#my ao3 page would be a huge mess if i had posted all of them individually

[recurring-polynya]

i have been doing this for five years, and i still have trouble figuring out whether to stuff a story into my on-going short story anthology or post it as a standalone

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  steddieasitgoes! @steddieasitgoes has 27 works posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 23 of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @steddieasitgoes:

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)

for a fortnight there, we were forever

honey i'm still free (take a chance on me)

You Were All Yellow

Eat Your Heart Out, Big Boy

"Her fics are SO FUN. I have enjoyed every single one that I've read IMMENSELY and am always talking about them to my friends after I've read them <3" -- anonymous

Below the cut, @steddieasitgoes answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Was I supposed to watch Eddie throw Steve his vest – the quintessential 80s romcom moment – and be totally normal about it? But in all honesty, there’s just something about them that compels me. When you dig deep into their personalities and arcs, they’re really two sides of the same coin and there’s so many ways for that to manifest in fic.hen

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

I had to consult my ao3 bookmarks for this one and “getting together” tops my list, which really isn’t a traditional trope but I absolutely adore that mutual pining, idiots in love sort of thing that happens in those fics. Bonus points for slow burns!

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Idiots in love for sure. Again, not a typical trope but I’m pretty sure it’s tagged on just about every fic I’ve written. It’s just so easy to slot them into those roles and banter their way into a love confession. The show is so life and death all the time, that I like letting them be goofy boys.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

This is like asking me to choose if I’m more of a Steve girl or an Eddie girl – impossible! But if I had to narrow it down to a top few, I’d say: the most remarkable thing by greatunironic, rounding third, sliding home by througheden, better by you, better than me by palmviolet, and is your light on? By Adure

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Outside of fic I’m a huge fan of enemies/rivals to lovers so I think that would be fun to explore between Steddie. There’s a hint of it in Signed, Sealed, Delivered but I think their hatred fizzles out really quickly and I definitely want to play with something where that takes longer to happen.

What is your writing process like?

It sort of depends on the project, but typically I get a kernel of an idea. Somethings that’s a setting, sometime it’s a bit of dialogue, sometimes it’s just ✨ vibes ✨ Then I’ll add it to my jumbled mess of a notes app on my phone and keep adding to it as I get ideas. When I wrote my first fic (Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore) I had no outline whatsoever. I just knew I had this one scene in mind and kept writing and building the world until I felt the moment made sense to happen. Nowadays, I’m a bit more organized when it comes to longer fics. I’ll usually do a bare bones outline with the major beats I want to hit outlined. This gives me enough structure to not feel lost, but also lets the characters breath one the page and make their own choices. Every fic, but the one I’m working on now for the steddie big bang, I’ve written chronologically which helps me because I can see the progression of the relationship dynamics in real time.  For one shots, it’s somewhat similar. I start with a kernel of an idea and a general plot in my head and just write and hope for the best lol

Do you have any writing quirks?

I think I use the same sentence structure a lot which drives me nuts, but I can’t always help it. Motif-wise I don’t think I have a unifying theme amongst all my fics, but I can almost guarantee that there will be some kind of third act break up. Happily ever afters are always going to be in my fics, but I like to make them work for it. Also they do a lot of gazing at each other and things in my fics. So much gazing!

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Generally, I like posting when something is completely finished. But I get antsy and have been known to start posting when the fic is 85% done and then procrastinate on writing the end until my deadline is looming.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I’m proud of all of them for different reasons, but I was really blown away with Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore. I hadn’t written fic in years and had never written a third-person mlm story before. At the time it was also the longest thing I had ever written. It definitely made me fall back in love with fictional prose writing and the steddie community as a whole.

How did you get the idea for Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)?

It was actually inspired by a ficlet I had written earlier that year and decided to use as inspiration for the full length fic. I was driving around and I kept seeing mail trucks everywhere and I remember getting an image of Steve in those short khaki shorts, carrying a satchel full of mail. And then I remember thinking “I wonder what Eddie would think” and the worms took over. I will say, expanding it into a full fic did take some time though because the ficlet was just vibes

When writing Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours), what was something you didn’t expect?

How long it ended up being lol I think it came in double what I had predicted it to be. I also didn’t expect to write it in the way I did. All my other fics are very traditional in that each chapter is a day or a couple days and it follows a clear timeline. With Signed I really went for a vignette, slice of life sort of storytelling which was a bit difficult initially but I think it paid off in the end.

What inspired honey i'm still free (take a chance on me)?

That one was written for a valentine’s discord server so it was based on the prompt steddiealltheway on Tumblr had submitted. It took me a minute to work out the plot, but I liked the idea of Robin getting to be the wingwoman for Steve.

What was your favorite part to write from for a fortnight there, we were forever?

There was a metaness to that one that was so fun to write. You have Eddie falling in love with Supernatural, a show that was known for making questionable decisions in the end and talking about how fanfic saves the day and that’s exactly what I’ve spent the last two years doing for him lol I love the idea of Eddie being a fandom kid like all of us, and dragging and unknowing Steve into it with him.

How do/did you feel writing Eat Your Heart Out, Big Boy?

At the time I think I just wanted to write something fun and silly because I was deep into Signed, Sealed, Delivered at the time and was feeling bad about not sharing anything. It was like a palette cleanser.

What was the most difficult part of writing You Were All Yellow?

Definitely deciding which yellow objects I was going to use and figuring out how to string them together in a clear narrative arc. It was a puzzle of sorts that took a lot of patience to figure out. It was also a bit reverse-engineered where the objects dictated what the story would be. I think it would have been easier if I had the story first and then found things that fit that narrative.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I struggle with writing poetically, so I was really proud of this line from Duck, Dodge, Don’t Fall In Love: “He feels like an astronomer falling in love with stars for the first time in the untouchable night sky. Because that’s what Steve is, right? A dazzling force that Eddie can steal glances at but never touch, never reach.” But also any and all smut scenes I’ve written. That was an incredible challenge at first and I literally wrote the first make out scene ever under the covers of my bed lol

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m planning to participate in this year’s Steddie Week with some (hopefully) short one shots. And then I have my big bang fic When The Buzzer Sounds that will come out later this year. Other than that we’ll see. My notes are overflowing with ideas it’s all about finding the time and the right one.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

As I write this I’m not sure who nominated me, but I want to say thank you to them! It’s so wild to me that people resonate with the silly stories my brain comes up with and I’ll never take that for granted. There’s so many creative steddie fic writers out there and I’m so happy to be one of them. We really blew up overnight and it’s been so fun watching everyone grow together. And I want to thank all the mods behind this blog for helping share writers hardwork!

Thank you to our author, @steddieasitgoes, and our anonymous nominator! See more of steddieasitgoes's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[deepperplexity]

Titel: That’s Your Patronus?!

Pairing: Lucius x Muggleborn!Female!Slytherin!Reader 

Prologue: You had been secretly admiring Lucius Malfoy for quite some time. But, as you were a muggleborn he had only glared in your direction and jabbed at you with remarks of how you did not belong in Slytherin. But, when he finds you bruised and battered by a couple of Gryffindor boys handy work he leads you away to a secret room with a worried look across his beautiful face. In the end, Lucius is the one baffled by your own secret...

Setting: Hogwarts, Room of Requirements, Seventh Year

A/N: So this is my first Lucius fic ever, I have wanted to write one for quite some time now and this idea has been with me for just as long of a time. I hope you will enjoy it! ^^ 

ABBR.: | (y/n) - Your Name |

Word Count: 3606

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Injury, Bullying, Kissing

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3

You had been crying for the last fifteen minutes. Why do they have to be so mean? I never did anything to them… Your thoughts only made the salty tears roll down your cheeks at a more rapid pace. You couldn’t figure it out. You had always been picked on. The Slytherins picked on you for being a muggleborn, the Gryffindors picked on you for being a Slytherin. You had friends in both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw but you weren’t the outspoken one. You were, well, you were shy and insecure. Who wouldn’t be with constant picking and bullying? 

So you hid in an empty corridor as you wept from the ache in various parts of your body. They were clever in that sense, they didn't use magic since it could be traced back to their wands if one simply did a Priori Incantato spell and there would be the evidence for all to see. So, instead, there were kicks and hits, slaps and threats. In all honesty, that was worse than the magical jinxes and hexes. How much do you have to hate someone to physically punch them? Kick them? What did I do..?  

You sobbed as you scrunched yourself up into a little black ball between a pillar and a statue. “What did they do?” The stern and clear voice of Lucius Malfoy snapped your head up despite your eyes being red and your cheeks wet. You blushed at the sight of him while you hastily wiped away the tears. His eyes had widened at the sight of your marked face. A cut lip, a bruising jaw and swollen cheek where a blotchy red mark from a harsh slap was visible. 

You tried to smile gently as you shook your head. Your stomach was in knots and you could not help but wonder why it had to be him of all people who found you in such a state. “(Y/n), answer,” he commanded as he glared down at you. The light from a nearby torch danced across his high cheekbones and the long blond hair seemed to shimmer. He was perfection in your mind.  “Not-nothing, I’m fine,” you stuttered out as you lowered your gaze from him. Go away, I don’t need you to bash on me more, actually, I’d rather take another beating than hearing foul things from your mouth…  

His pale, slender hand appeared before your face and you reeled back from the surprise. “Up,” he commanded and you looked up at him as he folded and unfolded his hand to, in a way, ask for your hand. “Why?” you asked with a low voice. He simply tucked his chin in and looked at you with raised eyebrows. You tentatively took his hand and he pulled you up with ease. “Come on,” he said quickly with finality to his voice and tugged on your hand so you stumbled along slightly behind him as he marched to-, well, to somewhere. 

Your eyes kept darting up towards his face as your blush grew deeper while your heart pounded as your hand felt incredibly warm in his pale one. You had no clue where you were or where you were going as all you could see was him by your side holding your hand and dragging you along. 

It wasn’t until he stood still that you looked around. He was glaring at the wall before you and a moment later a door appeared. You gawked at it but your attention wasn’t fully on it as Lucius still had a tight grip of your hand. Once the door was fully formed he opened it and pulled you in with harsh movements that felt better than they should have. That somehow took away all your notion of throbbing pain in other parts of your body. 

You had worshipped him, pined for him and longed for him desperately the last two years. But you were nothing to him. All he did was glare and hiss at you; as often as he could it seemed. So that he held your hand was some kind of world-altering experience as you had only been able to guess what his skin felt like, if his slender fingers were strong or not, if he would pull or wait. Well, now you had your answers. 

The room was pitch black as the door closed and then little twinkling lights shimmered and shined in the ceiling while a fire roared to life all the way over on the other side of the gigantic room. You took a deep breath as it suddenly felt as if you weren’t being crushed by harsh stone walls any longer. You had needed the space, without even being aware of it yourself. Okay, usually I just go outside when I feel like that and it helps. I didn’t- who knew a room like this existed? How is this existing? It’s as huge as the Great Hall for Salazar’s sake! 

You looked around with wide eyes but snapped out of it as Lucius let go of your hand before he walked over to a rather huge sofa of the darkest green shade. You instantly wrapped your arms right under your breasts in comfort. You hugged yourself as you looked at his back. He walked with such grace and poise it was hard not to stare. The blonde hair that hung loosely around his shoulders that was covered with the Slytherin House marked cloak. 

“(Y/n), come,” he said without looking back at you and your body jolted into a brisk walk. He sat down on the sofa and once you reached it yourself you stopped, hesitated. Were you supposed to sit beside him? As if he had read your mind he patted the cushioned seat right bloody next to him. You bit your lower lip and took a seat. 

You smoothed out your skirt and kept your knees pressed tightly together. You were no longer crying but you were a sordid mess next to the perfection that was Lucius. You felt his eyes rove over you as you held your gaze transfixed on your fidgeting hands that laid atop your thighs. Yet somehow, you were smiling. It wasn't that much of a surprise actually. you were always smiling. It was nearly a habit but also genuine.

“Tell me,” he said rather clearly, “what happened this time?” he continued with a voice that was perhaps a tad softer. You weren’t quite sure. About his voice or what you were supposed to tell him. His pale hand grabbed your fidgeting ones in a steady grip and you gasped. You couldn’t help it as he nearly gave you a heart attack with the sudden move and strength of his long fingers. “Tell me,” he urged and his voice was a bit clipped. Harsh actually. 

You furrowed your brow as you dared a look at the young man you were so utterly enthralled with. Who had filled your nights with steaming dreams and your warm showers with thoughts of wandering hands and echoing moans. But it had always ended the moment you remembered that he was disgusted by you. By your blood status.

But there he was, holding your hands in his. There he was, seated beside you in your solitude. There he was, wondering what had caused you such pain. And there you were, feeling utterly miserable as the only thing you could think was that you were about to be terribly broken one way or another. No good could simply come from being so close to him, it wasn't possible.

“It was nothing, they just teased me for not being able to produce the Patronus in defence against the dark arts today…” Your voice was low as you tried your best not to lose your courage to speak while you looked at his magnificent face. He let out a little hiss. “Dunderheads, the lot of them.” Your eyes widened in surprise. That was a rather mild comment as it came from him. You had heard far more colourful descriptions of Gryffindors from his lips. 

But his voice, that was what somewhat shocked you. He sounded angry. But why on earth would he be? He took jabs at you all the time, made sure you knew your place - not in Slytherin and not in proximity to him or other purebloods. He was eager in every way to push you down, down, down. 

Your thoughts drifted to the lesson that was the base for that day’s bullying. You had tried, with all your might, to produce your Patronus. You had done it a few times before, away from others. And since you knew what your Patronus was - well, it put a kink in your will to show it to others. So even if you had truly tried with all your might, your will had not been in it. 

“Do you not have happy memories?” Lucius’s voice broke through the light fog that clouded your mind and you smiled in a gentle yet kind of sad way. “I do,” you said as your fiddled with your fingers, your hands in your lap as he had released you a moment earlier. “But?” You peeked at him from the side and he looked at you intently, as if he actually cared or wanted to know. I need to be careful, he might, might just be setting me up for something… “I didn’t want to do it,” you shrugged while you spoke in a low voice. 

There was a moment of silence and Lucius had grabbed your hand yet again. It sent jolts of warmth through you and you did your best to hide your feelings, hide what you knew was a lost cause and an endless torrent of heartache and pain. “Why?” The word was quite simple, so was the question. Yet you found that you didn’t know how to answer it. Could you tell him about your Patronus? Could you tell him how you feared it would make you an even easier target for bloodshaming and bullying? Could you trust him enough for that? 

No, no you couldn’t. But you could tell him your reason for not wanting - without giving away too much. “I-, I didn’t want others to see my patronus.” “A patronus is something to take pride in,” Lucius said as he gave your hand a little tug and forced you to give him your attention, “not to hide away.” You tilted your head at his words. Sure, you say that now. Your patronus is a damn peacock! Nothing to hesitate about, it’s just beautiful and perfectly suited for you. Proud and independent, majestic yet wonderfully gentle. So yeah, of course, you’d say that… A damn peacock is nothing to mine… 

“Show me,” he said with that voice that was as gentle as it was dismissive. He just had it in him, his status, purity and family were so imprinted that he carried himself and spoke in a way that wreaked superiority, even when he doesn’t mean to sound harsh he still dose. “I-, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you mumbled out as your cheeks blushed. You felt it creep down your throat and further down to your chest covered with your shirt and tie. “Show me,” he said again and you looked into his beautiful eyes. His face framed by long, blond hair and his features were chiselled to perfection. 

You swallowed as heat swirled through your veins and gathered in the pit of your stomach. You could not help but imagine what his warm hand would have felt like if he caressed you in places none had before. How it would have felt if he had pressed his lips against yours. How it would have felt to hear words of endearment from him. The thoughts made you shiver while you were incredibly warm. 

You shook your head. He glared at you, even if there was another emotion that swirled in his bright eyes of the clearest grey. He always glared at you so it wasn't really something new. Yet it felt different when you were seated so close, while you were alone in a hidden room. It was different, yet the same. As landscapes changed with the seasons, it was different but still the same.  

He released your hand and produced his wand. “Expecto Patronum,” he said with conviction and strength to his voice. A bright light swirled from the tip of his wand as a peacock emerged in a silvery-blue light. It spread its tailfeathers and pranced around in a display of some swaying and soft sort. It looked quite astoundingly beautiful so up close. You could not help but stare at it with awe. But you did not wish for another Patronus, you loved your Patronus - it was just so different… 

“I’ve shown you mine, show me yours.” You took a shaky breath. His words were harsh and not to be refused. You knew him well enough to know that you had no way of getting out without producing your Patronus for him to see. “I’m sorry,” you said as you produced your own wand, “I’m not sure you’ll like it.” “Do you like it?” “I love it,” you replied with rosy cheeks and an embarrassed smile. “Than I should think I will find it intriguing.” You chuckled at his words. I think you’re right, for good or bad.  

You rose and took a step forward, so as to give yourself a little space from him. He clouded your mind and you couldn’t focus when he was so close. You racked your brain, searched for a memory that could fill you up and help bring forth your Patronus. When you found it you allowed it to consume you and then you flicked your wand up a bit higher. “Expecto Patronum,” you said as steadily as you could with that gentle voice of yours. 

“Holy Merlin-!” was the first thing that was heard as your Patronus stood proudly next to his little peacock that swiftly disappeared as Lucius’s focus was broken. You peered up as you craned your neck. Your classmates had showcased everything from mice to bears, horses to dolphins, tigers and owls - but your Patronus was on another level. “ That’s your patronus?! ” Lucius nearly shrieked and you looked towards him. He was paler than pale, pushed back into the sofa as his bulging eyes stared, he nearly gawked, at the T-Rex that had sprouted from your wand - fueled by happy memories.

The T-Rex walked around in the huge room for a moment, its teeth gleamed white from the light and so did the claws and eyes. It was a weirdly viciously beautiful sight and you did truly adore it. Your Patronus. “Yes, that is my patronus,” you said as you looked at the T-Rex. “ What the bloody hell is that thing?! ” You chuckled at his ignorance. “What, you’ve never seen a tyrannosaurus rex?” “A tyrano-what-now?” You chuckled at his confusion. “Tyrannosaurus rex, a T-Rex,” you stated to simplify it for the confused pureblood. “I have not and I hope I never shall!” 

You laughed at his words and horrified look, and the T-Rex seemed to focus on you with a gentle shine of happiness. “What?” Lucius asked in confusion and irritation. “They’re extinct, been for millions of years. They were walking the earth long before us,” you said as you tried to collect yourself from the fit of laughter. “Good,” he muttered as he glared at your Patronus. It glared back and you saw Lucius lower his gaze for a moment. Intimidated by the humongous creature of happy light portraying fangs and claws created and evolved for killing.  

“How can you have such a beast for patronus?” he asked as his gaze slid over to you rather than the T-Rex of happy light. You lowered your gaze a tad as you fidgeted with your fingers. You pulled a bit on your skirt, unknowing of what to say. “You’re so gentle, and weak. How can you have that within you?” His words were harsh and cold yet it felt as if he were not being mean deliberately. Perhaps it was just so ingrained in him? “I don’t know, perhaps because I am gentle?” He looked confused at that. But you continued, “perhaps because I am gentle and weak, as you point out, on the outside. You do not know anything about me or who I am. To you, well to you I’m just a filthy mudblood, no?” 

His head had jerked up at your own insulting words aimed at yourself. He looked at you, anger flashed in his cold eyes and you felt a shiver that travelled through you as you tried your best to hold his gaze. “That’s what I have always been to you, and will always be, a dirty thing only worthy of hateful words,” you continued with a gentle yet sad voice, “you’ve made that quite clear.” His hands fisted and he looked away from you. His lips sealed tightly. Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried your best to hold back the tears that wanted to escape. I will not cry, I will not cry again tonight. I knew, knew this was a bad thing. 

He rose from the sofa as your Patronus vanished. He straightened and you allowed yourself a second to just look at him. Admire him for such a fleeting thing as looks. Because he was gorgeous. Handsome, beautiful even. “Don’t you understand? I have to do that or I would go utterly mad.” Your eyebrows knitted together at his gritted words. “I do not understand, at all.” He glared at you when you spoke. Anger and rage in his eyes. “If I do not make sure you stay away from me I will not be able to stay away from you,” he growled on a hiss and you took an involuntary step back at the coldness of his tone. Yet your heart, your heart fluttered in your chest as his words echoed in your mind. 

“You like me?” you whispered out. “Of course I like you, who the bloody hell wouldn’t?” You gaped at him and tried to find any words to utter but your mind was completely blank. “You’re beautiful, smart, gentle and kind. Always smiling despite everything, always. bloody. smiling! ” he gritted out as if it were a crime against humanity to smile, “how can you possibly be so damn happy? Even now your smiling, you’re bruised and battered, bullied and alone in the world - yet you are still bloody smiling?!” His nostrils flared as he spoke, anger again visible in those cold eyes of his that you wanted to keep looking into for all time to come. 

“The world won’t be a better place just because I allow it to crush me,” you whispered as you tried to contain that smile he spoke of. But it was difficult in his presence as he made you feel such strong emotions that were both happy and sad. Your smile that of both joy and sheer will to not let things smash you into pieces. A self-defence mechanism and at the same time just who you were, how you were.

His face smoothed out, surprise in his eyes this time as he just looked at you. Baffled. “It won’t be a better place just because you smile either,” he countered. “No, but at least it won’t be worse.” He huffed at that and looked away. For a moment you felt a need to just lash out at him, release all the pent up anger, sorrow, hurt and misery. But that was not you. No, you were kind and gentle and would suffer in solitude if the awful emotions needed to come out. 

“You’re an idiot,” he grunted on a sigh. “Perhaps,” you said in return. “Or maybe I’m the idiot.” You knitted your brows at him again. “I don’t think so,” you responded with a pondering voice as you tried to contain your emotions and not let your mind run wild with the desire you felt for him, “why would you be the idiot? You’re smart, ambitious, excellent at many things. Popular.” “Yes, but if I were smart I would not be here alone, with you,” he hissed as he stepped towards you.  “Why?” you asked, your breath caught in your throat as he was inching ever closer. “Because if I was not alone I wouldn’t be able to do idiotic things,” he continued as he stopped right before you. “Like?” you whispered as your heart hammered from his proximity and your head fuzzed over from the manly scent that wafted from him, a gentle yet firm aroma that smelled like heaven; or hell - you weren’t quite sure. “This,” he growled and grabbed your chin before he smashed his warm lips against yours. 

For a moment you felt nothing, and then - everything. All the longing, desire, love and affection bubbled up along with the fear and sorrow of all hurtful things he had done to you. It was too much, too many emotions and you could not contain the tears that had been wanting to be released. So you cried silently as he kissed you with passion, his arms wrapped themselves around you as your hands grabbed his uniform and tried to pull him even closer. 

When the kiss was broken and you both panted while you looked at each other he reached up and wiped away your tears. “I don’t understand,” you murmured as you worried your lip. He tilted your head with a finger under your chin. “You do not need to understand.” “But-” “Always smiling and yet when I kiss you, you cry,” he said to cut you off and you felt a smile tug at your lips. You couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry,” you apologized and he raised his brows in a harsh way. You wanted to look away but couldn’t. “Do not apologies, I feel rather special,” he admitted and you could have sworn that his cheeks were taking on a tinge of red for a moment. It made your heart flutter again and somehow you found your courage and pulled him in for another kiss with absolutely no clue as to what was happening or how it would be after you left the secret room. But if this was your moment with him, you would make the most of it...

Masterlist page // Masterlist post // AO3

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[Jan:2021]

[do-a-reference-properly]

AO3′s users alert! Unauthorised fanworks copying

26/09/2019. Important update on this mess: we found a way to delete fanworks via take down request to the hosting provider. Please check it here https://do-a-reference-properly.tumblr.com/post/187926459079/finally-some-good-news

Dear AO3 users,

We would like to bring your attention to an ugly situation with unauthorized copying of works posted on AO3.

A lot of works from AO3 have been copied to fanfics.me (we’ll call this site FFM for brevity’s sake) and are still being copied right now, either:

— automatically by a code specifically created by FFM’s owner for this purpose, or

— by unaware or unscrupulous FFM’s users via semi-automatic method (by inserting a link to a work from AO3 into a web-worm on FFM).

All works from AO3 — with a few exceptions (I’ll elaborate on this below) — can end up on FFM without authors even noticing. Even fanarts or podfics.

FFM doesn't comply with DMCA which means that such reposts endanger fanworks' creators in case the copyright holder demands to delete the fanwork.

Authors of the copied works do not have any control over them; if the work is edited it won’t be updated on FFM until someone manually updates it.

Additionally FFM’s owner makes money out of reposted free fanworks from numerous Google and Yandex ads on each and every FFM’s page by having people go to this site when searching for fics on Google etc. So we recommend using an Ads Blocker when visiting this site in order to prevent the owner from earning more. Ghostery or Adblock Plus work just fine, but you can use any other Ads Blocker that is convenient to you.

Oftentimes FFM even shows up before the original post with the work on Google search results.

The owner’s e-mail: refery@fanfics.ru.

The owner at AO3.

We are trying to bring AO3’s users attention to this situation and help authors with taking their works down from FFM.

 Briefly about the website and its owner

Let me start from the very beginning as it will bring into the light the nature of FFM and give a good example of its owner characteristic behavior.

At first, some person with nickname Refery created FFM as a web archive where authors — mostly from Harry Potter fandom — could publish their fanworks.

Time passed, the site grew and added some features (blogs, pre-moderation and etc.), and all was good and well up till the moment when Refery decided that it would be a great idea to copy to FFM fanworks published on other Russian fanfiction archives — among them from the biggest and most known site ficbook — without asking authors for permission. Even those works that had “Ask me before posting the story somewhere else” mentioned in its text or summary were copied.

For some time nobody noticed, but when finally and inevitably this came out the authors were outraged. It took a lot of time to finally persuade Refery to at least not to copy fanworks bearing a special tag “Уточнять у автора” (Ask the author first).

But after some time Refery — without giving any notice — violated his own promise and resumed copying to FFM fanworks that had the agreed upon tag. The authors complained again, so very reluctantly and after many painful discussions this feature was reinstalled.

So FFM has been notoriously known, mostly amongst Russian fandom, for claims on re-posting fanworks without the consent of the authors.

We're mentioning this situation just to give you a detailed portrait of a person we are dealing with here.

Not only fanworks are copied to this website, but original works, too. Even those which were already published. There were all 7 of Harry Potter novels (both original text and translation), The Hobbit: There and Back Again (translation) and Vorkosigan Saga (translation) available for everybody to read and download. They were taken down only recently due to the attention this whole situation had drawn, but nothing ever goes away once it’s posted online and you can access the proof via Internet Wayback machine. We know for a fact there are other books on FFM and some actions have been taken in this regard, but still it takes time to find published books on this site.

Recently Refery decided that Russian archives are not enough for him and started copying all fanworks into FFM without any permission from the authors from numerous sites, like AO3, fanfiction.net, fictionpress.com, fanfiktion.de and likely other web-archives.

Moreover, the authors of these works can not delete their works from FFM and/or manage them. The site is in Russian only and, hence, we strongly believe that non-Russian speaking authors even do not know that their works are reposted somewhere else.

As a Russian fan-community, we have tried to stop such activity of FFM many times; however, we have not been successful in achieving our goal completely. Our most recent achievement is that the FFM’s owner implemented the "Don't copy to another site" tag created specifically for AO3 (here is the link to FFM’s owner post on his personal blog regarding this tag. Please use Ads Blocker!). This tag should be added to each work presented on AO3 in case the author does not want their works to be copied to FFM.

We are of the opinion that no work should be taken without permission in the first place, but this tag is all we’ve got.

Please note that it seems that some time ago there was similar case of unauthorized copying with other site. Please check this link, they give useful advice.

How to prevent copying from AO3

If you check AO3 you may notice that "Don't copy to another site" tag has hugely emerged in the recent weeks, but mostly amongst Russian users and there is a good reason for this: the owner of FFM announced this tag only in Russian and only on his private blog, so naturally there is no way for non-Russian speaking AO3 users to know about this — albeit non-satisfactory — solution.

There are no guaranties that the FFM’s owner won’t change the rules again as has already happened numerous times before (few examples we described above) and that works with this tag won’t be reposted in the future, but for now it’s the only quick and working solution besides making your works visible only to registered users, which is not ideal. 

This situation is highly unpleasant, but we ask you not to delete your works from AO3, because if the work is deleted from AO3 it will be nearly impossible to delete it from FFM: we won't be able to refresh it manually and remove the text.

Please note that adding this tag won’t work for texts that have already been copied. Only users who have accounts at FFM will be able to delete them. Each work needs to be deleted manually.

However, the Russian fandom — except for the owner of FFM — strongly condemns reposts without the consent of the author, so feel free to contact our volunteers (through DM or Ask on our tumblr page) providing the links to the works stolen from AO3, so we could delete them for you.

Unfortunately, it is not possible to cover all authors and works manually. So, we contacted AO3’ Technical Team with the aim to bring their attention to this situation and inform about it all AO3 users, and hope that AO3 team will find a general solution to resolve this problem, possibly, in collaboration with the AO3 lawyers.

We are trying to warn as many authors as possible and recently started spreading this information via comments on AO3; but considering the number of works copied to FFM informing all authors will take considerable time, and we can easily miss someone, especially since the copying is still in progress and new works from AO3 are appearing on FFM every day.

Please help us spread the word!

 We tried to make a comprehensive FAQ about this. Feel free to ask if anything is unclear!

FAQ

Q: Can I check if my work was copied to FFM?

A: Yes, you can.

FFM makes money on Google and Yandex ads, so we recommend turning on the Ads Blocker of your choice before visiting this site.

Please follow this link, insert the title of your work or your AO3/other web-archive nickname into the field containing the words "insert-title-nickname" and hit "Искать" (Search).

For works rated Mature or Explicit you will be able to see only the caption "Текст произведения доступен только зарегистрированным пользователям старше 18 лет" ("The text of the work is available only to registered users over 18 years old"), but FFM users are able to read and download the story.

Q: My work from AO3 was copied. How can I take it down?

A: First of all add the tag "Don't copy to another site" (without “ “) to the stories you want to be taken down.

Actually we would recommend adding this tag to all the works you don't want to be copied.

Contact one of our volunteers (through DM or Ask on our tumblr page) providing links to your works or send an e-mail with your deletion request directly to the FFM owner at refery@fanfics.ru or at AO3. 

There is a third option: to register on FFM and delete the work yourself by hitting the refresh button, but considering that the site is in Russian we do not think it will be very convenient to those who do not speak Russian language.

Q: I got the message that my work has been deleted. How can I check if it is true?

A: You can go to FFM, search for you work, click on its title and scroll down.

After the summary there is a field that should look like this for those fics that have been deleted.

Basically it says that the author of this particular work has forbidden its copying and that only the information on its title, author’s nickname, rating, pairings, summary and the link to original post on AO3 are available. 

For works that are still available on FFM this field looks like this (if the work is open for non-registered users).

Q: My work copied from AO3 was deleted, but FFM still shows some information on it. Can it be deleted?

A: Even though the text of the fic is not going to be on FFM anymore after it has been deleted, the fic's title, author's name, rating, pairings, summary and link to original post on AO3 will remain there.

The deletion of this leftover information can be done only by the site owner himself.

Some Russian authors tried to make him to delete it, but in most cases the FFM’s owner refused them mentioning that publication of such information is in line with fair use concept and doesn’t violate authors’ rights.

We are yet unsure how to delete this leftover information. In case you need it as well, try contacting the FFM owner at refery@fanfics.ru or at AO3. Maybe e-mails of a large number of authors will work, but unfortunately we can’t guarantee anything. In case you need it, we can provide Russian text for you to send by e-mail (please contact our volunteers through DM or Ask on our tumblr page).

Q: My work from fanfiction.net/fictionpress.com/fanfiktion.de/other web-archives was copied to FFM. How can I take it down?

A: Unfortunately, there is no possible way for us to delete from FFM the fanworks that are copied from web-archives other then AO3. Only FFM’s owner can delete these works, please try contacting him at refery@fanfics.ru or at AO3. In case you need it, we can provide Russian text for you to send by e-mail (please contact our volunteers through DM or Ask on our tumblr page).

Please do not delete your works from the web-archive it was stolen from, because if the work is deleted it will be nearly impossible to delete it from FFM.

Also it seems that some time ago there was similar case of unauthorized copying with other site. Please check this link, they give useful advice.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted on Tuesdays.

Interview with Michelle (XFImnotdone)

Michelle aka XFImnotdone (@xfimnotdone) is one of the rare X-Files fanfic authors who posted fic during the original 1993-2002 run of the series and again around its 2016/2018 revival. So her stories have a lot of heart and come from a real love of the show and its characters. Find her fics on AO3 and at her site. Big thanks to Michelle for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It does not surprise me that people are still interested. For some reason the xfiles was just a special gem of a show that really captured people. Whatever that spark is that David and Gillian have will never die in the hearts of fans.  What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

When I first started writing fic during the original run of the show, I was 16. I would say that my fandom experience then was actually better. There were forums with threads and a whole mess of people writing and I secured a fan base for my own writing amazingly pretty quickly. Back then we wrote in chapters, longer fics and posted each week or so and then a slew of comments would follow. People took more time back then to actually converse specifically about a fic with lots of fanfic details. My fandom experience now, then I’m 36, has been OK. I think we all were rejuvenated by seasons 10 and 11. I really enjoyed meeting new people and reading new stuff that came along with that. However, I feel like now searching for new stuff that I like is a needle in a haystack, and specific feedback is almost nonexistent.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I belonged to an xfiles forum. I don’t even remember what it was called. I just know that it was a very busy place 🤣 I think the social media nowadays in someways the platform makes it harder to find things because it’s time sensitive, like the feed changes and you miss stuff. With people from all over the world in different time zones this can be frustrating. I think before the forums were a lot nicer it was easier to find threads and keep up with things.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Interestingly enough during the original run when I started writing, all I wrote was smut, yet I was a virgin. It seems like most people didn’t know or didn’t care, I had quite the following and everybody loved my stuff. However just with life experience as I have gone back and read my old stuff I can see how much I have improved with just life experience. Yet the opposite has occurred with my writing, I used to be a better writer the words used to come very easily and I could type out stuff and envision things quickly… Now I have all this wonderful experience and I look at a blank page and It feels like I don’t even know how to write the words anymore.  What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

My best friend at the time was obsessed with David Duchovny and how hot he was. She was also a shipper, but not nearly as hard as I fell for them. The first time I ever saw The xfiles was actually fight the future. She introduced me through the movie, and the near kiss scene hooked me right in and I fell in love with them way harder than my best friend ever had 🤣 and yes David Duchovny is very hot, but I also have a huge appreciation for Gillian’s good looks as well.  What got you involved with X-Files fanfic? This is a good question that I’m not even sure I can answer. I just can’t remember. I feel like my best friend and I used to write xfiles fanfic during our sleep overs. And then I guess I probably just search for it online to see if it was a thing, and found out that it was a thing! What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? I have very little participation in the xfiles fandom. I scroll Tumblr every now and then, not even every day. I feel like the writers have diminished since the end of the show.  Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files? Nope. None.  Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why? Mulder and Scully are really it for me.  Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? All. The. Time. 😳 it’s like an obsession. Honestly fanfiction help me get my sex life back after I had my first child. I had some complications during the birth which made sex really uncomfortable and me getting back into fanfic actually helped me in that area. It allows me to explore, and embrace my sexual side in a private way through the smut reading and writing.  Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

All the time. It’s a bit hard to find the things that I like to read on Tumblr now. So I do return to gossamer most of the time, and AO3 occasionally. I only read xfiles fanfic.  Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

Undercover Swing [by 2momsmakearight] I think will always be my fav. It’s just amazing. Omens [by @lepus-arcticus] is also amazing. I’ve never been much on case fics or cancer arcs but that one was worth it. Back in the day my fav author was Donnilee. Nowadays is peacenik0 (@peacenik0), MonikaFileFan (@monikafilefan), storybycorey (@storybycorey), sarie fairy (@sarie-fairy), agoodwoman, admirality (@admiralty-xfd). What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Blink of an eye was one of my favs bc I think it was the best one I wrote as a teenager. Sometimes I reread it and I go wow I was this? As an adult I think my favorite is Letting go. It was my first fanfic after the revival and my first time getting on Tumblr, AO3. I think it was pretty good because everyone seem to really love it and wanted to read it, and I didn’t have AO3 account at that point So I had posted under a friends account and then when she took it down the fandom went crazy and they all wanted it back! So I had to go ahead and make my own account :) Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online? I still have one idea for a fic that has been brewing for quite some time. I have been trying to get other people to write it. I just don’t have a lot of time or a lot of motivation to do so anymore. I also don’t feel like my writing skills are nearly as good as they were when I was a teenager / in college. I don’t really know if I’ll ever ride again. It might just depend on the right timing in my life.  Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work? Nope.  Where do you get ideas for stories? Most of my stories extend off of post eps or eps that I felt the need to correct or add in the sex that should’ve been there 😂 most of my settings or places come from real life experiences.  What's the story behind your pen name? xfilesimnotdone came from the end of season 11 when I desperately wanted more and I was like “they [david and gillian] might be done but I’m not!!”  Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions? My family does not know. A few select friends know, and they were surprised. It’s kind of like my closet secret life. Especially with how personal it is sexually. My husband knows, he’s probably the one who knows the most. He’s never read my fics before though but he knows they’re smut.  Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now? My stories are on AO3. That’s the best and easiest place to find them. Back in the day I used to have them on someone else’s site, and they’re still there! There are a few originals there that I haven’t transferred to AO3.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Just keep reading and writing!! Even if you don’t get feedback, more people are reading your stories than you think. And your stories are actually helping people even though you don’t even realize it. Just like the stories helped me get my sex life back.

(Posted by Lilydale on August 24, 2021)

[remythologise]

Hello! I found your blog via you amazingly summarizing all that's going on with the spn drama. Due to my schedules, rl stuff, some of the arcs that didn't vibe with me, my availability to find a place to watch...the rollercoaster I was used to with this fandom was more me binging it in a weekend to going months to over a year without watching it. I still haven't watched the last season(but with a fandom this big it's pretty impossible not be spoiled so I more or less know what happened) BUT oh great one I ask of thee for more information if you have it...other than being busy and whatnot, I'm not really one to keep up with the actors as well. So could you also maybe do a summary of all the stans? I'im seeing terms I haven't seen before. Who is Kelios(sp?)? Hellions?? probably messed it up but like...I guess what are the name of each legion? Who do they have alliance towards? What was their desires? Que paso?!?!?!?

Hi there! 'Some of the arcs that didn't vibe with me' me emotionally quitting Supernatural in Season 7 after they killed Castiel 😂 Anyway I totally get it, I went through the same culture shock mid-last year when I got back into SPN and tried to find where fandom was at! There's really a LOT of lore and content after 15 years though so I'll just do the broad brushstrokes based on my impressions and personal stereotypes PLEASE remember this is oversimplifying groups and individuals to tendencies and I'm very biased! Also important that there are sub-factions within sub-factions - again, I'm simplifying here!

I've also linked to the 'Super-wiki' in terms of some definitions because the Super-wiki has pages for them where the Fandom-wiki does not. Great introduction actually - only in the Supernatural fandom. There are two Supernatural wikis. One, through curation and twitter activity, supports BiBro/Wincest factions and does not support Destiel users. One is more neutral or Destiel-friendly (I don't know that the Fandom wiki has a personality/social media presence per se). You cannot make this up. There is a factional war... within use of fandom wikis.

Destiel faction

People who primarily ship Dean/Cas, love Castiel and (often, although not always) Jack, and the 'found family' of Supernatural as well as the brothers, and like the post s3 seasons too. Hated 15.19 and 15.20 for killing Dean and ignoring the other characters/narrative arc of the show. Nicknamed 'Destihellers' by the Wincest faction as a derogatory term, 'reclaimed' and shortened as 'Hellers', a nickname they use affectionately to describe each other. See more info on nicknames here.

Sometimes also ship ‘Cockles’ (the ship between Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles) although generally speaking they're more respectful of the wives of the actors than J2 shippers, who are notoriously responsible for... a vast series of insane-fan misdemeanours. Historically most were also good at keeping RPF to themselves and not harassing celebrities with it directly, although recently, particularly with younger twitter fans, that has not been the case.

Sub-factions:

The ‘Desticule’ or ‘Destiel tumblr’ - general grouping of Destiel-shipping tumblr users around 20-30 years old, usually LGBT+, most who came back to the show post-15.18 after leaving it for various reasons including getting sick of the queerbaiting. Funniest bitches alive etc. and responsible for the best text posts you’ve ever seen. Can also start stupid discourse and in-group drama when they’re bored.

'POLOL' - People of Lots of Letters, a discord group (of tumblr and twitter users) that ran on the assumption Andrew Dabb was playing a hugely intricate game of 3D chess to do with gnostic symbolism among other things, and would make Destiel canon. Have since had their own factional sub-wars and fallen apart a bit. Some of their meta was and is good and interesting! Some of it was wildly off the mark. Now generally insist that Dabb/the writers were all pushing for Destiel canon and the network is entirely to blame.

Twitter fans (TikTok edition) - younger fans around 18 and younger who (FOR REASONS BEYOND ME) started watching the show around 2018-2020. Definition of 'stans'. Tend to be very loud and aggressive on twitter when Events Happen, which like. I do get, because they've grown up in a completely different media environment and this kind of Dinosaur Politicking around LGBT+ issues is beyond them. Fancam central. Anyway stream #CASTIEL for clear skin!

Twitter fans (AO3 edition) - older fans around 30+ who kept going with the show but either don't have a large tumblr presence or just prefer twitter. A lot of fic writers, GISH-ers, and BNFs in this group. Some of them are very cool and reasonable in their opinions, some of them act like the younger stans. Some of them too accepting of what happened wrt 15.19-20 in my opinion, because, in contrast to the younger twitter stans, they grew up expecting Destiel to NEVER be canon or respected. 'Can't believe we got this far' etc.

Multiship faction

Multishippers or shippers of things not as large as the two main behemoths . Sub-factions based on shipping, e.g. Megstiel and Sastiel. I don't think these groups are very large though, and seem to have very little influence in the Discourse.

Wincest faction

LARGE overlap with the 'BiBro' faction and their opinions, which I'll get to. Ship Sam and Dean romantically. Often pretend to be BiBros on places like twitter and reddit in order for outside groups to take their opinions more seriously. 'Wincesties' etc. are derogatory nicknames given by the Destiel faction.

Sub-factions:

Multiship fans - ship Sam and Dean but respect Castiel/the 'found family'. Politically overlap with the faction of multishippers, I think. I don't have a lot of insight on this group of people honestly, but I know they exist.

Bronlies - the typical BiBro and 'Wincest' shippers most people think of, twitter user 'Kelios' is one of the would-be ringleaders of this faction - typically tend to be older white midwestern women. Historically have been pretty nasty on twitter (leading to Robert Berens, writer who made Destiel canon, occasionally subtweeting Kelios). Also tend to ship 'J2' - and take it very seriously as a legitimate thing that is really real. This is called 'tinhatting'.

BiBro faction

People who think the show should JUST be about the brothers, love Supernatural s1-3 and everything after it should have been just like Supernatural s1-3. Hate Castiel, Jack, and the 'found family'. Largely loved 15.20. Go to literally any comments section on any Supernatural article and You Will Find Them complaining about how the show should just be about the Brothers. Tend to be older, straighter, and more conservative/Republican (and male) fans. (I am aware that the definition of 'BiBro' used to refer to people who just liked the brothers but there's no definitional difference now in the discourse.) The Wincest and BiBro faction are generally much more wealthy than the Destiel faction (they being younger and more diverse/queer/left-leaning in general) and would be the biggest revenue generators at conventions etc.

Sub-factions:

Reddit bros - literally anyone who visits r/supernatural. Well, that's not fair - there are people who post reasonable opinions on there, but it's pretty rare and they get downvoted a lot. Like to talk about 'toxic Destiel fans' 'ruining the show' and how Dean is a straight man who is straight and could never possibly be gay. Might even think the confession was platonic despite all evidence to the contrary. I'm Not Homophobic I Have Gay Friends, But No Gays on MY Show!

Old Guard - group of older fans who overlap strongly with the Wincest faction, but might not necessarily ship Wincest.

GA faction

'General Audience' - These are the group of audience members that aren't 'online' so to speak; most watch the show on TV as a Casual Viewing Experience (are therefore also sometimes referred to as 'casuals'. Mostly their opinions tend towards BiBros, but they have a vast range of baffling views thanks to being Not Online and usually Not caring about Supernatural that much or thinking that deeply about it.

Sub-factions:

People who simply watch Supernatural on TV and then don't think about it very much after that.

I said they weren't 'online' but that's not entirely true; I'd probably classify people on Supernatural Facebook Groups as GA, along with friends of friends who post statuses about how 15.20 was a neat finale that wrapped up the series.

Conclusion

Supernatural is famously the show that appeals to both Republicans and Democrats, literally All Orientations, so there's a WIDE range of factions. However, most warring online boils down to Destiel vs. Wincest/BiBro - the war that started in Season 4 and has simply never ended. In terms of the 'actors' and their stans, in general, Wincest/BiBro fans love Jared, like Jensen, and dislike Misha. Destiel fans love Misha, like Jensen, and dislike Jared. Of course as with everything, there are variations and this is just a generalisation. But that's the summary of it, from my perspective!

This didn't even get into Sam girls, Dean girls and Cas girls. God. Anyway.

Hope that answered your question, anon!

[ratisnotcrying]

thank you for not giving up

summary:  Contrary to all evidence, Buck didn’t really enjoy writing - or rather he did enjoy writing, would even say he was good at it, but he never wrote for pleasure. He looks over at the countertops, freshly cleaned; looks at the sink, empty of dishes and wonders if he should have cleaned the drawers as well but he shakes his head, wipes away the tears blurring his vision and looks back down at the page he was writing.

pairings: implied/referenced buck/eddie, 118 family

warnings: suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, fainting, insecurity, references to vomiting

word count: 3.6K

a/n:  this is my first fic in this fandom!!. Pre-editing there was a slightly excessive use of the word ‘wonder’ and i dont know if ive fixed it :D this fic was initially supposed to be 2k, and it was almost 4k after the first draft… oops anyway i really enjoyed writing this (bit morbid) which is nice after some huge writers block - this is cross posted on ao3 - please tell me if i need to add any tags or warnings

~~~

Contrary to all evidence, Buck didn’t really enjoy writing - or rather he did enjoy writing, would even say he was good at it, but he never wrote for pleasure. For example, when he had written postcards for Maddie he had enjoyed keeping her updated on his life, but he hated that this was the only way he could do it; it had been nice to write Abby, to finally let out everything he wanted to say, but he hated that it had come to that.

Then he had written a letter of resignation - he hadn’t told anyone for obvious reasons - but it had been like a weight off of his shoulders, knowing that he could escape the consequences of his behaviour, no matter how much of a coward it made him feel. Now that he thought about it, it was probably still somewhere in the kitchen.

He looks over at the countertops, freshly cleaned; looks at the sink, empty of dishes and wonders if he should have cleaned the drawers as well but he shakes his head, wipes away the tears blurring his vision and looks back down at the page he was writing.

~~~

It had started small, so small he hoped he could be imagining it.

It had started with Chimney.

The 118 had just got back to the house after what was, in the grand scheme of things, a good call - a group of friends had been on a hike and one of them had, somehow, managed to get stuck up a tree. It also happened that Chim had been standing right under the tree when she got out and was covered in all the leaves that had been shaken loose.

“Chim, you look fine! You kind of look like a bush in a school play, but other than that you look fine.” Bobby chuckled as he jumped out the truck.

“I can't believe so many leaves came from one tiny tree!”

Hen stuck her head round the ambulance, “Hey, you remember that call, what was her name?”

“Oh! Alex with the-”

“Yeah, Alex with the cat-”

“Chim, you climbed so far up that tree that time and you and that cat you were both such a mess - leaves and- and twigs everywhere.” Hen wheezes, doubled over.

Buck smiled, confused, “When was this?”

Chimney paused for a second, “Oh, it was when you were off, right after the lawsuit. Wasn’t that the same week you got pushed into all that fruit, Bobby?”

“Yeah, and yes, it was rotten before you-”

Bobby didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Chimney was cackling again, “You smelled so bad for weeks and- Cap, I swear I can still smell it sometimes.”

Buck was still listening as they all walked towards their lockers, but a small part of his brain was already replaying the conversation, reminding him that there were so many moments, tiny moments, that he had missed because of his own pig-headedness. It made him briefly, fleetingly, wonder why he had fought so hard to come back.

~~~

Then it was Hen.

Everyone was sitting together over breakfast, except Bobby who was still standing at the stove, silently praying they wouldn’t get a call until after they had eaten, or at least until Hen had finished the story she was telling.

“So then I realised where I knew this guy from - he was the last client I spoke to when I was a sales rep,” she faltered, ever so slightly and her eyes flicked to Buck for a moment, almost warry, before she continued, “I mean, I threatened to stab this guy with his own steak knife!”

The table erupted into laughter and so did Buck, more a reflex than anything else because the last time Hen had looked at him like that had been over the cold conference table, her personal life spread out for scrutiny, dumped out and mixed in with everyone else's.

Buck felt numb all of a sudden, shocked-still with guilt rushing through him - he was struck by the realisation that even though everyone seemed to have forgiven him, they still didn’t trust him, not even with the smallest stories.

~~~

It was different with Bobby, it wasn't anything that he had said because he hadn’t said much of anything since Buck came back: it was how he looked at him.

He still remembers when he got fired, which is unsurprising - it’s not every day you get fired for stealing a ladder truck twice - but more than anything he remembers how angry Bobby had been, how he looked angry at himself as well for not seeing this coming. That's how Bobby looked after the lawsuit, disappointed in Buck and angry at himself for not knowing Buck would do this: he looked like he believed it was a given, a fact set in stone, that Buck would always make the wrong choice.

Buck isn’t sure Bobby was wrong. If he thought about it, he had made the wrong choice more times than he had made the right one, more times than he could ever hope to count, and he had disappointed more people than he could count.

He was almost glad he hadn't seen much of Athena recently because he's not sure he could stand to see the hurt and disappointment on her face. Since their first meeting, rocky as it had been, Athena had been like a mother to him and disappointing her like he always had his own mother… that would be too much for him to handle.

So now, every time the bell rang, every time Athena pulled up on a scene, they would look at him and it made his skin crawl.

~~~

Buck was startled awake by someone banging on his door.

“Hey! You’d better be decent, we’re coming in.” Eddie called as he opened the door, Chris following behind him.

He was not, in fact, decent, and he had all of five seconds to throw on some pants before Eddie came jogging up the stairs.

“You said you’d watch Chris today, why’re you still in bed?”

“Uh, maybe because it's seven in the morning and I wasn't expecting you till nine?”

“Oh, right,” Eddie slapped him on the shoulder and grinned, “I forgot to tell you there was a change of plan.”

He listened from the bathroom to Chris and Eddie chatting and cringed a bit when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, grinning like an idiot.

“So, what are we gonna do today?” Buck asked as he rummaged through his cupboards for the cereal.

“Can we go to the beach?” Chris says with all of the child-like innocence Buck thought he’d had taken from him.

He tries not to falter, he really does, but he’s so shocked he spills some milk on the counter, “You wanna go to the beach?”

“Yeah, I went with Dad when you weren’t here, and now I want to go with you.”

Buck put a bowl of cereal in front of Chris, stirring his own as he thought.

He knew, realistically, that he would miss out on seeing Chris grow, would miss seeing him in general, but realising that he had missed something so huge, such a massive step forwards in his healing… Buck wished he could have been there, could have been with Chris so they could have moved on together, even if it was just one step they took together.

“Buck?”

“Sorry, buddy, yeah, we can go to the beach.” He tried to smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Chris ate in silence for a moment, studying him. It made Buck squirm - Chris was barely ten years old and he had seen so much, he could read people so well.

“I wanted you to come with us when we went before, but Dad said you were busy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I uh- I was, but I'm not now, so what do you say we head out about ten?”

He texted Eddie before they left, letting him know exactly where they were going, what time he expected to be back and whilst he waited for a response he half expected Eddie would tell him no, don't take my son to the beach.

Instead Eddie gives him the all clear, tells them to have fun.

But all Buck can think about is how sad Chris had looked when he said he wanted Buck there and how it was his fault Chris looked like that, that Chris felt like that, and he wonders how many times that had happened.

“Your actions, your choices, they impact the rest of us.” - that’s what Eddie had half yelled at him in the middle of a grocery store. Buck can’t believe it took him that long to realise he was hurting Chris as well, after he had hurt him so much already.

~~~

A week after the beach, Buck couldn't stop thinking about everyone he had hurt, not that he ever had, but it felt like he was being crushed by the weight of what he had done anew every single day.

“Hey, Chim?”

He looked up from where he was doing dishes.

“So, you know how after the lawsuit, me and Eddie weren’t really talking? Well, obviously he forgave me-”

“Yeah and thank god for that, it was almost unbearable being in the same room as you two.”

Buck chuckled, “Yeah, I get that. But, um. Did everyone else? Forgive me, I mean?”

“Yeah, of course - why?” He said, half listening to Maddie with Jee in the next room.

“I just- I can't help but think that no one has. Like no one-”

“Chim, can you come here for a sec?” Maddie called.

“Just a second! Buck, listen, everyone's forgiven you, okay? We’re fine, you’re fine, but Jee does not sound fine, so I'll be back in two minutes!” Chim called over his shoulder.

Buck just picked up the dishes where Chimney had left off.

~~~

It carried on like this for weeks, every interaction, every second glance, everything adding up until, inevitably, Buck reached his breaking point.

It was a bad call. A collision, two vehicles - a car and a tow truck - a freak accident, the driver of the car was thrown through the windshield, the truck had rolled and the car driver's leg was trapped under the cab.

Buck was good at his job, but he was only human so, as he worked, doing exactly and only as he was told, his hands shook to the point that he thought he was actually making the situation worse.

It took a couple of hours for everyone to be off to the hospital, and another half hour for the 118 to be back at the house. Buck did not remember most of it. The driver that had been crushed was going to be fine, but there had been three casualties and he could feel himself spiralling, every choice he had made since he himself had been crushed playing on repeat until he came full circle and-

“Buck?'' There was a hand on his shoulder, Bobby was standing in front of him, Eddie off to one side, watching, “Buck, go home. Get some rest, talk to someone, I’ll call you in the morning.”

Buck only now realises that the alarms are going off, he can hear people running, the engine starting and Buck nods blankly as Bobby almost carries him outside to an uber.

~~~

By the time he can feel his hands again he’s sitting on his couch, rubbing them together, rubbing salty tears into the wound he hasn't stopped picking for weeks. He thinks about Chimney. He thinks about Chimney and Hen and Eddie and Chris and Bobby and Athena. He thinks about his parents and his sister and the brother he didn't, doesn't even remember he thinks about Abby and he thinks about every mistake he has ever made. He thinks about the driver pinned under the cab of the truck and wonders if he should have warned him about how quickly everything can go wrong.

He thinks about how everything can still be wrong, even when you think it’s not.

He thinks about how his family still doesn't trust him, how he missed out on huge chunks of their lives, missed out on time he'll never get back, and he cannot breathe, guilt and hatred and rage crushing his chest until he thinks he's going to black out.

He comes too on the floor, drags himself up onto the couch and thinks about his letter of resignation, the kitchen drawers, cleaning the apartment so nobody else has to.

He thinks about how to let go of what he lost and never got back.

~~~

The sun had long set, but with all the blinds open and the dirty glow of the streetlights, Buck could just about make out the letter he was trying to write.

His hands were shaking and he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Apart from lying to himself, because he knew exactly what he was doing. He was stalling. He wasn’t sure if he was going to do this.

He had already written one for Hen, one for Chimney, one for Bobby and Athena, and now he was fumbling uselessly through his fifth page to Eddie. It was a barely legible garbled mess, half-formed sentences about loss and fear of losing, fear of missing out and the guilt that followed, the guilt Buck already felt for how this would end, each scrawled paragraph ended with an apology that he knew would never be enough.

Somewhere along the way he writes a letter for Chris as well. He tucks it in with Eddie's.

It was almost one am by the time Buck had all the letters written and he was moving on autopilot now: standing mechanically from the couch, pulling on his jacket, checking the door was locked as he left, then double checking and finally- finally, walking away.

~~~

As he walked, he couldn’t help but think about who he used to be - Buck 1.0 was a mess and made more mistakes than he cared to count, he had ideas he knew were bad ideas and then ran head first into them with a cheeky smile and a joke to pull him out the other side. Buck 2.0 still had bad ideas, still made mistakes, ones that he committed to, but somehow that commitment just made it worse. He thought about it right up until he found one reason it was a good idea, and then ran into it with all the confidence he could muster.

Which, he supposes, is why he was wandering the streets of L.A. at one am, all burnout and nowhere to go. Before, he could have gone to Eddie, he could have gone to Bobby, to Maddie, but that was all before. Before the lawsuit, before his leg, before the tsunami, before before before.

And then there’s now.

Now, where he had finally become Buck 2.0 with a whole plan, a plan which ended on a bridge. A plan, a bad decision, a mistake, that ended with him alone, sitting balanced on a railing.

~~~

In the distance, on the other side of the water, he could see the lights of a fire engine flashing, he could feel the wind trying to blow him off the railing, hear the water rushing to catch him, and felt all of a sudden calm. The kind of calm he only felt at- that he used to feel at work, the kind of calm that held his hands steady and slowed his racing mind.

The sudden reprieve from his racing thoughts had him thinking with more clarity - he knew this was selfish and part of him was screaming at him, begging him not to do this, to talk to someone like Bobby had suggested, but the voice in the back of his mind was whispering, louder and louder to just let go.

The whispering sounded so much like the wind, wrapping gently around him and tugging him forwards.

He uncurled his hands from the railing, adjusted his footing and-

“Sir? My name’s Bobby, why don’t you come down so we can talk?”

Buck hadn’t cried, not since the crash scene earlier but, hearing Bobby's voice, it was like a switch had flipped. The rest of the 118 were still on shift, because he had been sent home early, because they cared about him, except they didn't, they didn't trust him they didn’t-

“Okay,” Bobby called again, closer than before, “Could you tell me your name?”

“Stop! Stop coming closer. I dont- I don’t want to get down.”

He could picture the looks on everyone's faces, he could see the tears they thought they had to cry and it just made him feel worse.

“Buckaroo, what’s going on?” Chimney called from where he was gripping Hen’s shaking shoulder.

“Nothing, you guys should go. Please-” his voice cracked a little at the end, the wind picking up, trying harder to push him forwards.

“We can talk about this - whatever it is that’s brought you up here, we can help you.” Chimney tried, his voice wavering with desperation.

“You can’t help me. I made sure of that, didn’t I? I screwed up, every step of the way, I lost your trust - I didn't deserve your trust and now I don't have it, and you- you don't have to be here you-!” Buck choked on a sob.

“Buck you’re not thinking straight, which is expected right now,” Bobby cut in, “We can talk about this. I think that there’s been some miscommunication, but right now all you need to know that we do trust you. We trust you every single day, with our safety, with our hearts, with everything. Buck you are a part of this family - we are family and we need you, we need you to come down from there, we need you to talk to us.” He pleaded, desperately trying not to run to him and drag him off the railing.

Everyone was silent for a moment, the only noise was that of the water below.

Buck sighed, “I tried to talk to you. I tried to apologise but I- everything I do is just exhausting, I didn’t think, I don't think, I don't think about anyone except myself and you all have to clear up my messes, all the time. And now here you are cleaning up another one of my messes.”

Eddie hadn’t even moved from where he was, half in half out the truck - he hadn't moved since he realised it was his best friend, his- since he realised it was Buck, sitting there, ready to die. Because he thought he was exhausting. The word rang in Eddie's mind like he had been hit over the head with it, his teeth rattled with it, hands shook like they used to before a fight and all he could do was stand there as Buck swayed on the edge.

And then Buck was literally swaying as he brought both hands up in a futile attempt to scrub the tears from his face.

"I shouldn’t have said that to you.” Eddie said, a little too loudly and Buck jerked forwards in shock, barely grabbing the rail in time, “Buck, I was tired, but not because you had exhausted me, because, shit, Buck I was exhausted, I am exhausted but that’s not an excuse for what I said. I want to help you. Please.”

Eddie’s almost standing within arms reach of Buck now, but he doesn't dare move closer because he’s shaking his head like he thinks Eddie's lying.

“Buck, Evan, do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what I said when I brought Christopher round for the first time after the tsunami? I said ‘thank you for not giving up.’"

He can hear Buck sobbing and his own voice cracking, hear people talking, a car pull up, but he tunes it out, focuses on Buck and his breathing.

“I didn't just mean not giving up on him, I meant not giving up on you. I could see you wasting away - I get it, you thought you had lost everything - but I will never stop being thankful that you never gave up on yourself. Buck - Buck, please you have to listen to me, you have to get down.”

Buck sighed, head rolling back, hands flexing where he held on, “You know, I was going to do this before. When I was a kid, I knew my parents… my mom always- they both looked at me in this way that made my skin crawl, made me feel like I had fucked up just by being born-” Buck laughed wetly, “guess I wasn’t too far off. I just couldn't…”

He had turned slightly, finally meeting Eddie's eye and giving Bobby the split second he needed to lunge forward and grab Buck tightly around the waist, the shock loosening his grip on the railing enough for Bobby to drag him backwards off the railing onto the floor. Eddie immediately drops to his knees next to them, wrapping his arms awkwardly around Buck.

Buck screams. It sounds distant, like a shot from a film. He screams and there are tears streaming down his face as he tries to fight free of the tight embrace he’s trapped in.

Then there’s two hands on his face as well, brushing tears away and it’s Athena, whispering to him telling him she can’t lose a child, not again, not like this.

His scream chokes off until he's only sobbing, loud, violent sobs that rack his body and each one tears its way up his throat, clawing its way up from somewhere so deep inside him he feels himself gag around it until he's dry heaving into the grass next to him and there's hands rubbing gently at his back, a bottle at his lips.

And, for the second time that night, he passes out.

[scone-lover]

Happy Birthday to Holding Out For a Hero!!! ❤️

art by @subparselkie

I published the first chapter of my longest and most popular fic just about a year ago! And I bet you always wanted to see some shitty outlines. Right? Just giving the people what they want. My brain is chaos and now you all have to be subject to it. Strap in, boys. 😂 Everything’s below the cut!

Read Holding Out for a Hero on AO3

This fic was born because I saw a tumblr post about a hero and villain who are roommates and I just had to Snowbazzify it. I had so many random ideas in my brain, and I’d been engaging with fan content for the CO fandom for a few months now.

So I started off by opening a blank document and writing the Prologue, featuring Shep. I had a few basic facts in mind: Shepard’s a reporter, Simon’s a hero, Baz is a villain, Mage is an evil mayor. And that’s. Literally it. I made it up as I went along. I actually still do that with fics, even though I do try to outline in more detail now—I have to write a scene or two that’s been bouncing around in my head to get a feel for the story, then I can give it a direction.

The document is 337 pages on google docs, LOL. 

Here’s the first ever set of notes I had. I wrote this on March 29, 2020, directly after typing out the Prologue! 

Like I said, absolute chaos. The third Simon bullet point originally said something like “also I’m a superhero and only Penny knows,” then the following day I changed it to “but he’s so handsome? what do???” 

I didn’t publish the prologue until writing 5-6 additional chapters, but I think the only major change was going from Baz being “The Vampire” to just “Vampire.”

Chapter 1 was originally called “not a bloody avenger” before I decided to do the rhyming thing. I actually decided that because I wrote “counter spray and earl grey” down for chapter 2, unintentionally rhyming it, and then @ashspren-writes was like, “you should make them all rhyme”... so I did. 😂 For 25 more chapters.

I have a section labeled “quickie backgrounds” in which I finally sat down halfway through writing Chapter 2 (the blade/vamp fight) and said to myself, okay, maybe they should have backstories or something. Or like, reasons for being the hero and villain. Right, yeah, those would be good to make this into a coherent story. In the first version of that, Simon was a sports coach on the side, not a baker, and Baz was an English teacher. LOL. 

Once I had all that, I literally just wrote for four days. There’s a weird kind of magic to your first-ever fic for a fandom. All your ideas and thoughts and wishes for these characters comes to a head as you suddenly have an outlet for the first time. It’s why I think people’s first works are often their best or most creative or most profound. The first couple chapters took some time and a couple 1am epiphanies, but once I got into a rhythm it was quick going. I wrote a lot of it in a linear manner, but after writing the first Simon/Baz scene (watching the news together in the flat), I doubled back and added Simon going to Penny’s house after meeting the Mage so that I could work her in as a character earlier.

Fast forward to April 5, I had 5-ish chapters written? I thought this fic would have like... 10 total. And be less than 20k. Haha. Ha. I asked @ashspren-writes to beta read for me - I’d been bouncing ideas off her since the beginning - and then I started brainstorming titles. 

The list actually started with that second one. It took a whole 24 hours to decide on the final title. 😂 I thought it might be too cheesy. But hey, it worked out -- now I can’t open AO3 without the damn song getting stuck in my head. 

I worked a LOT with my friend @ashspren-writes on this fic - we were friends long before fandom, and she was the only person I knew at the time who had read CO and was involved in the fandom. I didn’t even have a tumblr at this point, I interacted mostly through Instagram and AO3!

On April 6, right before I posted, I realized that if I was going to actually put this on AO3 I should probably know where the story was going. So I made sure Chapters 1-6 were complete, then I wrote one bullet point per chapter up until 12 or so -- you can read those below.

Then I texted ashspren THIS mess:

Some silly notes:

Then I have a section that says “Why do they even have roommates?” because it was a few chapters in and I hadn’t justified richboy Baz and superhero Simon... living together. Cool cool cool

I also did this cool little writing experiment I want to share. Remember that line in Fangirl that’s like—“Once Cath wrote what she thought was a swordfight, and Wren turned it into a love scene.” (Or maybe it was the other way around? LOL.) Anyway, there’s swordfights in this, AND love scenes, so I wanted to do a play on that for two alternate ways Simon might figure it out.

I have a huge Deleted Section in which I wrote an alternate version of Simon and Baz finding out about their secret identities. I have one version where Baz figures it out first—it’s a very tropey yet angsty scene where Simon comes home totally wrecked from a fight, and Baz realizes as he’s helping with the wounds that he caused them. I actually like it a lot, but it ended up not quite fitting with the vibe of the fic (and I rather like them finding out through kissing better). :) I also had an idea where Simon figures it out because Vampire smells like cedar and bergamot, but it really just wasn’t interesting enough. 😂

Now onto... Outlines. 

I say that hesitantly because I think these are literally a disgrace to outlines everywhere. These are the baby ones I wrote on April 6 right before posting. Some are more detailed than others, clearly...

Gotta live up to my username somehow. 

We do love to see it. ​

I love this next one: 😂 CHAOS, SCONEY.

THEN, I wrote this as a very long text to ashspren, when I realized no sconey, this is not going to be under 20k words. LOL. 

And then I did A Dumb Thing and I put it on AO3, having absolutely NO CLUE WHERE THE STORY WAS GOING. 😂 

This is my favorite heading on the document.

Another one of my favorite notes in there.

This next part wasn’t even divided into chapters yet, it’s just a word vomit. I’m so sorry you have to read this mess.

Hahaha, once upon a time there was angst in this story. 😂 

And then I realized my true calling: bakery fluff.

Then and only then, I actually decided to divide into those things called Chapters. This is the point where I made the admission to mr scone (boyfriend, not husband lol, we just call him that) that I write gay fanfiction, whoops, and can he please help me because he’s a HUGE DC comics fan and knows everything. And of course, he was super chill about it, and he did. He really did. He’s the genius behind Egghead!!! And also the entire Mage-Humdrum-Supercomputer/Politics plot. I’m serious. I did none of that.

I can’t even say I’m trying anymore. “Flort”??? I AM LITERALLY NOT TRYING.

Why yes sconey, so very specific. 😂 

This is what qualifies as a “good” outline for me, that heading was just for my betas. Isn’t it fabulous to see that some of this actually made it in and I’m capable of planning in advance? 😂 

Get ready for the shock of your life, though -- I actually have a SUUUUPER detailed outline for the two finale chapters. Because, well, it’s the finale. Wrapping up loose ends does actually require planning, WHO KNEW. Also I’d been writing and posting for a couple months at this point and it had been several more weeks in quarantine so maybe I’d regained some sense of reality? It’s like two pages but still shittily written, so I’ll just share a couple tidibits.

That bullet point is extraordinarily cracky BUT actually, Baz shooting up from the cloud like an awesome fucking hot dramatic person was one of the very first scenes I envisioned for this fic :D 

I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into my writing brain! It’s a terrifying place. I love all of you that say Holding Out For a Hero is a well-crafted masterpiece, but respectfully, no ❤️ 

(Though I swear I AM super, super happy with how it turned out - it’s still my favorite thing I’ve ever written. Read it here!!!)

[its-afucking-mess]

A little guide on ao3 (by an ao3 user and writer)

Friendly reminder for mobile users! Ao3 is a website. It doesn't have (as far as im concerned) an official app for mobile, so better get comfy with using crome on your phone.

Some video links ill leave for people who prefer video and audio:

- navigating the fanfiction sites

- popular fandom terminology part 1 and part 2

- shipping etiquette

i really reccomend coley's videos if you want to get to know more fandoms, or get an inside look to how some stuff works. There also might be more vids about fandom's and fan works, so don't hesitate to look through some of her stuff!

the explaining under the 'read more' ao mutuals wont kill me :)

(also tagging @ethanesimp since they asked for this advice )

So, what is Ao3 really?

Ao3 is a website made by fans for fans. There are no ads, and all content is free on Ao3. Anyone can post (with some age restrictions) and they can post anything.

How can I browse Ao3?

Ao3 does not require an account to view stories. You can easily browse as an anonymous user. You just are not able to view certain works, as creators have the ability to show their works to registered users only. Some cases, commenting is possible while anonymous, but again, it's up to the creator of the work.

If you want to be a creator and share works, you need an account.

An account also gives you the ability to bookmark works, so you can re-visit them, mark works for later, keeps a history of the works you've visited and allows you to favourite tags.

How do I get an Ao3 account?

When you first open the site, it gives you the option to "Get Invited". An invitation will be sent to your email anywhere from 24hrs later to a week later, depending on the amount of people in the automated queue.

After the invitation, you are able to set up your account like any other social media account. Pick a username, pseuds (name), description and bio. You can have a profile picture as well.

How do I navigate the site?

There are few ways to do so efficiently, but there's countless of ways you can experiment with to find which is more comfortable.

1st option: As the website loads, you can go to the 'Fandoms' tag.

Then, after clicking on it, this column appears. Through there, you can pick which media your fandom is from and from there, browse the huge list of different fandoms until you spot your own.

The list is in alphabetical order, so if your fandom begins with an "C", it shouldn't be too far down.

2nd option: At the top right, under your profile, and the options 'Post' and 'Log Out' should be a white oval search bar.

(im using my own account for demonstration)

When searching, there are many ways to work around it.

Personally, I press search as it is. It will lead you to a page where all the fanworks of the site are listed. (i believe its easiest, but always feel free to experiment)

From there, you press the 'Edit Your Search' button, located near the top right.

It will then lead you to a page with multiple fields.

Don't panic when you see all the fields. Only half those are of interest when you want to browse works for a fandom.

The most important ones are those under the Field name 'Work Tags'

Whatever you select under this field will be included in the works the site presents you with.

What are the work tags? What do they do?

Lets go through the options.

Fandom(s): when typing on this option, multiple fandom names will autofill in a list under the white space. If your fandom shows up, you can just click on it.

example:

From there, you can select the fandom you want to see works from. If your fandom doesn't show up, it can mean one of two things:

-there are no works for it

-it isn't popular enough to be picked up by the algorithm

After selecting one fandom, you can select another fandom, or more, to see works that are crossovers over universes.

Ratings: Ratings are selected by author. It defines the level of maturity it has in the work

- General audiences is the tag you want to use when nothing bad happens in the work. No swearing, no sexual activities, no violence or gore. It wont contain scenes that minors are not allowed to see.

- Teen and up audiences is the tag used for most works on the site. It is what would be used when you have mentions of/vague sexual content or violence. Normally, the most extreme stuff on there is excessive swearing, heavy angst and hurt/comfort with no excessive details

- Mature is the tag that is for 18+. It is mostly filled with one of following : Violence, Sexual Content, Ab*se, R@pe, Death and SH.

Reader descretion is advised by looking at the additional tags the author has provided, especially for those with triggers.

- Explicit is like Mature, but contains more graphic content. Works rated explicit mostly fall under the 'Graphic depictions of sexual content', 'Graphic depictions of Violence and Gore' or 'Graphic depictions of Ab*se, R@pe, or Self H*rm

Reader descretion is advised, stronger than mature, since it can be much more triggering. The works are scarily detailed sometimes.

- Not rated: the author has not given this work a rating because none of the other ratings fit the work. Pay special attention to the tags.

Warnings: Also known as Archive warnings by older users. The trigger warnings of Ao3. There are 6 archive warnings:

-Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings: The author didn't use the warnings, either because none of them fit the work's theme and warnings, or to avoid spoiling the story. Pay attention to the tags for any warnings.

-Graphic Depictions Of Violence: It is pretty self explanatory. Can contain any sort of violence, from wars, to simple fights, to ab*se of any kind. Can and often contain death. The type of violence is in the tags.

-Major Character Death: A main character in the story will die in this work. Pay attention to the tags always. The name of the character will be mentioned, as well as the way they die.

-No Archive Warnings Apply: None of the warnings apply. It is most times a perfectly safe work. Check the tags to make sure though!

-R@pe/Non-Con: The work contains non-consensual activities. Ranges from non-consensua sex to non-consensual use and ab*se of substances. Very close attention to the tags!

-Underage: The main character(s) in this work are underage/minors. This is normally tagged along sexual content so be aware and pay close attention to the tags!

Categories: This regards the relationships in the work:

- M/M, or better known as mlm or a relationship between two non-woment (men mostly, can include characters under the non-binary umbrella)

- M/F, a heterosexual relationship (is inclusive of trans characters too!)

- F/F, or wlw, or a relationship between two non-men (women mostly, can include characters under the non-binary umbrella)

- Gen, no sexual or romantic relationships are in this work, or if there are any, they arent of main focus.

- Multi: Polyamorous relationships, or multiple relationships are included in this work (this is also where threesomes+ are tagged in sometimes)

- Other relationships: One of the two people in the relationship is non-human (mostly), or the relationships are platonic/family.

Characters: The characters you want to be included in the story. This works just like the 'Fandom' filter, so the same things apply. You can tag as many characters as desirable.

Relationships: The relationships that you want present in the work. This includes both major and minor relationships. It can also include ended relationships (tagged Past x/y) and implied/referenced relationships. This works just like the Characters and Fandom filter.

Additional Tags: These are things the author has included to give potential readers an insight to the story. 'Angst', 'Fluff' and 'Smut' are additional tags. Works like the Relationships filter, so all same applies.

Is there anything I have to avoid/ I should avoid?

There is this very infamous tag, 'Dead Dove: Do not eat.' This tag is a warining to readers that the things in the work are really messed up, and can include anything illegal in it. PAY VERY CLOSE ATTENTION TO THE REST OF THE TAGS IF YOU STILL ARE INTERESTED.

How else can I filter works?

You can choose how they are:

sorted (Titles, Authors, Hits, Kudos, Comments, Bookmarks, and Best Match)

the word count (from 1 word to millions)

the language (most are on there)

the amount of chapters

if the work is complete of not

when it last updated/when was posted

and if there are crossovers.

These are all options that author has to include, and therefore you can sort freely. Most are bulletin options you can click on.

What if I want to find a specific work?

If you happen to know one of these: Author, Title, Fandom or Rating, you will find it. If you were reccomended one, it's better to ask for the author or the title, to make looking for it easier.

Can I find a specific author/ user?

People search is for finding users on the site

Bookmark search helps you look through other people's public bookmarks. Not really used.

Tag search finds works that include this specific tag you searched. Also not used a lot.

People can see my bookmarks?

When bookmarking a work, you are able to do a lot.

if you do not want your bookmarks to be visible to the public, make sure to check off the Private bookmark box at the bottom left.

Common terms thrown around by Ao3 users:

-tags: the additional tags of the work

-kudos: liking a story

-bookmarks: saving/saved stories. makes it easy to revist. you can see your bookmarks from your profile

-hits: the amount of people that have clicked on a story. Isn't necessary they liked it, but they did click on it.

And those are the basics! If you had to take one thing only, its ALWAYS READ TAGS

I hope this helped the clueless souls even a bit :)

Im open to reply to any other questions, and you can send me them in my asks, messages or comments of this post

[gallavictorious]

I was delighted to be tagged by Our Lady of Words and Joy @howlinchickhowl Cheers, dear!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Earlier today it was 40. Now it’s 39. WHAT GIVES? Did someone eat a story? Which one? I am so confused.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

137 098. At least that hasn’t changed...

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Highs, and Your Lows (i will weather them)

This Time (We'll Be Fine)

Teenage Tales

To Keep Your Gentle Heart

Captive Look

Huh. Would you look at that. All Gallavich stuff!

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Eh. Well. Listen, I always want and mean to respond to comments, because as a commenter I always love a response from the author, but I am procrastinator supreme so a lot of the time I just... don't. Not for a great long while at least. Then, two years AFTER you left a comment, you might get an e-mail notification about me responding. It's horrible, really, because I keep the comments in my heart and treasure them so much and the lovely people taking the time to leave a few words on my silly stories really do deserve better.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Life, Still to Come has the one main character Jim Moriarty killing himself and his lover Sebastian Moran after he's diagnosed with incurable brain cancer, so I guess that's pretty angsty? The tone of the fic, however, is... kinda soft and peaceful, really. It doesn't feel so very sad, I think.

For Gallavich, I've got Chapter 7 of my ficlet collection Highs, and Your Lows (i will weather them). It's an Wild West AU kind of deal, where Ian Gallagher is visited by the ghost of the young fiend Mickey Milkovich after his dad beats him to death. That one is sad, but there's the glimmer of a promise that they might meet again one day, in a better world.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

My fics mostly end on a happy note, and I have a hard time pinning down which is the happiest. Hm. I'm gonna say Pressure or possibly Foreign Country, if only because the happy endings there are offered in contrast to the otherwise angsty story and so seems all the happier for it.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I have, once. Well, started one, really. Notes Regarding the End of the World is a crossover between Sherlock BBC and Mark Lawrence's The Broken Empire trilogy. I still feel there's a bunch of potential there, but I'm very hesitant I'll ever finish it.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not to my recollection, no. Back when I posted my SW fic on the Jedi Council forums you might receive critical comments at times, but no hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not really, no. I'm not very interested in reading it, and so see very little point in writing it. There's been a few semi-explicit depictions of sexual acts – most notably in Claim – and I'm not averse to writing kink fic, even if they don't typically include actual sex when I do. For instance, I did The Ways We Bend and Break and Mend for X-Men, and the whole point was Charles first whipping Erik and then cuddling him – except in the end it turned into a character study with lots of emotions, and I think any attempts to write smut would be like that for me. Accidental character drama. XD

I might have a Gallavich thing for kinktober that is likely to be pretty explicit and kinda messed up. We'll see.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so. There have been a few instances of stuff popping up bearing a strong resemblance to things I've written, but there's also been times when I realize that things I have written bear a (very much unintentional) strong resemblance to other stuff that predates them, so I really think that's the nature of the beast. In any big fandom, the same ideas are likely to occur to multiple people, and we are all, often unconsciously, inspired by the same things and by each other.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, to Chinese and Russian.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! Pathoftheranger and I co-wrote (How to Break the) Alibi Armistice, which was fun!

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I'm a creature of ever-changing affections, so I'm not so good with ”all-time favourite”  and to be honest, I mostly tend to have favourite characters and ship them with everything in sight... Currently it's all about Gallavich but pretty much all ships including Jim Moriarty is forever gold to me (though MorMor is The Best. Or is it Sheriarty? Or maybe Mormorlock? Or Moriadlock? Or Johmlock – notice the 'm'?). Cherik's a big one too!

Ask me again in six months and my answer might well have changed!

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The aforementioned Notes Regarding the End of the World. And I have this superlong Star Wars fic I started writing when I was 16 and wrote for years and years and then just... stopped writing, when I was maybe 20 pages from the end? It's currently at 180k words. This one I DO have some hope that I will go back and finish one day, although it's likely to be a jarring experience since I'm very much not 16 years old any more and my ideas about writing and the characters and everything have shifted quite a bit.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I do pretty well with the short format, I think. And with dialogue? Finding the voice of the characters (some more than others, certainly). Writing in my native Swedish, I think I'm pretty good at offering decent prose – I'd like to think I have a fairly developed ear for the flow of the text, and the melody of it? But when writing in English, that gets quite a bit harder. This really annoys me, because I'm rather preoccupied with the stylish elements of writing – though I've found that a lot of people seem happy enough to overlook clunky writing as long as they find the story otherwise engaging, which is a huge blessing for me. I believe I can build a decent plot, but since I can't write anyting longer than a few K these days there's no telling, is there?

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Primarily getting any writing done at all. Mostly, I stare at a blank page and despair and then I give up. This is why I no longer write long fic. I also tend to reuse favorite phrases or themes far too often. And there are so many subclauses... Proofreading happens to other people (I'd like it to happen to me too, but I'm terrible with it). I'm not good at accepting constructive criticism, even when I ask for it. I will often favour style over efficiency, and I'll stubbornly refuse to admit that this can be a problem.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

This question makes me feel like I ought to have developed thoughts on this, but I don't so much... I don't mind it? I've used it. Uh. It's a good idea to do a bit of research and not just rely on Google translate for it? If you don't like it, don't use it. Those are my thoughts.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars. <3

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Buffy/Angel/Spike. The Book of All Hours. Heroes. Maybe something based on The Coldfire Trilogy... ? Oh, and the Bible. I'm sure there are others.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I really don't have one. There are a few I'm particularly happy with, but no one that truly stands out... That said, I was quite chuffed with how the first ficlet in Or Else Into the Light, my (tiny) collection of Anakin redemption one-shots, turned out. And Claim. I’m very pleased with Claim.

Tagging @dreamylyfe-x @fiona-fififi @pathoftheranger @abundanceofnots and @captainjowl

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: Jason Todd was raised on the streets, in Gotham’s filth, but the blood that was running through his veins was everything but. Jason was the last of a line of gruesome, death stained mages, necromancers who dealt in souls and flickering images of immortality. Jason was a fifteen-year-old boy who crawled out of his grave, weeks after he died, reanimated by powers he couldn’t understand or control, and struggled to feel alive even when his father was holding onto him.

AN: I finally get to post my @batfam-big-bang fanfic! I My lovely beta readers for this wonderful project were @nycis and @queerbutstillhere while my amazing artists were @darkmagyk and @paperedking and @zannakai. Check out their stunning pieces!!!

Read on AO3

I had a night I had a day I did one million stupid things I said one billion foolish things I'm not okay

If there are two emotions Jason knows well, they are  fear and anger. Both had accompanied him since his earliest childhood memories. His father’s shouting had been a constant source of anger and fear. His loud voice had forced Jason to hide beneath the table, his bed, the closet, all spaces he had falsely assumed would be too small for his father to reach. With bated breath he had waited for the screeching to stop until only his mother’s soft sobs had echoed through the rooms. Those too had angered Jason. He didn’t know whether it was on her behalf, because he had hated his father so much for causing her any pain, or because that anger had been for himself, the poor child whose mother wasn’t strong enough to leave her piece of shit husband.

On the streets, anger had kept him warm at night and fear had ensured he stayed alive. He had marveled at the shiny tires of the Batmobile, but even then, deep down, he had been so incredibly angry. He was going hungry while another drove a car like that. He had ignored his fear then and stolen the tires regardless.

It had been the best decision of his life.

So now, when once again  he was stuck between fear and anger, he chose to dismiss his fear and lash out instead.

“You can’t be serious!” Jason hissed, throwing up his arms.

Rage boiled beneath his skin like an active volcano. It infected his voice, his stance. He rose to his full height, making him the tallest in the room, but none of his siblings even blinked at it. They were too used to such simpleminded intimidation tactics, employed similar ones in front of villains who thought they could get the better of them.

“This is the right way,” Dick said, his voice strained with finality, a kind of authority he had no right to evoke.

He was not their leader, and he sure as hell was not their father. Dick barely understood what Jason was capable of and when he did, was too scared of it. The others didn’t see it, but Jason knew a coward when he saw one. Dick always tip-toed around Jason’s room like he expected the undead to crawl right out of it and drag him into a bloody casket. Beyond that, he also always took the patrol routes far away from Jason’s apartment complex and city district. Jason didn’t mind, he preferred it when the others kept their noses out of the Narrows and Crime Alley. His people didn’t particularly enjoy it either when the other bats and birds came around to play there as they tended to mess with the wards and ask uncomfortable questions. Jason understood too well how unsettling his presence could be and therefore knew very well that Dick had no room to make such decisions or judge Jason for them.

“The right way,” Jason repeated. “Do you even hear yourself? If everything was right, Bruce would still be here!”

Tim and Steph both winced when Jason said his name and even Dick’s face fell. They all didn’t understand it. Death was so final to them instead of just another state of being, one that Jason could reverse.

“I can bring him back,” Jason continued, desperation seeping into his voice. “Everything will be alright again. It’s all in these books. I just need your help.”

Why couldn’t his siblings just understand that he would fix it and then everything would go back to being the way it was before Darkseid had torn their lives to shreds. The Cave had become messy since Bruce’s death. It had been barely a month ago but it already showed despite best efforts. Jason had dragged all his books here to study and take notes, the constant hum of the technology as much a motivational hymn as it was a lullaby. His notes now were spread out all across the table, proudly displaying the work Dick was disregarding so very easily.

Dick only stubbornly shook his head. “No, Bruce wouldn’t want that.”

This wasn’t about what Bruce wanted, he was dead. This was simply about deciding how they were going to fix it.

“You don’t know that,” Jason countered. “It’s not like he wrote it in his will.”

Dick let out a low breath and dragged his hands through his hair as if Jason were causing him a headache. They had attended the reading of the will just hours before. Alfred had made sure they had all dressed up in proper suits the way they had for the closed casket funeral because there hadn’t been a body to recover. It would make it all more difficult to bring Bruce back without his original body to tie his soul too, but Jason was confident that he would be able to pull it off. Jason had only listened half-heartedly to the reading of the will. He knew its contents by heart, they all did. Every hero had a will set up and about ten proxies who knew every word and could recite it in case their death had been unnatural.

Alfred had been given custody over Damian while Tim had been emancipated. The Wayne fortune had been split five ways between Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Damian while Steph and Barbara both got a huge stipend. It was all for nothing, Bruce would be back. Cass knew it as well, or so Jason hoped. She hadn’t even bothered to show for the funeral but had left the city the night before. Jason wished she had stayed, she would support him.

Instead, Jason had to make everyone else listen to him.

Tim was still straight up in denial and didn’t believe that Bruce was dead. His parents had died around the same time, just two years earlier. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to handle it and escape into his delusions instead. Steph, for all that she was a part of the team and family, Jason’s closest confidant out of all of them, had chosen to stay neutral while Dick protested vehemently.

Damian, meanwhile, just thought that Jason wouldn’t be able to pull it off, but that could be blamed on his superiority complex. While the kid, a perfect mix of Talia and Bruce, could imitate Bruce’s accent and body language as well as he wanted to, he still reeked of al Ghul arrogance and the Lazarus pit’s side effects. It was a foul stench, poisonous, and foreign to this world. It had hurt Bruce when Jason had told him what exactly was keeping Damian’s heart beating, but there was nothing that could be done about it. It wasn’t like anybody else besides Jason actually noticed.

“Had he wanted to, we would know,” Dick said.

“But-“

“Jason, stop.” Dick’s order, his tone couldn’t be mistaken for anything but a bark, was harsh. “Bruce is dead and he will stay dead. You will not experiment on his soul just because you think you can bring him back.”

“I don’t think so, I know so,” Jason argued. “You’re just incapable of trusting me! You still think I’m a foolish kid who is just playing around with powers he doesn’t understand!”

His voice rose with every shouted word. It had always been like this. Dick thinking that Jason was crossing too many lines, wasn’t good enough to be Robin or anything. Hell, he had accepted Tim more readily as Robin than he ever had Jason.

“Jason-“ Tim tried to speak up, but was harshly cut off by Dick.

Trust big brother to always know best.

“Because you are!” Dick shouted back. It hurt, cut into flesh like sharp knives, but at the same time it was liberating. Finally, Dick was actually speaking his mind. Honesty, so Jason had learned, was the only way to keep moving forward. They all lied, it was a part of their training, came as natural as breathing, but there was a line you had to be aware of.

“Bruce is dead and you can’t let go. Instead of helping me figure out how to keep Gotham running, you run off and bury your head in old books to find a solution to a problem that isn’t there! He’s gone. I needed you on patrol tonight and you didn’t show.”

Patrol had been just fine, Dick hadn’t needed him. Jason had kept an eye on the comms, they had done as good as they could with three men down. It hadn’t even been a busy night.

“You’re just giving up!”

“And you’re delusional!” Dick retorted.

He picked up one of the pages the closest to him. The originally white paper was covered by ink stains, diagrams smeared uncaringly all over it while Jason had been trying to figure out what exactly his ancestors had gotten up to when they tried to raise the dead.

“This is too much, Jason. You’re only setting yourself up for my failure. I let you keep researching because I thought it would help, but it’s only hurting you. You have to let go.”

“And leave?” Jason spat out. “Like you always do the moment something goes wrong with Bruce?”

Dick froze. His annoyance and misguided worry slowly twisted into dark anger. At that moment, it just felt right. Dick had ceased pretending that he was so much better than them, that he wasn’t struggling without Bruce around. Jason loathed how he sat at breakfast every day, acting as if it was all still alright and fine, smiling and lying continuously.

“I-“ Dick interrupted himself, reigning in his anger as everybody else watched him with keen eyes. “No, no, I’m not having this discussion with you. None of us are on board with your reckless endeavor, so you’re not doing it and that’s final.”

Jason turned to look at the rest of his family, but they were all averting their eyes. Of course, they would all side with Dick over him. He was older, more experienced, the first Robin out of all of them.

He wasn’t the resurrected boy who talked to ghosts and turned living beings to worthless decay with nothing more than a touch.

“I see,” Jason replied and grabbed his jacket from the chair.

Fine, it wasn’t like he needed any of them anyway. It would have been easier with more living anchors, but Batman had left his mark all over the city. Gotham was his, even the magic that buried itself so far underground that hardly anybody could see it knew who it belonged to. Jason had plenty of anchors he could use to bring Bruce back. What were five children compared to an entire city?

“Where are you going?” Tim spoke up. He had barely said a word since Jason and Dick had started fighting, but Jason supposed that it made sense given that Tim thought both of them were wrong.

“Away from here,” Jason replied. “Since Dick is so keen on running this show himself, he can do it. I’m out.”

“What?” Steph asked. “Wait! Jason, no, you have to stay!”

“What I need to do is fix this.”

Jason picked his backpack up from the ground and started stuffing his papers into it. He didn’t particularly care in which order he did it, he would have to sort through them all anyway once he was back in his apartment. He needed to toss those that were trash and copy the calculations and incantations that actually made sense and seemed like they were a good first step onto fresh sheets. Maybe he should get actual parchment. He didn’t usually work with dead writing materials, but with whatever he had on hand. His spells were powerful enough without, but he couldn’t afford any mistakes here.

Once he was finished, he threw his backpack over his shoulder and headed towards his bike, not sparing the group behind him another glance.

“Jason,” Dick started once more.

Jason just threw his hands up, dismissing him.

“Don’t worry, Richard,” he said. “It’s not like I can stay dead for long if something goes wrong. Don’t bother contacting me. I’ll come back once I’m finished.”

He couldn’t see his older brother’s reaction, but Jason would bet that he had flinched. They all hated to be reminded of Jason’s death, but it wasn’t like Jason could erase that part of him.

Jason put on his bright red helmet and turned on his bike. Then, without looking back, he drove off, disappearing into the dawn of a new day.

[galacticlamps]

Tagged by @the--highlanders​ ! Thanks!

How many works do you have on AO3?

13

What’s your total AO3 word count?

76,200

(oh what a nice even number - I should try to mess that up as soon as possible, shouldn’t I?)

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Aw man is this intentionally worded to be really hard to answer? I get that it says ‘written’ and not ‘posted’ but then what constitutes a ‘fandom?’ I definitely wrote fics for stuff I was interested in long before I even knew the word ‘fic’ - I did it throughout my childhood, and then in high school, and while I didn’t do it as much in college, it still happened from time to time. So a lot of the books/movies/tv shows/plays/musicals I wrote things for aren’t really fandoms, and frankly, I had to check my old folder just now to even remember some of them existed. I’ll just list the ones that I know for sure had fandoms, since that’s more fun (and embarrassing), right?

Obviously Doctor Who, classic and modern, Torchwood, Sherlock Holmes (ironically more of these seem to be about the books, but yes, I will admit, some for that tv show too), Les Mis, a couple different Marvel comics & movies, Good Omens, hell, I even found a Night Vale fic in there just now.

And I know there are other older things not even in that folder, some of which never made it to a computer at all, so if I had to ballpark a number I’d probably say around 25ish but really, who knows?

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Across the Gap

On the Spot

Expectations

Shards of Memories & Fragments of Glass

Itemized

(this was fun, I’d never noticed Ao3 even had a stats page until now lol)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to! Sometimes I take a long time to do so but for the most part, I usually get around to it. The rare exception would be if I first saw the comment when I was super busy/distracted and then felt like way too much time passed before I noticed it again, that it might be awkward if I said something at that point.

I do genuinely enjoy hearing what people think, but I’m also weirdly terrified of making anyone feel like they have to reply to my comments. I know that’s probably a little strange, but it’s actually a large part of why I made this Ao3 account in the first place - my original one, from high school, is followed by some long-time friends of mine who aren’t interested in this fandom, some of whom are involved in art & writing professionally. The thought of anyone like that reading something I wrote out of friendliness or even just curiosity and potentially having to pretend they liked it for the same reasons stressed me tf out, so I like having this virtually anonymous one because I can relax knowing that anyone who reads or interacts with something I wrote has probably done so only because they wanted to, rather than feeling obligated, and there’s no pressure on them to be nice to me about it if anything I write or post annoys them - so I really hope nobody who does just know me as an anonymous blog has ever worried about offending me by not replying to something, trust me, I’m perfectly happy with it!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t think I’ve really written any angsty endings? I guess the answer would have to be Reckless just because it involves the characters arguing about sad/weighty things and there isn’t really any solution to those issues - but even then I think I ended it with a kind of acceptance that stops it from really qualifying as angst? I also set it in the the same universe as other fics, so maybe that doesn’t even count as an ending? Am I that bad at ending things on angst? Lol

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Obviously none of the fics I’ve posted are crossovers but I’m trying to think now if any of my WIP’s are - I’ve definitely poached setting/premise ideas from other media, but in terms of actual crossovers . . . I’ve got a few cross-era or cross-Doctor, a few involving Torchwood, but that’s already the same universe, so the only thing that’d qualify as a true crossover would be some vague pieces of a fic where Jamie, Zoe, and Two end up on the Enterprise, since I think the 60s series of Star Trek and Dr Who feel kind of compatible, don’t they? In fact, aren’t there like officially licensed crossover comics or something? Or did I make that up? Idk, and the ideas are very loose, so it’s not much of a WIP either

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope, never

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I’ve never written smut, but I’m wondering if it’s possible that could change soon. There’s a longish multi-chapter fic I’ve been working on for a frankly embarrassing amount of time, and the plot does call for a sex scene at one point towards the end, but I can’t seem to make up my mind on how - uh, I guess the word is explicit? - it should get. I know I could easily do a fade to black/implication thing, but it’s kind of a source of contention and anxiety for the characters, so to skip over writing the actual scene and just revisit them afterwards rings of “and they slept together and now everything’s fine!” which feels kinda cheap to me - in this context, anyway - and not the right payoff for a long fic that’s otherwise more of an interpersonal drama/slightly a period piece, if I had to place it in a genre. I feel like my aversion to actually writing the scene might just be prudishness I should get over, or maybe just self-doubt, because I know I’d rather have a well-written, funny, character-development-supporting sex scene than nothing at all, but since I’ve never had any interest in writing a scene like that before, I don’t know if I can do it well, and I also don’t want to ruin a fic I’m otherwise proud of by doing it badly... ugh I have to figure this out

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I seriously doubt it

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I mean, it’s gotta be Two & Jamie. I’ve shipped things before with varying levels of investment, but I’ve never been able to use the term ‘otp’ in a literal sense until I came across them, and now it’s already basically gone out of fashion, go figure!

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’m not sure if I have one? My WIP doc is huge, but I don’t actually intend to get around to finishing everything in it, so I’d like to think that anything I’ve currently singled out to complete can actually get done.

That said, I do have a few AU’s that I don’t really plan to finish, but it might be cool if I could. Two of them are for all the main + some supporting characters of the Second Doctor’s era - one’s a modern day school teachers AU, and the other is a typical fantasy/fairy tale AU. Another is just Two/Jamie, based on Doctor Faustus (specifically the Marlowe play version) but right now there are two different versions of the ending coexisting in my head. I’ve written parts of scenes & some gen. backstory for all of those ideas, but I don’t know if I’ll ever try to finish them, or what form a finished product would even take - a series of one-shots set in the same universe? one long multi-chapter fic with some kind of overarching plot? And the amount of context/worldbuilding a big AU like these would require might not make them very appealing fics for people to read, so maybe it is better if I just keep them to myself, since in my head I already know what’s going on in those worlds lol.

What are your writing strengths?

I honestly don’t know. I haven’t had a creative writing class since middle school, and since then I’ve only ever shown creative writing to others in a fandom context, so it’s been a while since I’ve discussed it or gotten critical feedback. I suppose when I work in other arts or even academic writing contexts, people usually say I’m kind of insightful or at least detail oriented, which might just be another way of saying I overthink things, but I like to imagine I’m decent at finding little points of interest to expand upon.

What are your writing weaknesses?

If you’ve read this far I feel like you must know what I’m about to say: I do not know how to be concise.

Usually when I’m writing a fic, I put down the dialogue first on its own, leaving out the action of the scene and whatever plot/context led there, even if I’ve already figured all of that out. But then when I go to add those things in, they’re always longer than I wanted them to be. I don’t mind writing something long, but I don’t want my fics to be a slog to get through either, and there can be a point at which the stuff I’ve added for context overwhelms the stuff that I wanted the fic to be about in the first place, so it becomes a structural/proportion issue too. I haven’t completely given up on any fics because of this yet, but there’s one I’ve been struggling with for a couple months now - probably because I’m even second-guessing myself on which scenes need to be written out and which can just be referenced like a recap. Hopefully I figure that one out soon.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

((this is karma isn’t it? i posted a fic last week with two words of gaelic in it and was worried about that and now this is karma))

In general, I don’t want to do it. I feel like you’ve gotta have a really good grasp of a language to write dialogue & speech patterns for someone who’s a native speaker, and since I’m far from fluent in any language the characters I write for are, I wouldn’t feel confident writing any significant amount of dialogue in, say, Gaelic.

As a sidenote, though, I kinda love it when other people do it, particularly for Jamie. Irish (Gaeilge) and Scottish (Gàidhlig) are both languages I’ve wanted to learn for a long time, because my family’s fresh out of living speakers of either & I think that’s a shame, but I started with Irish and at the moment I’m still very much learning it. As different as they are, it still helps me understand parts of lyrics or texts that I come across in Gàidhlig fairly frequently, so when it comes up in a fic I get to feel like I’m being responsible and practicing, and it’s great when I can actually understand what’s being said.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I’m gonna go with Harry Potter even though that’s probably not a perfectly accurate answer - it’s almost certainly the first thing that has a fandom that I ever wrote for, but it was in a notebook when I was a kid and never something that I even typed on a computer, much less posted online or shared with other members of a fandom. But even then, I’m sure it wasn’t the first pre-existing fictional universe I ever set an original story in, because I did that a lot when I was a kid, it’s just hard to remember those clearly or on any kind of timeline.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I’m very partial to Across the Gap, so I was pleasantly surprised to see that ranked first on the kudos thing above - but I’ve also got a soft spot for So Merrily We’ll Sing. It’s so self-indulgent it feels silly saying ‘it was so easy to write!’ but I guess having a fic that’s already just 100% headcaonons and fluff tied together by a song you really love does prevent it from being much of a labor (I also managed to refrain from making that one unnecessarily long, so that’s another win there)

tagging @terryfphanatics and anyone else who wants to do it - sorry I’m bad at remembering whose tumblr goes with whose Ao3 account, but I really would be interested to read this if anyone else feels like answering them!

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

You messed with my heart too long

A/N: I posted this anonymously on ao3, but I’m really proud of writing this so decided to post it on here as well. Please, please let me know what you think, it would mean the world to me. 

Summary: When Richie accidentally burns his food right at the same time as Eddie arrives home, he fears he's in for a verbal beat down. He's used to that thank to his ex-boyfriend, who mentally and emotionally abused him before Richie realized what he was doing to him. Once Eddie works out what is happening, he is quick to assure Richie he would never treat him in the same manner.

Warnings!: mental abuse, mentions of physical abuse and Bev’s abusive ex, Richie thinks Eddie going to react badly (he doesn’t but he still thinks about it) 

read on AO3

Richie, in all fairness, has never had any confidence in any way, shape or form. He’s not sure why that is. His mom and dad were good, loving parents that indulged into his secret little hobby’s, and when Richie at age 24, a fresh college drop-out, told his parents he was going to take a gamble and try to make it as a comedian, they supported him wholeheartedly. Of course, they were a little disappointed that he never got a degree in case things in the comedy field didn’t work out, but they were convinced of Richie’s talent. They were truly the best parents anyone could ever wish for, at least in Richie’s mind.

The losers were also nothing if not supportive towards him, though they had been long gone before Richie turned 24. They made fun of him sometimes, on the occasions where a joke ran too far or failed miserably, but they also made sure that Richie knew how much they adored him in reality.

Beside from getting scolded at every now and again by Eddie or Stan, about his hygiene or lack of self-awareness, they also never tried to change him to fit their wants. For some unknown, nonsensical reason, they liked Richie with his flaws and all.

Truly, Richie has no inkling as to where his insecurities came from, but he does know that he never let them stop him from doing anything when he was still friends with the losers. Quite the opposite even, if he got nervous about performing in front of his class, he would loudly ask to go first, laughing boisterously and slouching against the teachers desks, pretending like the activity wasn’t even a blip on his radar. When Henry’s taunt would hit a particular soft spot, and Richie felt the urge to sulk or mope, he’d double down on the thing Henry found annoying, and get a bloody nose for his troubles.

He fought hard to be ready to perform in front of people that weren’t the losers or his parents, and the losers departing from Derry just made that worse. With the losers, he felt confident enough to try and be himself, without them, he saw himself as useless in every sense. His very first live performance sucked, and in retrospect he’s really glad none of the losers were present because within five minutes of walking on the stage, he had forgotten his lines and threw up in full sight of the audience.

If his mother hadn’t persuaded him into trying again a few months later, and that one actually working out, Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier would have been buried before it began.

But that was before all the progress Richie made in all the years he’s been doing comedy. Despite having the occasional setback, he mostly outgrew throwing up before an act, and he could objectively look at himself in the mirror and conclude that he wasn’t the most hideous person the world had ever had the displeasure of seeing.

In fact, according to people on his twitter page, he was being described as hot and possessing a form of appeal that drew people in. He didn’t find himself good looking by any means, but there was a huge difference between hating everything about himself, and accepting that he was not as hideous as the beast from the Disney fairy tales he was a big fan of as a kid.

And then, in the prime of his mental health, he had met David, and every ounce of self-worth faltered like snow under the burning scorch of the sun. It only took five weeks for David to absolutely destroy the very thing Richie had toiled at for over twenty years.

David was his first boyfriend, who he met just shortly before his thirtieth birthday, and he took more than advantage of that. The first night they first laid eyes on each other, after one of Richie’s shows, David had walked up to him at a bar and promptly declared his show was absolute shit.

Normally Richie would feel hurt by these comments and would pretend to brush them off as if they were never uttered, but something about the way he said it caused Richie to laugh so hard he snorted part of his beer through his nose. It wasn’t until he saw Eddie with Bill and Mike at Jade the Orient ten years later, that his quarter fell. In the beginning, David had reminded him of Eddie. It wasn’t until much later that it became clear David’s intentions were not as innocents as Eddie’s.

Richie assumed the guy was pulling his pants, because who would dedicate their time to flat out insult someone they had never met, and so he had greeted him and bought him another beer. David wasn’t particularly funny, and he never laughed at Richie’s jokes throughout the night either, but he was very eloquent and could keep up with Richie’s conversation topics, though he always seemed to be able to turn and twist the subject so that it gave away another one of his qualities.

By the end of the night Richie never expected to hear from him again, and he was okay with that. His conversation partner had been interesting, but not to the point where Richie wanted to know everything about him or see him again.

David felt otherwise, as thanks to a mutual friend of theirs, he’d found Richie’s number, and when he texted him to ask him on a date, Richie had been too thrilled that someone was interested in him to containplat if he even wanted to go.

That same day the date took place, David had granted himself the title of boyfriend, and Richie went right along with him. They never officially verbally agreed to date, but they held hands and David slept over most nights then not, and his mother got so happy that she saw him with someone that things progressed naturally.

At first, Richie didn’t notice that David was influencing him in a negative way. He only had one close friend, Steve, who was simultaneously also his manager, and he constantly praised David for making Richie a changed man. Because Steve saw it as something positive, so did Richie.

His voice got progressively stiller, as David would ream at him multiple times a day that he was annoying everyone around them with his booming voice, and that he was an attention-seeker who would do anything to get the limelight on him. Richie practiced his voices less and less when David started to critic every aspect of them every time he would overhear him. It got worse once they started living together full time.

‘Hey Rich, no voices? Come on I want to know if you’ve improved over the years, let us hear it.’

He cut off all fatty foods when David glanced at his plate and grimaced, asking if he was really going to eat everything on the plate. He didn’t say it in so many words, but Richie could connect the dots that led him to believe David found him too fat. Lying became a sort of second nature to Richie, as he dared to eat a small pack of chips when David was away, and deluded him the next day by stating he hadn’t eaten any. Sometimes, at times where David thought Richie was away, he would observe him going through their trash to catch Richie in the lie. He’d fight tooth and nail to deny the accusation, and never admitted to it.

David complained just about everything Richie did, including the way he held his towel whilst drying the dishes, ‘For god sake Richie don’t rumple up, hold it in your palm and open it up so you can get to the surface more.’ When Richie tried to joke that David’s way didn’t necessarily mean the best way, he’d yelled that Richie was an ungrateful bastard and that if he had to do it his way because the way he was doing it was useless.

Useless, that was a word Richie learned to associate with himself as whatever he did would get dragged down by David, until there was barely any Richie left. Once again Richie began getting stage fright, worse than when he was a child, and on one evening David witnessed his total bomb of a show, and told Richie he had pretended he didn’t know him to the people watching. That hit so hard, the fact that someone was disgusted to be linked to him, that he stopped writing his own comedy and hired someone to do it for him.

There was so much negativity surrounding him and David, but when Richie tried to address his problems, David would make him seem like he was the one that was crazy. Like he was seeing things that were not there. David rolled his eyes and waved off any of Richie’s attempts to defend himself, but then denied doing it after the fact.

‘You’re a loser Richie, I can’t believe you’d be so stupid to take my ribs seriously. Aren’t you supposed to be a ‘comedian’? You’d think you’d know what’s a joke and what isn’t.’

A can of coke being set down too hard on their dinner table was enough to get David off of the couch, where he’d been watching football and ordering him around, and into the kitchen, striking a tirade that Richie was ruining their furniture with his fumbling. Richie was constantly on edge that he was doing something wrong - and he was according to David -. He avoided David as much as he could, but the latter would find something to fault him on regardless. Life had transformed into a prison cell.

Later Richie would scold himself for not leaving, but how could he? David manipulated him to the point Richie truly believed he was doing all of those things wrong, to the point where he was the one crying and begging for David’s forgiveness. He was gaslighted, manipulated and blackmailed at the same time, with gifts that weren’t a one-off after Dacid crossed a line too far, and they often contained a very expensive item that Richie had eagerly awaited for a long time. Richie felt like he owed it to David to stay, if only for all the money he had spent on him.

There were days Richie would get so furious he was prepared to scream back at David, to let his anger be set free and unleashed upon the one person who deserved it, but then David would show up with a gift out of the blue, or would grant him a loving caress, and Richie was gone for him again.

Not to mention that Richie’s self-esteem had sunk so low, he wasn’t ready to face a world without having David there to guide him along with things.

Barely five months before Mike’s earth shattering phone call, Richie ran out of all mental capacity to deal with the torment a moment longer, and packed his things, disappearing on a cold blistering night. David called him, of course, but Richie was a coward, and never answered the phone.

He only sent David one text to tell him it was over, and then promptly blocked his number without waiting for a response. He heard from gossip that David spread lies about him, and told other people about how much of a terrible boyfriend he had been, but Richie never objected to the claims. He agreed with him anyway.

Mike’s call had been, for a large proportion anyway, a saving grace. Reconnecting with his best friends and destroying the thing that loomed over him for so long was liberating, and Richie viciously wished that Pennywise had come back sooner, so that his tortures road would have been that much shorter.

There was no lingering bitterness inside of Richie because of this though, not when his life was finally in the best possible place it could be. Eddie and him got their heads out of their asses, or more like Eddie got out of his and decided to yet again be the brave one out of the two of them, and they started dating almost immediately after defeating Pennywise. In only a week's time, Eddie made the move from New York to Los Angeles, and with him he had brought the happiness Richie had long forgotten he could ever possess.

His marriage with Myra had been just as much a scam as the relationship between Richie and David, and his divorce was swift - no surprise there with the way Eddie always prepared for every possible scenario-, but Eddie almost always avoided talking about it. In a way, Richie was disheartened by that.

It was no secret Eddie married a woman that was basically a mirror image of his mom, and at times Richie caught himself wondering if Eddie had realized how smothering she was or if he had been so hunkering for the normality of life as a straight, married man that he never paid her enough attention too. He wonders if he was the only one stupid enough to not realize the gravity of what was happening to him.

Richie has debated on flat out asking Eddie about it, but, and there’s always a but, that would mean he would have to tell Eddie about David, and he is overcome with a rare form of anxiety, something deeply ashamed nestling in the place where his trust is supposed to be at the mere idea.

Swearing on the holy turtle god that managed to save them from Pennywise’s claws, Richie was originally planning on confessing the whole thing to Eddie on day one of their relationship. He truly was, and he had even conjured up humorous escape alternatives to duck his way under a fire load of questions Eddie was surely about to ask him after.

He even prepared himself to tell Eddie in Derry, right after overhearing Eddie’s phone call to his wife, feeling empowered that Eddie would come to understand. Bev interrupted before he could, perhaps a blessing in disguise. Before Eddie fully put down his phone, Bev had sweeped in the room, requesting a meeting downstairs to talk. Richie had been helpless to follow and listen intently, and if he was being honest with himself – he wasn’t – he felt a tiny bit of relief that he wouldn’t be subjected to any negative attention. Until Bev started to confess how her life had been before Mike called them.

All at once, a sickening hatred from himself overwhelmed Richie. He was so angry that he had dared to feel sorry about himself, and here Bev was, with a situation that was incomparably worse. The more details Bev entrusted them with – Richie may have promised to never kill anyone again, but he an exception could be made - the more Richie’s food from a few hours before threatened to choke him, and not even Eddie’s cream smoothed hand holding his distracted him.

Near the end, after they’d progressed from such an melancholically topic and began drinking away the booze in their hotel, Richie had drawn Bev’s attention with a call of her name, to either make her smile or to assure her that she wasn’t alone, Stan send him a withering look, as if to warn him not to open his mouth. Stan’s assumption was fair, it was in Richie’s nature to find humor in places there shouldn’t be, and he had no idea about Richie’s past to think otherwise. Still, every time Richie considered telling Eddie, the look flashed in his mind and sewed his mouth shut.

Not telling Eddie hasn’t impacted things the way Richie had predicted it would. Really, Richie was doing fine. Eddie chastised Richie on certain things, but Richie didn’t freak out or experience any sort of flashback. He would be given a peck on his forehead, or a hand running through his hair, and he’d know that Eddie was never mad at him. It was the littlest details that had Richie out of his mind with love, that highlighted just how different Eddie and David were.

By now, Richie had decided he was fine with not telling Eddie anything about David, and the extra weight of keeping something a secret was his boyfriend was just another fee to carry around with him. But life always throws a curveball Richie Tozier’s way when he has finally made plans.

This curve ball comes in the form of soup. A horrendous chicken soup that Eddie cooked up two days in advance, an experiment of different herbs that clashed into a symphony of flavors all competing to be the primary flavor. There are two things to know about Eddie as a cook. Number one is that he is not an impressive cook – and it’s not for the lack of trying - but Richie doesn’t mind. Eating food that doesn’t please his taste buds but getting Eddie in return for it is a fair deal in Richie’s books.

The second thing to note is that Eddie is a lazy cook. He turns the kitchen into a battlefield of different sauces, with jars a million different pots and pans skewed across the stove and no more room to place anything else left. It’s gotten to the point that whenever Eddie is in charge of cooking, they will not even put their dinner on a plate anymore, but instead leave it in whatever it’s made in, because it eliminates dishes to wash. That’s what starts the mess that day in first place.

Richie isn’t an idiot. Yes, he can be dense at times, and when it comes to loving Eddie he’s more than a bit moronic, but he’s not stupid. He’s had to survive on his own – and with someone who didn’t lift a finger - for a long time, thus there was no other way. He’s aware of the danger of putting a metal bowl in the microwave, and how it can cause the metal to heat up and start a fire, and therefor has never been stupid enough to try it. But today, Richie is stressed.

Steve has been calling him all day to try and persuade him into doing an interview for a magazine, and no matter how many times, how loud or agitated Richie says no, Steve still insists. Richie paces annoyed towards his fridge phone locked between his shoulder and ear, so he can take out the metal bowl of soup with his hands, and place it in their microwave without a second thought.

‘Steve I don’t care how much publicity you think it will get me, I don’t want to do it,’ Richie mutters, turning around with his back towards the warming soup. The consistent arguing with Steve has his teeth grinding, his shoulders tense and his anxiety sparked.

Eddie is still out for work, but it’s closing at five pm, the time he ensures he’s at home, and Richie thinks he can hear his car driving up into the gravel parking lot. The absence of his boyfriend is about to be filled, and Steve is yapping away in his ear, not content to admit defeat just yet, it’s maddening.

‘Steve… Steve listen to me, don’t get your panties up in a twist, I have to go. Don’t book the interview. I won’t take any part in it.’ His denial doesn’t put a stop to Steve’s yapping, but at that point Richie is over his nagging. He pinches the bridge of his nose and utters; ’Okay nice chat’, and hangs up without waiting for a response back.

He lets the phone clatter on top of their kitchen surface and says that Steve got the message, if only for the rest of the day. His phone doesn’t vibrate again, leading Richie to assume he has won this round. He can’t help but lean forward so far his head rests against the cold tiles of the kitchen counter, just sighing for one long, extended breath. A night in on the couch with Eddie spooning him has never allured him so much. His back cracks with a satisfying pop as he readjusts his body, and he groans in gratifications.

Their alarm dings loudly in the open concept kitchen, a warning that someone has just entered their driveway. Richie doesn’t need to go look to know that it’s Eddie and his large, black suv, but he wants to anyway. He’s about to walk towards the front door to greet Eddie like he’s a pet that has been waiting anxiously for its owners return – and some would describe him in the same manner - when the air fills with smoke and a rancid smell. It’s barely detectable at first, nothing more but an insentient odor that is unpleasant but not resolute and easy to ignore. But then actual smoke begins to wash it’s way around Richie, and he has a split second of blissful unknowingness left, until the problem dawns on him.

Richie follows the smoke trail, and is shocked to find their microwave steaming and actually crackling, like it’s on the verge of exploding. It probably is. Still, it’s nothing compared to the cluster bomb of fumes that spread throughout the room when Richie actually opens the microwave door and gets slapped in the face with the enormity. It’s a surprise that their smoke detector has yet to erupt.

Instantly, his airways fill up smoke, prickling his cough reflection so tremendously he doubles over in extortion. The coughs rattle his body in a painful manner, his chest and back start to hurt from the brutal movements and the fact that he can’t grasp fresh air no matter how wide he opens his mouth. Objectively, Richie should understand it can get a lot worse - their smoke detector hasn’t gone off, and there are no flames to accompany the smoke and therefore turn their house into a major safety hazard - but a panic he hasn’t felt since David has shut down his logical thinking skills.

A key is slotted into their keyhole, and it turns a first time to leave. Eddie is about to open the door, in give or take in about a minute – it always drags out because despite living here for give or take two years, Eddie still can’t remember this lock unlatches via the left side and not the right – and walk in on an absolute shit show that Richie’s engendered.

So far there was indication, no sign that hinted to Richie he still had leftover, undealt trauma left from his time hanging around David, but now, his only thought revolving around how mad Eddie is going to be, how much trouble he’ll be in once Eddie sees everything, he starting to realize he might not be as over things as he originally believed.

He ignores the way his lung burn, and reaches forward to grab the pot – with fogged over glasses rendering him blind - protection less, not even grabbing the oven mitts to provide some shelter for the warmth. He can’t comprehend how dangerous that is, can only focus on the red lights blaring in his mind, telling him he needs to get rid of the evidence before Eddie gets here and unleashes hell upon him.

Unfortunately, he’s too late. A door unlocks and Eddie enters the house. His feet pad on their wooden floor, brazen and fast, like he’s been waiting for a shot at grilling Richie and he can sense his opportunity to do so has arrived – the motion is so un-Eddie Richie dismissed it as absurd then and there, but a seed of doubt remains -.

With time, Richie comes to learn how to listen to the different footsteps, and he can now recognize who’s walking towards him and in what kind of mood they find themselves in, without taking one look at the person's face.

Eddie’s footsteps, after every work day, drag across their floor, as if a thousand pound weight has been added to his back. The bottom of his shoes wear out a lot faster than Richie’s do, and it drives Eddie nuts because out of the two of them, he’s the one that treats his material objects neater than Richie.

Richie’s always delighted to notice how light his footsteps get after just a few minutes spent with him or the losers.

Now, he is too scared to pick up on such little details. His palms tingle unpleasantly, the boiling liquid burning them more with each second he hangs on. He stands in the middle of their kitchen like a fool, turning his body every which way and letting his eyes dart out an escape plan. The smoke is nowhere near gone, and there’s too much of it for Richie to open a window and it to be blown away. Eddie’s going to notice, there’s no way he can’t.

‘Richie, you won’t believe what this imbecile Josh did at work today. I swear, I don’t understand how some people can get fucking hired sometimes.’

Eddie trudges into the kitchen, his suit wrinkled from a long day of frantically working on a report that should have been finished by some other incompetent coworker. The groves in his face are more prominent today, acquired by the years of unhappiness he experienced with Myra, the ages of his life cut off by the shock of Pennywise's return and the occasional busy work day his job supplies him with.

A nausea craters in Richie's stomach, filled with guilt for turning Eddie’s night off into a stressful event that requires a ton of clean up. Eddie stops dead in his tracks when he notices the mess, his mouth slips shut, the word dying on his tongue.

He’s waiting for Eddie’s frown to deepen, for his lips to cresting into a fury. He’s waiting for the waterfall of insults that will be hurled at his head, each one meaner than the last, honing in on his deepest insecurities and having them exploited because Eddie’s so angry he’ll do anything to strike a verbal blow. And it’ll be worse now, because it’s Eddie. It’s the love of his life doing it now, the one’s approval he seeks most.

Eddie’s the person that knows him inside and out and knows exactly what boundaries to push and prod out to crack Richie open from head to toe. He waits for all that, with his hand still clamped around the bowl of burning hot soup, scorching his palms – by this point, Richie is sure there will be blisters by the time he finally unclasps his grip.

Eddie’s frown does deepen, but it’s not out of anger. ‘Rich, be careful you’ll hurt yourself.’ Richie doesn’t let go, but holds onto the sides of the bowl tighter. Part of him wants him to experience the pain, to let what he did sink in like David’s words always did.

‘Richie’, Eddie says startlingly firm. He’s not trying to approach Richie or the bowl, but he’s capturing Richie’s attention just by his firm voice. ‘Put it down.’

Richie drops the bowl of soup, watching helplessly as it splatters all over their freshly painted walls and the ground. Out of the corner of his eye a flat glob of liquid drips down the wall, dirtying a whole line down to the floor. Richie cringes, his heart beating so fast he could swear it’s about to jump out of his chest, and his mind a mantra of ‘look what you did, look what you did, look what you did.’

‘Fuck Richie, did you burn it?’

And Richie knows he’s caught. He was, up to two seconds ago, holding the evidence right in his hands, but he’s so petrified logic is not operating in his brain at the moment. The only thing he can focus on with great clarity, is that he’s willing to try anything to get him out of a verbal tear down.

‘No..’, he tapers off at the end, leaving his statement much more alike a question than he would have preferred. Eddie raises one eyebrow suspiciously, pointily averting his gaze towards the smoke floating around them.

‘No?’ He asks back equally confused, head tilted to the side. Richie can feel his throat closing up in panic, bracing himself for an onslaught. He doesn’t foresee Eddie’s nurturing and concerned approach. ‘Let me take a look at your hands’, Eddie murmurs tenderly.

It’s technically nothing new, the way Eddie treats him. After Neibolt and Richie’s big coming out, Eddie commenced all his vacation days and flew Richie all the way to Hawaii, for the pure intention of getting him away from any and all consequences. He’d allowed Richie to eat what he desired - within reason of course, there was no way Eddie was allowing Richie to eat pizza at 8 am-, waisted their days sitting by the pool and indulged in Richie unchancy pranks - one of which ended up with Eddie scrubbing out blue glitter out of his hair. Eddie had been kind then, so it shouldn’t be surprising he is in this situation.

It doesn’t take away the fear Richie is left with. David had good days too, days that he was the perfect boyfriend, but that would never last long, and Richie is left to speculate if it’ll be the same thing with Eddie.

Maybe it’ll be hidden in a secret message, maybe Eddie is busy hatching a plan that will utterly deploy Richie from the inside out. Eddie’s hands are gently skimming over Richie’s palms, inspecting the damage without irritating the skin even more. ‘It doesn’t seem like it’s bad. It hurts right?’

‘Yeah’, Richie croaks when he figures out the question isn’t rhetorical. He isn’t sure at the moment why that’s supposed to be good.

Eddie tips forward, stretching up higher so he can kiss Richie’s forehead tenderly. Against his skin he explains. ‘That means the burn isn’t too deep, but hold it under the water still.’

‘No but you know what does go deep?’

‘Nothing if you don’t treat your burns,’ Eddie teases with a smirk. He gently ushers Richie closer to their faucet, and holds his own palm under the stream of water, twiddling with the different temperature taps until he finds one that he deems just lukewarm enough to allow Richie’s hand under it.

The smoke in the air remains unspoken about. It’s almost as if Richie is more important than a potential house fire to Eddie, but that’s absurd. Not only because this is the house that both of them felt was the right one, and subsequently paid a lot of money for, but also because Richie isn’t that special. He’s not even trying to be condensing towards himself, because he truly believes that.

‘How did you manage to do this huh? Idiot.’ Eddie jokes while guiding his hand under the water at the correct angle, his salutation gets smoothed over by a hand ruffling his hair. Coincidentally, or perhaps the exact opposite, a part of the stress Richie accumulated falls away when Eddie calls him an idiot. It helps to underline why exactly Eddie will never be like David, why the two aren’t in the same league of each other even.

When Eddie says idiot, it’s a nickname, it’s a middle school jab when Richie runs too fast and trips over his own feet, it’s the symbolic soothing pat on the back he receives after he can get all of the losers to laugh at his humor. It’s their love langue no one understands, It’s Eddie’s way of hiding how deep his adoration goes with a job that’s unusual to others.

David’s condescending tone alone tipped Richie into the deep end, into a cave that echoed his deepest flaws and slammed it into the cavity in his chest every time something didn’t go according to plan. Idiot for David did not mean the same things. For David, idiot was shoving aside Richie’s concerns, it was disinterested in all his quirks and his passive attitude. He meant what he said without sarcasm.

A first tear tracks down Richie’s cheek. ‘Rich?’ Eddie inquires startled. His hand previously stroking Richie’s curls slides towards his elbow in a smooth motion.

Richie tries to tell him it’s okay, that he needs a minute to regroup but that he’s fine, but instead of that he sobs, more tears spilling over with no regards to him uneasy Richie is to cry in front of someone.

‘Richie shit I’m sorry. Does it hurt that bad? Do we need to go to a hospital? We’ll go right now.’

‘No, no hospital,’ Richie waves him off with his injured hands. Eddie leads his hand back without response, tracking his face to see if he gives away anything. Richie had forgotten his hand hurted in the first place, so he definitely didn’t require any treatment beyond what he was doing already. His tears are the result of being overwhelmed by his emotions, and his default response to that is to cry.

‘If you don’t want me to do that, that’s okay you know?’

Because his hand is incapacitated, he wipes his nose on the corner of his shirt, watching as Eddie’s wrinkles his nose at that. Still, even with the disgusting move on Richie’s part, Eddie leans in closer, molding Richie so he fits in the fold between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. There, he resumes his path of caressing Richie’s hair, and kissing his temple. Richie fists one of his hands in the back of Eddie’s shirt, pressing them as intimate as he can.

‘Hey sweetheart, it’s okay. What’s wrong?’

Richie sobs harder, not particularly keen on telling Eddie why he’s this upset. It’s a difficult topic to talk to anyone about, Eddie and the losers included. There were days that Richie twisted his mind to convince himself that it was all in his head. That David was the best boyfriend anyone could ever wish for, and that the tirades he had to endure was just the cost of that. He was afraid he added things in his mind that hadn’t actually taken place and he created his own narrative.

Apprehension held Richie back, dreading what Eddie’s response might be. He could exclaim Richie to be a complainer that should have praised himself lucky to get the abuse he got, or he could say that Richie was a sourpuss, turning a fly into an elephant.

‘Shouldn’t we get rid of the smoke first?’, Richie questions to stall.

‘Later’, Eddie soothes with another kiss to his temple. ‘Talk to me. Please Rich.’

‘There was this guy I used to date, David.’

Eddie’s head shoots up in bewilderment, his brow furrowed. ‘You never told me about him.’

‘Yeah well we never talk about your wife either and I thought that would mean we wouldn’t disclose our previous hang ups.’

‘Ex-wife. Remember Rich? She’s my ex-wife. There’s nobody in the world I would rather be with then with you.’

‘Stop it you bastard,’ Richie sniffles pathetically. ‘You know I can’t deny you anything when you sweet talk me.’

‘That’s the plan.’

Eddie thumbs underneath Richie’s eye socket, brushing in a hypnotic rhythm that ankers him to reality. If Richie nuzzles into Eddie’s palm, then no one else but then needs to know.

Talking about something that brings forth a lot of anxiety goes smoother with closed eyes, Richie’s come to find, so he does that before revealing what he should have revealed a long time ago.

‘He was.. not so kind’, he chuckles humorless. ‘He really thrived when he pointed out everything I did wrong, liked yelling too.’

‘Rich?’

‘Wait let me finish. If I don’t say it now I’ll never get the courage to again.’ He opens his eyes only to see Eddie nod in agreement, and his face starting to tang a bit red.

‘Sometimes I couldn’t even walk right without him being all up in my ass about it. At parties he would gladly tell everyone embarrassing things I did, or he would pretend like he did all the work at home while really he was the one that did nothing. And the way he spoke to me.. like I was a child and he was a teacher or something. And he had this way of saying things so I’d know I was a breath away from being yelled at, but so that he could still claim he never once raised his voice at me. I guess I was scared you were going to do the same thing after seeing what a major fuck up I am. . He kept insisting I didn’t do things good enough, but I was really trying my best. I fucking swear Eds. I can’t help that my best isn’t good enough.’

The repetitive motion that Eddie kept up during his long monologue abruptly ends, and Eddie instead balls his hands up into two fist, pulling away from Richie to lean on the counter. He bounces on his heels, unable to stand still any longer as he is now the one to squeeze his eyes shut.

‘Eddie?’ Richie implores, the panic from before quickly flooding through his bloodstream and entering every part of his body.

Eddie opens his eyes, and something on Richie’s face must give away what he’s experiencing, because he’s quick to assure Richie did nothing wrong. ‘No, shit Richie it’s not you sweetheart. I love you, you did nothing, nothing wrong.’

He pecks Richie on the lips twice, very softly and barely noticeable, almost a goad to get Richie to cram their lips together tighter. For a long moment, they don’t move. Their lips stay hovering just out of reach, and one of Eddie’s palms slide down Richie’s chest down to his belly and up again. It’s an effort for Eddie to try and generate as much love towards Richie as he possibly can, before his resolve breaks and he has to let his resentment for David out in some way.

‘I’m going to kill him.’ Eddie turns away from Richie, but his hand remains on Richie’s stomach, a connection so they don’t separate. His chest puffs up, almost like he’s gearing up to go fight David right now. He would if he got the chance.

‘Spagheddie you don’t have to do that for me. I don’t even own his number anymore.’

‘I don’t care Rich,’ Eddie’s voice trembles but is laced with a deadly amount of venom. ‘He should have never done those things to you. If I ever see him I’ll fucking strangle him with my bare hands.’

‘It’s fine Eds, it wasn’t that bad.’ The denial burns in his chest. He wondered for a long time if he could qualify what he went through as abuse, not because he was actively hoping to label himself as an abuse victim, but because he questioned if what happened to him was worth being this upset over. In conclusion, Richie decreed it wasn’t. Eddie's eyes snap up, burning behind a sheen layer of glass.

‘He never hit me like Bev’s husband did to her.’

‘That doesn’t fucking matter. What happened to Bev is terrible, but that doesn’t make what happened to you any less dire. Both of you were victims of abuse, save for a different kind.’

Are they comparable? If they were talking about another person Richie would say yes, that both leave lasting scars, but because he’s the subject of the question, he can’t say for sure. He’s not lenient enough with himself to allow such a statement to be made. Bev can suffer from the consequences of her abuse, but from Richie’s perspective, he should be over it by now.

‘Oh fuck,’ Eddie curses explicitly, ‘and I called you an idiot. Richie I’m so sorry.’

Eddie’s little crease that only appears when he’s discontent about something appears again, and he avoids eye contact with Richie. There’s no need for any of that. Richie hadn’t even taken that big of a notice about the word. He was reassured Eddie would never use it as a true insult, and even if he wasn’t convinced of that, the tender way Eddie reacts towards him otherwise would be enough to convince him.

‘No Eddie. I don’t mind, really. I don’t want things to change between us because I told you this. I like our banter.’

He finally takes his hand from under the lukewarm water stream, and dries it on his pants -the water, come Eddie’s prediction, has eased the aflame skin -. With both hands now free, Richie cuddles up closer to Eddie, using his arms to tug him closer. Eddie is still dressed in his suit from work - and it might deem handsome, but it is not very comfortable - but has not mentioned getting changed once, too enraptured with taking care of Richie.

‘They won’t if you don’t want to, but we’re making a deal. If I do something that hurts you, you need to tell me, so I can apologize and tell you I didn’t mean any of it. Are we clear?’

‘Aye aye captain. Shall we pinky promise on it?’

‘No, I’d rather kiss on it.’

They do, and this time the kiss progresses further than just a simple peck. Eddie cups Richie’s face in between his palms, a soft, sentimental smile ruining it a little. It doesn’t matter, Richie still greedily savors the moment as it comes.

‘All those times that you went on stage and rocked that whole performance I was already infinitely proud, but shit Richie, now that you’ve told me I’m even prouder. He tore you down but you spit in his face and said fuck no, I’m still going to be my own person. I’ll never let him treat you badly again. More importantly, you’ll never let him do it again. You’re so strong sweetheart.’

Richie sniffs, ‘why the hell are you still being so sappy? I told you everything already, there’s no need to spawn me further.’ He giggles, and Eddie can’t help but chuckle at the sight too, then he turns serious again.

‘Okay, now let me take care of you. I’m going to clean up, hush I am and you’re not going to lift a single finger, and then we’ll order in, watch tv from the bed and cuddle. That sounds good? We can talk about the heavy things in the morning.’ Richie has been through enough for one day.

‘That sounds perfect Eds.’

They let go of each other, but not before Eddie sneaks in a kiss on his forehead, cheek and jaw.

While dating David, Richie never used the word love. He knew, with manipulated affection and all, that he did not love David. Love isn’t supposed to change us, it’s supposed to accept us, makes us laugh and cry at appropriate times, and cocoon us in her warmth. Love doesn’t change us, but it adds something more to the previous person we were yesterday. Eddie adds something more to Richie every single day, be it by teaching him or standing by his side when he messes up. Richie loves Eddie, and he gets loved back equally as fierce.

[recurring-polynya]

For the AU request, whichever one(s) you prefer (for RenRuki of course):

the X-Men universe

the Mafia/criminal underworld

the circus

as FBI agents (the X-Files world perhaps)

So, I got this ask, and I immediately wanted to go for X-Files, because I was hugely into X-Files when I was a tween/teen, and I think that my actual first published work of fanfic on the internet might actually be X-Files. (I didn’t even post it myself, I was like 12 and I didn’t have the internet at home, but a friend of mine posted it on Usenet for me, I have no idea whatever became of it). Anyway, I was going back and forth in my head who I wanted to be Mulder and who I wanted to be Scully, and then I got this ask:

@ulkoilla​ said:

I though the 10 would be full in about 1 microsecond so I didn’t even try :D This is maybe not AU enough for the purpose but I'd love to see your take on Bleach world where the shinigami work among humans as if they were in gigai -> they'll have to balance the supernatural, perhaps violent elements of their life with the modern day laws and such (like in Supernatural). Renji and Rukia have ofc gotten in trouble with the non-supernatural law (meet: Detective!Aizen?) and are on the run…

It suddenly occurred to me, What If: X-Files World, but Renruki are the cryptids. And it suddenly popped into my head exactly who I wanted to be Mulder. Anyway, I am sorry missrambler, if I messed it all up, I hope you like it anyway.

Also, I somehow thought that I would save myself some trouble by combining two prompts, but then it ended up… really long. (Forty! Eight! Hundred! Words! Go to Talks-Too-Much-Jail, Polynya!!)

PS: This takes place in D.C. because it’s X-Files and also because I am familiar with D.C. and I never get to write about places I know about. A half-smoke is a local delicacy that’s halfway between a hot dog and an Italian sausage. They are delicious.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

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Ichigo Kurosaki had known that an office with a view of the Smithsonian might be too much to ask, but he had not expected to take have to take two separate elevators down to sub-basement C, and walk past a storage room, two broom closets and a weird old vending machine full of brands of snacks he swore he hadn’t seen since he was a child.

Maybe Agent Inoue has a huge lab, he told himself. Maybe it needs to be 50 meters below ground because she collides large hadrons down here or so that her work can’t be picked up by spy satellites.

He had to turn sideways to get past a rack of wire shelves full of banker’s boxes, but there, on the other side was a door sporting a handwritten cardboard nameplate reading “Special Agent Orihime Inoue.”

“Come in!” a voice called inside, just as he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Ichigo blinked twice, and then went in.

The office was cluttered, mostly with more cardboard boxes, but books were also stacked precariously on top of boxes on top of books. The walls were plastered with maps and graphs and photographs of hazy blurs in front of staircases. There was a large poster showing a UFO, with the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” in block caps below it.

A woman with long chestnut hair twisted up into a bun and held in place with three pencils was hunched over a metal box full of diodes and transistors and other things you would buy at Radio Shack. Or rather, that other people would buy at a Radio Shack. Ichigo had never set foot in a Radio Shack in his life.

“Er, good morning,” Ichigo said, as the woman looked up and blinked at him owlishly. “Agent Inoue? I’m Ichigo Kurosaki. I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

“To spy on me, you mean,” Agent Inoue corrected, cheerfully shaking his hand with great vigor.

Ichigo bristled. Yes, he had been directed to ‘provide additional documentation on Agent Inoue’s activities,’ but that hardly counted as spying. She was known to be somewhat scatterbrained, and having an organized person around would probably be a great benefit to her. “If you have any doubts about my qualifications or motivations--”

“Oh, don’t take it personally!” Inoue replied, slotting a lid onto her electronics project, and attacking it vigorously with a jeweler’s screwdriver. “Just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean you aren’t a nice person. Also, I read your file, you have a very interesting background! Degree in literature with a focus on folk legends. Teaching at the academy for the last few years while working on your book.” She took a momentary break from her screwing to fix him with her big, soft brown eyes. “Tell me, Agent Kurosaki, what do you think happens after you die?”

Ichigo froze. “I would be buried? Maybe there would be a funeral first?”

Inoue started laughing so hard that Ichigo was sure he caught a tiny, adorable snort. “Sorry, sorry! I wasn’t clear!” She sniffed, and wiped a tear from her eye. “Do you believe in continued existence after the death of the body? An afterlife, religion-based or otherwise? The existence of ectoplasm, cold spots, spirit photographs, EVP?”

“Are you talking about… ghosts?” Ichigo asked hesitantly.

“Yes!” Orihime replied with a nod. “Ghosts.”

“We-elll…” Ichigo drew out. “I believe that people believe they observe certain phenomena, as part of the cycle of grief and--”

“Just say ‘no’ if you don’t,” Inoue interrupted him.

“Er, no. I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Are you good at carrying heavy things?”

“Am I... I guess?”

“Perfect!” She shoved the box into his arms, and Ichigo’s knees almost buckled under the weight. “Let’s walk and talk, I want to go get a reading over near Franklin Square before 9 am. We’re gonna pass a really good half-smoke cart on the way, do you like half-smokes?”

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“Take a look at this,” Inoue said, her cheek half stuffed with sausage, jabbing a finger at the LED read-out of her mysterious box.

It was rather hard for Ichigo to see, because he was holding the box and the readout was on the other side, but he did his best to crane his neck around. “What am I looking at? The squiggles? I’m sorry, it looks like nothing to me.”

“Exactly right!” Inoue announced, waving her half smoke in the air. “Not a sniff of spiritual residue!”

Ichigo pressed his lips together. “Um… is that good?”

“It is interesting,” Inoue corrected. “Five days ago, a sixty-four year old woman had a heart attack while sitting in that bus shelter.” On every day since, I have been able to record EMF fluctuations, and on Sunday, I was able to get a voice recording that sounded like a woman reciting a grocery list. But this morning, nothing! Nada!”

“Well, uh, ghosts gotta move on eventually, right? Otherwise, just about everywhere would be haunted, right?” It’s not that Ichigo had suddenly started believing ghosts or anything, but there was something about Agent Inoue that just made you want to go along with her and see where all this panned out.

Inoue shot him a finger gun. “Or, they get moved along.” She shoved a folded paper map at him. “You can put that thing down.”

Ichigo eased the Spirit Detect-O 9000, or whatever it was called, to the grass and accepted her map. It was a street map of DC, meant for tourists, emphasizing all the local transit routes and popular attractions. There was also a great loop marked on it in orange highlighter, zig-zagging back and forth through the city. There was a little ‘x’ marked on Franklin Park, with “Tuesday, early morning” written in a bubbly hand.

“What is this?” Ichigo frowned. It didn’t seem to match up with any of the metro or bus lines. It didn’t even match with the sidewalks, it appeared to cut straight through large buildings like the convention center.

“As far as I can tell,” Inoue said, her brown eyes very solemn, “that is the patrol route of our local grim reaper.”

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“So I actually got interested in grim reapers,” Inoue explained, once they were back in the office, “while I was investigating violent ghost phenomena.” She was eating a bag of corn chips that she had gotten from that ancient vending machine by punching it and then shoving her own arm up the chute. (She’d gotten Ichigo a bag, too, but he was too afraid to eat them.)

Ichigo was sitting at a cluttered table that Inoue had told him “could be his desk.” Half of it was taken up by a large aquarium full of rocks and a water bowl, but no life forms that Ichigo could detect. The other half was covered with back issues of “Ghost Hunter Technology” magazine. “You mean like poltergeists?” he asked.

“Not exactly. Poltergeists are noisy, but they aren’t usually able to kill their targets.”

“Kill? Ghosts can’t kill people, aside from, like scaring them to death,” Ichigo scoffed. “I mean, folklorically speaking. As we established earlier, I am not a ghost-believer.”

Inoue tipped her head to the side. “They do, actually, it just tends to get blamed on something else.”

“By ghost-non-believers.”

“By everyone, really, and that’s what’s so strange.” Inoue pulled a fat binder from a stack of seemingly identical ones, and tossed it open in front of Ichigo. “Edison, New Jersey, 2014. An elderly woman dies ‘of a broken heart’ a week after her husband dies of cancer. Coincidentally, a telephone pole falls on her house the same night and rips a hole in her house.” She turned a page. “Norfolk, Virginia, 2017. A young woman dies in what the police rule as a suicide, despite the fact that she made a 911 call 48 hours previous, expressing fear of her ex-boyfriend. Three days later, the boyfriend is dead of mysterious causes. Coincidentally, his apartment complex suffered significant damages from ‘a wild cougar.’”

Ichigo squinted at the pictures. The walls of the building were scored with what did appear to be scratch marks. “Hell of a cougar.”

“Exactly! And I’ve got dozens of these historic cases. But about four months ago, I was able to investigate one myself-- a young man named Joe Wallace. He lives here in the city, over near Dupont Circle. Wallace had cut off his toxic dad years ago, and refused to visit him in the hospital as he was dying. Four days after his father’s death, a truck crashes into his house in the middle of the night and then drives away before the police can arrive.”

“And he died.”

“No!” Inoue held up one finger. “Scratches and bruises, but he doesn’t die!”

“Okay, great. So what does he remember?”

“He remembers a truck crashing into his house.”

Ichigo scratched his chin. “I am confused.”

“Look at this!” Inoue stabbed a finger at the pictures. “These are claw marks, not vehicular wreckage! There’s damage on the second story window! Wallace had scratches and defensive wounds, as if he had been fending off an animal! And look here, at the damage to the walls of the bedroom!”

“What am I looking at?” Ichigo asked, squinting at a photograph that looked like it had been blown up past the point of recognition.

“There were cuts and slashes in the walls and bedding as though someone had been fighting with a sword.”

“Like a Medieval Times sword? Was the guy a Medieval Times enthusiast?”

“More consistent with a katana. Do you like Medieval Times?”

“No one likes Medieval Times.”

“I like Medieval Times. You’ve probably never even been. But back to the ghost! Why would Wallace remember a truck crashing into his house, when nothing about the scene is consistent with that story?”

“He was...lying?”

“His memories were replaced.”

“His memories were replaced,” Ichigo echoed.

“Yes.”

“By… aliens?”

Orihime heaved a deep sigh. “By a grim reaper.”

“A grim reaper with a samurai sword.”

“How on earth did you come to this conclusion?”

Inoue raised one eyebrow. “Because when I placed him under hypnosis, Wallace didn’t remember anything about a truck. He did remember a monster with batwings and a mask made of bone and his dead father’s voice who tried to kill him, except that he was saved by a tall man dressed in black. The man had bright red hair and fought the monster with a sword that was also a whip and then he wiped Wallace’s memories.”

Ichigo stared at her. “You can hypnotize people?”

Inoue gave him a long-suffering face. Ichigo had the sudden flash that he was going to be seeing that face a lot in the days to come. “Yes, I am a certified hypnotist.” Inoue’s phone suddenly started playing “Tubular Bells”. “Oops, that’s an alarm. Come on, we have a meeting with some important people. Do you like diners?”

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Agent Inoue apparently did not care for public transit, but she walked very quickly. Ichigo was concentrating so hard on keeping up with her that he nearly collided with her back when she stopped very suddenly.

“You don’t mind if we make a quick stop, do we?” Inoue asked.

“You said the meeting was with important people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them!” Inoue pursed her lips. “You see that bodega right there?”

They were in a part of downtown that was mostly mid-to-upscale restaurants and government buildings and FedExes. But sure enough, there was a dingy little bodega nestled between a Mexican-Indian fusion place and an Au Bon Pain, the windows stuffed with t-shirts from the last administration and a variety of cell phone chargers. The overhead sign read “Urahara Shop.”

“Y...eah…” Ichigo replied.

“That place is a hotbed of supernatural activity.”

“Is it?” Ichigo asked.

“I am almost positive that it is a supply point and meeting place for grim reapers, monster slayers, cryptids, alien hunters, and lycanthropes, but the owner is on to me.”

“I see,” Ichigo said levelly.

“Can you go in and pretend to be a customer? They have lots of good candy you can look through. Inoue dug in her purse and came up with a fiver. “Here. Buy a scratch ticket or something.”

“I’m not buying a scratch ticket, they’re a scam.”

“If the big guy is working the counter, he’ll glare at you until you buy something, so be prepared.”

As Ichigo pushed open the door, he realized he’d never actually agreed to any of this. Agent Inoue’s secret hypnosis powers, once again. Whatever. It was a bodega, there were a thousand of them in DC. They all had the same Nats t-shirts and coffee mugs with pictures of the Washington Monument on them. Ichigo pretended to be interested in a rack of comics. He tended to prefer indy comics over the big publishers himself, but even so, he didn’t recognize any of the books. Maybe they were by local authors.

Up at the front of the shop, a tiny, dark-haired woman was giving whatfor to the man behind the counter, a tall fellow with pale, straw-colored hair sticking out in tufts from under the saddest hat Ichigo had ever seen, a shapeless, battered bucket, striped green and white.

“Well, I can sell you a new battery for your phone, Miss Kuchiki, maybe that would help.”

“Not if it only lasts as long as the last one you sold me! I really need to get in touch with my partner, except that even if I could get my phone working again, his battery is probably dead because everything you sell is the same crap!”

“Ah, that’s too bad! You know, I think Mr. Abarai was in here a few days ago… I wasn’t in at the time, but Jinta said he came in, asking about…”

The man trailed off, and Ichigo glanced up to see the shopkeeper looking directly at him.

“...metrocards. But as you know, we don’t sell metrocards anymore.”

The woman made an aggravated noise. “You’re so useless! If I write him a damned note, will you give it to him if he comes in?”

“Oh, of course! Anything for you, Miss Kuchiki!”

The conversation trailed off as the woman hunched over the counter to angrily scratch out a note.

Ichigo stuffed the comic he was flipping through back on its rack. He skipped the enormous display of bedazzled flip-flops and started perusing the surprisingly extensive selection of gum.

“Here!” the woman finished and shoved her note at the shopkeeper. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Have a wonderful day!” the shopkeeper tootled, giving her a little finger wave.

Ichigo felt bad for the woman. “Er, excuse me?” he said as she passed.

She turned to scowl at him. For such a tiny person, she seemed to contain a remarkable amount of rage.

“Do you need to call someone? You can use my phone, if you’d like.” He held it out like an offering.

The woman blinked at him for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy! You were just kind of loud and you sounded worried about your, um, partner.”

“I’m not worried about him, I just need to find him.” Her face softened. “Thanks, Mister, but I can’t reach him on a regular phone. Don’t worry, I’ll track him down eventually.” She turned to leave, then stopped to jab an accusatory finger at Ichigo. “And that’s professional partner, not… you know! Whatever!” She stomped out.

What a strange, tiny person.

Ichigo selected a gum and walked up to the counter.

“Oooh, dragonberry lime, good choice!” the man trilled. “Anything else I can get you? Bottled water? Fanny pack? Spare phone battery?”

“I’ll pass,” Ichigo replied dryly.

“I imagine it’s against FBI policy to let a stranger use your cell phone,” the shopkeeper said sweetly.

Ichigo’s brows furrowed. “This is my personal phone. And how did you…?”

The man gave a chortling laugh that sent shivers down Ichigo’s spine. “Because headquarters is three blocks away and only an FBI agent would wear a suit that square.”

Ichigo took his change and his gum and shoved them both in his pocket. “Yeah, well, your hat sucks.”

The man laughed harder. “Doesn’t it, though?”

Once he was outside again, Ichigo handed Inoue the gum and her change. “The owner of that place is a creep.”

“The guy in the green and white hat?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Urahara. You’re right, he’s the owner. Were there any other customers?”

“Just the short lady. You must have seen her come out. She was ripping Urahara a new one for some dodgy cell phone battery he sold her. I think she must have been NSA or something. She said she was trying to get ahold of her partner, but she needed a special phone.” As he said it, Ichigo realized it would be pretty odd for an NSA agent to be buying cell phone batteries from some shady bodega.

“No one came out,” Inoue replied.

“She definitely did! I heard the bell over the door ring.”

Inoue regarded Ichigo very seriously. “Agent Kurosaki. I was standing here the whole time. You were the only person who went in or out.” She looked at the gum. “Ooh! Dragonfruit lime! Do you want some?”

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They were late to the meeting.

Two men were waiting for them in the back corner booth. One of them had pinched, pointy features and piercing blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His chin-length haircut was pretty dramatic, but not as dramatic as his pure white trench coat. A cup of black coffee sat on the faded Formica table in front of him, but it didn’t look like it had been touched.

His companion was an enormous, good-looking Latino who was shoveling pancakes into his face.

“Inoue,” the dramatic guy said. “Who’s this?”

“This is my new partner, Kurosaki,” Inoue replied. “Kurosaki, this is Uryuu Ishida,” she indicated the white trenchcoat guy, “and Chad,” Mr. Pancakes.

“Also known as the ‘Lone Archers,’” Ishida specified. “We are apolitical actors who are interested in revealing the truths that are regularly hidden from the general populace by secret forces that conspire within the machinery of the American government.”

“You can just call me Chad,” said Chad.

“Good morning!” the waitress said. “Can I get you folks anything?”

“Oh, yes! I’m getting mozzarella sticks! Do you like mozzarella sticks, Kurosaki? They’re so good here!”

“So’re the pancakes,” added Chad.

“I’ll just have a coffee,” Ichigo announced. He glanced at Ishida’s cup. “Black.”

“Double mozzarella sticks, please!” Inoue chorused. “And a cherry coke!” She leaned over to Ichigo and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “I’ll give you a mozzarella stick.”

“Do you want some pancake?” Chad offered to Ishida. “I never think to offer.”

Ishida waved him off with a hand. “Agent Inoue. At great personal peril, I was able to obtain a sample of the item we discussed.” He slid a small paper packet across the table. “There are two tablets inside, but one should be sufficient for your purposes.” Ishida leaned forward, his mouth set in a firm line. “I was cautioned very strongly against using this, unless one had a firm plan for handling the… consequences.”

“I understand,” Inoue replied, stuffing the envelope into her purse.

Ichigo wanted to ask more questions, but the conversation shifted very quickly to some USGS floodplain maps that Ishida wanted Inoue to obtain for him that were apparently not available from the public webportals, allegedly because of filesize. Ichigo could practically hear the air quotes around the word “filesize.”

“We’re going to look for Jersey Devils next weekend,” Chad explained, sounding pretty excited about it.

“There’s only one, Chad,” Ishida corrected. “It’s just ‘Jersey Devil.’”

“There could be more than one,” Chad shrugged.

Thirty minutes later, they departed. Inoue had an order of mozzarella sticks in her purse. Ichigo had an armload of backissues of the Lone Archers’ ‘zine, which was, conveniently enough, titled The Lone Archer. There was no doubt in his mind that at least Ishida was completely off his rocker. The jury was still out on Chad… he struck Ichigo as the sort of guy who just went along with Ishida’s nonsense because he was a good friend and also liked taking camping trips and doing layout for ‘zines.

“So what was that thing they gave you?” Ichigo pestered. The idea of that little paper packet had been burning a hole in his brain the entire time.

“You busy tonight?” Inoue asked, raising an eyebrow slyly. “Between 10 and 11?”

“What are we doing?” Ichigo asked cautiously, wondering if he would be able to charge his time.

“We’re going to try and attract an angry ghost.”

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“Are you… sure this is… a good idea?” Ichigo asked for the sixteenth time, as Inoue focused the thermal camera on him.

They were in an old, abandoned lot that had formerly served as a Metro service facility. It was pretty spooky all on its own, filled with train cars too dilapidated for salvage.

It was 10:25pm. Inoue had set up no less than 17 different pieces of ghost detection equipment. Ichigo was questioning his life choices.

“You told me you don’t believe in ghosts. If ghosts don’t exist, then what could possibly go wrong?” Inoue posed.

“Well… that’s true,” Ichigo granted. “And, for the record, I still do not believe in ghosts. But in the Pascal’s wager sense of things, I am considering the ramifications of what happens if there are ghosts that exist, regardless of my belief in them.”

“And?” Inoue asked.

“Well, you said that these ghosts have hurt and killed people before. It seems like trying to attract one without having any method of, um, fighting it, seems kind of… irresponsible?”

“Ah, but you see, I’ve specifically picked this time and location to coincide with the grim reaper patrol routes I’ve been mapping out. Our friendly neighborhood psychopomp ought to show up just on schedule to fight the angry ghost for us. We’re doing them a favor, as I see it.”

“How so?” Ichigo exclaimed.

“It’s not like we’re creating an angry ghost out of nowhere. We’re just attracting an existing one to our location. We’re saving the grim reaper the trouble of having to hunt it down.”

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it so difficult to argue with Inoue? Possibly because she was so incredibly earnest in all her beliefs, and all her arguments were in completely good faith, it’s just that her logic came from some other dimension. This woman has solved multiple, high-profile murders, including several that were ice cold, Ichigo reminded himself. So she’s quirky. I am sure I can learn a lot from her.

“Okay, everything is in place!” Inoue announced, placing her hand on her hips. “Go hide behind that pile of moldy seats!”

Inoue took Ichigo’s place at the center of her recording equipment. “Agent Orihime Inoue speaking,” she said, for posterity. “It is 10:28pm. I am crushing one tablet of a substance called ‘Hollow Bait.’” She crunched the little white tablet, which looked an awful lot like an Alka-Seltzer, between her fingers, and then made a flying leap for the rotting pile of damp, orange upholstery that Ichigo was crouched behind.

“So, just out of curiosity,” Ichigo started. “How long would we have to wait, theoretically, with nothing happening, before we would declare this a bust?”

Inoue pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Usually, I would give it about two hours, but if you’ve got somewhere to be, I don’t mind if you leave early. It is nice to have company for a change.”

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Ichigo replied. “I mean… sleeping, I guess.”

Inoue gave a charming little laugh. “I don’t sleep very well. And hunting for ghosts is more interesting than most of the stuff on Hulu.”

The way that she said it gave Ichigo the distinct impression that Inoue was, well, lonely. But that didn’t seem correct. She was weird, sure, but she was also friendly and talkative, and, er, well, she was extremely cute. Surely she had tons of friends.

“How’d you get into ghost hunting, anyway?” he tried to be conversational.

“Hmm,” Inoue hummed noncommittally. “Let’s just say there was an incident in my teen years, where my memories don’t match up to the property damage.”

Oh. Ichigo wondered if he should apologize, when suddenly, a cold chill ran down his spine and a sound like a roar echoed in his ears, except he didn’t actually hear anything. “Did you hear that?” he gasped.

“It’s the EMF detector,” Inoue nodded, scrambling for the reader and Ichigo realized he could hear a faint beeping.

“No, not the beeping, it was like a… a… scream…”

“You heard a scream?”

“I didn’t exactly…” Ichigo trailed off as he heard two more, coming from different directions. “There’s more than one. Monster screams. Not human screams.”

Inoue stared at him, eyes wide. “I don’t hear anything. Have you ever been tested for latent psychic ability?”

There was a sudden change in the air pressure, and a fetid, rotting smell, even worse than the Metro seats. Ichigo grabbed Inoue by the shoulders and rolled out of the way, just as the pile of junk they had been crouched behind compacted like it had been through a car crusher. Or smashed by a giant foot.

“Whoa!” Inoue exclaimed, trying to push Ichigo off of her so she could see what was going on.

Ichigo blinked through the night. He couldn’t see anything, but there was an area of space that looked thick and hazy, like it wasn’t refracting the harsh glow of the sodium street lights quite correctly.

“We have to get out of here,” Ichigo gasped.

“Can you see it?” Inoue asked, her eyes wide and excited.

“Not-- not really,” Ichigo replied, pulling at her arm. The air blurred, and Ichigo had the sense the thing was jumping at them. He could tell it was fast, but he couldn’t see it, he didn’t know what to--

“Howl, Zabimaru!”

It was both there and not quite there, a liquid blade made of glass and starlight, that snapped through the air at the invisible thing. The monster bellowed, and whipped around, charging at a dark figure standing atop one of the old Metro cars.

“Pick on someone your own size, ugly!” the man bellowed, and as Ichigo squinted, he realized that their savior was dressed all in black. He was tall, and his hair was pulled back in a spiky ponytail. It was bright red. He was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was the middle of the night. They were pushed up on top of his head, to be fair, but Ichigo had a feeling this detail would stick with him.

“You can see that guy, right?” Ichigo asked Inoue desperately. “The guy who’s fighting the ghost? The guy that looks just like the guy in your report?”

“There’s a guy?” Inoue asked. “No. Where is he? Can you usually see ghosts?”

“I don’t even believe in ghosts!”

“Well, maybe you don’t believe in them because you can see them and you don’t want to, did you ever think of that?”

“I don’t think now is the time to interrogate my personal traumas!”

Suddenly, there was another drop in pressure, and Ichigo had the sense of heavy breathing and sharp teeth. “Inoue. I think there’s another one.”

“Well, can you get the guy to come fight this one, too?”

“He seems busy,” Ichigo squeaked.

Something black flashed by his vision, and there was a loud crack and a sound of something screeching in pain. A second dark-clad person had arrived, landing softly on sandaled feet. There was the same unreality to her, a sense that she wasn’t entirely there, as well as a certain familiarity that Ichigo couldn’t place. Her sword was bright in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting on snow.

“Oi, there you are, you big dummy!” she shouted at the first man and Ichigo realized with a jolt that it was the angry woman from the bodega. “I’ve been looking for you for four days!”

“I had a problem with my gigai and maybe you should check your texts once in a while!” the tall guy shouted back. Ichigo refused to think of him as a grim reaper. A grim reaper would not wear sunglasses.

“My phone died!”

“Can we-- ow! -- discuss this later? I’m glad you’re okay, I missed you. Why are there so many Hollows in this train yard?”

“You’re such a sap! And the Hollows are here because some stupid humans got ahold of some Hollow bait.” The woman turned, and glared at Ichigo. Her eyes burned with blue flame, like the burner of a gas stove.

That would have been the last thing Ichigo remembered, if he had actually remembered it, or any of the things that came before it.

  👻     👻     👻

Ichigo was sitting at his desk.

Inoue was sitting at her desk.

The sun was streaming in the window. The clock on Ichigo’s phone read 7:12am.

Inoue frowned. She examined a coffee cup on her desk. She took a hesitant sip, and then made a face. “Why are we here?” she wondered softly.

“I hate to pull an all-nighter,” Ichigo said, stretching, “but it sure does feel good to be caught up on paperwork!”

Inoue regarded him. “Kurosaki,” she said, “how long have you worked here?”

Ichigo frowned. “Well, I guess this is my second day.”

“Right. So… how much paperwork did you have to catch up on?”

Ichigo blinked. He very distinctively recalled working through the night-- his hand cramping, the incredibly spicy Thai food they’d ordered, Inoue’s seemingly infinite Boy Bands of the 90’s playlist. “I… was helping you, I guess?” Come to think of it, why was he filling out paperwork by hand, anyway? His laptop sat next to him, the lid closed. It wasn’t even plugged in.

Inoue’s fist slammed down onto her desk. “Gosh darnit! They wiped my memories again!!”

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Piper Sargasso

Piper Sargasso has 25 stories at Gossamer, but don’t miss her website where the fics each have cover collage art. If you are a fan of Mulder/Scully romance, there are a lot of MSR fics to read that are set in different seasons of the show. But like the show that never stuck to one type of story, Piper’s stories have variety, so you can also find AUs and /Other.  Big thanks to Piper for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

It does, but I love that people are still into it! Writers back in the day put so much work and love into their writing, and it's nice to know that the stories are still being appreciated to this day. As for my own stories, it puts a huge smile on my face to know there are still people out there checking them out and hopefully enjoying them.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

It was such a positive period of my life. I made some amazing friends who became something like older sisters (and some brothers) to me, even though I was a little ridiculous when I was in my early to mid-twenties. It was also a much-needed confidence booster. I was a pretty shy person and loved writing, but never had the nerve to show anything to anyone. My first fanfic was completely horrible, but because of it I made my first XF friend and super beta, Mimic117. Between her guidance and the encouraging words from my Yahoo group I was able to do something I really loved and felt great about myself and my abilities for the first time. That will stay with me forever. That first story was truly atrocious, but it was a catalyst for great things in my life when I needed them the most.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

I remember trying this cool new thing called an AOL chat room, but they were more interested in perving on each other than talking about the show. Once I knew about fanfiction I kept seeing that some of my favorite authors kept mentioning IWTBXF in their notes, a Yahoo group named I Want to Believe. I looked it up, joined, and with great trepidation made my introductory post. Everyone was so warm and welcoming, and talking to my favorite authors in the group was a little like meeting a celebrity and finding out that they're awesome in real life. After IWTBXF fell apart, an off-shoot called Beyond the Sea was created with almost all of the original group transferring over. I stuck to my little family there and didn't branch out into much else, other than the rare dip into Haven. Ephemeral and Gossamer, of course.

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Mostly the overwhelming feeling of acceptance and confidence to write, something I was sorely lacking before in my life. I fell in with the best group, that's for sure! They made me feel like being a professional writer could be an achievable goal.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

The commercial advertising. The pilot spoke to my supernatural-loving, angsty 15 year-old soul. I watched it religiously every week. There was nothing like it. It was off-beat, but serious (most of the time) and fulfilled my insatiable craving for the paranormal and weird. You just couldn't get that from Melrose Place and Beavis and Butthead, you know? It definitely helped that David Duchovny was adorable and the character of Scully was the strong and intelligent icon we needed in the 90's and beyond.

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

In high school I had a friend who was as obsessed with the show as I was. Maybe more, since she once had a slumber party that was exclusively to binge watch her taped episodes (the other girls who wanted to mess around with spells and the Ouija board weren't thrilled that she couldn't be swayed away from it) and she often drove me from play rehearsals in her convertible with the top down and the theme song blasting to the heavens, much to my delight and mortification. A couple years after we graduated she told me about the piece of fanfic she wrote. Insert a record screech here. What?! You mean there are thousands of stories dedicated to my favorite show? And hundreds more get added every month?! I was obsessed. If I could've stopped working and slept at my computer desk I would have.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Sadly it's nonexistent these days. I have great memories and it holds a big piece of my heart, but I haven't been active in a long time. I would love to see a huge revival, and would definitely want to be involved in that in some way, were it to happen.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I read a lot of Harry Potter fanfiction for a while, but I never could expend the kind of energy and time I did for the X-Files fandom. It came at a perfect time in my life, and so far nothing else has measured up to it.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Besides XF characters? Off the top of my head I really love Hermione Granger, Buffy Summers, Elizabeth Bennet, and Claire Fraser for their sass and strength of character, Severus Snape for his complexity, and Christina Ricci's version of Wednesday Addams for her pure awesomeness. She's pretty much my spirit animal.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I do occasionally. I watched the series from season 1-7 so many times that I started to burn out, but I get on my X-Files kicks sometimes and binge it again.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

Like with the show, I'll get nostalgic and need to consume all the fanfics my greedy little eyes can behold until I move on to something else. It can feel a little lonely though, if you'll excuse the drama. We're not in the heyday anymore, so it feels a little like walking through a ghost town. Many of the stories out there are suspended in time because the show ended, or people stopped writing.

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I know I have dozens, but I'm drawing a blank. My ultimate favorite is any well-written MSR casefile with UST finally resulting in RST. Those are my unicorns!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I have a silly one called Baby, It's Cold Outside that I sometimes read around Christmastime. It was a fluffy song-fic, but I can see the scene so clearly in my mind when I read it and it's just pure fun. I also like my Donnie Pfaster series. I can see the potential in my writing with those, which makes me feel I could really write something special someday. Plus, he's such an interesting little slimeball to write and read about. Bless his heart.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I still think about the two WIPs I haven't finished. I wrote myself into a corner with This Mortal Coil, and honestly I think it needs a total overhaul. I think Dana Scully's Diary would be a fun one to finish. I hate that I never finished them.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I think about writing fanfic now and then and I've had a couple original novels sketched out, but there are so many other demands on my time that I haven't gotten very far. I still plan to see the novels through, even if no one but interested friends and family read them.  

Where do you get ideas for stories?

I used to watch an episode and really study the actors' expressions and actions, always trying to find new angles to the stories we all know. A lot of times things would just come to me and I'd get so excited I couldn't sleep until I wrote a good chunk of it down.

What's the story behind your pen name?

The friend who introduced me to fanfic told me the best way to choose a pen name was to make sure it derives from the show. For a couple days I looked at the titles and summaries of episodes and agonized over just the right name. Finally Piper Maru and the summary from Triangle, which mentions the Sargasso sea, stood out and just clicked.

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

My now husband always knew, and he thought it was cool that I had a hobby that made me so happy, but he was never a reader. My parents found out when I was about 24 and my step-dad would tell EVERYONE about it, much to my horror. Most reactions were of the bland, "Oh yeah? That's nice." variety but I definitely got some weird looks from others. The worst was when I found out how much of my racier MSR stories my parents read. My step-dad thought it was hilarious and teased me a little. My usually open-minded mom was uncomfortable, but tried to be supportive. It's all fun and games until your daughter starts writing psuedo-erotica for anyone to see!

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Circe Invidiosa very generously hosts a page for me at http://pipers.invidiosa.com.

(Posted by Lilydale on January 26, 2021)

[lambourngb]

he’s got a smart mouth but a good heart - Michael Guerin

It’s Day 2, celebrating characters, and much to my own surprise, at the end of season 2, Michael Guerin decided to move into my brain and take up residence. Obviously I still love Alex Manes (He lives first and foremost in my brain since 1x08), but there was something about how Michael buried his own pain about his mother to help everyone in season two that rang pretty true to my own life right now. I didn’t always like what he was doing in season 2 but I understood it.

Anyway, when I find a story that celebrates how complicated he is, I cheer and rejoice- so here’s a few of the stories that I have gone back to again and again.

Truck stop knives and other assessors of childhood @angsty-aliens (13,200) I can’t lie, I love a good trope story, and I especially love a good sci-fi trope story, so this story hits all of my buttons. It takes our two science nerds, Liz and Michael, mucking around, and accidentally creating a version of Michael- but not just any version, but the child who hitchhiked to Fosters ranch, completely over humans and desperate to find his family. The kid who was feral from neglect and abuse... he was the cutest thing and the most mortifying thing that ever happened to Michael to be displayed and shown. This story takes the de-aged trope and turns it on its head, and oh yeah, there’s a sweet backdrop to Michael and Alex getting together.

Implicit Memories of You by @ninswhimsy (3464) - So this is an amnesia story canon-divergent story set after 2x11 basically, where they use the mind erasing drug on Michael. I know, I’m reccing this about Michael characterization, but it’s so solidly him after all the memories are stripped away and he’s acting on instincts, locked in a room to torture Alex with before death. There’s so much going on in so few words, something that Nin is a master at, especially the ephemeral remembrances of his mother that Michael has- oof right in the feels.

Maybe this time (he’ll stay) by @hannah-writes​ (7700) This is a sequel to one of my favorite stories I recced last year, dealing in alternative timelines where in one world, Michael is lost and alone and has pushed Alex away, and in another world where Alex came home from Iraq in a flagged draped coffin. It answers the question, what about Mikey? Where’s his happy ending? The confirmation of the multiverse means there’s an Alex out there who needs him- and through trial and error, Michael finds him. The world building in both stories is top notch, because for every action, there’s a reaction and reason shaping Michael.

Constant as the northern star by celzmccelz (53,000) - don’t know the tumblr here - This is an Mpreg, and it starts solidly after 1x13 and goes AU from there. But what if in the 100 mile drive home from Caulfield, Michael and Alex share a grief-induced moment of insanity where they fall back into their oldest language- sex for comfort, and then Michael does everything he does in the finale, including turning toward Maria, what if there was a souvenir? Despite the trope of mpreg, this is just how I see Michael, deeply in love with Alex but unable to trust that Alex feels the same depth in return. The friendships in here are also top-notch, from Kyle being a baby-doctor, to Isobel having her own Max-related spiral unable to let go of her brother only to refocus on Michael, to Liz fucking off with Rosa for the first half of the story because she’s caught up in her own grief (which turned out to be canon!). And there’s a whole plot here! With Jesse Manes being the worst.

Leave the light on by @sabrinachill​ (36,900) - Confession time- I love fake dating as a trope, I know, shocked right? But I especially love it with RNM because Malex are exes by 1x03. Mattie nailed the dynamic of pining and the assumption of unrequited love so well in this story. Although the POV switches here a bit between chapters, (and Alex is fabulous) what I really really loved was how she wrote Michael, in love but convinced that he’s messed up too much for Alex. Aware of his faults but not in a sullen way, but an acknowledgment that he was in a bad place and Alex hasn’t always been the best remedy him in the past. It was a very mature take on the “give me another chance” trope in Malex reunion stories, where both sides had a share of blame. The plot was suspenseful and tight (how do people do that???) with a climax that honestly shocked me! I really enjoyed rereading it while I prepped my rec-sets, and I won’t be surprised if this story isn’t mentioned by everyone doing ‘Creators Week’. It’s worthy of all the love.

Temporary wounds by @prouvaireafterdark​ (7800) - How many times can I rec this story? Hopefully you’re not bored by my adoration of this Lynne.  So even though it’s set post-season 1 with the assumption that Michael/Maria will fizzle out while Alex/Forrest date- it’s actually perfectly set for season 3 (an author who is psychic??). As a rule, I hate jealousy as a trope, but this story has the only type of jealousy I want to see on screen- where Michael wonders what was missing inside of him that Alex didn’t want to be public during their long affair (even with the acknowledgment that Alex was too scared before)- like that type of sad pining is my catnip!

The first who ever did by nostalijinks (33,000) post season 1, but really it also stands pretty well after season 2.  There was an interview during season 1 I think that talked about how all Michael really wanted was to be a hero to Alex (the way he stepped in front of Jesse as a kid)  but he thinks he failed at it since Alex enlisted. That failure soured him in ways but he never stops trying, for Alex. This is a really well done 5 times plus 1 story, with an overreaching arc of reconciliation between Alex and Michael, starting as teenagers, then as adults while Michael is with Maria, then as friends, real friends, trying to support Alex as Alex dates. The whole emotional journey of maturity that Michael takes here is so well done, where there’s no real villains in the friend group. I just love it. I wish the author had written 100 more like this one, but as a standalone work it’s epic.

The person that you’d take a bullet for is behind the trigger by @iwontbeyourmedicine​ (25,000) Ly has a very large body of work, that you could spend days paging through on AO3 or tumblr, but this one hits two of my kinks hard- the amnesia story line and true love conquers all. So three fandoms ago I was huge into Steve/Bucky, that iconic moment in Cap 2 where Bucky breaks through the brainwashing has never left me. This story takes my love for that moment, and makes it Malex. Alex gets programmed by his family and set loose on his friends, on the aliens and it’s a shitshow bloodbath since he’s really fucking good at kicking ass. Michael is caught between keeping everyone safe and trying not to hurt Alex, and the tension is just top-notch. I love how it’s not an immediate fix either, the way they circle each other in the aftermath, wanting to come home, but home would be a totally new step for both of them. Just chef’s kiss good at joining action, angst, and romance together.

Into the palm of your hand by @haloud​ (5900) hal is a treasured friend, so I am admitting some bias here, but we both enjoy talking about how wonderful and sad Michael is and how desperately we enjoy poking at that softness and then wrapping him up with love again... so this story was written pre-shamegate (and if you know what that means, I’m sorry) but it matches my head canon of what the history of hiding does to someone. The internalization of believing maybe there’s a reason behind the hiding that has nothing to do with homophobic townies. Alex has an ex boyfriend come to town, and he doesn’t tell Michael. And omg the journey hal takes us on with Michael’s spiral and Brave Little Toaster act was so wonderful and painful and real. The communication between these two was top notch as they worked through a road bump from the past, and let’s face it, once we get our malex back, these things are going to happen, and it will either tear them apart or bring them closer together- I prefer to believe it will be closer together.

There is beauty in a failure by @jule1122​ (2400) There’s been a few Greg and Michael stories to pop up on my radar after 2x10, and this one was one of my favorites. This is a Greg who pulls no punches in exposing his brother’s past to Michael, but also gives Michael the space to work through what he wants. It’s an AU from 2x12, that allowed Michael to break up with Maria for basically the same reasons that Maria used on him in 2x13. The way Michael is able to what he wants and communicate it Alex in the end- so good! We can only hope to see something similar in season 3.

I don’t know what to think (but I think of supernovas) by @queersirius​ (3900) This story is a delight from start to finish- I mean frustrated cursing turns the console on into a hologram who then takes the most pleasing form to Michael’s eyes? SIGN ME UP for those shenanigans. I fucking loved how Isobel saw it first too. And then the comedy of Alex discovering it? And what happens afterwards? Oh it’s so delicious. Now of course, full disclosure, this light-hearted romp through the feels also inspired me  to think up a much much sadder version of Michael building an AI for companionship considering how isolated he ended up being at the end of Season 2 and we all know Michael needs friends, badly.

Innuendo by the Roswell anon (6000) written for @bisexualalienblast​  the roswell anon is my favorite treasure in this fandom, I could pretty much list all of their stories as examples of some very fine Michael Guerin characterization. This one was one of my favorite post-season 1 fix-it fics though, because it has some of the most real 28-30 year old guy dialogue I’ve come across- from the crude jokes, to the sharply self-deprecating observations- this is Alex and Michael stripped down, all edges but what’s left is fatigue and love. The resolution at the end, where Alex observes that yes, Michael has tried the last 10 years but this is their first chance to try together- to pull in the same direction? It just lays me flat on the ground with how true that is to canon.

Whenever You Want to Begin, Begin by @foramomentonly (3200) - this is a sequel, and the first story is dynamite- don’t get me wrong- but it moves from the hopeful side of an ending to legit Happily-Ever-After here, and I devoured every word. First of all, having Michael turn to photography as a way of self-improvement is fucking genius. Photographers are always at the center of every happy event, but never the focus, and that screams Michael to me, the way he lives on the outskirts of the 9-5 job and literal outskirts of town in his trailer. The other thing is photographers are revealed by their work, and that’s also something I head-canon with Michael just in the mundane- he’s good with his hands, he wants to leave a car better than he found. Anyway, this story is gorgeously written, moves a bit like a really good bottle of wine- heavy but soft, as you watch Michael become Alex’s friend, and even more importantly, Alex becomes Michael’s friend. Fantastic- I’ve read it about four times now since it was published.