imagine up while im daydreaming on the way to work, and then I just kind of run with it. Actually I think from all the fics I've actually tried to follow an outline for in the past, only one has gotten past a handful of chapters (that would be Turning Point, which is shockingly complete!)

And like the scenes or vibes or ideas aren't always related to major plot points or anything either, they're just character moments and either a) do not need backstory to explain the situation, so they get to be a oneshot, or b) are VERY PARTICULAR about the backstory of the Scene and then they end up a full-fledged novella/novel/epic.

So like for example, I started on Maelstrom fic for a very specific scene with a very specific character--and you might expect it to be related to the main villain! Except I didn't even have a design for him until the day I sat down to write chapter 5 (which came to me in a caffeine-fueled fever dream) and wasn't even sure what his NEXT ability would be until chapter 8. Yeah he's the main antagonist. But this entire fic. This entire damn fic. Is a stepping stone. To a scene where Yuri is going insane under house arrest and Barnaby goes to visit him. And it's the funniest fucking thing in my head. Like I want to be so clear this is just an elaborate slide puzzle to a one-paragraph gag and I have no idea if the set-up is even worth it. But then once I get started writing things kind of start to fall into place like dominoes because I spend a lot of time overthinking the world building and the canon orz

Anyways as for editing uhhhh well!!! You have probably noticed!! I have SO MANY TYPOS IN MY CHAPTERS!!! My cat hears me say so many swears after chapters are posted :( I tend to be like constantly reading and rereading and editing... the first half of a chapter. The further I go the more excited I get to post! And the less I end up reading. So uhhh yeah if anyone ever goes back to read any fic I've ever posted EVER and you're like huh I don't remember that or huh I thought it was different yeah. yeah it was. I edited it 3 months later when I reread part and realized I had 15 typos, non-sequitors, and the worst sentence composition known to man OTL

27. your favorite part of the writing process

getting experimental with it! :') i like fucking around with imagery and description and pacing to try and see what kind of vibes i can squeeze out of something. actually i forget how long ago it was but i think my buddy isleofair sent an ask once where I went on a rant about what makes a slow burn a slow burn and ever since then I've REALLY wanted to try and write a slow burn that diagetically takes place in like. one or two hours. i have no idea how it would work but i think it would be really fun to try.

otherwise i think my favorite thing is like world building but through the little background details, like trying to squish in regional dialects or brands or in-universe entertainment franchises. I was really fucking proud of myself for Barnaby's Gatorade ad reel and his promotional coffee in Maelstrom lmfaooo or like getting so fucky with Proton's slang in my pokemon fics. Still trying to figure out how to write an entire oneshot about no one understanding what he means when he says "freezycaff."

28. your least favorite part of the writing process

>:( what do you MEAN I have to have a coherent plot!!! What do you MEAN I should probably plan to avoid plotholes!!! What do you MEAN i have to write through writer's block or take breaks when I burn out creatively!!!!! NO STOPPING ONLY VIBES ONLY GOOFS AND GAFFS!!! ONLY FICS!!!

On a more serious note. My least favorite part really is since I don't do a lot of planning beforehand :( sometimes all I got be them vibes, and getting from point a to point b can be like pulling teeth if I'm not like. manic. A lot of times I feel like I have a big picture with a lot of missing little pieces, and sometrimes I just can't figure out a satisfying way to get over it. Then the perma-hiatus hammer comes out UmU RIP in pepperonis dead fics from 2018.

Thank u again for sending!! <3

[amiharana]

something i LOVE abt your writing is your creativity, like you fr come up with prompts that I've never thought about or never seen other ppl apply to revalink, and it's just so refreshing to see them in unique scenarios bc it gives me new things to brainrot about 🫶 I always love seeing your new au ideas because they're just so !! much fun to read !!!! not to give spoilers abt your wips but the one you showed me for the upcoming revalink week has been living in my head RENT FREE like how do you come up with such great ideas 😫✋

also I guess this isn't your Writing but I love the way you text AJSBAJDB the way you say everything is just so funny and I aspire to text like you 😞

(ask game from here)

hi oomfie 🤍🤍 thank you for blowing up my ask box like always /gen

but yeah i make connections to media i feel is so obscure on tumblr dot com like barely anyone interacted with the post i made about revalink au based off of the k-drama 'goblin' because probably no one in these spheres really watches k-drama 😭😭 i think one oomf rb'd knowing exactly what i was talking about but it's like COME ON GUYS IMAGINE THIS SCENE WITH REVALI AS THE GUY AND LINK AS THE GIRL AND LINK PULLING OUT THE SWORD AND [redacted because spoilers if you haven't watched the drama ㅠㅠ]

just the other day i was thinking about an orpheus!revali x eurydice!link au because i was listening to 'wait for me' from the musical 'hadestown'. what about a percy jackson au with revali as a son of apollo who resents link because he gets claimed by a powerful god that no one would have ever guessed would have children. i have part of a scene drafted in my informal-concepting style of a fucking writer!link x editor!revali au. i cannot stress to you enough how insane and Not Normal i am about these two, i will stretch so far to make every connection to revalink i can, i might just get a little taller!

BUT TEEHEE i'm hoping i can get That™ Revalink fic out on time for revalink week 🥺 i stopped writing it for a bit because i got some writer's block and i felt like i was putting too much Plot for a oneshot, but we'll see how it goes! i planned some other stuff based on the prompts, but with the way this semester is going, i doubt i'll be able to write full-fledged oneshots on time for each of them so i may end up just uploading them later on after the semester is over (late may, june, etc)

LOL to that last bit, idk....... i've spent so much time on stan twitter and the internet in general i've developed a very particular way of talking. i'm someone who, if you say a certain word or phrase around me enough, i'll start adding it to my vocabulary without really thinking. like the reason why i type 'not' and 'sorry' as 'nawt' and 'sawry' sometimes? my stan twitter bestie lele (i'm not gonna tag her but she's on here as well i know ur seeing this bff i love u sm). how sometimes my emoji usages are random? also partly lele and other stan twitter mutuals who liked to use random emojis that had nothing to do with the topic because it was funny. i feel like the way i type things online expresses exactly the tone and flow i would use irl too 🤞😽

[tossawary]

Do you have one of those wips that's really elablrate but you'll never ever write itbecause it's like your personal day dream fuel? Or are you straight pen to paper when you have ideas that make your brain feel good?

I have lots of elaborate WIPs that I'll never write. (1) Some of them I won't write because I don't have the time. (2) Others I won't write also because I don't have the time, but also because they're for pieces of media and fandoms that... (I don't have the right words for this) wouldn't be rewarding to write for?

Like, yeah, some things are fun to daydream about for a while for me, but they don't always have a lot of substance. The ones without substance move on in time or I move past them, outgrowing the idea or the piece of media. I know they'd be too much work. I know that the story isn't enough to support the amount of work involved. Sometimes it's best to carve the daydream up into bits and use the good parts for something else.

If I get an idea that feels strong, with enough substance to support a story, I'll usually jot down the concept and whatever snippets of scenes came to mind. (I label all my fanfiction docs by fandom, then by pairing and concept/trope, and then also by title if one comes to mind.) Writing it down immediately means I won't forget it. If the idea continues to grow, I'll keep coming back and adding stuff. Eventually, this might turn into a ficlet or a fully fledged fic. Otherwise, I'll gut this notes doc for parts for something else. Or I'll just let it sit there, exorcised into the document, and move on.

Sometimes, I'll post the idea to Tumblr as well, to see if it grows into anything later, and to let people enjoy the concept in the meantime, whether it has serious substance or started as a joke.

I personally find it easier to write fanfiction with the acceptance that I won't be able to write everything. In the meantime, it's fine to just scribble down what comes to mind. It's also fine to post snippets of scenes to AO3 and write their context in the Author's Notes. I have a lot of random SVSSS stuff at this point. At some point, I may clean up some of my Tumblr posts into ficlet shape and move them to AO3. At some point, I may post some of my snippets to AO3 and slap the appropriate tags on to warn people it's not a full fic, will probably never be a full fic, and is up for adoption if anyone wants it.

[mae-gi-writes]

Plus One | Kevin Moon (Around The World Collab)

When your boyfriend of eight years suddenly decides to break up with you right before your destined trip for your cousin’s wedding, nothing can cure your broken heart. In a desperate attempt to make you feel better, Kevin states that he will be your plus one.

Genre: little angst, fluff, friends to lovers. 

This fic is part of a collab “Around The World”, featuring different countries x the boyz members. I had the utmost pleasure of working with such an amazing group of talented writers for this project, so please don’t forget to check out their works too! ^^ <3 

This fic is takes place on Mauritius Island. 

Word count: 9k IZ A LONG ONE SO BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS

Tagging: @aniyawoos​ @chaoticdeobi​ @moondustaeil​ @juyeonzz​ @atbzkingdom​ @2hyunjae​ @jopping-to-my-kpop @jeongsinkookie @ihearttbz​ @heartyyjeno​ @bahnmi07 @sadlandia​ @itsquxxn​

-----------

Eight years, gone just like that. 

I stare at a spot on my navy blue suitcase, not really focused on what’s before me and more concerned about the memories flickering past  my lids. I can’t help it. Everytime I see luggage, it makes me think of the way I kicked him out of my life. Everytime, a slab of pain will grab my heart between its icy fingers and squeeze it so that I can barely breathe. Everytime, until I feel like I’m drowning inside dark waters without the real desire to swim to the surface. 

My psychiatrist told me that it had been for the better. That it had been an obsessive, unhealthy kind of love in the first place. But was it better now that I couldn’t even feel my heart in the hollow space where it’s supposed to be? 

“Y/N.” 

Still, I remember the messages on his phone, the way his touch would feel strange, eerily hollow for some reason, the way he’d avoid my eyes whenever he’d tell me that he was going out with the guys. I remember smelling his coat and recoiling at the cheap scent of perfume clinging to it like second skin, how he’d constantly tell me how wonderful I was-- too wonderful for him -- and that I should find better, that I didn’t deserve someone like him.

And then, when I’d stumbled into our flat a little earlier than I was meant to -- since my gym class had been cancelled -- and took note of the trail of shoes, followed by a coat, a shirt, a thong, before my ears picked up on the noises echoing from the bedroom doors…

“Y/N?” 

His face when he spotted me, the astounded expression like a dog that had just been caught sneaking into the pantry. And the girl, a prettier woman, a curvy woman, with red lips and with those beautifully deep red wine locks tumbling down her back with the perfect physique that could make any man drool. That girl, who was none other than one of my good friends at work and who had spent most part of the year listening to my rants about him. 

“Y/N!”

“Huh?” My head whips up when I register my name being called out, looking up to see a raven-haired, petite-faced man leaning against the bedroom doorway with raised brows and a concerned expression on his face. 

“Oh, you’re here,” I say, as he crosses the doorway and sits beside me. The bed dips down under his weight as he tilts his head in that knowing manner of his, “daydreaming again?” 

“No,” I mumble, but he sees right through my facade and with a sigh, his arms wrap around my shoulder before pillowing his head against my shoulder. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs as I allow myself to lean back against him, against his comfort. His lavender scent wraps around me, a little bed of comfort amidst all the pain. 

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I murmur, tears stinging the corner of my eyes, “it hurts, Kev.” 

He only holds me a little closer, a little tighter.

If there is one person that I can trust more than myself, it’s Kevin Moon. I’ve known Kevin ever since high school, having hung out in the same friend group until we had become partners for an art project. It was only then that we’d become closer, and had been close ever since. With his angular features and almond mono lidded eyes and thin lips that were constantly shaped in a pout, the Korean-born man had moved to Canada when he was young, just like I had a few years ago. He had kept me afloat during my university days, I had comforted him through his first break up. He had been present during my final Fine Arts Photography Exhibition, I was up all night coming up with re-branding concepts for his design project. Overall, Kevin had pretty much been a constant in my life, you get the gist of it.

When he found out that my boyfriend had cheated just a few days before our destined trip to attend my cousin’s wedding -- mind you, I had been sobbing waterfalls and it was a miracle he even understood me through my blubbering mess -- he had half a mind to storm up to the guy and rip his throat out. But he did the most surprising thing; booked a ticket for himself and turned up at my flat on the eve of the departure, stating that he was going to accompany me to that wedding, whether I liked it or not.

My cousin, Emma, was getting married right where home was: Mauritius. The memories I once had of the small island nestled right in the Indian Ocean on the right of Madagascar, was of my grandma’s comforting food, the sea scented air that washed along with the too-white sandy beaches, the multitudes of merchants selling all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables on the side of the road, and small corner stores that looked like they had come out of a 1960’s movie. People liked to claim that Mauritius was paradise on earth, and in a way, it is.

“Come on,” Kevin had nagged when I shook my head adamantly. He’d wriggled his plane ticket before my nose, “you’re not going to let that loser spoil such a happy event are you? Emma’s waiting for you!” 

In the end, he’d won. Which is why we are here, staying at my cousin, Emma’s, apartment in a village called Moka, located at the foot of a mountain and has an abundance of forestry adorning the sides of the road. It's chilly here, in comparison to the harbourfront, and constantly smells like fresh rain and has a gentle fresh breeze blowing through.

“You know, assholes like him are not worth thinking about,” Kevin says now, his arm a gentle soothing caress up and down my back, “your brain might rot.” 

I can’t help but let out a soft, choked up laugh.

“It’s our first day here, let’s not ruin it by thinking about him, hm?” Kevin continues soothingly and I nod in agreement. He’s right. I’m just wasting time by reliving memories that I should be banishing from my mind. 

“Okay!” he brightens up then, “where shall we go? The sea? The market? Or do you want to go eat?!” 

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

The first few days are about meeting up with family and rediscovering Mauritius for what it is. Emma gives me a full-fledged hug the moment I open the door to her house, pressing me close to her with such motherly warmth that it takes everything in me not to break down right then and there. I greet my uncles and engage in small-talk with my aunts, help my grandma out in the kitchen as she continuously asks me why I’ve gotten so thin. While I know the main reason, I decide to smile and spare her the details, as embarrassing as it is. 

No one mentions him, until one of my uncles slips during a conversation with Kevin, “so you’re Y/N’s boyfriend. Such a pleasure to meet you! We’ve heard so much about you that we started thinking she was just making things up.” 

“Er--” Kevin reddens, “I--” 

“So how did you two meet?”

It is at this very instant that my mouth decides to move on its own and I blurt out, “we’re high school friends.” 

“Oh highschool sweethearts! How cute!” 

Kevin doesn’t fail to mention what a mistake I’ve made to lie to my entire family to save face.

“I feel guilty,” he says as we walk out to the car, keys dangling from my wrist. 

I unlock the car, “it’s fine. We’ll be in and out before they know it. They don’t have to know anything.” 

“Hm, sure.” 

After some well-deserved family time, Kevin and I decide to head to the west of the island to catch the sunset, my camera stuffed neatly in the backseat, where Kevin has tossed a few spare towels just in case. We each have donned our swimsuits for the occasion and it doesn’t take an expert to see the excitement thrumming through Kevin’s veins as he sits beside me like an excited child in the passenger seat. 

“I never realized that you guys drive on the left side of the road,” he comments, head whipping back and forth in-between the passage of cars. 

“Yeah, it takes some getting used to, especially if you’re crossing,” it is then that I notice that there is a newly built mall as we turn left at the green light, “hey, that’s new. I’ve never seen this before.” 

“Cas-ca-velle,” he mumbles out with that strong accent of his. He is definitely not one to know French and I’ve been acting as his translator all along, considering that my family speaks French at home, “what does that mean?” 

“Beats me. It’s just a fancy name for a new shopping mall,” I peer into its parking lot, “wanna visit?” 

“Whatever floats your boat, honey. I’m all in.”

The mall is longer than it is wide, with white archways decked with wooden-style roofs that give way to an open-plan exterior. A wide beige cemented pathway occupies the space, with shops lined on either side. 

“I never realized, but you guys are very multicultural,” comments Kevin as we pass by another family of four chattering quickly in a mixture of French and Creole. 

“We’re similar to Canada that way.” 

“Do you miss it here?” 

My eyes glance over at him, notice the soft empathy in his expression.

“I guess I do sometimes,” I say while I kick at a stray pebble, “It’s like homesickness. But in a way I can’t quite explain,” after a moment, I ask, “do you miss Korea?”

“The food, mostly,” he grins bashfully, “my halmeoni makes a killer gamja tang.” 

“Let’s go visit her one day.”

“Is that a promise?” he asks as I shrug, “if you want it to be.” 

It’s a little past six when we drive up to the Flic En Flac beach and as we gather our things, my eyes light up upon falling on a nearby roti stand. I quickly slap Kevin’s arm in my bout of excitement. 

“Ouch! What? What is it?” 

“Kevin, you’re not going to believe this,” I point at the stand in question, “this roti stand? It’s the best roti in Mauritius. Here, take this,” I don’t wait before shoving my bag and camera in his arms, “I’m gonna buy us some. You go and find us a spot on the beach.” 

“But--” 

I don’t wait for him to finish his sentence before taking off, greeting the merchant who is just about to be wrapping up to ask whether I can get two rotis with ‘cari saumon’ (roughly translated into salmon curry mixed with indian spices), local and freshly made. The smell wafts through the folded paper wrappers as I grab them. They smell just like my childhood, where everything had just been as easy as having rotis by the beach without a care about the future that is to come. It’s nostalgic and I can’t help the smile tugging up my mouth at the thought. 

Kevin is already settled atop a pair of spare towels and looks up at the sound of my footsteps approaching. I pass him one of the paper wrappers and he takes a peek, confusion flitting across his face. 

“This smells spicy,” he mutters loudly enough for me to hear, “it looks like naan bread.” 

“It is,” I agree, “except it’s flatter and more like a crepe.” 

Throwing me a hesitant glance, he takes a small bite. I watch his face go from confused to impressed in a few seconds, before his eyes whip up to mine, “woah, this is good.” 

“Told you so.” 

“But this is really, really good,” he can’t help but marvel at it and laughing, I proceed to dig into my own roti, allowing my mouth to be filled with that salty fish taste melting along my tastebuds, the curry spices giving it the nice tangy kick you wouldn’t find anywhere else. The roti is soft and practically melts on my tongue and I can’t help but moan at how good it is. 

“God, this is everything I’ve been looking for my whole life,” I find myself telling him, wrapped up in momentary bliss, “this, this is everything.” 

I can feel his eyes on me, so intense that my own flicker up in question. He drops his gaze the moment I do and I frown, confused. 

“What?” I can’t help but ask, wondering why he suddenly seems so meek, so shy and awkward, “what is it?” 

“Nothing,” he replies like he’s trying to be casual, except that it’s anything but. When he gazes back at me, I notice the warmth in his maroon eyes, more the color of caramel in the dim light from the sunset basking his profile in a golden glow, “I think--I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you so happy, since...” 

He doesn’t need to continue, for I know where this is going. Indeed, this is the first time in many months that I haven’t paid any attention to the hole inside my heart. 

And it feels good.

“Yeah,” I murmur as I watch the sun settle on the ocean’s horizon, fire kissing water, “I don’t know, I just feel like this is nice. Like it’s right.” 

I spare him a glance from the corner of my peripheral and watch him shift. His sleeveless shirt slips, allowing me a glimpse of the naked skin underneath. I quickly look away, slightly embarrassed at the notion of even thinking of him in such a way. 

“That’s how you should be, Y/N,” Kevin murmurs back just as softly. It’s almost like talking too loudly will break the sudden spell that has settled over our shoulders. He takes a sip of his beer before continuing, “you’ve suffered enough for someone who deserves nothing but shit for what he’s done.” 

There’s a small pause as I digest his words. Then, I manage to murmur out, “thanks, Kevin.” 

“No problem.” 

Another small bout of silence ensues, covered up by the sound of the ocean roaring up the sand, distant birds chirping in the fading light of the sunset drowning into the now orange-flecked waters. 

“Hey Y/N.” 

I glance at him. He’s gorgeous, even more so somehow. Maybe it’s the time of the day, maybe it’s the mood, or maybe it’s the way my heart can’t help but be swallowed in gratefulness whenever I look at him.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you know water has memory?” 

I choke on my beer, “do not-- and I mean this-- do not quote Frozen with me.” 

“Huh, I tried.” 

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

“So, Kevin huh?” 

My eyes shoot up to meet Emma’s in her crusty-dust-filled mirror, presently lounging on her bed and flipping through a book as I had been trying on my bridesmaid gown. Kevin is downstairs, helping out with the barbeque grill with the rest of the family, and it is only now that I get to have some alone time with the woman I consider my sister. 

She’s the only one that knew the exact details of my breakup, and that Kevin is only a mere replacement to cover my humiliated ass. I remember her trying to calm me down when I had called in a frenzy, practically hyperventilating because of the amount of pain that gripped at my heart and was choking me of all air. 

I revert my eyes back to the dress, a baby blue as bright as a summer sky, and smooth my hands down my sides, “he’s been so good to me, ever since…” I can’t finish the sentence, voice already wobbling at the thought that comes with it.

“Hey,” Emma’s murmur causes me to look up, and in her eyes I see a flicker of understanding, “he’s not worth it.” 

“I know,” I swallow back the tears crawling up my throat, “I know, it’s just--a hard pill to swallow.”

A hand comes to a rest at my elbow, before my cousin tucks her chin atop my shoulder, “it’ll be alright, Y/N. He doesn’t deserve you." 

I nod. Then, just to change the subject so that I don’t break down in her arms, I gesture towards the dress, “so? How does it look?” 

Emma tugs at some pieces here and there, rearranging the fabric as she sees fit, “I think it looks good. You look gorgeous. Kevin will swoon, for sure.” 

“It’s not like that,” I hurriedly say as I strip out of the dress and put it back on its hanger, “we’re just friends.” 

“Mhm,” she throws me a pointed look, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “'just friends' doesn't feel right..” 

“Emma, really? Right after my breakup?” 

“He came to Mauritius just for you Y/N,” she squeezes my shoulders comfortingly, “doesn’t that count for something?” 

“Well, we’ve been friends since high school so…”

“I don’t think just any friend in high school would do such a thing if I asked,” Emma catches my eye in the mirror, her gaze deep and meaningful, “just think about that.” 

I just nod in hopes that she’ll stop yapping away at my nonexistent relationship with Kevin, whatever that means. The hole in my heart is still so raw and filled with pain that I can’t even start thinking about another relationship. The thought alone is enough to drain me of all energy and I decide to brush it off for now as I follow Emma out in the backyard now filled with familiar chatter and the smell of cooked meat wafting through the air, with the sky bruising a soft purple to signal the end of a long summer day. 

Catching sight of Kevin as I bring out one of the many salad bowls that my family has prepared, my lips can’t help but twitch into a slow smile when I see him by the grill, whipping away the multitudes of flies zipping back and forth as my other cousin deftly flips the sausages upside down with a trained rhythm that only years of experience can bring. 

“Kevin! You’re not doing your job right!” my cousin cries playfully. Kevin attempts to flap the newspaper around while screeching, “oh god, my eyes are burning!"

“Someone bring more meat!” My cousin hollers. 

“There’s more?!” 

“He’s doing a great job,” my grandmother’s voice brings my attention back to the salad bowl in my hands, and I quickly bend to kiss her cheek as she continues, “better than any of your other cousins. They never help out.” 

“That’s because you pamper them too much, grandma,” I grin at her and follow her to the dining table where my aunts are already settling down amongst themselves. 

The evening passes by with good food and good company, the sky darkening and dotting with a veil of stars that has Kevin gawking in awe. I'm not surprised, you don't see skies like that anywhere, a sky that isn't so intoxicated with modern chemicals. My uncles take it upon themselves to introduce Kevin to all the types of Mauritian delicacies, such as chickpea fritters we call 'gato pima', small balls of graped choko vegetable and minced pork 'niouk yen', and to top it all off, a plate of cornmeal pudding also known as 'pudine mai' that makes Kevin's eyes go wide with surprise.

"This is dessert?" He holds it up in his hand, "with ...cornmeal?"

"Sure is," one of my aunts chime in with a smile, "made it just this morning."

It's past midnight when we get back to our little apartment with Emma's dress hanging off my arms, which Kevin doesn't hesitate to grab from my hold despite my protests. 

"It's fine dude," he flashes me a quick smile, albeit tired, and my heart does this weird little squeeze in my chest at his thoughtfulness. 

He's kind. Too kind. I really don't deserve someone like him. 

"I'm sorry," I say as we settle onto the small couch, shoulders fitted snugly against each other, "my family is kinda overwhelming."

"No no," Kevin looks over, edges of his lips curled up, "I actually love your family, you know."

My chest warms, "thanks."

There is a moment of silence that we enjoy, the day's events sinking into my bones. 

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hm?"

My eyes slide over to catch his, dark pools glimmering with a certain softness that catches my attention. 

I bite my lip. It suddenly feels a little warm.

"What is it?" I ask, voice hoarse.

"Is oreo a sandwich?" 

I sit up so suddenly that I jostle him, "wait--what?"

He grins up at me with that little nose scrunch that I can't help but find endearing, "is oreo a sandwich?" I open my mouth to answer but he beats me to it, "is cereal a soup?"

"Stop."

Reclining back to lace his hands at the back of his head, he says, "is ketchup a smoothie?" 

"Stop it."

"What about hotdogs? Are they sandwiches?" He continues in a singsong voice and rolling my eyes, I make a move to punch him once more. But he's faster, hand shooting out to hold my wrists. He pulls me over and I stumble, knee pressing against the side of his leg. 

"Come on. Answer it," he wriggles his eyebrows.

"Nope."

“Don’t be a party pooper.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

"Are you sick of me yet?" His face is so close that I notice the creases at the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

"That's an understatement."

"But really, do you think oreo is a sandwich?"

"No! Oreos are just oreos!"

“You’re no fun,” He pouts before finally releasing his hold. I draw back with a roll of my eyes, settling beside him once more and pillowing my head onto his shoulder.

Emma’s right. Kevin had sacrificed so much to be here with me, and he doesn’t even know Emma. Yet, he immediately dropped everything so that he could be my plus one, so that I wouldn’t have to face the music alone. The thought makes my heart swell with emotion and suddenly I’m all too aware of his presence beside me. 

I shift to gaze at him, eyes tracing the curve of his nose, the indent above his lips before I whisper, “hey Kevin.” 

“Hm?” 

“Why’d you come?” 

His eyes flicker over to mine then. A heartbeat passes. For a moment, I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat suddenly throbbing a little too loudly in my chest. 

“Good question.” 

Another pause. 

“That’s not an answer,” I laugh slightly, to show that it’s all just fun and games.

But when I catch his eyes next, there’s something else brimming in them. They’re tender with emotion and it catches me so off guard that I almost don’t catch his next set of words:

“Because I care about you.” 

My heart gives a quick lurch but I somehow can’t tear my gaze away. I want to say something. Anything. 

But all I can muster is a soft, “oh.” 

“Why do you ask?” he asks, voice hoarse.

I hesitate, “Emma asked why. And...I guess I wanted to know too.” 

“Oh.” 

The air feels heavy, heightened with the things that are threatening to slip off the edge of my tongue. A mixed series of ‘but why’s and ‘can’t you tell me more’ jumbling up my thoughts with so many possibilities that I decide to stay quiet for the sake of not ruining the moment. Because there’s this lingering fear that once I do say something, then it’ll just pull me down a rabbit hole that I can’t crawl out of, that the only escape lies on the other side.

And I don’t know if I want to take that leap yet. My heart is already so fragile with the aftermath of a love that went wrong. I don’t know how much more I can take. 

So I just stay quiet and let out a soft sigh, and though Kevin shifts as if he wants to say something, he doesn’t. The question just hangs there between us, in-between the slithers of moonlight and in the cold Moka air, like a perpetual ghost we ignore as we drift off to sleep.

----------

Something shifts between us after that. It’s unspoken of, but suddenly, I am all too aware of Kevin as a whole. Things that I hadn’t noticed before surface as we spend most of our free time visiting the rest of the island; like how he loves ruffling his hair whenever he feels uncomfortable, or the way his bicep curls as his arm drapes over the wheel with the barest hint of muscle that is enough to be attractive yet subtle, or how he smirks in that attractive way of his whenever he thinks something is undeniably adorable. 

The good thing about having Kevin is that I don’t get to think of him all too much, which is a blessing in itself. It’s been days since I’ve shed another tear and for that, I have to say I’m glad that I’m making progress.

We spent the last few days before the wedding traveling around the island to visit all the touristy spots that I know Kevin will enjoy, like a hike all the way to the top of Le Morne mountain, where I explain that’s where slaves would throw themselves off when their masters would find them. We visited Bois Cheri, a tea-making factory where Kevin had the pleasure of tasting all different kinds of teas cultivated in the fields below, and ate lunch on the Caudan Waterfront as we gazed at the boats lulling along the harbour. 

“Woah, this place makes me feel like I’m in Aladdin somehow,” Kevin’s mouth is wide agape as his eyes try to take in the endless racks of stands selling fresh fruits and vegetables of the day. The Port-Louis Bazaar has always been one of my favourite places to visit, but it’s also one of the busiest. Even now as we attempt to squeeze our way through, people are jostling us here and there, causing me to press my bag to my chest in case any pickpockets are nearby. I prompt Kevin to do the same. 

“Hey Y/N, I wanna check out the bags over there,” Kevin motions towards the hand-woven baskets situated at the far end of the market and I nod as we keep moving forward with the crowd like a pair of salmons trying to swim upstream. But there’s so many people, it’s so suffocating that it gets hard to keep up with Kevin’s figure. Someone elbows my shoulder and I groan, stumbling to the side in irritation, only to get pushed forward by another. 

“Seriously--” I curse under my breath, when a hand suddenly appears before my eyes.

Looking up to see Kevin’s outstretched arm, I am only greeted with his bashful smile and averted eyes. 

“Come on,” he doesn’t even wait for my consent before slipping his palm over my own and tugging me along, his hold firm and strong despite his skinny frame and the action is enough to render a flurry of butterflies soaring over my stomach. 

Stop, I try telling my subconscious. That does nothing, however, to stop my neck from tingling with unfamiliar heat. 

Kevin’s hand feels so warm. It’s comfortable, safe. 

And I’m liking it a little too much.

He doesn’t let go when we reach the desired stand and talk over which bag looks the best and keeps his hand in mine for the entirety of our journey back to the car. Only when I unlock the doors that his palm finally drops from my hold and air rushes over my palm that is now a little too cold without his warmth. But while a multitude of questions are burning the back of my throat, they fall apart halfway through at the thought of his answer, before I decide to drop it altogether. 

Kevin, on the other hand, doesn’t seem the least bit affected. 

When the day of the wedding finally rolls around, I drive my car to Emma’s after a quick breakfast that Kevin surprised me with -- to my surprise, he’d managed to make a decent eggs and toast without burning the place down -- so that I can help her get into her gown and more importantly so that she doesn’t run away, lest her mind goes in a frenzy at the thought of tying the knot. 

“You’ll be fine,” I reassure her, teasing a few of her curls so that they slip down to her chest in a perfect wave. She looks stunningly beautiful, with her strapless white dress that shimmers with diamonds in the light with every movement she makes. 

I reach out to smooth over her veil so that it falls on either side of her face, frames her perfectly, and notice her big brown eyes staring back at me through her vanity mirror. 

“You look beautiful,” I can’t keep the awe from my voice. 

Her face blossoms into a smile, “you too.” 

“Ah come on, you can’t say that to me on your wedding day,” I shove her playfully on the shoulder, “you’re the star of the show. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.” 

“Okay mom,” she rolls her eyes before changing the subject, “So, how have things been? With Kevin?” My hands freeze in mid-action, “It’s good.” 

I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s giving me a pointed look.

I sigh, “well, okay. Maybe you’re right. About the whole…’just friends’ thing not being true.” 

“Why?” she straightens up, turns to me, “what happened? Did you kiss? Did he make a move--” 

“No we didn’t kiss,” I’m quick to answer as my cheeks heat up. And after a few beats of hesitation, I give her a summary; the way he’d looked at me that night with eyes that held so much in them that it had made my chest swell, the way that he’d snitch glances at me whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention, and the fact that he’d grabbed my hand and didn’t let go even long after the crowd wasn’t an issue anymore. 

Emma’s eyes are wide and sparkling with a feeling that I know all too well, I can practically see the cogs turning in her head and quickly shook mine in rapid retaliation, “Emma, no.” 

“But--But he’s perfect for you!” she bellows in protest, “What do you mean ‘no’?!” 

“I can’t go there. Not after,...not now, it’s too soon…” 

She rolls her eyes, “it’s not like he’s asking you to marry him, christ’s sake. He likes you, and I feel like you’re only trying to deprive yourself because you feel like it’s not right.” 

“It’s not right--”

“Who says so?” she cuts me off then, her gaze hardening on mine with such intensity it takes everything in me not to flinch back, “who says it’s not right? It doesn’t matter if it’s after two days, two weeks, two months. You think I don’t know how it feels to be heartbroken? You can’t just keep thinking about the past. You’re going to hurt yourself that way.” 

My teeth sink down onto my lower lip, her words like ice-cold knives aimed straight at my chest. 

“What you can control, right now, is the present, Y/N.” 

“I know,” I mumble out half-heartedly.

“I can see it, you know, the way he looks at you,” she shakes her head, “even if you don’t like him back, you gotta be aware of all that he’s done for you.” 

Her hands find their way to mine, enclosing them in her grasp before squeezing them with such care that I can’t stop the tears crawling up the back of my throat. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs next, “I don’t want to pressure you if that’s not how you feel. That--That was not my intention,” her eyes latch onto mine, filled with understanding, “I just want you to be happy.” 

Happy. 

That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. 

“Don’t you dare cry now,” Emma says while waving her hands around in warning, “you’re going to ruin your makeup and we definitely don’t want that.” 

I sniffle, trying my best to hold in the tears now brimming through my eyes, “you’re right,” I attempt to smile, albeit it’s wobbly, “we don’t.” 

“Come here,” she tugs my arm so that I fall into her embrace. Her head finds her way to my shoulder and she hugs me tight, not caring that her veil is getting all bunched up and wrinkled, “you’ll be okay,” she whispers, one hand stroking my back, “you’ll be just fine, little one.” 

Then, pulling back and pushing a few strands away from my face, she flashes a bright smile, “we should probably head to the church soon.” 

----------

“We now declare you, Vincent and Emma, as husband and wife.” 

The church explodes in a round of applause and I join in the clapping, furiously trying to keep the tears of joy at bay. Vincent has been there for Emma ever since they met at work and it has been the most beautiful love story ever since; filled with the purest kind of love no one can imagine. Beside me, I feel Kevin’s hand coming to squeeze my shoulder in a reassuring manner and I feel warm all over despite the rush of emotion in my heart. 

The wedding reception is to take place at a fancy restaurant overlooking the harbourfront. Our family has booked the venue for the evening, and as I enter, I take in the baby blue veils that come down each corner of the restaurant, sprinkles of glitter here and there as we make our way to our assigned tables that each have a baby blue napkin shaped in swans. 

I don’t even have time to place my butt down when I hear a voice call out, “Y/N! Look how big you’ve gotten!” 

Of course, big wedding ceremonies only mean that we get to meet all of our extended family that we haven’t seen since forever, and they’re all too happy to chat with me about living overseas. Soon enough, I’m bustled off to a table and look back over my shoulder to mouth a quick “I’m sorry” to Kevin. Bless his soul, for he only smiles and shakes his head, his hand motioning for me to go on.

I manage to catch up with cousins I haven’t seen since I was a little girl, talk over appetizers with excited aunts who want to know all about how it feels like to live away from family for such a long time, and nod along to the old uncles trying to get me to give a concrete answer about when and where will my wedding take place. 

“Come on Y/N! You’re the next one after Emma for sure,” one of my uncles bellow, face flushed red as a result of the glasses of wine he has downed like water. He is Emma’s father, no surprise that he’ll want to get drunk from happiness and pride. It is his daughter’s wedding after all. 

He leans close with a conspiratorial look in his eyes, “so tell me,” his eyes glance over to Kevin, currently deep in conversation with another one of my distant aunts. I watch as he says something to make her laugh, and something inside my chest warms at the action, “is he the lucky guy that’s going to ask for your hand?” 

“Do you think he’s the one?” another uncle pipes up. 

I purse my lips and attempt to shrug, “it’s early days,” I try laughing it off although it sounds forced, “who knows what can happen.” 

“He’s a good kid,” an aunt says, “you know how we all have this sixth sense? Well Y/N, I have a good feeling about this young man. Don’t let him go. Something tells me he’s a keeper.” 

A wild imaginative speculation, considering that we’re not even dating. But I nod along and say that yes, I’ll tell them whenever I decide to tie the knot.

It’s only when the dance floor opens and people start pooling onto the dance floor after the first dance -- led by no other than the bride and groom themselves -- that I finally allow myself to breathe. I find my way back to my chair, back to Kevin’s warm smile flashing in my direction as his eyes take in the fatigue lining my face. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” is the first thing he tells me the moment I plop my butt onto my designed seat, the one that’s been kept cold ever since I stepped foot into the dining hall. 

I gratefully accept the glass of wine he offers me, swallowing it down in a few gulps, “thanks,” I sigh with relief, “I needed that.” 

“How was catching up with family?” 

“It couldn’t be as bad as being left behind,” I peer over at him, guilt flooding me at the prospect of having left him all alone, “sorry. It’s just that everyone--” 

“Oh stop that,” Kevin nudges my shoulder with his, “don’t be sorry. It’s totally normal. I’m happy for you. And I wasn’t left behind. I had a wonderful time talking to your aunt. She seemed so happy to tell me what your childhood was like.”

“Bet you liked that, didn’t you?” 

“Hey, it works as blackmail. Why wouldn’t I like that?” 

“Dork.” 

“You’re friends with this dork.” 

“Oh piss off,” I slap his shoulder playfully in retaliation, causing him to laugh softly as we watch couples glide across the dance floor like swans over water. The lights have dimmed, the yellow hues now replaced by soft cool blues and purples that cause Emma’s dress to shimmer every time she turns. She’s absolutely stunningly beautiful, and the way she and Vincent are gazing at each other just scream of pure love that wraps around them in a golden mist so enchantingly beautiful that I find myself catching my breath in the back of my throat. 

“She’s so beautiful,” the words fall from my mouth without meaning to, and I feel Kevin’s eyes on my face from the corner of my peripheral.

“You are too.” 

I bite my lip and narrow my eyes at him playfully, “thanks, but why do I have a feeling that this isn’t a compliment?” 

“It isn’t,” he holds my gaze, “it’s just the truth.” 

Emotion lodges at the back of my throat. I stare at him. He stares back, a glimmer of tenderness echoing through the dark pools of black, his whole expression relaxed into a face that appears flooded with affection for--

Me. 

For some reason, no words seem to come to me as I open my mouth and close it. Embarrassment slowly bubbles through my stomach. I look away, unable to contain the goosebumps suddenly exploding across the back of my neck with that same familiar uncomfortable sensation I keep getting around him these days. Like I’m standing atop a cliff and preparing myself to jump.

“Wanna dance?” 

I blink in surprise, before turning to the said young man beside me who has his head cocked to the side with that same expression. My heart can’t help but squeeze inside my chest before I push down the rising protest searing through my brain. 

I nod. And off we go onto the dance floor. His hands settle on my waist, mine atop his shoulders in a casual sling. There’s enough distance between our bodies to show that we’re not together and yet, I can’t deny that electrical tension that keeps on pulling me towards Kevin like a magnet. I wonder if he feels it too, that searing heat that is so palpable I can feel sweat break out from the back of my neck. Asking, though, would mean that I’m aware of what’s happening, asking would imply that I want something to happen.

Maybe I do. 

Maybe I do want to grab life by the reins myself and steer it wherever I want it to go. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

I blink. Right up into Kevin’s brown orbs, his hair catching the shades of blue from the disco balls. My throat runs dry. 

“Uh--” my mind tries to scramble for a response, any response, “just--uhm, it’s kind of like our last day here.” 

He cocks his head, “sad?” 

“Kinda. I like it here,” my eyes brush over Emma and Vincent’s forms in the vicinity, catch my grandma sitting at one of the tables, little cousins running all over the place. Then, I look back at the said young man gazing at me with that undecipherable look in his eyes that makes my heart sing, and try not to squirm as I continue softly, “it feels like home.” 

“We can always come back,” he uses ‘we’ as though it’s now an adventure kept between the two of us, a secret to our own little neverland that nobody knows about. I can’t help but smile at the thought. 

“Do you want to come back?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? Hell yeah I want to come back. The views are amazing, the food is out of this world, and your family has been really kind to me.” 

“I’m sorry, they are kind of overbearing when you first get to know them.” 

“I love it,” Kevin says seriously, “I love that they’re overbearing. Couldn’t have asked for anything more.” 

If I had any doubts, the sincerity dripping from his eyes is enough to wipe out any suspicions left from his compliment. The sudden urge to hug him rocks through me and my hands fist on the back of his shirt in response. 

We keep on dancing silently, bobbing from one foot to another for a few minutes more before he speaks up softly. 

“Y/N?” 

“Hm?” 

“I wouldn't mind getting married here.” 

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “really now?” 

“Yup,” he grins, “really.” 

“Your future wife will have me to thank for that.” 

“Maybe my future wife won’t have to thank you.” 

There it is. That same borderline flirting that’s been happening for days on end. 

“And why is that?” I probe, partly just to tease him, and partly because I just want to know.

“Maybe she might be right here, in this room.” 

“Didn’t know you were into one of my cousins,” I start looking around the room, only for one of his hands to cup my cheek to turn my face back to his. 

There is none of that teasing glimmer now. His eyes are darker, gazing down at me with such emotion that the breath catches in the back of my throat and the air halts in my lungs. We gaze at each other for a few beats longer, before I feel his thumb graze my cheek. Gently, so gently like he’d stroke a flower petal. 

Swallowing at the heat of his hand cupping the side of my face, my hands unconsciously tighten on the back of his neck. He senses my nervousness, but only pulls me slightly closer so that we are mere millimeters from each other, noses hovering over each other in a space that causes my heart to stutter inside my chest. 

When he opens his mouth next, his alto is hoarse, pent-up with emotion. 

“I wasn’t talking about your cousins.” 

My heart practically jumps to my throat, teeth biting onto my lip. 

I can’t hear the music, nor the people. I can’t hear anything except for my pounding heart and Kevin’s soft breaths washing over my face. 

His eyes search mine and we hold gazes for a moment too long.

“Y/N?” 

I press my lips together, “Y-Yes?” 

He moves even closer then so that his nose brushes mine in the most intimate of ways. 

“I--” 

“Y/N! I was looking all over for you!” 

We spring apart like we just got burnt just in time for one of my cousins to grab onto my arm. He sends an apologetic smile at Kevin, before explaining, “we just need to sort out the takeaways. She’ll be back in a second!” 

And without listening to my protests, he proceeds to drag me away from the said young man on the dancefloor. I look back, mouthing an ‘I’m sorry” once more -- it’s the second time that night!-- and see the raven-haired man laugh good-naturedly before shaking his head and waving me away. That does nothing to keep my heart from cartwheeling out of my chest, swelling up with such affection that I grin back despite the earlier predicament. 

One thing’s for sure: I’m not done talking with Kevin Moon yet. 

----------

I find him sitting alone in the tiny garden that overlooks the decorated pavillon a few hours later. His figure, illuminated by the soft yellow hues of interior light, seems to glow in the dark, the moon bouncing off his hair and catching the strength of his cheekbone when he turns and catches me staring. He only smiles though -- that beautiful tender smile that I keep seeing more and more these days -- before waving me over. 

“What are you doing out here all alone?” I ask as I reach his figure. A soft breeze dances along the back of my spine, cool in contrast to the warm stickiness of the air. 

“Your smaller cousin was showing me what she’d learnt in astronomy at her school,” he tilts his head up at the sky, “she’s quite the prodigy at that.” 

“The next woman to land on the moon,” I joke.

“Jeez, I should get her autograph.” 

“Wise idea,” that’s when I feel his hand slip into mine and I look down at him, blinking. He grins a little shyly, before tugging me forward so that I all but stumble right into him, halfway sprawled across his lap. 

Heat explodes through my chest at the proximity of our bodies and I can’t help but avert my gaze from his, partly embarrassed that maybe there might be someone around to see, and partly because it’s only recently that I’ve started seeing Kevin in a new light that being so close makes my heart choke up and my mind to run blank. 

We’re close. So close I feel his breath mingle with mine. My hands settle atop his chest lightly, “Kev,” I breathe out but nothing follows, too scared to verbally voice out what is going on for fear that it might all crumble into nothing. 

I don’t want false hope. I also don’t want his heart -- or mine -- to break. 

This friendship is too precious to let go. I can’t imagine a life without Kevin in it.

“Listen Y/N,” Kevin’s voice is soft, a hushed murmur resonating through his chest as his eyes search mine, “I think we both know what’s happening here.” 

I nod mutely. 

Taking a shaky breath, he continues, “I don’t want to do anything that will hurt you. I know it’s been tough and that you’re still healing. I just--I just want to know.” 

As his words wash over me as gently as the forest leaves rustling around us, I feel the warmth of his hand cupping my cheek, holding me like I am fine china and stroking my skin with his thumb so that butterflies suddenly rush along my middle.

I bite my lip so hard I can taste blood, " I-- well, I think you already know how I feel."

"I know," he breathes, "but I need to hear it from you."

As if it isn't hard enough to come face to face with my own feelings, having Kevin stare me down as though I put the moon in his sky makes me want to squirm with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. 

“I like you,” I blurt out then, “a lot.” 

There is a few seconds delay, before a shit-- eating grin --the biggest I’ve ever seen -- spreads across Kevin’s face like sunshine peeking through the clouds.

“Enough for us to go on a date?”

I nod mutely. I don’t trust my voice, not right now when I already feel so pathetic. Kevin’s grin softens into a tender smile, one that I can’t help but return when our eyes meet in the most intimate of ways. Suddenly, the air feels charged and alive with electricity, the heat between our bodies palpable as his hand moves to the back of my neck. 

He tugs. I follow. 

His lips find mine mid-way in a delicate kiss. 

It’s soft. Softer than any kiss I’ve ever had. Kevin’s mouth parts over my own in a gentle caress, before he tilts his head to the side and captures my lower lip between his. 

I gasp slightly at the contact, hands unconsciously tightening around his neck. 

Slowly leaning away, I notice the film of lust like a dull glow at the back of his maroon orbs, just the slightest hint that he wants me as a woman. And that makes my lungs constrict, air suddenly halting in the back of my throat.

My skin is prickling with the aftermath of his touch. I let out a soft breath before he covers my mouth with his once more and all thoughts fly out of my brain the moment he does. 

I don’t really know how long we spend outside, exchanging the softest of kisses underneath the moonlight, until I hear the soft exclamations of my family’s voices suggesting that it is time to head home. So I part from the said man and can’t help but blush at the lack of space between our bodies.

“We should probably head back,” I hate how wanton I sound, like I’ve just sprinted a mile when in truth I’ve been sitting in this very spot for the last hour.

He agrees and I descend from his lap, his hand subtly finding mine as we walk back to the wedding hall. 

Emma is still saying her goodbyes, her hair now dotted with glitter, probably from the decorations that my younger cousins took pleasure in bathing her in. Her face lights up as soon as she spots our entwined hands and I try not to meet her eyes for I know exactly the kind of smug look she'll be giving me. 

"Enjoyed the wedding?" She says as soon as we're within earshot.

"That must've been the best cake I've had in my life," Kevin lets out a dramatic sigh, "and that says something."

"Do I trust your taste buds though?" She teases.

"I'd be offended if you didn't," he gasped in mock offense, before they both break into playful chuckles.

As we exchange our goodbyes and Vincent engages Kevin in a conversation, Emma takes this chance to drag me to her side as she whispers, "so you gonna tell me the tea or am I going to have to extract it from you?"

I press my lips together as I try to control the heat searing through the back of my neck, "...we kissed."

She gasps, "No way! OH MY GOD! Are you guys a thing then?!" The answer is as clear as water on my face and she clamps a hand over her mouth, would've jumped up and down if she could've, "OH MY, OH MY GOD. I knew it! I just knew this was going to happen--"

"Shut up!" I hiss, scared that Kevin might overhear and think I'm a big fat tattle tale. My eyes quickly swivel over to his and I'm glad to find his head bent towards Vincent in concentration. 

"You need to tell me everything," Emma's eyes are sparkling, "like--as soon as you have some free time."

"You--" I send her a pointed look, then jerk my head at Vincent, "--need to tell me everything."

"Oh I will, don't worry."

"Anyway, I'll talk to you after your honeymoon."

"Okay," I turn around to find Kevin, not failing to notice the smirk playing on Emma's lips. I slap her arm in response, causing her to laugh before she calls out: 

"Don't forget to use protection!"

-----------

"We'll come back right?"

That's the first thing that Kevin states as soon as we step inside security, away from the tears of my family that I just left behind a few seconds ago. My heart still aches when I think of their faces, all crumpled and blinking at me with tissues in hand and noses as red as traffic lights. But I seek comfort upon feeling Kevin's hand slip through mine as we walk towards our destined gate. 

"Sure," I look at him; at his red-tinted cheeks (probably the aftermath of a sunburn), his newly tanned skin a fresh contrast against his white shirt, and the permanent grin that seems impossible to wipe off his face. My heart instantly flutters.

It's only been a few days since we've confessed our growing romantic interest in each other, but I can already feel the weight of his love pouring out of his heart and into mine the moment he realized that my arms would be there to catch him when he fell.

"I'm not going to wake up to an empty bed tomorrow morning, am I?" He’d joked when we stumbled, half-asleep, into Emma's flat after the wedding. 

I frowned at him, "Why would you think that?"

"Just in case you think that kissing me was a mistake."

A small pause ensued, in which I realized that despite all my fears and all the pain I had been carrying in my heart ever since we landed on my motherland, I had not once considered how Kevin might be feeling at this very moment. 

My eyes quickly took note of his countenance, sweeping right up to his face only to notice the flash of vulnerability in his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth were tense, cheekbones taught against his skin as he awaited for my answer with baited breath. 

Clearing my throat, I whispered, "it wasn't."

A soft smile tugged at his lips, "good to know."

His answer seemed so genuine, so wholehearted that my chest tightened in a mixture of gratefulness and affection, so much so that my arms automatically reached for him to tug him close. My nose found its rightful place at his neck and I breathed in his comforting  lilac smell that I enjoyed so much.

I felt him take a breath. Then, softly, a hand caressed the back of my head. I buried even closer if that was possible.

"I really want this to work," my words were a muffled mess and I was surprised that he understood.

"Me too," he murmured into my hair, "and it will work. I promise I won't break your heart Y/N."

Looking back now at this tender moment in which we both weren't certain of where we were stepping, I can't help but laugh at the thought, for now the love and attraction is so natural I'm amazed it has taken this long to flourish. 

Maybe I hadn't been looking the right way. Maybe I had been searching so far out and wide that I hadn't noticed that my safe harbour is the one standing right beside me.

"Hey Kevin," I call out.

Kevin turns towards me, where he'd been watching planes take off from the ground into the gorgeously blue sunny sky.

"Yeah?" 

“I’m really glad you came.” 

There's a few beats of silence although his mouth immediately cracks into that gorgeous, crooked grin of his that I adore so much. 

“Me too.” 

----

[monaownsmyass]

Pineapple Jacket

Requested fic by @playallthechoices. (If you have any fic ideas or requests you'd like me to write, you can leave me an ask!)

Book: Queen B

Pairing: Zoey x MC (Bea Hughes)

Genre : Angst/Fluff/Humour

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1,925

A/N: What’s this? A @monaownsmyass fic that’s less than 2k words? Impossible! Anyway, Zoey and MC get into an argument but it doesn’t last long cuz Zoey can’t take MC seriously. This was so fun to write and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed @thequeenkamilahsayeed @heygmicheelle @djtjsmith14 @jjlover01 @soft-for-drake @dopeyouth @alexroyard @satrinadia @toalltheboysididntlove (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics and if you only want to be tagged for certain pairings.)

"Hey, babe?" I heard Zoey call out from the living room. "Have you seen my jacket?"

Oh shit.

"Which jacket? I asked nervously even though it was obvious which one she was talking about.

"What other jackets have you seen me wearing?" she laughs. "The pineapple one, duh!"

I took a few deep breaths and stepped out of my room, preparing myself to tell her the truth.

"Uh, hey, Zo."

"What's up, babe? Did you find it?"

"Well, not really, I mean yeah I know where it is but," I scratched the back of my neck. "It kinda... shrank..."

She just looked at me and blinked. Once... twice...

"What do you mean it shrank?"

"Um, it got smaller..."

Zoey sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, I'm aware of the concept of shrinking, I mean how?"

“Uh, well, you see," I stuttered, trying to word it in a way that was the least embarrassing for me while simultaneously in a way so that I wouldn't get yelled at. I was failing miserably at both. "I may have threw it in the dryer..."

She stared at me again but this time with her arms crossed. She looked at me for so long unblinkingly, I swear I could see her eye twitch which did nothing except made me even more nervous.

"And why did you throw it in the dryer?"

"I accidentally spilt something on it," I said hesitantly while raising my hands in front of my as if it would magically stop Zoey's wrath that was currently being directed towards me. "In my defense, I was just trying to help you get it clean!"

"It wouldn't have gotten dirty in the first place if you didn't spill anything on it! And how many times have I told you that that blazer must be hand-washed and hung dry?!"

"I panicked and I completely forgot! Baby, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't 'baby' me!" Zoey fumed.

She stepped closer to me and I had to forced myself to not move back.

"Where. Is. It?" She whispered each word in a low menacing voice and if I wasn't shitting myself from how terrifying she was right now, I would've been very excited.

I gulped and tried to reply but the words didn't come out.

"Bea Hughes."

Uh-oh, full name in that tone isn't a good sign.

Wordlessly, I pointed to my room. I honestly have no idea why I kept it in my room 'cuz I knew she was gonna be looking for it eventually and leaving in my room wasn't be the best move. I guess I was panicking too much to think properly.

She stormed off into the direction I pointed at and not long after, I heard her scream.

"OH MY GOD!"

She came out holding the shrunken jacket.

"What the fuck is this?!"

"Your jacket," I pointed out lamely.

"It shrank this much?!"

"Hey, on the bright side, it can fit Cutiepie now," I joked, trying to lighten the mood but as soon as I said it, I realised I shouldn't have.

"Bea! This was my favourite jacket!"

"I know! And I can't tell you how sorry I am!"

I pouted and approached her cautiously. She brought her lifted arm with the jacket down to her side and let out a huge sigh.

"There's no point staying mad at you."

She gathered me in her arms and I felt myself immediately relax into her, unbelievably relieved. I rested my head on her shoulder as she spoke, "Not like I could stay mad at you anyway."

"I'll make it up to you somehow, I promise. I feel so bad."

I felt Zoey shake her head. "No, it's okay babe."

Then, she said something that took me aback.

"I have a spare in my closet anyway."

I broke out of her grasp and took a couple steps back.

"You have what?"

"Yeah, I have another."

I could feel the rage boil within me, making me red in the face.

"If you had a spare why did you make such a big deal out of this?!"

Zoey looked at me and scoffed. "Don't turn this around and blame it on me! In case you forgot, you're the one that ruined my favourite jacket!

"Right, your favourite jacket that you have another of! So I don't get why you had to yell at me about it!"

"'Cuz you still ruined my favourite jacket!"

Our banter continued on, back and forth and back and forth for who knows how long, the other not wanting to give in.

"But you didn't have to throw it in the dryer!"

I groaned and slid my hand down my face in irritation. "God! Not this again! I told you it was an accident! Why don't you believe me?"

"I didn't say I didn't believe you, I just think you should be more careful!"

That's it, I couldn't take it anymore.

"AND I'VE APOLOGISED AT LEAST 50 TIMES!" I shouted so loud I was sure the entire dorm building could hear me. "What do I hafta do to get ya to forgive me?! Ya want me to get on my fuckin' knees and beg? Goddamn! Want me to grovel at ya feet, maybe a lil' smooch while I'm at it real quick? 'Cuz this is bloody ridiculous, Zo! Jeez!"

I threw my hand up in frustration and glared at her.

She looked at me, long and hard. We stared at each other for a good minute before I saw the corner of Zoey's lips quirk up.

"What?" I asked.

And that's when she lost it.

She let out a full-fledged grin and burst into laughter, clutching her stomach and doubling over.

My scrunched up face instantly relaxed at the sound. It was impossible to hold a grudge and stay angry when I heard Zoey laugh. It was like sunshine on a dark, cloudy day and I couldn't help but give her a smile of my own when I heard the most beautiful sound known to mankind.

"What?" I questioned again but I was grinning this time.

"Your accent!" she managed to choke out between giggles. "It's so cute!"

As soon as she said that, I realised what she was talking about and I laughed along with her, feeling heat go to my cheeks as I covered my face with my hands.

"Oh my god," I said, embarrassed but still smiling.

"Aww, no need to be shy, baby," Zoey cooed and moved in to wrap her arms around me. "I think it's adorable."

"How am I supposed to scold you and be mad at you now?" I buried my face in her shoulder.

"You don't!" she replied, laughing.

"At least I know our arguments won't last too long," I muttered.

She chuckled and lead me to the couch. She held up her shrunken pineapple jacket and sighed.

"Might as well take your suggestion and put it to good use."

She called Cutiepie to her and scooped him up in her arms. She put the jacket on him and set him back down. He stumbled and waddled around a little, trying to get used to the foreign object on him.

"At least Cutiepie can match with his other mama now," I joked.

We giggled at the sight and then Zoey turned to me. She cleared her throat and spoke to me in an accent that made me groan.

"Now tell me, darlin', what in tarnation were ya doin' with ma jacket?" she mocked, trying to hold back her laughter.

"First of all, I do not sound like that," I clarified, raising a brow at her even though I was trying to hold back my smile. "Second of all, I'm not gonna tell you."

"Aw, why not?" she pouted.

"'Cuz you're making fun of me," I sulked. "And also 'cuz it's embarrassing."

"Okay, okay, I'll drop the accent and I promise I won't tease you."

"Promise?"

She held out her pinky. "Pinky promise, babe."

I hooked mine around hers instinctively and took a deep breath.

"Alright, so, maybe, sometimes when you're out, I wear your jacket around the dorm when you're not using it 'cuz I miss you," I admitted shyly, looking away from her. "Then when you texted me saying you were coming back early the other day, I panicked and accidentally knocked some wine over onto your jacket. I tossed it into the dryer, completely forgetting I wasn't supposed to, I’m sorry."

She took too long to respond so I turned back to her to see her wearing a shit-eating grin on her face.

"Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit," she said with a country drawl and I scrunched my nose, groaning again.

"Zoey! And I'm Midwestern, not Southern, jeez!"

"Okay! I'll stop for good this time," she laughed and placed a peck on my blushing cheek. "I think it's really cute that you wear my jacket. And for the record, I knew you did that."

I gave her a look, mouth slightly agape. "You knew?"

"Mhm," she responded and now it was her turn to look shy. "I knew 'cuz when I wore it, it always smelt like you, which is partly the reason why I wore it so mucht too. Which also explains why I was upset when you told me you ruin it."

I was about to correct her, saying I didn't actually ruin it but I didn't want to get into another argument. So I ignored it and only focused on the beginning part.

"You wear it 'cuz it smells like me?" I said in a small voice. She only nodded. I jumped on her and attacked her with kisses.

"Bea!" she giggled but didn't try to push me away. Instead, she brought her arms to encircle my waist, pulling me closer. I kissed her lips, cheeks, forehead, nose, neck, any part I could reach.

Eventually, I pulled back. She sighed and frowned. "Now I have to wear the spare that smells all new and stuffy."

She got up and went to her room to retrieve her other pineapple blazer.

"Can you wear it?" she asked me with doe eyes. "Please?"

How could I say no to that? Scratch that, why would I say no to that?

Without wasting another second, I took the jacket from her and draped it over my shoulders, inserting my arms into the arm holes. I loved the way her jacket was a little too big for me. The sleeves went past my hands and the seams at the shoulder drooped down. It was perfect.

I pulled her down into me  to give her a long, sweet kiss on the lips. I wrapped my arms around her neck and felt her slide onto my lap, kissing her as if my life depended on it. Kissing Zoey was always an event and this time was no exception. I could feel the butterflies in my tummy stir and my heart beating as loud and hard as a drum in my chest.

When we pulled back, I took in her gorgeous face, both of us breathing hard. She grinned at me and I smiled in response. She was a spectacle.

But then she opened her mouth and ruined it.

"Well, I'll be darn," she whispered breathlessly in a midwestern twang.

I shook my head. "That's it, no more kisses for you!"

She threw her head back laughing, arms pulling herself closer into me as her laughter filled the room and me up with joy.

(More fics!)

[joeys-piano]

Top 5 Fics of 2020

As 2020 closes and as I’m looking back on what I’ve done this year, there were five stories that stood out to me because of how I felt, what I’ve experienced, and because of what came over me as I was working on the pieces. I picked stories that many of you enjoyed, stories that I think you could discover, and stories that challenge you to think a little differently on what you already know. I felt that was a good balance for what I had in store~

Savor The Moment | 12.4k | Teen

I can say without a doubt that is the best fanfic I’ve written this year: not only is it the longest by far, not only did I draft and revise and edit and rewrite this behemoth during the entire month of August and pretty much babied this thing into the first week of my Fall Semester, not only was I focusing and fleshing out the relationships one of my favorite BSD characters, but I remember how much I struggled with this work and how much I grew after finishing it. If y’all have to know one thing about me, it’s that dialogue and writing children characters are very difficult for me. So to tackle a project that encompasses both and much more -- that’s terrific!

I love how I wrote for Oda in this and how I explored his relationship with the children, with the curry shop owner, and with Dazai. I love how I approached his backstory and bled in some of the elements I enjoyed from the Dark Era light novel into this work. I love the atmosphere, the vibes, the metaphors and all the food descriptions -- there are gorgeous quotes throughout the work and to this day, I still can’t believe that they all came from my head. This was such a good story for me: both in that it helped me grow as a writer and challenged me in my weaker areas and that it was fun to try something new and to expand on the little details I adored from the source material.

If there’s any work of mine that I think best summarizes who I am as a writer, it would have to be this one.

We Only See Each Other at Weddings & Funerals | 5.7k | Teen

There was a time in my life when angst was my bread and butter. However, as I grew older and more cynical towards life in general, I saw myself leaning towards softer and happier ideas. Mostly because they were an escape and a distraction from what was happening to me at the time, and partially because angst isn’t all that great for my heart. But during the beginning of November, something possessed me. I didn’t set out to write a character death or a heavy story; but instead, it just came out of me. And with BEAST as my backdrop and with funerals in my head, it took me about a week to finish this story from draft to end.

In terms of technicalities and skills, this work best represents much of my experience as a writer. You can see it through my syntax and flow, through the concepts and metaphors I was weaving through the plot, through how I handled the head hopping and transitions between Oda and Dazai’s POVs (making sure that they were as smooth as silk for y’all’s reading experience), through how I handled the emotional stakes and the soulmate-ish vibes going on, and through how I described the grief and mourning for what could’ve been and for what came to be.

I’m not that surprised that the response for this fic has been on the lower side compared to my other works, especially since it revolves around character death and heavy themes. But if you really enjoy BEAST and would like an in-depth scene expansion between Oda and Dazai when they met for the last at Bar Lupin, I would definitely recommend this to you.

Tender is the Light | 1.5k | General

Christmas is a polarizing holiday, depending on who you ask, because we’re celebrating the humble birth of a man and are partnering it with consumerism. So already, this day is pretty sus and I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend it this year than to write and gift myself a very cuddly, drarry fanfic. As I mentioned in the author’s notes, I don’t normally write for myself and I especially don’t gift myself a fanfic for holiday purposes. But considering how this year went and how stressed I was and the epiphany I had during this month, the old constraints I had for myself didn’t matter and I just wanted to create something that I knew I would enjoy. That probably sounds selfish and a part of me thinks it is; but honestly, it isn’t because if I wanted to work and create something, it’s got to give me joy too -- I feel.

So you could almost say I was working out some internal things while writing this and was just having fun and didn’t care that there wasn’t really a plot to this entire thing. Since it was a fic for me, I just focused on what made me feel good and happy. And as it turns out, fluffy banters of humor and cuddly introspective smacked a nerve in my heart and I felt renewed every time I came to work on this. This was such a cathartic fic for me to work, and I just had the time of my life focusing on the small things that are like nuggets of gold for me. 

Hold Me A Little Closer | 2.6k | Mature

2020 was a year of many things, much of which I won’t mention and much of which we’re still living through. It was also the year I wrote my first, full-fledged smut. Or more accurately, my first genuine attempt at writing smut through my perspective as a biromantic asexual. Since 2018, I’ve been experimenting with how I wanted to portray physical intimacy and every time I scrolled through the Internet or read how others have done it, what I found was that there weren’t many resources or approaches that I felt comfortable with or with writing. Most of what you find out there is pretty much you figure it out on your own, or just looking at what others have done and copying it. Which that in itself comes with its own difficulties, depending on the approach you want to take with your own smut.

So being a discovery writer with my headlights down the path, I decided to write my first smut with an introspective approach + a tad of ace perspective because that’s who I am. I love the concept of emotional intimacy and that was the forefront for this story, accompanying the physical details. Because I knew for myself that odazai was more than just the physical aspect of it, and that both characters enjoy each other in an emotional or thoughtful setting where they can be vulnerable and be themselves and all the juicy bits about that whenever they’re together. And that might be the ace in me talking, but that’s the kind of intimacy I love between characters and the physical aspect is just one medium out of many in how they can convey that.

Personally, I would say this is the story that got me more comfortable writing for odazai. I’ve written for them beforehand in a few other fics, but this is definitely the one where I grew to know and care for them more and it comes through with the writing.

If My Eyes Were to Linger | 1.5k | General

With me talking about the top best fics that I’ve written this year, there’s no way I could conclude this without talking about the first fic I wrote for a new fandom. This story is my first foray into drarry and it comes after weeks of reading all sorts of content from them writers and I wanted to try it too. This harkens back to nine years ago when I wrote my first fanfic: I saw that others were writing stories and I wanted to do it, too. That brief childhood spark was the catalyst I needed when I considered and began jotting out this piece. You can tell through my writing that I’m figuring things out and figuring how I want to approach the individual voices of Draco and Harry.

I should also add that I was nervous as shit while writing this because I was embarking into a fandom where I knew no one in the community and I knew that no one I knew would even follow or read what I was writing. It’s been a long time since I’ve splashed into waters like that and through the help of my friends and talking with them, they helped me carry through and finish writing this piece. That meant a lot to me because for the first time in a long time, I was finally writing for me. I was finally writing a story where I didn’t care so much about how the engagement would be because I already knew there wouldn’t be much because of the circumstances I was in. So without hits or kudoses or really any expectations, I just wrote what I wanted to write and I had a damn good time with reading as I went.

And with the past few drarry fics I’ve written this month, you can feel that the adrenaline and childlike glee that came back to me is still with me. I don’t know how long this energy will last or if it’ll go away and I’ll transition into something else. But what I do know is that there are certain freedoms that come with going into the unknown and rediscovering myself again. And to know that this is for me: more than anything, that means so much.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

4 and 7 for Luke and Jelena from the fanfic asks

4: Tell me about one of your abandoned WIPs. Why did you abandon it?

Do you mean the entirety of my google drive? I have a WIP that's based off my own personal experience with the healthcare system and health as it relates to having a uterus. But I don't think I'd ever finish it. It's too personal and I feel like I leave a lot of my stories on the cusp of things. Like we never know with some of them if they're going to be happy endings or not. And having this based off my own experience, which does NOT have a happy ending, makes it harder for me to finish it. Writing's a release. But I also feel like this is material that might be better suited for my thesis. And my thesis is due in May 2022, so I just abandoned the WIP as it relates to tumblr but I'll recycle parts of it for my thesis.

A true true WIP that I abandoned was a Boxer!Calum fic. A variety of things halted that one--I started it when I still had calumh-excess active. But I lost a lot of momentum in the 5sos fandom a) because of the shit the band was doing/who they were hanging around and b) because I think I was trying to emulate concepts that I had seen do very well while at the same time as seeing a SHARP decline in readership. @cakesunflower has an AMAZING Boxer!Cal fic that she managed to get published into a for real for real book (here). And admittedly, I think sometimes as a reader and a writer you want to ride the way. But it wasn't something that I was passionate about. I also know myself as a writer--this a WIP that I would've suck HOURS and HOURS into research for the littlest details and the return on that kind of investment wouldn't have been worth it. I had (have? I think the plans might be activated again some day) HUGE plans for the boxing to be truly an integral part of the details and gruesome fights and being underground and technical. But for a platform like Tumblr, with the addition such a sharp decline in reblogs and general feedback, I really didn't feel like it was worth it.

This is not to say that writers on tumblr are doing anything FOR the notes. But as someone that was well known at the time, it was important to ME, to also see the same love returned. I was pouring my soul into AU's but wasn't getting a lot of love for them. So I was at a point where I was like, I can save this idea for later and work on other concepts that I enjoy that I also know will get more momentum from my readers. In some ways, as I was working in retail and gearing up for grad school, it was a smarter move for me as a person to save my bigger ideas and give smaller pieces and more mundane/"real world" pieces the time and effort they deserved because it was a Win-Win for everyone. Fanfiction is fucking FREE and because it wasn't paying my bills, I made the choice to table yet another AU that I would've spent hours, weeks, or months on for something that even if it only got a few likes and a couple reblogs in favor of something that could gain the same sense of satisfaction from.

It all came down to: no matter how much time I do or do not spend on this fic will I be proud of what I get in return. And for this particular boxerfic, I think what I would've gotten in return wasn't going to be able to outweigh the work that I put into it. Writing is work. For fuck sake, a university signs my check at the moment to teach writing, to write, to create. Just because I do it on Tumblr for various artists and fandoms for free doesn't mean I have to do everything creative for free. So Boxer!Cal became an idea that I knew was going to be HUGE, but given the timing and the personal expense I would've had to cash out, it was a better and smarter decision for me to put it on hold.

7: Were there any ideas you had for [insert fic] that you couldn’t make work? What were they?

I had some ideals for a part two of Wanderer but I couldn't make it work as a full fledge part two. I think ultimately if Yelena did come back into Luke's life, Luke couldn't have waited for her without major consequences that would've ultimately terminated the relationship. People move on and essentially that story would diverged and it would've just been a story about two people who never reconnect in the same manner and it would be so far apart from each other. Yelena's not in Luke's world in a way where it would force her to see him consistently. She's a nail tech who can travel as she places, pick up work anywhere. So it's not like she would be forced into Luke's circle. There's a possibility that she might, and I could've made it work but it would've been too much of a stretch. I would've had to really work it out and I think for what the ending it was going to get no matter what, that would've been dissatisfying to a reader. And possibly that's interesting, the questions of what does it actually mean to move on. I could've tackled questions like: What does moving on look like? And when it comes to moving on, are we ever fully moved on from people? What parts remain with us? But I didn't think it was quite something I could really stick the landing on so I left it at the what if and the cliffhanger. But I feel like while Luke could've given Yelena a second shot, part of him would always be afraid that she'd leave again. And Yelena wouldn't want to and, in my opinion, shouldn't have to continually prove herself. I could see myself doing an epilogue perhaps. A brief encounter after they've lived their lives for a year or two, but I don't think they'd wind up together enough for me to justify a part full fledge part two.

[egoludes]

need.

note: so...here we are. my first marvel piece, and it's just bare filth, LOL. @feminarrie​ and i were tossing around this idea about reader touching herself while steve is gone and bucky overhearing/ratting her out, and kaitlin said one (1) thing about bucky maybe getting too into it and this is the result. it’s a long off the cuff concept with some minimal, clean-up-sleepy-typos editing, so i'm sorry in advance for anything that doesn't flow like my full-fledged fics do. i just had a ton of fun musing about this in k's messages and wanted to share! hope you enjoy! 

warnings: nsfw (18+), masturbation, voyeurism of a sort, grey-ish bucky, hints of dom!steve. to be direct, if you don’t like the concept of someone listening in on someone else without their permission -- understandably, a little creepy -- please don't read. this is a departure from what i've posted in the past, so it's okay if you pass!

well, we have to start at the beginning: steve dipping down and kissing you hard in the quinjet hangar. he takes his time, like he's memorizing the depths of your mouth for the journey ahead. and when he pulls away, it's with a smile hidden in his beard, fingers pressing hair out of your eyes to see you. "you gonna be okay without me, baby?" he‘s gotten into the habit of asking that before he goes, your considerate, earnest man. but today, he's especially worried -- he'll be gone longer than usual (and even a small mistake could keep him away longer than that) and he hates the thought of you alone all that time.

your answer is a nose to his jaw, a gentle gesture that makes him tip into you. "i am, stevie, promise -- you just worry about getting home safe to me." he nods, curt and quick, before smiling again, this time a little more deviously. you know what's coming next, but the hands skimming over your ass still make you squeak, a sound he eats up with that wolfish grin. "and you'll be good too?" his eyes flash a darker blue, heat rising between you from that question alone. again, you know exactly what he's asking --- less inquiry and more reminder of the one rule you aren't to break when he's away.

keep your hands to yourself.

it's hard sometimes, but you always make it through, too eager for his praise for anything else. so, when he asks, you have no qualms nodding, pulling him down to meet your mouth, and swiping your thumb over the cut of his jaw. "yes, sir."

only, you're an absolute liar. for one reason or another, steve's away longer than you ever could have prepared for, hours turning to days and days to weeks at a snail's pace. the first half of it is easy enough ---- nothing you haven't done before between his days at shield and now. but, by week three, you're so wound up it's dizzying, ache making a mess of you with an almost laughable intensity.

and it only gets worse as the days go on. you start to dream about him; the weight of his cock on your tongue, or how it feels twitching and leaking against your thigh just before he cracks you open. you dream about the way he'd fucked you the last night he was home, fingers in your mouth so you can taste yourself while he filled you. he'd taken you a few times over -- "need something to think about out there," he’d said -- and kissed you long and sweet afterwards. it's all you want now. all you need now. need, need, need licking at your heels like flames.

you crack on week five.

it happens after a particularly rough day of training, body hypersensitive after hours of being tossed about like a rag doll. you feel the tension ripple through you even as you tuck yourself into bed, hair damp from a long shower, and even longer bath. you decide then and there that whatever punishment steve might dole out if he finds out -- how could he, you think -- is worth the relief. still, you start slow; fingers tentative as they slip between your legs because it'd be just your luck for him to come barreling in, right as you deliberately defy him. but, when you press your pointer to your clit through damp panties and jolt at how good the simple touch feels, you start to forget about the risk you're taking. start to lift your hips to meet your hand and let sounds rise out of you, because you're convinced you're completely fine. there's no way he will ever know.

unless bucky barnes has something to say about it.

bucky would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by your and steve's sex life. being one room over, he hears so much of it as it is, moans, whines, and filth, filth, filth spilling into his room at all hours of the day. the curiosity has gotten so large at times that he finds himself asking steve outright what it's like ---- what you're like. the question only comes when he's had enough asgardian liquor to laugh it away if steve rejects it, but he never does. if anything, steve is eager to share; a content, almost proud look to him as he gushes about his sweet girl. his baby doll. his hot, wild, insatiable little minx.

bucky just nods usually -- 'ooh's and 'aah's and quite genuinely at that, because who would have thought that you behave so well behind closed doors? but, he never takes it further than that. never admits how much he leaks just at the sight of you now, or that he imagines you over him when he fucks his hand at night, whimpering in a stupor. it's his dirtiest little secret, something to do in the dead of night when there's no way you or steve could catch him. 

it's what makes this so dangerous. the last thing he should be doing is listening to you. as far as you're concerned, he's completely asleep -- had told you goodnight hours ago now -- and this is your time to chase relief in private. but like most nights, actual slumber is hard to come by and bucky is fully awake when the first whimper leaves you.

immediately, he's blinking past his weariness, eyes darting towards the wall that connects you and narrowing as though scrutinizing what he heard. there's no way...

then, you do it again. this time, more broken, more breathless and his cock twitches because fuck, did you just put a finger inside yourself? there's no way to know, but he could guess. he could see it vividly now. legs spread with your panties at your ankles; pretty and wet with your fingers rolling over your clit and between your folds to get yourself started. he licks his lips, swallows thick thinking about how good that room must smell because of you; heat and musk hanging thick in the air for men with even weaker senses than him. and before he can stop himself, his cock is in his hand, throbbing and angry red with beads of precum already at the tip. he strokes lazily at first, taking his time because you are, too -- mewls still soft and exploratory.

but desperation is a funny thing. for you, it's filling yourself with three fingers almost as soon as you start. the stretch isn't nearly enough --- not nearly as good, but for tonight, it'll do. for tonight, it's just right, urging your hips up and forward at a steady pace as your free hand scrambles for your breasts. you'd meant to take your time, but the momentum is hard to taper after so long without release. you thank god bucky had gone to bed so early because you know you're getting loud. you know you're getting out of hand, rocking the bed all on your own with how hard you're chasing climax, and whining out loud for steve as if it'll make him come home faster. you try to muffle yourself with a bite to your lip, but your teeth come down too hard and end up breaking the skin. brine and copper burst onto your tongue and in a way you can only describe as primal, it spurs you on -- even if steve gets mad about you breaking his rules, you hope he could appreciate how much you need him. how much he unravels you, even without being there.

for bucky, it’s rising from his bed to press his forehead to the wall so he might hear you better. there's a low lying shame at it ---- he knows he's invading your privacy, and crossing an unspoken line between him and steve, but god, if you don't make his head hazy. he can't even think straight now that he's going, bucking into the warm flesh of his right hand while the other scrapes and whirrs against the wall. he meets each of your moans with a grunt of his own, managing somehow to keep his volume controlled. but that doesn't make this any less animalistic, any less wild. no, if anything, there's something especially dangerous in his focus; quiet but needy movements that speak to nothing but this rising urge to feel you, just once, if you and steve would let him.

you're both at the brink before you know it, fingers tightening, twisting, pulling, tugging until you're arching off the bed with a whimper and bucky's crumbling forward, spilling hot white all over his fingers -- the most spent you've ever been.

come morning, it'll be like nothing ever happened. not for him, and certainly not for you. especially when you both wake up to an alert from FRIDAY, clear and crisp: "good morning - captain rogers has just landed."

[longeyelashedtragedy]

this has been the most wild fuckin year so let’s do a Year in Review shall we

in terms of internet and fandom life, that is. my real life has been atrociously boring but who cares about real life amirite folx

january probably the only calm month of the year.  i spent the first day of the month watching the brazilian inauguration in burgos, spain with one headphone in, while ordering for my family in a restaurant where nobody spoke english (my sister speaks decent spanish, but my whole family has like 8194814 food restrictions so it kind of went past her level of ability). translating between spanish and english with portuguese in one year was kind of awesome. i watched bodyguard and it was amazing!  what else...in january i briefly owned the issue of spanish GQ with Luka on the cover which i then forgot about until november. other than that...? nada.  the calm before the storm. (fav music)

february was so long ago that i keep forgetting how insane its 28 days were.  probably the wildest month of the year really. i got involved in an absolutely batshit and exclusive group chat with a famous person’s family member (which must remain confidential). it was all sunshine and rainbows for a week and a half and it then devolved into the most absolutely insane Lord of the Flies situation ever--it turned into 1 main chat and then 1 chat that was less puritanical than the main chat, and that chat spawned another chat that didn’t trust the previous chat, and then that chat had a massive argument and a like 6-person bitchy chat modded by a gay guy who does voodoo (shoutout to ALCIDES) spawned from that one.  i made it into every level of group chat and was asked by the tiny bitchy chat to spy on the other bitchy chat (i did not lol). i was a member of the tiny bitchy chat until i got a new phone and was logged out of whatsapp for like a month.  these words can’t even convey what this chat was like--oh and did i mention it was all conducted in only my 3rd-best language? it’s no wonder my weird ass survived middle school almost entirely unscathed.  as this was winding down, on the very last day of the month, I found out about Justin’s involvement in the SNC-Lavalin scandal and decided to go public about my years-long boner for him; Lavscam definitely changed the course of the rest year ~ Oh, also i began helping to repair a friendship that had had some Drama go down so that was p cool ~ (fav music)

march was a Time. The insanity of lavscam helped me finally finish the macdeau I started writing the previous December when a bunch of tungelr people called me disgusting for writing it.  i wrote my first straight-up serious explicit porn in years which has wound up being the third-longest thing i’ve ever published on ao3. Also, Hozier released Wasteland, Baby! which made a huge impact on me as well.  i spent like half of march staying up till 3:30 am writing said Long Fic, and i was firmly in the closet about stanning manu. also justin almost got a vote of no confidence or something and he got busted for eating a chocolate bar during a parliamentary all-nighter.  (fav music)

in april i wrote a ton of fanfic thanks to declining mental health(tm).  i think this is when i started my emmanuyell insta account and became really into making weird edits (which i still love doing just...don’t anymore.)  i started meeting some cool people thanks to macdeau.  what else happened in april? i feel like it wasn’t actually too eventful other than writing a lot of fanfic and being Annoyed about manu.  feel free to jog my memory lol.  oh i think i wrote “Okay so who from the French national team are we gonna ship Manu with” on twitter after seeing photos of manu + antoine griezmann at the World Cup but nothing came of that...at that time... (fav music)

may saw me having to deal with my shit mental health and up my meds but that seems to have had a good effect because i seem to not be too depressed to write in the winter/fall anymore! it was the 2nd anniversary of manu’s election and at the Christchurch Call in paris, macdeau took that amazing fairytale princess photo together that was completely unrivalled in Gay Shippy Feels moments until ivan went out of his way to kiss luka during the el clásico gameplay last wednesday. someone wrote ao3′s first griezmanu drabble and at the end manu gets down on his knees in front of antoine, takes off his shoes for him, and sucks his dick, and i achieved another state of being entirely.  my sister graduated from grad school and when we went down to DC for the weekend i went to eat at this restaurant manu famously ate at while there and ordered the same stuff he did and i have no idea how he consumed all that grease.  i learned about the song O Come, O Come, Emmanuel *snort*. i feel like other things happened in may too?  OH YES--i got the idea for my magnum opus, Trophy Boyfriend, and started to write it. the first scene i wrote was justin blowing manu in the hallway. then the same day i wrote the scene at the airport (which was the ending for a solid month and half till i realized it shouldn’t be), and the saddest scene in the fic--but we’ll stop to open presents.  oh! and i stumbled across the macronists discord chat which is such a delightful little community *weepy sniffles* (fav music)

june was Eventful.  a french neonazi on tumblr told me to go let manu fuck me in the ass because i was a fucking degenerate.  what a start!  then came the ceremony in which manu awarded everyone on the french national team the legion of honor medal and the way he and antoine looked at each other was truly...Wait it was the 3rd Gay Shippy Feels moment of the year.  as soon as the ceremony was over i wrote a fic about it and haven’t looked back.  between this + watching almost every 2018 World Cup game and the women’s world cup (during which I cried during argentina’s last game because of that miraculous penalty) i finally achieved my years-long goal of getting into Futbol(TM).  Antoine dropped his spotify playlist and my crush on him turned into Intense Love (TM) and also he introduced me to some legit awesome artists.  which led to (fav music)

july, in which i wrote “ça c’est ma dope” which is definitely the best thing i’ve written since i wrote “modernity towering in front of the sky” almost exactly 10 years before. got embroiled in Soccer Transfer Drama and learned its pain for the first time (unfortunately, since i wound up attaching my heart-wagon to barça’s Suddenly Least Favorite Player, the transfer drama pain has...never ended) became a full-fledged culé, O the joy O the honor.  i wanted to ship antoine with someone on the team, which in their current chemistry-less season is a real challenge, but after seeing a few photos i decided it would be fun to casually ship antoine + ivan rakitic (partially because, ever since i went from Enemies to Lovers with the croatia NT during the World Cup, he was one of the only players i knew anything about other than messi, suárez, and piqué lmao). while looking on ao3 to see what kind of headcanons people had about him--and the fic is definitely in general better than what’s out there about antoine, which is perplexing because antoine is much easier to write than ivan--i found That Amazing Rakidric Fic and thought “oh wait that ship makes a lot of sense” and started also shipping ivan and luka with the fire of a thousand suns.  oh and my air conditioner was broken for like 3 weeks. i worked on more fics, seriously outlining the path of Trophy Boyfriend, and my music taste was killer. (fav music)

in august i finished Trophy Boyfriend in my neighborhood Starbucks after writing the scene that was giving me the most trouble (the scene at the beginning where they’re organizing their book collection). the fic has made multiple people cry and people disagree on whether justin’s choice at the end was the right one and god i’m so proud of it.  Instantly went on to write ‘i might not mind,’ a lively lighthearted Friends to Lovers ivantoine~ romp which was definitely going to be a one-off and i was definitely not going to get an extra celeb crush out of it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, (fav music)

in september ivantoine became A Thing in my mind and it’s a whole ongoing slow-burn character-arcy series that has taken a very different turn than i had expected. i’m not saying it’s like, the most deep writing of all time, but it’s gone to some interesting places emotionally. honestly, ships and boners aside, the concept of a person who made some really stupid homophobia 101 comments many years ago slowly realizing over and over again that they have gay feelings for a man who seems rather comfortable with gayness is a fascinating one and one that’s really cool to explore in writing.  Or at least, i think so.  in many ways ivan is my most unreliable narrator because of the many layers of Discomfort, Emotion and Repression at play in the fic while he’s interacting with this pretty cheery and uncomplicated seeming-dude who’s still perceptive enough to sort of know what’s going on (and that’s not even adding in the star player/falling from grace former rockstar dynamic!!!)  i know in the current climate it’s Not Allowed to write about someone who said a bad, but luckily i’m too old to give a Fuck. ivantoine is hard to write but it’s my bff’s favorite ship of mine and has a few other excited fans on ao3 which tbh is kind of an accomplishment considering i made it up out of thin air and it’s not something you’d ever think would be a thing. instantly also developed ‘getting called out about ivan by a child on the internet’ as a goal.  and...i achieved my dream of leading high holiday services!!! (fav music)

october had more high holiday services and i worked a lot on certain fics (including d*janfic which would be fun to finish). i came up with the idea of a Very Long Rakidric Fic based on the translation of a gorgeous croatian folk song i sang in college (Janko fell asleep under the poplar/My dear and beloved/My beautiful dark eyes/Look at me/Under the poplar's golden branch/My dear and beloved/My beautiful dark eyes/Look at me/I tore off the golden branch/My dear and beloved/My beautiful dark eyes/Look at me--in which the golden branch is a reference to a way to get into the underworld). decided to start quarter-assedly learning croatian for fun.  Fun...ha.  other than fangirling a lot and watching the croatian NT play, october was pretty uneventful? i think? Justin got reelected and mauricio didn’t ;( (fav music)

in november i finally achieved my dream of having a literal child on the internet call me out about being attracted to a homophobe.  (they were a madridista even!) accidentally started writing some more rakidric and now i’m seriously hooked.  also accidentally came out of the closet about the secret crush i’d been harboring on luka modric and then one fateful day in the ihop on 14th st i realized i’d had this crush already and repressed it from my memory. Don’t do that kids! now it’s Hurting Really Bad. Ivan dropped the most pathetic and candid interview like...ever and i hope “¿Cómo puede disfrutar uno? Jugando al fútbol. ¿Cómo se siente mi hija pequeña cuando le quitan un juguete? Triste. Yo me siento igual. Me han quitado la pelota, me siento triste” goes down in the history of most epic futbol quotes of all time.  (still haven’t actually been able to watch this because no one has uploaded it anywhere)  What else...............Am i forgetting anything? i celebrated my birthday with @tender-vittles in epic fashion after two years of Not doing that, and turned 32 going on 15.  enjoyed my first-ever “x reader” fic (zlatko dalic x reader LOL) and finished “drive your plow over the bones of the dead” which was real fucking good. i saw hozier live and it was a religious experience and i unexpectedly cried during nina cried power and then called myself “Luka B” when ordering at the classy taco bell across the street after getting a glimpse of alexxx ryan in the flesh. (fav music)

now it’s december and my seasonal depression is a little worse than it’s been the past few years but i’m managing.  still shipping and writing and i just got called out about ivan again last week.  i’m 2 for 2 here!  el clásico was boring but also it was gay and my heart my heart my heart ! Anything could happen in the last 10 days of this year and honestly...I’m pretty sure I’m ready.

Most importantly this year, despite it being not that great in a lot of ways, I developed a lot more self confidence, made many important realizations, and became a lot more peaceful (despite how this post makes me sound) and wiser and less bitter and pessimistic.  And i became outspoken enough about antisemitism on the left to lose friends over it...3 for 3.  i can’t say i’m displeased with these developments.

Hasta 2020! <3

[zigsexual]

valentine’s day (drake/liam)

note: my belated and creatively named valentine’s gift to you all that got away from me and ended up being a full fledged fic!! deepest apologies. please note that this isn’t a highschool au, it’s my DEU rendition of The Crew (maxwell, olivia, liam, drake) as wee babies when they were at their bougie ass rich kid private school prior to the events of trr. i have so many thoughts about this gang you guys....... so many thoughts. i digress.

summary: in which drake is sixteen, perturbed by the concept of love, and burdened with a fat crush on his best friend the prince of cordonia.

word count: 4200+

• • •

“Who the hell decided to commercialize Valentine’s Day, anyway?” Drake complains, making a face as they pass a group of girls hanging up strings of heart-shaped lights in the halls. “Couldn’t we have given February a useful holiday?”

“What in god’s name is a useful holiday?” Olivia says, “Would you suggest we celebrate weeding the garden instead?”

Drake rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying, it’s a colossal waste of time.”

“Speak for yourself,” Maxwell chimes in, “I’ve already got like fifteen secret admirers. At this rate, I won’t need to buy chocolate for a year.”

“You never need to buy chocolate. Your family is rich.”

“It’s the principle of it, Drake.”

Olivia turns, flashing a smirk at him. “Come on, you just hate it because no one wants to be your Valentine. It’s a hard life being an old maid, isn’t it?” She bats her eyelashes, lips set in a mocking pout. “We’ll spare a thought for you, darling.”

“Shut up,” Drake glares at her, and she barely conceals a snicker.

“She’s right though,” Maxwell says, “You can’t fully enjoy Valentine’s if you don’t have anyone to spend it with.”

Drake raises an eyebrow at him. “And who are you spending it with? Your fifteen secret admirers?”

Maxwell brightens. “Exactly! If I spend it with all of them, it’s enough people to be a party!”

“Oh, to be so simple,” Olivia sighs.

Liam is quiet at Drake’s side, content to listen to their back-and-forth as he usually does. He’s never been much of a talker, at least in the company of others. He talks to Drake, and that’s all that matters.

Olivia and Maxwell split off towards their respective classes, offering Drake a brief respite from the taunts until the next passing period. Liam glances over at him, a tentative smile on his face, and Drake catches his eye and smiles back.

“I’ll be your Valentine,” Liam says, painfully earnest.

It takes Drake a second for the words to settle in, but once they do, he can feel the color start to spread on his cheeks. “What?”

“So you can enjoy the holiday,” Liam adds, so sweet and well-meaning, just like he always is. “We can do something together. I’ve always liked Valentine’s.”

Drake’s whole face is burning, flushed all the way to the tops of his ears. He prays to god that Liam hasn’t noticed. “Oh. Yeah, we could — yeah. That’s, ah… yeah, okay. Cool.”

Liam smiles wider. “Cool.”

When Liam breaks off towards his class, Drake lingers for a moment outside the door, watching him walk in and take his seat. Liam turns to take out his books, catching Drake standing there, and lifts up his hand in a wave. Drake waves back, smiling so hard he has to bite his lip to hold it in.

---

He spends all of lunch detention (unintentional wardrobe infraction) feeling strange. It’s only him and Maxwell (intentional wardrobe infraction) in the room, as the supervisory teacher is so used to their presence that she no longer bothers to supervise. Maxwell is reading a copy of Vogue, so he’s out as a conversation partner, and Drake has been left far too long with only his thoughts and that bizarre twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach to dwell on.

He’s certain all of this has nothing to do with Liam’s offer — why would it, anyway? What’s so weird about spending Valentine’s Day alone with your best friend, just the two of you? It’s not like that would mean anything, especially not between him and Liam. They spend lots of time together, and nothing about it has ever been weird before.

Except… there was that time in the summer when they went camping. There hadn’t been anything overtly strange, not really, but they’d gone swimming in the lake together and Drake couldn’t help but notice Liam as he dried off afterwards. And then… kept noticing him, all the rest of the day and into the night, until he dreamed that Liam noticed him too.

And there had been that palace ball, the one where the two of them snuck away and Liam tried to teach him the steps to the waltz, insisting on kissing his hand just like he would any of the girls he danced it with at court. Or the night they climbed onto the roof to watch a meteor shower and accidentally fell asleep together, Drake waking up with his head nestled in the crook of Liam’s neck like it was exactly where he belonged.

He takes a deep breath and glances over to Maxwell. He’s still intently focused on his reading, lips pursed. Drake drums his fingers on the desk, the strange feeling beginning to spread to his chest.

So what if sometimes he thinks about what it might be like to kiss Liam, or hold his hand, or run his fingers through his hair — everyone thinks stuff like that about their closest friend sometimes, right? And it’s Liam, he’s just… that’s how everyone is with Liam. He’s a prince, and he’s kind and charming and handsome, and when he smiles at you sometimes it feels like you’re the only person in the whole world who matters.

And that’s… everyone feels like that, right?

“Maxwell,” Drake says, unable to keep quiet any longer, “Have you ever… wanted to kiss one of your friends?”

“No,” Maxwell answers, not even lifting his eyes from the magazine. “Have you?”

“No.” Drake says indignantly. “Why do — why would you ask me that?”

This time Maxwell hazards a glance at him, amused. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Is this about Liam?”

“What?” Drake panics. “No way. Of course not. Absolutely not. Why would you say that?”

Maxwell just watches him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What other friends do you have?”

“I have other friends,” Drake says, although for the life of him he can’t think of any.

“Other friends you want to kiss?”

“I don’t —” He struggles to find something to say, but his mind has betrayed him, and he’s floundering. “Nevermind, okay? That’s… just nevermind.”

Maxwell surveys him a few seconds longer before letting out a sigh and returning to his reading, flipping to the next page. “Honestly, Drake, you’re a lost cause.”

Drake crosses his arms, sinking back in his chair. He’s probably got a fever. The flu was going around last week, wasn’t it? Definitely a late flu. Maybe he can get a hall pass to go see the nurse or something.

---

“Uh, hey, Savannah?”

He’s lingering in her doorway, still wearing his school uniform, backpack slung over one shoulder. She looks up at him from her bed, laptop perched at her side. “What do you want?”

“I just...” He regrets the entire situation now, but he can’t back out at this point.  “I need your advice on something.”

She tilts her head, suspicious. “You never ask for my advice.”

“Well, that’s because it’s usually bad.”

“You’re off to a great start here.”

“Ugh, just let me talk, okay?” He shifts awkwardly under her gaze. “What would you... suggest... getting someone for Valentine’s Day?”

Her whole countenance shifts at his words, eyes lighting up and smile spreading across her face. She sits up straighter. “Oh my god, you have a girlfriend!”

“No, I —”

She squeals and claps her hands together, an almost manic expression of glee on her face. “You have a girlfriend!”

“It’s for a friend,” Drake says pointedly, crossing his arms and shooting her a reproachful glare. “And forget I said anything. Apparently you’re the worst person to ask.”

Savannah leans forward, resting her chin on her hands, waggling her eyebrows at him. “Nobody gets Valentine’s presents for a friend, dumbass. At least not ones that require sisterly advice. Who is she? Do I know her?”

“No, because she doesn’t exist!” Drake throws his hands up with a sigh, turning to back out of the doorway. “I told you, just forget it. Christ.”

“Wait!” Savannah hops off her bed, following after him. “Wait, I’m sorry! I wanna give you ideas, okay? I have good ones!”

He shoots her a scowl over his shoulder. “You had your moment, and you blew it.”

“Girls like flowers, and chocolate, and nail polish,” she says, still trailing behind him, listing it out on her fingers as she speaks. “Sometimes stuffed animals but only if they’re cute. Jewelry. Cookies and cupcakes and cards.”

He wants to say: And what if it’s not for a girl? But the aftermath of that question isn’t something he’s ready to deal with. He bites his tongue. “Seriously? I could’ve Googled all of that. You’re completely unhelpful.”

She rolls her eyes, hands on her hips. “Fine. What kinds of things does your ‘friend’ like?”

He pauses, thinking. “Books. Traveling, I guess. Sports. Dogs.” Municipal government, although that one’s too much of a giveaway to say out loud.

Savannah makes a face. “All of those are boring, unless you’re getting her a puppy. Which you’re definitely not.” She purses her lips, looking up at the ceiling while she thinks. “If you’d just tell me who it’s for, maybe I could actually help you.”

“No chance in hell.”

“Ugh, your loss then,” she says, rolling her eyes and turning back in the direction of her room. “Make her a scrapbook for all I care. It’s not going to be my fault when you get dumped.”

“I’m not getting dumped!” Drake calls after her, indignant. “There’s no one to dump me!”

“And there never will be!” Savannah shoots back, vanishing through the doorway and closing it behind her.

---

When the day arrives, Drake tries not to seem overtly invested when he asks Liam about his plans for the evening. Anyway, maybe he’d forgotten; maybe it had just been an offhand, spur-of-the-moment kind of thing.

“Well, what time are you dropping by?” Liam answers with a smile. “We should still get to bed at a reasonable hour, but if you’re free around dinnertime, I have a few ideas.”

“Sure,” Drake says, mirroring the smile. “We can do dinner.”

And if his heart speeds up a little at the implication — dinner, with Liam, on Valentine’s Day — then maybe that’s just the flu talking. Who cares if the nurse couldn’t find a fever yesterday? What does she know?

As soon as he gets home, he starts working on the gift he’s spent all day thinking about. He owes just a bit of the inspiration to Savannah, whose parting mockery had been more useful than she clearly intended it to be. He’s not making a scrapbook, per se, but something to pull together all the memories that bind the two of them so closely.

Drake would punch anyone who’d call him sentimental, but the truth remains that he always likes to take a piece of the moments that mean something big. A horseshoe from the ranch his mom’s family owns in Texas, the first time she let him ride one of the horses. A table topper from the first royal wedding he’d attended, making Liam laugh (the ultimate goal, as Liam had been despondent all day once Regina donned white) while he pressed a finger to his lips to keep his thievery quiet.

He rummages through his drawers now for the perfect mix of things to press onto paper for Liam. A map of their friendship, if you will, told in ticket stubs and photographs and ballpoint pen. He tries to label everything he can, not sure if Liam will remember right away when he sees: a seashell plucked from the sand of their favorite beach in Cordonia, apple seeds from their first festival together, a scrap of fabric from the tent they’d ruined the first time they got to go camping on their own. He fills the spaces between with pictures, a gradient of growth, his hair losing its sandy highlights and Liam’s baby face disappearing into cheekbones and jawlines right before their eyes.

They’d been together for so much. So much of Drake’s life had been defined by Liam, by the moments they shared, the memories they’d made together. He looks down at the collage of their past, messy as it is, and silently hopes for it to continue far into the future.

When he’s done, he takes care to roll up his creation and secure it with a rubber band, lodging it snugly in his backpack so Liam will be surprised.

With the gift out of the way, he spends several minutes staring at his closet, wondering what sort of thing to wear. Normally in these situations, he’d ask Savannah for help, but following their last conversation he’s fairly certain any advice she has to give will be locked away behind one thousand pressing questions he has no desire to answer.

Why mess with the status quo, then? He throws on a denim shirt and fishes out the black jeans Savannah had bought him last Christmas (“If you’re going to keep wearing double denim, at least make it a different color.”), pulling off the tags and crossing his fingers that she had at least a bit of good taste. They’re tighter than he would normally want them to be, and he stares himself down in the mirror for a few seconds trying to decide if it’s too much.

He remembers the last time he’d worn a suit: some formal banquet Liam had begged him to attend so there’d be someone for him to talk to. Liam had paid for it, of course — Liam always paid for everything, no matter how many times Drake tried to refuse — and he’d dragged Drake to the royal family’s tailor to make sure everything was sized correctly.

Liam, ever the picture of nobility, had been quick to lecture him on the importance of a good suit. Drake recalls the way Liam had skimmed his fingertips across the lapel, assessing the details, absently commenting, “You should have them cut it more fitted, it’ll look good on you.”

Drake sighs. Skinny jeans it is, then.

He drops by Liam’s room just a few minutes after six, stalling to make sure it doesn’t seem like he’s too eager. He wonders what Liam has planned, if they’ll stay in for the night or go out somewhere, a reservation just for two. And what about after dinner? Would they reprise their favorite rebellious activity and stargaze on the roof?

He takes a deep breath and knocks, a flittering anxiety alight in his stomach.

When the door opens, Liam is already smiling. Drake can’t help but notice that he’s wearing the Liam version of casual: a sweater over an Oxford. That alone is a definitive enough statement; there will be no going out tonight. He begins to regret the jeans.

“Hi!” Liam says brightly, heading back into the room before Drake can fully respond, clearly excited about something. As Drake follows him in, he immediately spots what it is, and his heart sinks.

Liam is talking animatedly, unaware of the way Drake’s gaze has landed forlornly on what looks to be an entire library of boring old historical tomes laid out across Liam’s bed. “I was thinking we could get a head start on our history project. I brought down a bunch of the old books we have on the medieval Cordonian rulers, so it should be really interesting! They don’t have any of these at the school library.”

“Oh,” Drake says, the weight of his backpack suddenly tremendous. “You want to… study history.”

Liam seems to sense his apprehension, looking back over his shoulder. “Or we could do something else. Your call, whatever you want to do.” He glances at the way Drake’s fingers are digging into his backpack straps. “Did you bring something?”

“No,” Drake says, a beat too quickly. “No, just school stuff. You know, so we can… do homework.”

“Great! Oh, and I almost forgot — the staff are making pizza for dinner. I figured that’s easy to eat while we work, right?” Liam crosses over to the bed. “Did you have a particular century in mind?”

Drake forces a smile. “You know what, it’s just… so hard to choose.”

“You’re right,” Liam sighs, already opening one of the books, seemingly oblivious to Drake’s complete lack of interest. “There’s really so many good ones. I’m glad we’re starting this now, otherwise I wouldn’t have enough time to pick.”

The fake smile still plastered on his face, Drake edges toward the bathroom. “Yeah, that sounds… listen, I’ll be right back.”

Liam’s attention has already shifted fully towards the history project, brow furrowed as he reaches across for another book. Drake slips inside the enormous adjoining bathroom and locks the door behind him, slumping down on the floor.

And — he’s an idiot. Of course, of course, this is what Liam had meant. This is the kind of thing they always do together when they hang out. Why should today be any different? Liam’s intention, from the very start, had been to give Drake an out, offer him an alternative to the teasing words of Maxwell and Olivia. Dinner was always pizza with them, always dressed down and casual and lounging in Liam’s room watching TV or studying or pranking one of the staff.

Drake brings a hand up to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose. What had gotten into him lately? Is this some sort of hormonal imbalance? A second puberty? God, with his luck.

He sighs and stands up, resigned to the decision that, for now, the backpack will stay closed. He’s mildly tempted to just flush his gift down the toilet and be done with it, but there’s still a spark of hope in his chest that he can’t find the strength to smother yet. Anyway, the night’s just begun; maybe Liam has plans for them that are yet to be revealed.

---

He learns about four hours later that there are no such plans, when Liam yawns into another book and says to him, “It’s almost ten, should we call it a night?”

Drake tries to keep from looking dejected. If anything, he knows that ten is late when it comes to Liam, what with his ridiculous adherence to bedtimes, so the fact that Drake has stayed this long is at least somewhat of a kind gesture on Liam’s part. Just not the one he’s looking for.

For a second, he almost considers asking if Liam wants to sneak up onto the roof again, but when Liam yawns a second time, his eyelids heavy, Drake relents. “Sure. Thanks for having me.”

Liam laughs. “You make it sound like you don’t live down the hall. You can come by whenever you want.”

“Just not after ten.”

Liam laughs again, a flash of levity in his tired eyes. “Maybe after ten, but only if it’s not a school night.”

Drake makes a face at him. “You’re such a giant nerd, Liam, you know that?”

“Well, that’s why I have you. To counterbalance.”

Drake slides off the bed, rolling his eyes. “Should I be offended by that?”

“You started it.”

He glances down at the ground, searching for his backpack, but Liam is two steps ahead of him and appears around the corner, holding it in his hands. “Don’t forget your stuff.”

Drake feels a tiny surge of nerves at the thought of Liam so close to his almost-gift, but he fights it back and takes the bag from Liam, slipping it over his shoulders. “Thanks.”

“Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe,” Liam says, smiling. It’s the joke he always makes, and Drake always rolls his eyes, like clockwork. It would be cute if it wasn’t so heartbreaking.  

“I expect to drop dead halfway there, but I’ll do my best.”

“Aw,” Liam tilts his head, the smile softening, “Don’t do that. I’d miss you.”

Drake’s cheeks burn, which he takes as his cue to leave. He offers Liam a halfhearted salute, walking backwards towards the door until Liam turns around, and then he does, too.

The walk back down the hall seems longer than usual, weighed down by dashed hopes and the presence of that fucking gift he’d been so stupid to prepare. He flicks on the lights in his room with a frustrated sigh, letting his backpack fall off his shoulders to the floor as he crosses towards his closet to change out of the stupid jeans.

When he passes his bed, he sees it. A flash of something silver. He pauses, head turned, brow furrowed, trying to make out what it could be. It’s nestled in against his pillows, sinking down into the comforter.

As he approaches, the object becomes clearer: a delicately wrapped package, with a tiny card slipped under the red ribbon tied across it. Drake picks it up, inspecting it curiously before flipping open the card. The inscription reads: Happy Valentine’s Day! Love, Liam.

Drake drops the gift back down on the bed, a sudden jolt running through his body and filling him with a nervous apprehension. How had Liam managed this? They’d been together the entire evening, and he would have certainly noticed if Liam had been gone longer than a few minutes; he hadn’t been that invested in the studying.

He can’t possibly open this. Not now. Not after…

Love, Liam.

Drake sits, staring down at the package while his heart speeds up. Finally, he reaches back out for it and gingerly tears at a corner of wrapping paper.

Underneath, he can see a small, flat box — nothing out of the ordinary. He pulls off the ribbon, tearing back the rest of the paper before slowly moving to open the lid.

When he sees what’s inside, his heart climbs right into his throat.

He’s almost too stunned to touch it at first, but curiosity soon gives way and he brushes his fingers gently across the cool metal, following the lines that make out his last name, inscribed at the bottom just under a long string of numbers.

He knows what it is without having to read the tiny note Liam has tucked underneath it: his dad’s badge from the King’s Guard. After he had died in the assassination attempt, the state had taken everything in as evidence. His mom had filed a few petitions to have things returned, but she’d given up shortly before she left. Drake had almost forgotten. Liam must have remembered, must have pulled some strings.

He looks up at the ceiling, willing gravity to pull back the tears brimming in his eyes. His hand folds around the badge.

Love. Liam.

He hurries back into the hallway before he even knows what he’s doing, jogging back towards Liam’s room and knocking on the door so forcefully that he can hear Liam’s footsteps speed up before he pulls it open, eyes wide. “Drake? What’s —”

“Your present,” Drake interrupts, the words coming out in a tumble, out of breath. “Liam, that was… nobody’s ever…”

“Oh,” Liam withdraws a little, a bashful smile creeping onto his face. “I was worried it might be a bit much, I just thought… well, do you like it?”

“I love it,” Drake says, unabashed. “I love you.”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but Liam lets the smile spread, reaching out and pulling him in for a hug. “I love you too,” he says.

Drake feels the memories of every moment he’s spent pretending not to long after Liam flood through his body like fire. Maybe… maybe Maxwell had been right, maybe Liam was the only person he wanted to kiss and maybe he didn’t have the flu and maybe —

Suddenly, Liam adds, “You’re my best friend, Drake,” and the world comes to a slow and inevitable stop.

Best friend. Right.

Drake clings to Liam just long enough to blink back his rapidly watering eyes, breathing out slowly through his mouth. When they break apart, he’s managed to plaster a smile on his face too.

It is simultaneously the best and worst Valentine’s Day he’s ever had.

“See you tomorrow, then,” he says, slightly hurried as he feels another wave of emotion begin to well up inside him. Liam nods, completely oblivious to the hurricane hiding behind Drake’s eyes.

“See you tomorrow.”

Drake walks back to his room with his hands shoved into his pockets, mind racing just as his heart slows. He’s not sure what to do with himself, what to do with all these feelings. But he at least knows what to do with the carefully crafted gift he’d never had the chance to give Liam, still sitting like a stone in his backpack.

When he’s back inside, he takes it out and looks at it, suddenly so mad at himself for thinking — well, he’s not quite sure what he’d thought. But it had been stupid. Stupid just like Valentine’s Day.

He gathers the whole thing up and walks it towards the trash can under his desk, dumping it unceremoniously among the discarded papers and wrappers and soda cans. He shoves it down with his foot, refusing to let it linger at the top, a reminder of his idiocy.

He almost considers throwing Liam’s card away with it, even crosses the room and picks it up, intentions set. But some part of him, the same part that had thought this all up in the first place, can’t let it go. He stands over his trash can, staring down at the words written in Liam’s careful cursive script, brushing his thumb across the letters. Love, Liam.

At the last minute, he tucks it into his back pocket and turns to get ready for bed.

[nova-fanart-dump]

SCIENCE LECTURE

In my fic here, Sherlock has a little brainstorming session while drugged out of his mind, and this sheet of notes below is the result of it. I decided to write out a little explanation as to what all the individual parts of it mean. The explanation will be in the format of ITEM - TRANSLATION - BREAKDOWN. The item will be the selection of the notes that the section will be explaining, copied roughly verbatim for the reader's convenience. The translation, if needed, will be translating Sherlock's (my) shorthand into standard notation. The breakdown, then, will be the explanation.

Disclaimer: I was a medical student, before I had to withdraw due to hand injury, and my area of study in undergraduate was neuroscience and neuropsychology (and music performance, but that's not relevant here). I do try and explain everything in layman's terms, but 1) it will get a little technical in parts, fair warning, and 2) I'm still learning on how best to explain concepts to other. I try my best, people!

ITEM 1: THE LIST

1) Narcotics- hallucin? (Translation: Hallucinogen)

2) Sleep dep. Halluc (Translation: Sleep deprivation Hallucination)

3) Mycroft- test?

4) Lights show

5. GMO (Translation: Genetically Modified Organism)

6) Moriarty???

7) Acute psychosis xxx

Breakdown:

In the episode, Sherlock says that he had come up with seven possible reasons for how he, Henry, and John could have all seen the dog-that-could-not-exist, and that he'd settled upon narcotics as the most likely. I came up with a list of seven of my own reasons:

1) Narcotics- hallucinogen: self-explanatory, as explained by the actual episode.

2) Sleep deprivation hallucination: this episode takes place what appears to be several days into pretty severe nicotine withdrawal, for Sherlock. His sleep schedule seems to be disastrous as is, and the nicotine withdrawal would've made him even more wired, so there's a solid chance he hadn't slept for several days, which is long enough to for sleep deprivation-induced hallucinations. While the hypothesis itself is perfectly sound, Sherlock puts it at number 2 instead of 1 because A) Henry ALSO saw the dog, B) sleep deprivation induced hallucinations generally don't start out with a full-fledged monster dog screaming in your face. If this hypothesis had been correct, he should've been experiencing more subtle hallucinations all night long.

3) Mycroft- test?: As discussed in series four, Mycroft occasionally has been employing tests into Sherlock's mental stability for decades, focusing on what Sherlock believes to be a dog. Sherlock, being Sherlock, has likely noticed this. Mycroft knows Sherlock is hanging around Baskerville. Sherlock also knows Mycroft knows this. Under the influence of a paranoia-inducing narcotic, Sherlock very easily could suspect his nosy brother at being somehow responsible.

4) Lights show: Again, inspired by series 4, and how the illusion of a ghost is created in TAB with nothing more than a projector. The logistics of how this would actually work are hazy, which is why this is further down the list, and quickly discounted by Sherlock.

5) GMO: While GMOs are usually discussed in the context of resilient strains of plants, all it really means is genetically modified organism. I'm speaking as one educated in 2014+, not 2012 (the ep air date), but breeding an especially large dog, and genetically modifying it to have red eyes, would probably not be too difficult a feat, scientifically. It could even be glowing, if you spliced in that GFP gene that the scientist mentions! However, this possibility is unlikely, because it raises the very big question as to why the scientists would allow their experiment to roam wild and attack people, why the scientists would bother making it in the first place, why haven't others taken pictures, etc. This is why it's so low on the list.

6) Moriarty???: Similar premise as the Mycroft's inclusion.

7) Acute psychosis xxx: AKA, "I lost my mind". Very unlikely, because it doesn't explain why Henry shared his hallucination, has no explanation as to why or how, and he has no other symptoms suggestive of a psychotic break. Which is why Sherlock scratched it out, and marked it with three Xs.

ITEM 2: THE FEEDBACK LOOP

This refers to the diagram, sitting just to the right of the list.

Breakdown:

X -> SNS Act -> Occ. -> (SNS Act) | (Amyg up) (Temporal) (up up Amyg)

Translation:

Unknown Substance X -> Sympathetic Nervous System Activation -> Occipital Cortex

(Amygdala stimulation) (Temporal) (Further Amygdala stimulation)

Let's define some terms!

This little diagram is a positive feedback loop, drawn very messily and with multiple steps added in after the fact. In biology, a feedback loop is a circuit in which the output of a system feeds back around to affect the system's input, which indirectly affects the system's output again, and so on. A simple example of a positive feedback loop is as follows: Addition of Substance X to System yields output of Substance Y. Substance Y triggers the production of more of Substance X, which again yields the output of more of Substance Y, which again triggers more production of Substance X- and so on. (feedback loops in the body are far more complicated, and most will eventually trigger their own end, etc, but such discussion is beyond the purpose of this post).

Unknown Substance X = input of whatever Sherlock was drugged with

Sympathetic Nervous System = simplistically speaking, our autonomic nervous system has two parts that work together, the sympathetic nervous system, and the parasympathetic nervous system. PNS can be summed up as rest and digestion, while SNS can be summed up as fight or flight.

Occipital Cortex = simplistically speaking, the visual center in the brain. There are other areas involved, but this area is the key and center to visual perception.

Temporal = simplistically speaking, the auditory cortex in the brain.

Amygdala = simplistically speaking, the fear center of the brain.

(I am defining all these terms as their relation to this situation at hand, nothing more. The brain is not so simple as to allocate X Function to Y cortex.)

So, Sherlock theorizes that input of Drug X stimulates the SNS and/or the amygdala, which caused inappropriate occipital lobe stimulation leading to hallucinations, which increased Sherlock's fear response, which caused further SNS activation, and so on. He suggested temporal lobe as a possible step; however, at no point during the episode did the drug cause auditory hallucinations, which is why it's not including in the loop proper.

There are actually a few problems with his loop, because he drew it out on the fly, while high off his mind, and he's not a neuroscientist, but he's got the right idea. The inappropriate, uncontrollable stimulation of the amygdala is almost certainly what Drug X causes, and would result in fear, paranoia, and increased suggestibility, all stated symptoms of Drug X. Inappropriate amygdala stimulation leads to inappropriate SNS activation, which encourages hallucinations, but would not cause them directly. It's likely that the drug also caused overproduction of dopamine, which can cause hallucinations. (However, there is no guarantee the occipital cortex was involved).

Whatever the chemical cause of the hallucination, he "sees" the dog, freaks out more, amygdala continues to be stimulated, freaks out because he’s Sherlock and isn’t used to freaking out, and the cycle continues, which is what leads to Sherlock's panic attack/meltdown in the pub- short-term, we're able to handle those stress reactions, especially if they're rational reactions to a stimulus, but keep them going for hours at a time and the body will start to freak out.

ITEM THREE: SYMPTOMS LIST

3a. Tachycardia, (up)hidrosis, shaking, panic attack?, nausea, emesis

(up)hidrosis = hyperhidrosis

Breakdown: Very rapid heartrate, increased sweating, shaking, nausea, emesis = vomiting, panic attack? (Question mark because Sherlock is not convinced of the diagnosis. Even high off his mind, he's still got his pride- he's Sherlock Holmes! He does not Get panic attacks! >;0)

3b. NOT NICOTINE, WITHDRAWAL UPUPUP

Breakdown: as John says in the pub, Sherlock was pretttty wired before all of this. Sherlock notes down that these symptoms are not the result of the nicotine withdrawal, because he can still feel the now increased effects of the nicotine withdrawal going on alongside these new symptoms. Chemically speaking, Drug X probably wouldn’t have any /direct/ effect on nicotine withdrawal, but it very well might exacerbate it indirectly.

3c. OH NO EFFECT - NOT STIMULANT

Translation: Alcohol no effect - not stimulant

Alcohol, to our bodies, is a depressant. If you drink it with a straight stimulant, like caffeine, their effects will counteract each other; for example, if I want to drink but keep clear-headed, I'll have a soda with my glass of wine. (DISCLAIMER: this will not make it safe to drive, this will not prevent alcohol poisoning, this can be dangerous, and do not do it in anything but careful moderation). Sherlock, as seen in the show, gets a shot of alcohol, probably in a desperate bid to calm down. It also does not work at all, because he was not dosed with a stimulant, but a hallucinogenic. The hallucinations led to stimulant-esque effects, but with no stimulant to counteract, Sherlock would simply end up sloshed and panicking. Sherlock realizes that the alcohol is not having the desired affect, and, when he realizes he was drugged, concludes that it therefore can not have been with a simple stimulant.

ITEM FOUR: DIAGRAM B

Oral --> long-lasting VS inhale --> feedback loop

no IV/IM

BLOOD TEST NEC ASAP (check)

Breakdown:

While the identity/structure of the drug he was dosed with are important, the route/method of administration are also a huge factor of variability that affects the intensity and timeline of the symptoms. Sherlock mentions four different routes of administration, here: oral (PO), inhalation, IV, and IM (intramuscular). A drug taken orally will have slower and longer lasting effects than one that is inhaled: one that is inhaled will act almost immediately, as seen in the episode, and its effect will also wear off very quickly.

Sherlock theorizes he must have taken the drug either orally or inhaled it, because the only other options are being stuck with a needle at some point, which he is sure never occurred. (Really, there are a few other options, most notably transdermal, that is unlikely for other reasons). Because the drug affects him for so long, he assumes he must have taken it orally, but also allows inhalation a spot on the list, by noting it could have instigated a feedback loop, and continued affecting him even after it'd left his system. He also notes the need for an urgent blood test, in the case that there are still some traces left to analyze. Especially if the drug was inhaled, the blood needs to be drawn ASAP. (Without any information on the chemical structure of Drug X, though, I can’t make any sort of estimation on what results Sherlock’s own blood test would show, with the sample drawn ~8 hours after being dosed).

ITEM FIVE: TIMELINE

To the left of diagram B, eleven hash marks next to a supremely messy "hours". AKA, eleven hours of 'experimentation', after Sherlock realizes he was drugged.

(upside down-items):

ITEM SIX: FORMULA

C12H22O11

The chemical formula for a sugar, which, as Sherlock states in the episode, was his initial theory. This would suggest PO as method of administration, not inhalation, but Sherlock's also not thinking too straight, right now. Give him a break. (He's also probably got a ton more information on PO medications in his head than airborne compounds).

ITEM SEVEN: SHERLOCK'S THEORY

THC? -amyg overstim in subject

-no SNS activ

(scratched out, termed STUPID by Sherlock)

Translation:

THC? - amygdala overstimulation in subject

-no SNS activation

Breakdown (this is the most technical passage of the post, fair warning:)

The 'subject' in this case refers to Sherlock. THC, as you probably know, is is the primary hallucinogenic/psychoactive component of cannabis (marijuana). Also as you probably know, cannabis tends to reduce anxiety effects in most individuals, but in some, it results in a paradoxical panic reaction. We're not entirely sure why, but this panic reaction appears to be due to GABA paradoxical disinhibition. Essentially, in a standard patient, cannabis leads to mass increases in GABA, which is the calm-down chemical in the brain. However, in these select patients, cannabis' initial activation of GABA may lead to the brain telling the production of GABA itself to calm down, which lead to an overall decrease in GABA levels in the amygdala, which leads to a panic reaction. (Disclaimer: This is still a working theory in the scientific community, and all depends on an individual's makeup of receptors and neural circuits. This is by no means settled discussion, either the end result or its mechanism.)

Overall, irrelevant to THC and cannabis, patients with severe childhood trauma do tend to have amygdalas that are primed for overstimulation (possibly by the very process described in the paragraph above). Whether Sherlock deleted Eurus and Victor or not, those neurological affects aren't something he could just will away. This is not saying that if you have childhood trauma, you will have a negative reaction to cannabis- but it IS saying that Sherlock might be a candidate expected to have a negative reaction.

Now, given Sherlock's extensive drug history, I'm sure he tried cannabis, at some point. It is also, however, never once brought up in the series proper, which suggests he has absolutely no interest in trying it again- perhaps because he had a negative reaction the first time. The panic reaction and amygdala overstimulation would probably feel similar to how Drug X affected him, which is why, initially, Sherlock writes it down as a suggestion, and also notes that it would not directly cause SNS activation. (At this point, he is not sure if SNS activation is a direct symptom or not).

He then swiftly marks it out as a stupid theory, because he realizes that he has a very atypical reaction to THC, so the likelihood of Henry sharing his hallucination and panic is very low. More to the point, because his reaction is so atypical and unpredictable, it makes no sense that unknown criminals would drug them with it.

TO SUM UP:

Sherlock is a graduate chemist, not a medical doctor, neuroscientist, or neuropsychologist. He does seem to have a great degree of interest and expertise in pharmacology, and probably also has a lot of knowledge in different routes of administration, due to his own personal history and his interest in forensics. However, he has no need to know, for example, the exact neuro-chemical causes of hallucinations. Therefore, his sheet of data is intentionally a bit spotty and with questionable accuracy, at points. (He also gets a bit of a break, considering he was "off his tits", or whatever the fuck that means, at the time. Poor guy needs a rest and a blanket and a hug.)

And that sums up Ranowa's entirely unnecessary lecture on pharmacodynamics!

[municiberg]

Okay, this is my basic plot for the fic. Again, I might not end up doing anything with this. This is actually a reworked version of a concept I had a long time ago. Originally, the idea would have been a direct Incredibles sequel, but I think it works with the wannabes as well.

The wannabe supers face off against two supervillainesses: Heartless and Queen of Hearts, a mother and daughter duo. Heartless’s real name is Noreen Bowman, a ruthless middle-aged woman. Queen of Hearts, her teenage daughter (real name Julie), is a powerful but kind and reluctant supervillain.

Heartless has no superpowers, but Queen of Hearts has the ability to create a pink-red “energy wave” that disorients, incapacitates, or even kills those it comes in contact with. She can also read minds and manipulate emotions.

16 years ago, Noreen Bowman was a successful novelist known for her romance series, “Queen of Hearts.” She and her husband, John, were in the parking lot of a grocery store when they were ambushed by a pair of spree killers. 

There were several drunken supers nearby, hanging out in the parking lot, all of whom were depressed and downhearted by the recent hard times for superheroes (lawsuits and public hatred). It is heavily implied that Mr. Incredible was among them. Noreen pleaded for help, but the disillusioned supers told her to help herself. John was killed by a gunshot, while Noreen lost an eye.

One year later, the devastated Noreen had lost all faith in superheroes and hated them with a burning fury, having nearly lost her mind. She adopted an infant orphan to fill the hole in her heart, but when the baby, Julie, displayed superpowers, Noreen started to formulate a dark plan. She would raise the baby as a supervillain and, if the corrupt institution of heroes should ever rise again, they would destroy them entirely. That day has come. Armed with sophisticated weapons and armor provided by her billion-dollar fortune, Heartless intends to destroy all heroes.

In their first task as full-fledged heroes, the wannabes face a monumental task in dealing with these villains. First, they must ensure no harm comes to young Julie, who is essentially a manipulated innocent. Second, they must make sure no harm comes to members of the public, as Heartless’s plan involves attacking public places and harming innocents so that supers will come out of the woodwork and she can attack and destroy them.

In a sideplot, Bob and Helen’s marriage is under severe strain, as Bob truly cannot remember whether it’s true - as Heartless accused him - that he was one of the drunken supers who failed to help the Bowmans that night. (The reason he can’t recall is because he had become an alcoholic in those days due to the stress of all the lawsuits, and there are a lot of nights he can’t remember. He only got off the bottle once Violet was born.) 

Other sideplots include the wannabe supers, especially Voyd, adjusting to the stresses and tribulations of their new lives as heroes. And as Voyd learns that the life of a super is full of moral challenges and hard decisions, and that her own personal heroes are not all that pristine, she comes to question whether this is truly the life she wants for herself.

With the help the NSA (headed by Rick Dicker), the wannabes will face off against these supervillains with explosive power, awesome new gadgets, and the knowledge that compassion is sometimes more powerful than revenge.

[abovethesmokestacks]

Hi Pia! for your asks, how about 17 & 18?

Heli0s!!! Thank you for this!

17. What fic are you most proud of?

It sounds so cheesy, but I am really proud of all of them, for taking then from the very vaguest of concepts to a full-fledged story. That said, if I had to pick one, I'd have to say 365 Days. It was supposed to be "just" a soulmate AU, an exercise in seeing if I could write one, and somehow it became something so much more and with every chapter I was blown away by the response, by how it seemed to resonate with people in a way I absolutely had not expected.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

Gods are fallible and gods are treacherous and gods will take anyone willing to worship. You learn this on another rare night out. The world is healing, but you wonder if you have somehow fallen behind. There’s a line outside the club, and you hope that the pulse from inside might fill you up and make you feel alive again, that something might strike you and resurrect you. You just want to get inside, to feel the press of bodies so you can close your eyes and pretend things are the way they used to be, drink and dance and stay out long enough that the silence of your apartment can be imagined into something less tragic.

It’s the laugh that catches your attention. Loud and shrill and so… wrong. Your head turns, neck craning, scanning the line, the street, trying to find-

Trying to find the source of the laugh and finding Steve.

Steve, jeans and a white tee under a leather jacket, charming smile and an arm around a woman who is-

Who is everything you’re not and who holds him with an arm around his waist, hand tucked into his pocket, and hangs on every word leaving his lips.

It’s not that you are- not that you were- not that you thought you had been exclusive. An item. That is for another life, another universe. Still, it makes your stomach drop, and you wonder if Steve senses it, if that’s why he suddenly looks up, if that’s how he finds you so quickly. You wonder if he feels anything beyond the recognition that flashes in his eyes. No matter. You feel plenty. The bouncer calls for you to enter. End scene. Begin another.

This is from we go crashing down, a Steve-fic that I was honestly a little surprised by. It was inspired by an edit that popped up on my dash and my brain instantly said “this looks like something that has Taylor Swift’s Style playing over it”. That was it. I had to write it.

This particular scene was sort of the start of a turning point, and it’s Steve in a situation that shows him a little askew from the glorified image people tend to have of him. Truth, Justice and All Things Righteous. Nomad!Steve and even moreso Steve During The Snap is an interesting character to think about. When everything gets turned on his head, when everything he has held onto and tried to keep his belief in crumbles, what happens then? Captain America has been sitting on a pedestal for decades, and even when he’s pushed down from it, he still sits on one because legacy and heroism are powerful things. But Steve Rogers? Steve Rogers is a man, a person, and people are fallible, yet powerful enough to crumble even the divine image of a god.

| fanfic asks |

[jjmin-ssi]

navigation

here you’ll find links for all sorts of navigational needs for this blog! let me know if anything is broken or if you’d like something to be added for your convenience.

[last updated: 6/25/18]

links

ao3

twitter

main

curious cat

ko-fi

masterlist 

enter domain: desire | explicit, jikook, oneshot(?), camboy! jimin + college student! jeongguk

↪  ❝camboy jimin has jeongguk whipped. jimin finally noticed jeongguk and it makes for a fun stream.❞

take all the stars that hang above me (be mine) | explicit, jikook, oneshot, cat hybrid! jimin + bunny hybrid! jeongguk

↪  ❝ being mates that are so in love, it's no question that jimin's heats make the both of them go a little mad. but pre-heats were a little different, not as intense but just as sweet and fulfilling to spend together.❞

i wanna be with (just love)  | explicit, jikook, oneshot, solo artist! jimin + rookie idol! jeongguk

↪  ❝ park jimin never cares for these shitty awards shows, but then newcomer rookie jeon jeongguk comes in and turns his whole world upside down.❞

i'd prefer soft mints instead | explicit, taegi, oneshot, canon idolverse

↪  ❝ soft boyfriends like kissing each other and coming together. that's it, that's the story.❞

faq

“why do you have two separate blogs for writing?”

i thought i should separate my x reader fics with those of ships, since not only are they drastically different in my opinion, but also usually those who search one type won’t be looking for the other. this way, no one will go into my main expecting ship fics or vice versa and be disappointed by the content or lack thereof.

“are you abandoning your main/|insert fic name here|?”

no, just simply taking a hiatus. i’d prefer if that sort of talk and asks were left on my main since i made this side blog specifically to keep away from it since i wasn’t doing well with writing and blogging there.

“will you write for |insert ship name here|?”

chances are if there isn’t already one of them written by me, there may well be in the future. i don’t really plan my fics for this account which is why i enjoy it a lot more than before, so i can’t for sure tell you what i will or won’t write anytime soon. that being said, i’m very open to just about all bts ships, ot7 relationships and poly things so don’t fret! it’s not that i don’t love/support their ship, just waiting on the right inspiration is all. you’ll see a lot of jikook because it is my otp and the ship i have the easiest time writing for but i love a variety of them and i won’t be afraid to share them eventually.

“when will you update/post something new?

this is probably the ask i hate the most and i’m sorry but 9/10 times i usually won’t respond to these. they’re what really drove me away from writing on my main because it felt like i was being pressured to write rather than doing it for my own enjoyment, which was the whole point of me doing it in the first place. that being said, if i have any plans (which is a big fat IF) i usually share them in some sort of update post or something along those lines. sometimes a fic/chapter can take me a few hours to churn out and sometimes i’ll be stuck on it for months. there’s no real rushing to this sort of thing, especially since i’m very meticulous when it comes to my works. 

“can i request something?”

sure! i can’t promise i’ll actually get to it but it might serve as good inspiration and i may write it! sometimes a good headcanon or concept or even just a certain pic or gifset may spark something in me so don’t be afraid to share your ideas with me! writer’s block can be a bitch but with the help of others, it’s certainly a lot easier of an obstacle to get over. 

(i.e. “i saw this gif and thought about alpha taehyung being all cuddly with his mate after a long day” or “i was just thinking about that interview and how much namjoon screamed baby boy and i now i can’t get this idea out of my head”)

“what won’t you write?”

i consider myself very open with ideas, kinks, fetishes, etc. but i will say i have some hard no’s. some are for obvious reasons and some are just personal preferences and i would really appreciate if you’d respect that. i will NEVER write anything including pedophilia, rape/non-con (without it being something for a plot. i mean it as like a kink or something positive), feet/foot fetishes, daddy kink, little lifestyles (can do very subby mindsets but no pacifiers, diapers, etc. that are known for ddlg) or scat. this list may be worked on later as i discover things that may make me uncomfortable to read or write.

“but |insert member here| isn’t like that at all! why are you writing them like that?”

let me make this clear: i am a fan fiction writer, therefore, nothing i write is real. i can write things born of canon moments or things that have realistic aspects but obviously nothing i write can come true because why would bts suddenly stop being idols to be drug lords or go to a regular american college? if you think that the way i write and portray a member as a character in any of my fics is footing in my opinion of them, then i’m sorry to say you’re sorely mistaken. just because a member is a villain in one fic doesn’t mean that’s what i truly see them as. i love each and every member of bts equally and i support them through all their endeavors. they’re first and foremost people i look up to and truly appreciate.

what does the (?) mean next to oneshots in your masterlist?

that simply means it’s technically a oneshot but it may become part of a series or simply have a sequel at some point! sometimes i really enjoy the au or storyline of a oneshot i write and i might want to revisit again for some reason. this isn’t a guarantee to a full fledged sequel but just a note that it may be worked on at some point in the future, so if you particularly enjoyed that story or au, there might be more in store!

can i send you asks about anything?

sure you can, though i can’t promise when exactly i can get to them but know that i’ll always be open for anything. whether it’s good news, something personal, needing to vent, sharing ideas, needing advice, etc. i’ll always be here! 

please feel free to ask any more questions if they’re unanswered here or if you need any further clarification. thank you! ♡