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lady-strange0 · 1 year ago

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i know what sleepovers imply

By: Lady_Strange0

Words: 2589

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Published on AO3: 18/05/2023

Relationships: America Chavez & Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange/Wong, America Chavez/Lisa Halloran

Summary:

It was another half hour before she spoke up, “Stephen, what do you know about lesbian sex?”

-or-

America and Stephen have a healthy conversation about sex and are sweet and only slightly awkward about it.

America was spread out across one of the couches in their favourite living room, her head on one armrest while her bare feet dangled over the other. The TV that had previously been playing some documentary or other was now displaying the ‘are you still watching’ screen. She made no move to change it.

Stephen watched from were he was perched in a red armchair with a heavy old book in his lap, as she took a breath as if to start speaking before letting it out, she has been doing this for over an hour. Her fingers were drumming against the dark screen of her phone as she starred into space. He knew she would eventually come out and ask what is plaguing her.

It was another half hour before she spoke up, “Stephen, what do you know about lesbian sex?”

This was not what he thought she was going to ask, and for a moment he was unsure as to what to say. He has known her preferences since pretty much the beginning, and she has over the past three years kept him pretty up to date on her crushes on both celebrities and classmates at Kamer-Taj as well as her normal school.

“Well, I don’t know if I will be the best source, but if I can help with something I can try. What is it exactly you want to know? And are you asking because you are planning on having it soon? Because then I want you to know that first and foremost it should always be consentional and safe.”

Over the years Stephen has learned that America never really learned about shame, having travelled from one universe to another with little time to get used to the social norms of whichever one she found herself in. Hence, things that are conventionally considered “shameful” have never been something she’s worried about, she has no trouble asking for help, whether this means him buying her period products or having a discussion about her school troubles or advice on what to wear to certain events or when she gets sad about her parents or anything of the sort. So to see her struggling to answer now was a surprise.

“There is this girl in my class, I’ve told you about her before, Lisa, well she asked me on a date a while back and I said yes and we went for lunch and stuff and we have been kinda going out for a few weeks now, and she’s been asking if I can come over to her place overnight or if she can come here, and I know what sleepovers imply, but research online hasn’t exactly been helpful on how you go from point A to point B.” During her speech, which frankly did not have a full stop anywhere, America has shifted until she sat straight up with her legs crossed on the seat and her hands in her lap, she was blushing lightly across her tan skin, but she wasn’t shying away from eye contact.

“Firstly, if she makes you happy and you like her then I’d love to meet her and have her over for dinner sometime.”

“Really? That would be so fun, I’ll text her later to ask, and hopefully she won’t freak that this is a haunted mansion, with flying cloaks and ghost dogs.” America was laughing now, and Stephen couldn’t keep the grin of his face. He loved nothing more than to see her laughing and excited, especially when it was about spending time with him.

“What’s life without a little crazy? But back to the topic,” this sobered America straight up from her laughter and she sat still to listen, “like I already said the most important thing is that you won’t do anything until you feel comfortable to do them. Considering I know you’ve kissed girls in the past, I’m gonna assume you’ve kissed her already?”

America gave a shy nod, before letting him continue, “then I would like say that I would be more comfortable with you guys doing it here or at her place, then elsewhere.”

“But wouldn’t that be kind of awkward? Like if you knew what we were doing in my bedroom or if her parents were home at hers?”

Stephen couldn’t help but remember his own teenage years of trying to keep his relationships out of his parents house, but gossip moved quick in small towns like the one he grew up in. So, he kept them to a minimum and he knows he would have found it awkward if his parents had known or downright terrifying if they knew it weren’t just girls he slept with. He shuddered internally at the thought of what his father would have said about that.

Americas foot nudged his knee from were she was sitting to pull him out of his thoughts, and she raised an eyebrow at him. He simply shock his head, and continued, “it would certainly be more awkward if you two would try to find an empty room at a party and hope not to get walked in on, or do it in a cramped car somewhere and get fined with public indecency.”

“That sounds like you are talking from experience,” America giggled.

“Yeah, well take it from me, not fun. So do it here were I know you can be safe and also doing it on a bed is far more comfortable than elsewhere especially when starting out.” America nodded and watched as he gathered his thoughts.

“From a medical point of view, you may not be at risk for pregnancy unless she’s trans,” to this America shock her head, “and we know you are immune to pretty much all our illnesses with ur weird alien DNA.” America rolled her eyes at the ongoing alien joke. “But we don’t know what sort of things you have been given from your parents that we don’t even know exist, and so that’s something you will have to consider. We can talk to Christine to have her do some tests just to be certain there’s nothing wrong.”

He could see America taking in all the information, she’d taking up writing lists of important things to remember since she started her studies here, and he knows that she will be writing this all down later. Stephen makes a mental note to send her some links to medical research for STIs and the like in their universe, just because she can’t get them doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be educated on them, also lesbian sexual health has always been filled with myths and untruths, and he doesn’t want her to learn misinformation about her own body and sexuality.

“Now, do you have specific questions as to sex we can tackle or I can give you like a sort of run down, again with a grain of salt coming from a cis man who’s a doctor,” said Stephen. America considered her answer, leaning back against the couch and looking at the ceiling before she started speaking, “the most confusing thing is the whole getting started, like it seems so weird, going from like talking and kissing to… sex. And also I’ve read things online like ‘who’s the man in the relationship’ which doesn’t make sense considering we are both women, and like top and bottom and sub and dom and things and… ugh, it’s confusing.”

Stephen took a moment to dissect the stream of conscious that just left America. He noted absently that he still had the large tomb in his lap and moved it to the little side table.

“The internet is full of misinformation and idiots and misogynists and creeps and the like, so don’t take everything you read as truth. Especially when it comes to your own body autonomy and personal life. First up there is no ‘man’ in your relationship and those stereotypes are so outdated and wrong. Secondly, top and bottom refers to who is giving and who is receiving, and those are not static rolls, they can change from person to person or from one occurrence of sex to another. Sub and dom or submissive and dominant are to do with kink which I doubt you will be doing during your first times. Wait until you are bit older and comfortable with your sexual experiences before trying anything like that.

“Thirdly, getting from point A to point B depends on the situation or the person, maybe you’ll be watching a movie and sitting next to each other and hands will travel south or you’re making out and it will develop, but I would tell you not to stress it, it will happen naturally and if not well sex isn’t perfect. Especially the first time with a new partner. And that’s important to remember, sex isn’t always perfect! It can be messy, funny, emotional, weird, it can hurt sometimes or be just plain bad and all of those are okay, you can just try again another time. And the myth that lesbian is sex is always great is also rubbish and you shouldn’t put such expectations on yourself or others, because that’s unhealthy.”

“But what if I’m bad at it? What if it’ll be obvious that I’ve never done it before? And what if I don’t know what to do with my hands or something?” America was chewing on her lip, they had clearly reached her main issue and the reason for the whole conversation. She pulled legs up from their crossed positions, bend them and circled her arms around them and leaned her head on it, starring into space.

Stephen on the other hand was trying to figure out how to answer her questions without confusing her or making her worry even more. In the end he went with, “masturbation.”

At Americas raised eyebrow and smirk, it became clear that this was less than eloquent as an answer. Stephen tried again.

“Masturbation, it can help relax you during sex to know your own body anatomy and because you’ll be sleeping with a women it’s also helpful that it will be similar to yours. It’s good to know what feels good to you, and what doesn’t. Knowing what feels pleasurable for you, can help you understand your partner more and have them understand you more. But it’s also important to note that what might be pleasurable for one person might not be so for another, trial and error as they say.”

“As who say?” Stephen just shrugged, “I don’t know, they.”

“Anyways, consent! Consent is sexy, consent is healthy, consent is important. Even if you or your partners said yes at the start doesn’t mean you or they can’t say no during it. Check in throughout. No means no. And if she doesn’t understand that when you tell her no, then you tell me and I’ll make her fall through a portal for a very, very long time.” This caused America to giggle and nod.

“When it comes to what is pleasurable and what is not, I’ll let you discover that, but know that your hands and mouth are just as useful during sex as your genitals, and you have other body bodies that may be erogenous zones, and finding them on yourself and your partner is half the fun of sex.”

America was looking much more relaxed now, having gotten the answers to her questions, but Stephen wasn’t done. If he was going to have this talk then he would cover all the bases. The girl on the couch clearly saw, that Stephen was gathering his thoughts to continue, and stayed silent to listen.

“If you go online to learn about sex then please don’t use porn. Watch it if you want but don’t take it as the status quo. Porn is not realistic, the actors stamina isn’t really what is shown, they take breaks during scenes, they are also much more prepared for penetration than is usually shown in those videos and the sounds are so very exaggerated.” America just looked at him before saying, “I don’t think anyone who watches porn actually thinks it’s real, right? Like most of it obviously fake and over the top.”

“You never know, there will always be some, but what I was getting at is that if you are going to have sex and take inspiration from porn, talk about it with your partner first and if you are going to use toys or something of the sort, please, please do your research and get safe ones, you wouldn’t believe the amount of stories I have heard from people having all sorts stuck in all sorts of places while I was in medical school, and while Chrissy was working in A&E.”

To this, America gave a wide eyed look, before nodding seriously. Stephen knew she was responsible and having seen her grow over the last few years has been an honor. So, seeing her have a girlfriend is something he has known was coming and while he is not ready to let her go, he’s at least glad he gets to teach her how to take care of herself and others, and that she trusts him to come to him with these things.

“Finally, use lube. It makes everything a lot smoother and comfortable, I can get you some at the corner store if you are worried about the cashier but it makes everything better, and if you are going to use mouths on genitals then use a dental dam, again I can get you some, yeah?” Americas cheeks were back to dark rose colour, but she responded with, “yeah, please do.”

“And also, wash your hands, before and after, it’s very unhygienic otherwise, and go pee afterwards. That’s for masturbation too. And wash toys after use too. And really just have fun exploring and learning, those are some of the best parts of having sex. And practice makes perfect, not that you have to be perfect but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. Thank you, Stephen, really.” She got up from her seat and gave Stephen a hug, despite his surprise he squeezed her back, and held her head to his shoulder. His shaky hands unknotting some tangles from her hair as she collected herself to continue speaking. “I know I don’t say it as often as I should, but you are the best father figure I could have asked for, because you are here for me no matter what, even if it’s awkward and uncomfortable.”

“I just want what’s best for you, and to see you healthy and happy.”

“I know, and I you too,” there for a short pause, in which Stephen prepared himself for more questions. He didn’t expect what came out of her mouth next. “Which reminds me you should ask Wong out for dinner, maybe you can make use of some of the advice you gave me.” She pulled back gave him a sly look, dodged the hand that was gonna lightly hit her shoulder, and walked out of the living room with her phone in hand. Before he could say anything, she shouted, “I’ll text Lisa about that dinner.”

And Stephen just laughed to himself, as he considered telling her that he and Wong have been sleeping together for months, but maybe that’s a bomb to drop at some other point. For now, he would try to enjoy every moment he could with America, because before soon she’ll be to cool to hang with him.

#marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #marvel #mcu #doctor strange #stephen strange #america chavez #Wong #fluff #healthy conversations #safe sex talk #the talk #awkward conversations #domestic fluff #domestic #lesbian character #lesbian #pansexuel

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poliel · 3 years ago

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Surprise Egg Chapter 1/13: Morning After

This is actually the 2nd chapter of this fic. However, the first chapter won't be posted here on Tumblr because it's smut. If you are 18+ (and only if you are 18+, please and thank you) feel free to go read it over on Ao3. As I'm sure you can probably guess from the title though, Buddy ends up pregnant in this fic so heads up on that.

Buddy woke sore and achy but comfortable too. They were… cuddling with Filbo, half laying on top of him, their head resting on his chest, arm draped over his middle while his arm lay across their back, lightly holding them. He was purring softly, his chest lightly rumbling with it. A wonderful way to wake up except for the fact that the only thing separating them from lying on the cave floor was a few blankets and a sleeping bag. Despite that and their hunger they remained still.

The moment was too good to ruin yet. How likely were they to ever wake up like this with him again? Depends on if he wanted yesterday to mean anything or if he’d just been helping them because he was a good friend like that. And then there was the fact that Buddy would leave eventually. With how things were shaping up that probably wouldn’t be for a long while though. So they weren’t going to think about it anymore. Instead, they nuzzled their face into Filbo’s fur, it was so soft and nice.

His relaxed purring stuttered to a halt. “You awake Buddy?”

Oh! They’d assumed he’d still been asleep because if he’d woken up, wouldn’t he have gotten out from underneath them? Apparently not. Now Buddy could maybe stay silent and pretend to still be sleeping but they’d already given themself away so… “Mostly, yeah.” They didn’t move yet though.

“Good morning then. How are you uh… feeling?”

“A little sore and stuff but otherwise good. You?”

“Uh… same actually.”

“Thanks again for helping yesterday. I appreciate it.”

Filbo hummed an uncharacteristically thoughtful acknowledgement before falling silent. Buddy let him think, just enjoying the warmth and his closeness. … They had things to do though, important things, including solving a mystery and finding a missing person; the biggest story of their whole life, let alone career. And they’d already wasted so much time thanks to their heat and then sleeping it off. So they really needed to…

“Now that you’re uh… in a less compromised state, do you want to talk about it?”

Buddy took a breath to ask what ‘it’ was but… yeah, he was referring to last night and whether or not it meant anything for their relationship. With a sigh, they sat up so they could look down at him. The look he returned was one of disappointment and sadness, quickly hidden.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he said as sat up too and put his smile back on. Looking down, he fidgeted with his paws. “I understand. I’m not really…”

“Filbo!” Buddy’s tone was sharper than they’d intended but at least it drew his gaze back up to them. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“Yeah but…” he shrugged. “I’m just glad I could help, really. Especially with everything you’ve been doing for me and the others. It means a lot, especially getting them to come back to town in the first place.” He stood up and brushed himself off, seemingly totally okay with letting the whole matter go.

Buddy however was willing to do no such thing. So they hopped up to their feet, ignoring how the aches in their body protested to such a movement. “I was hormonal and thus all kinds of emotional and affectionate last night but I meant everything I said.” They placed themself right in front of Filbo. He looked a little unsure but he didn’t step back from them so that was probably a good sign. “You really are amazing and cute and lovely.” They were mostly just fumbling, saying whatever came to mind and hoped it was good, but they weren’t going to let this opportunity go. “And I like you a lot so if you want yesterday to mean something, it can. I want it to.”

“Oh… uh… um… okay. All right.”

“See how easy it is to just talk about things?” Though honestly, Buddy was surprised about how easy that had been too. Surely romantic relationship should be harder than that, right?

Filbo chuckled as he lifted a paw to rub the back of his neck. “I guess, yeah. Does that mean I can uh… kiss you again?”

“Of course.”

They were standing so close Filbo barely needed to even lean in to do so. It was surprisingly sweet and chaste considering how passionately they’d made love to each other yesterday. Buddy wanted lean into it and insist more but… “We should probably go back to town now. I gotta eat something and then go hunting for everyone else.” They’d been too busy being distracted by their oncoming heat all day yesterday to do any bugsnax hunting, making it the third day in a row they’d been away from town so it was probably time they fed everyone again. And then they had to go back to searching for their story and convincing everyone to return to town.

“All right, let’s go.” With his signature bright smile, Filbo took Buddy’s paw and led the way out.

“Why you’d come looking for me here anyway?” Buddy asked as they exited the cave. They weren’t going to question the good fortune but they’d chosen this place because they hadn’t thought anyone would come by.

“Well uh, Beffica told me you might need my help out here. And she wouldn’t say what kind of help or anything, just that I should go look for you out here. I uh… take it she knew then.”

“That’s not surprising.” It was Beffica after all so she probably both knew Buddy was in heat and that they’d only have accepted help from Filbo. The question was had she intentionally been trying to play matchmaker too? If asked she’d probably deny it, regardless of the truth. Not that it mattered much anyway.

Before returning to Snaxburg they washed up in the river a bit. They’d cleaned up last night but had been too exhausted to do a fully proper job of it. As a result they were both damp as they met up with Beffica at the town entrance.

She snapped a photo of them before approaching. “Hey Bestie and Filbo.” Her usual way of making Filbo’s name sound like an insult was toned down for once, a nice change for sure. “How’d it go?” She smirked, giving both of them an expectant look. Oh, she’d definitely intentionally set them up on purpose. Buddy appreciated it but…

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” they replied in their best neutral tone as they hooked their arm through Filbo’s, not letting him stop or slow down to talk to her even if he wanted to.

They brought him to the center town before stopping and disengaging their arm from his. “I gotta go now but I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to rest for a little bit and eat something?”

“I can just eat on the go.” The distraction of walking made the experience of downing the ketchup sauce in particular less awful. Also, they’d already wasted more than enough time as it was. “I’ll bring you back something good though.” They’d always done so whenever they could anyway. So really not much had changed. … Or well, maybe it had.

Because they could now and because there was no way they could keep their relationship a secret for any significant length of time so they might as well put it out in the open sooner rather than later, Buddy stepped in and gave Filbo a quick kiss on the cheek before running off.

***

Feeling warm and fuzzy inside, Filbo lifted a paw lightly rub where Buddy had just kissed him as he watched them head off towards the desert. It was almost hard to believe they were now actually… together. They were so competent and strong. And rather good looking too. It was almost impossible not to…

“What do they even see in you?”

Filbo flinched as he snapped around to see Beffica had approached. He took a breath to defend Buddy’s choice in being with him but… “I don’t know.” He was clumsy and weak, physically most of all but definitely mentally too.

“Well at least you admit it. Still though, I suppose I’ve seen couples far less suited for each other. So… I’m happy for you. Enjoy it while it lasts.” And with that she was leaving.

Warm fuzzies gone, Filbo sat on the log bench with a sigh. She was right about that too; it wasn’t going to last forever. Eventually Buddy would have to leave to publish their story. And living off sauce had to be pretty miserable even if Buddy never complained about it so expecting them to come back after they published their story, especially for a long time, would be no fair. So this whole thing could only be temporary. … Unless he went with them when they left. Hmmm… that was something to think about later. For now, he would just do as Beffica said and enjoy it for however long it lasted.

#my writing #bugsnax #filbo/the journalist #filbuddy #filbo fiddlepie #the journalist #pregnancy

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chris-evans-indian-fanfic · 4 years ago

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Love

One-Shot

Description: Asexual!Bucky thinks he is broken beyond repair, until you show him that he has been complete all this while.

Warnings: Angst, bad language, mention of sex toys, romance and fluff

@jtargaryen18 organised a writing challenge for reaching 4k followers and of course I have to participate multiple times! 😍 I am sorry this entry is a little late 🙈

My Main Masterlist

A/N: This is the first time I am writing an asexual character. Whatever I have written is based upon my knowledge that I have gathered by reading various articles and posts on asexuality. The reason I am writing this is because I want to have an equal amount of straight and LGBTQ+ stories in my masterlist, so that there's something for everyone to enjoy. Hence, if you are an asexual person or know someone who is, and you realise that anything in my story is incorrectly represented, then please let me know. I will immediately correct it, issue an apology and accept my mistake publicly.

I don’t consent to have any of my work published or featured on any third party app, website or translated. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but Tumblr and AO3, it has been reposted without my permission. In that case, please do share the link and let me know.

…

"I cannot fucking believe this!" Karen shouted, "What are you like gay or something?"

Bucky winced at her venomous words. "You need to leave," he said in a quiet, respectful tone.

"Like hell I am going to leave. I want answers!" she placed her hands on her hips and stomped her foot. "What is it? Am I not sexy enough for you? Are you not attracted by this?!" she gestured towards the skimpy lingerie currently hugging her body.

Bucky met her eyes as he responded, "I do not want to have sex with you."

She huffed, clearly not convinced, "Why not? We have been going out for what, 3 months now? And you still don't want to have sex with me? What is the issue here? Is it-" she paused suddenly, her eyes traveling down his torso to his crotch, "You can't get it up can you?" she sneered.

Bucky shook his head, too exhausted to deal with her, "Karen, it's nothing like that. I just do not want to get physical with you. That's all."

"Oh! Ooooohh!" she bent backwards a bit, "So it was fine to hug me, cuddle with me and hold my hands. But when it comes to sex, you suddenly become a pious celibate saint! What the fuck Bucky?"

Bucky sighed, and handed Karen back her coat, "We are done. Please leave."

She laughed dryly, "Oh abso-fucking-lutely we are done. You know what I think?" she asked while wearing the coat, "I think that you are too old grandpa and that your tiny ass tortured gay dick cannot salute on its own. Because no man in his right mind would deny this," she again pointed to herself. "Super-soldier my ass," she muttered as she left.

The door to his apartment closed with a loud bang, leaving an echo in its wake. Bucky stood still, rooted to his spot. If it were not for the silent tears rolling down his cheeks, anybody could have mistaken him for a statue.

Slowly, he sat on the floor, his gentle sobs rocking his body as he hugged his knees.

Decades of torture by the hands of Hydra had left him crippled, physically, mentally and emotionally. When he had been saved by Steve, he had started to piece his life back together, bit by bit. Things such as books, movies, music became tiny jigsaw pieces that slowly filled the void in his life.

After the final galactic battle with Thanos, Bucky had been officially initiated to the Avengers team, or rather what was left of it. The team soon became an extended family, a family that Bucky was still getting used to. It was especially irksome when Sam and Scott decided to set him up on a date with Karen from Research & Development (R&D), despite his protests.

It wasn't that Bucky didn't desire a relationship. He wanted to be close to someone, experience romance, feel their heartbeat in a close embrace and place light kisses on their forehead.

But he didn't want to have sex.

At first, he thought he might not have met the right woman. So he searched for porn online, which did little to sway his feelings. He put the issue on a backburner, the safety of the people and the urgency of his missions steering the wheel of his life for a while.

But when Sam and Scott proudly announced their grand plans for Bucky's date, he remembered his "issue" again. He looked at Karen closely whenever they went on dates together. She looked perfect. Beautiful hair, soft glowing skin, curves in all the right places, all packed in a graceful, slender body.

Bucky liked being close to her, but he was still not getting aroused. Hence, he stopped her advancements everytime she tried to get physical. Karen tolerated it for a while, before her patience wore out tonight.

As the sun rose in the sky, Bucky was still seated on the floor, his cheeks now stained with tears that had stopped sometime in the night, though a sniff escaped from him every few minutes. He looked at the sunlight pouring in from the window, broken by the window-panes, landing at his feet in two rays with a comforting warmth. It was in that moment that Bucky realised, Hydra had truly broken him.

🏳️‍🌈

"We have various types of dildos available. There's The Classic, Textured, Long and Thin, Short and Thick, Vibrators, Transparent Plexiglass Dildos, Strap-Ons, G-Spot Dildos, Double-Ended, Squirting Dildos and ones that also come with a suction grip. Are you looking for yourself or are you looking for something to enjoy with your partner?" the helpful saleswoman asked you.

You stroked your chin in thought, "It's only for me. I already have a vibrator that I bought about a year back. The G-Spot ones have never really worked for me. I am looking to try something new. What is the suction grip one?"

The attendant handed you the dildo and showed you the suction grip at the end of it, "You can use this to place and stick it on any flat surface you want, whether it's the floor or the wall or the side of your desk. It guarantees a completely hands-free pleasurable experience."

You stuck it on the wall besides the showcase to test the theory. It worked. "Neat! I will take this one," you smiled as the attendant went to fetch a fresh piece.

You paid for your new sex toy and walked back to the Avengers compound with your small white shopping bag in tow.

When you reached your desk, you heard Karen bitching as usual about something to Jessica. At first, you blocked them out like you did almost everyday, but then a name in their conversation caught your attention.

"He's the Winter Soldier alright. He's completely frozen down there," Karen whispered loudly with disgust.

"Even that red sexy lingerie didn't do anything for him?" Jessica gasped dramatically.

"No!"

"That's crazy! That hot-red piece will convert even the most gayest of the guys! And it didn't do anything for him? Wow," Jessica responded.

Karen added, "You know something? I have always thought he was extremely weird. Like, dude, I know you were tortured by Hydra or whatever, but get over it man! It's been years since he was free. He should enjoy life and stop being such a wimp. I am 100% sure he is impotent."

"You know I was digging into him the other night," Jessica said in a hushed whisper, "and I saw a message board online which suggested that his penis has been completely cut by Hydra. This person knows all such secrets about these alleged superheros. You should follow him."

"What is his username?"

"Proud-Flat-Earther-MotherFuckers. Wait, I will send you the link," Jessica offered.

Having heard enough of their nonsense, you made your way towards the HR department. Maybe both Karen and Jessica had forgotten, but talking about the personal lives of Avengers was strictly against the rules and was considered as reason enough to fire employees.

You filed a complaint with the HR and within a few hours, both the women were fired on the spot. You savored the moment with relish, as their faces turned aghast at the realisation that their actions had consequences. You went up to them, watching the pair clean their desks, with unabashed glee.

"You know something Karen?" you asked her, "Just because a man refuses to have sex, it didn't mean that he's a wimp, or gay or an impotent. But if you do choose to think of him that way, then it surely makes you a sexiest and a homophobic person."

Karen looked at you furiously, "You bitch! I lost my job because you went and blabbed in front of the HR!"

You chuckled at her outburst, "Oh my dearest Karen. Yes I did go and rat you out to the HR. But that's not what got the two of you fired."

"Then what did?" Jessica asked as she joined the conversation.

You folded your hands for effect, "Your hateful comments and toxic views cost you your jobs. People like you think that just by using the latest iPhone or following the latest trends, you are a modern, 21st century person. But in reality, it is your open mindset which makes you a member of the modern society. If you would open your mind just as much as you open your legs, trust me, the two of you will be much better off."

You turned to leave, but stopped yourself, "Just a suggestion. Stop using words like gay and impotent as insults. It will help you retain your next job for a longer time." You winked at their speechless faces, and happily returned to your desk.

Your job in R&D was taxing and so, you always found yourself working late. Today was no exception either. As you left your office at around 8pm, you saw Bucky heading towards the elevator which led to his apartment. You always had a soft spot for the brunette super-soldier. For starters, you couldn't even begin to comprehend the tortures he must have endured in his past. And the fact that he was trying to piece his life back together again? It was truly commendable.

He always kept to himself, his eyes downcast and his body language unsure. And after what you had heard today, you felt even more sorry for the guy. Turning towards the cafeteria, you picked up a box of vanilla-strawberry French macarons for him, thanking the heavens above for the free food available at the Avengers compound. You held the white bag with macarons in your left hand, being mindful of not confusing it with the similar white bag in your right which contained your new sex toy.

A few moments later, you found yourself in front of his apartment. You had visited him twice before to adjust his vibranium arm or to sort out a few tweaks, but never before had you visited him so late in the evening.

You knocked, feeling a little hesitant as you did so. He was surprised to find you standing on the opposite of the door, however, he still greeted you courteously nonetheless.

Before you could state your reason for the visit, he said sincerely, "I heard what you did today. Thank you. I really appreciated it."

Now it was your turn to be surprised, "Oh. Ummm. It's okay really Mr Barnes. It was nothing. You don't need to-"

"No. It wasn't just nothing. You could have turned a deaf ear and ignored them. Yet you chose to stand-up for me. Thank you," a small smile laced his face and you melted on the spot.

You had a crush on Bucky. A BIG one. Could anyone blame you? This guy was a hot, sexy mess of an ice-cream sundae that left you hungry for more even on the coldest nights of the year.

You realised you were staring into his steel-blue eyes like a creep, and immediately cleared your throat. "What-what they did was wrong. Karen had no right to demean you for your desires or lack of them. I-," you sighed, "I am sorry for what she said. It was disrespectful and hurtful. So I brought you something that I hope will cheer you up."

You awkwardly raised your right hand, "I got you some vanilla-strawberry macarons from the cafeteria."

Bucky did cheer up a bit at the mention of his favourite food. He eagerly took the bag with a huge smile, "Thank you," he said once again as you shook your head. "Thank you for everything you do to keep us safe Mr Barnes. I must be on my way now. Goodnight," and with that you left, grinning like an idiot.

🏳️‍🌈

You took a bath, ate your dinner and slipped into comfortable pyjamas. Excited to try your new sex toy tonight, you unpacked the bag expecting to see the nondescript box of the dildo. Instead, 5 delicious macarons stared back at you with innocence.

You stumbled backwards in shock, the impact of your action settling like a dull, heavy weight in your stomach. "Oh no no no no," you whispered, horrified.

You immediately rushed to your window and pulled aside the curtain to look at Bucky's building, as if expecting to see him staring daggers at you. One of the privileges of working with the Avengers? You got to stay in a nice apartment within the compound itself. Your residential complex was a little further away from the main building, covered easily by 15 minutes of walking.

Feeling hyper, you frantically searched for a coat and almost ran out of your house. You rushed back in to keep the box in the bag and again, dashed towards the elevator.

Hoping that Bucky would have yet to open the box, you sent a silent prayer to all the gods and goddesses in the skies above, even Thor. Meh, you never know when an ex-Avenger could be of help.

You sprinted towards the other building, a multitude of thoughts clouding your mind- What if he was offended by it? Would he file a complaint against me? It would be sorta ironic if I was fired for this! Shit he would think my apology was false and I am probably mocking him.

You reached his apartment, a panting, huffing mess of a person. You knocked frantically, his door shaking with force at your desperation. However, you jumped as Bucky whispered your name from behind you, "Are you okay? What's going on?" he asked with concern as you turned around to face him.

"Did-did you op-open the bo-ox?" you questioned him while panting like a dog.

He furrowed his brows in response, "No I was planning to open it in a few minutes. Please tell me what's going on. Why do you look so scared?"

You bent over double, your stomach cramping thanks to your impromptu running, "Thi-this is your bag," you held up the package, "That ba-bag is mine."

"Okay," Bucky said slowly, still unsure of your behaviour, "Should I open the door to retrieve your bag?"

You nodded as he stepped aside, "Why are you not wearing any shoes?"

You looked down at your feet at his query, small blades of grass had stuck to your naked feet along with dirt. "I was in a hur-hurry to get to you," you managed to say between your breaths.

Bucky just nodded in response. It was then that you noticed the pack of paper tissues in his hand. He opened the door and stepped inside, beckoning you to follow him. He pointed to the white bag kept on the table while he looked at it with worry. "Will it explode?" he solicited.

"Uhh no," you replied awkwardly.

"Is it dangerous?" curiosity etched on Bucky's face as you swapped the bags.

"No, it's nothing like that," you looked down at your feet, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks with embarrassment.

He narrowed his eyes, "Then what is it?"

"I can't tell you," you quietly admitted, "but here are your macarons. I am really sorry for this. Didn't mean to disturb you from whatever you had planned," you pointed to the box of tissues still in his hand.

Bucky noticed the underlying question in your statement, "I was about to watch a movie. So needed these to clear the mess."

Your eyes went wide at his sincerity. While you had a crush on him, you definitely did not want to know about Bucky's late night masturbation adventures. Shaking your head, you raised your hands and started walking backwards, "I am sorry I disturbed your nightly… activities. I get out of your hair."

"Actually, would you like to join me for the movie?" Bucky asked hopefully, "We have the macarons and you seem like you need to calm your nerves."

You were surprised for the third time that day. Did Bucky just ask you to masturbate with him? Or have sex while eating the macarons? Or did he want to eat them after you guys have had sex? A flurry of questions swirled in your mind as you stared at him with a slightly open mouth.

Bucky interpreted your gaze and stumbled to clarify himself, "As friends! Would you like to watch a movie with me as a friend?"

You slowly nodded your affirmation, "Yeah okay. Which movie are we watching?"

"The Notebook," he revealed with a smile, "It's an extremely emotional movie. Ummm what's the term? Tear-jerker? Uhh yeah, it's a real tear-jerker of a movie."

"Oh so that's why…" you pointed at the tissues. "Yeah," he confirmed, "I tend to cry a lot while watching that movie. And… ummm… I am the kind of person who cries ugly. You know, all tears and snot. So yeah… I need the whole box."

"That's… that's actually sweet," you smiled, "Trust me you are not alone. I start crying as soon as the titles appear on the screen."

He got excited at your confession, "Yes! Exactly! It's because you know what's going to come and you are just mentally preparing yourself."

You chuckled with him in affirmation as he led you further into his apartment.

You freshened up a bit in his washroom, making sure to clean your feet and the residue on your face from the sweat.

Bucky was standing besides your bag when you entered the living room, "Now that we are friends," he intoned, "will you please tell me what's inside of this?"

You sighed, "Mr Barnes-."

"Bucky," he corrected you and you smiled.

"Will you promise me you will not take any offense or be insulted by it? I really did not mean to swap the bags."

"I trust you," Bucky said with assurance.

"It's…it is a sex toy," you mumbled quietly. Any normal human wouldn't have heard you, but Bucky's enhanced hearing caught your words flawlessly.

He took a moment to process your words, and finally, to your amazement, burst out laughing.

You sheepishly smiled at his reaction as your heart felt a little lighter. "That is embarrassing," he agreed with a wide grin.

The two of you settled on the couch as Bucky's chuckles lessened. He kept the box of macarons between you two, but hesitated to begin the movie.

You sensed his curiosity, and clarified, "I haven't been in a relationship in a very long time. It's been… 2 years I guess… since my last breakup." You took a deep breath, "And my job doesn't exactly leave a lot of time on my hands for dating or one-night-stands."

Bucky seemed to consider your words for what felt like a long time. Finally, he asked quietly, "What does it feel like? To… to want another person… sexually?"

You blinked your eyes, thinking you must have misheard him. But then, his gaze met yours, and you knew his question was sincere.

"It feels like…," you raked your mind in search for the appropriate words, "...like your entire body is on fire, and you need the touch of the other person to quench your thirst. Like, just for a few moments, you want to shut your mind, and let your body think for you."

Bucky nodded slowly as you finished, "But what if you feel that in your heart? And not for your body?"

You squint your eyes at his question, "What do you mean Bucky?"

He placed his head in his hands, "I just… I don't feel like that with anyone. I mean, I don't want to have sex. Trust me I have tried everything. Literally everything. Still I don't feel aroused… I am broken, aren't I? Because this is abnormal, right? No matter how hard I try I will never be normal."

Your heart shattered at his words. You had heard about his horrid nightmares, but to think that he was struggling to accept himself, thinking that he was broken, even when he had so much love to give, was depressing. You could not just stand by and watch.

Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder, "Bucky, look at me." When he didn't comply, you urged him, "Bucky, you are not broken. It is completely normal to not have any sexual desires."

"No it's not," he scoffed.

"Yes it is," you coerced him, "Do you know what is asexuality? It is the complete absence of sexual desires. Many people-"

He interrupted you, "There is no such thing. You are making this up."

"I am not," you replied indignantly, "Research indicates that more than 1% of the American population is asexual. Also, experts believe that more people might be asexuals because they think that they "haven't found the right person yet"," you ended with air quotes.

With no reaction from him, you sighed and got up, "Do yourself a favour. Use the internet and learn about asexuality. It will help put your mind at ease." You left after giving that piece of advice.

Bucky stayed in the same position for a few moments after your departure. He nibbled on a macaron as he considered the movie playing in front of him. Unable to focus, he promptly shut it all and carried the box to his bed. The macarons disappeared into his mouth as he tossed and turned, feeling restless.

There was no way asexuality was a thing. If it was, then how come there were no movies, tv shows or even advertisements on asexuality? That's because it wasn't normal, right? Maybe you had just lied to him to make him feel better? Maybe you took pity on him?

He looked at his phone on the table near the tv set, your final words repeating in his head in a loop. The combination of tiredness and laziness encouraged him to take your advice in the morning.

🏳️‍🌈

You didn't see Bucky for 3 days after your fateful encounter with him. The fact that you still had your job at the Avengers Tower meant that he hadn't filed a complaint yet with the HR. And for that you were grateful. Friday came and you found yourself working late, again. It was around 10pm and you were still in your lab, almost done with the work. That's when you heard the small swoosh of the lab doors opening and closing.

You looked up from your table, and found Bucky staring intently at you with his blue eyes. He cleared his throat and tentatively took a step towards you. "You were right," he said slowly, "I researched online, read a few articles and spoke with the in-house therapist. I am an," he took a deep breath, "an asexual."

You closed your laptop and smiled at his confession, "How are you feeling now?"

"Honestly? A little bit better. I feel somewhat free," he admitted while gripping the white bag in his hand a little bit tighter.

"That's great! I am so proud of the progress you have made," you beamed at him, but sensed his hesitance as you neared him.

"What's wrong?" you gently inquired.

"You are… not… I mean… by any chance… asexual?" he winced at his own question.

You chuckled lightly, "No I am not."

"Ahh, then it's okay," he murmured and turned as if to leave.

You stopped him by placing a hand on his firm bicep, "What's going on?"

He shifted on his feet, visibly uncomfortable and anxious, "I was just… no nevermind it's stupid."

"Bucky," you said his name in a stern voice.

He sighed again, "I thought… I mean I owe you a movie because… of that night… and so… you know… would you like to watch it? The movie? But why would you? You deserve better… you are not an asexual. You are normal. Why would you want to go on a date with me?" he finally ended his mumbling.

You looked at him with squinted eyes, trying to decipher what he had muttered. "Did you just say you would like to go on a date with me? But it was stupid because you are an asexual and I am normal?" you blinked as he nodded.

"Who told you that you are not normal?" you asked him, a little irritated, "Bucky look at me." This time he complied, "You. Are. Normal. As normal as me, as the other Avengers or as anybody else in the world. Do not, for even one goddamn second, think that there's something wrong with you because there isn't. Are you listening to me? Am I clear?" you wagged your forefinger at him.

Amused at your outburst, he nodded with a sheepish grin. Clearing his throat, he asked you again, "Would you like to watch a movie with me tomorrow? As a date?"

You placed your hands on your waist, "Yes."

His grin widened as he asked you the next question, "Still mad at me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Maybe these cupcakes will help," he shyly held up the white bag in front of you, "I made sure they were cupcakes," he added with a smirk.

You graciously accepted the bag, "Cupcakes will always help."

"Great! It's a date then. Tomorrow… at 4pm? My apartment?" Bucky suggested.

You agreed, and he left with a goodbye. As soon as he was out of sight, you opened the box, expecting to see the usual cupcakes inside. Instead, you found that the sweet treats were decorated with cute messages such as "U R Cute" , "Be Mine?" , "So Sweet" and so on. Feeling mushy at his adorable gesture, you bit into the sweet treat as you headed back to your apartment.

The next day, you made sure to wear a purple dress, complete with black, grey and white accessories - the colours of the asexual flag. Bucky beamed at you as he welcomed you into his apartment. He had made a snack mix from popcorn, crispy pretzels, chips and nachos, the perfect accompaniment to any movie according to him, and you couldn't agree more.

The pair of you watched The Notebook in silence, except for a few sobs and sniffs here and there and the straight up bawling during the emotional parts of the movie.

After a while, the film ended but your date continued. The two of you talked about everything, right from the meaningful discussions about the government policies to random questions like "which mythical creature would you be and why?"

Soon, it was time for you to head back to your apartment. Bucky offered to walk you and you happily agreed. But before you left, he asked you nervously, "Would you like to have a second date?"

"I would love to," you beamed, "Which movie should we watch the next time?"

He ran his hand in his somewhat disheveled hair, "Uhh… I actually made a date jar. Wait, I will get it."

He brought over a glass jar, filled with tiny bits of folded paper, "I thought we could have dates that start from each English alphabet. We can pick and choose at random from the jar."

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes again at his thoughtful and romantic gesture. You gingerly picked one note from the jar, excited for the adventure that awaited the two of you.

🏳️‍🌈

It took more than 2 years for the pair of you to finish every date in the date jar, except for one. Whether it was jet-skiing in the ocean, taking classes for flamenco dance, him teaching you self-defense or going on a wildlife safari together, you and Bucky finally got through it all. Only the letter "P" was now left.

In these 2 years, any distance between the two of you had practically vanished. Bucky was comfortable in removing his bionic arm in front of you. Moreover, he had started sharing everything with you. Right from his darkest and disturbing nightmares to a pretty butterfly that he may have seen during his missions, Bucky made it a point to ensure that you were a part of his life, and you had absolutely no complaints.

The two of you had also discussed about your sexual desires, and Bucky had been comfortable with you using your sex toys as and when you wished.

Bucky was the perfect boyfriend anybody could ask for. He was considerate, thoughtful, a hardcore feminist and gave the best foot-rubs in the world. And so you were nervous. Nervous because the two of you had never actually sat down to talk about the nature of your relationship. And as the day of the last date loomed nearer, your anxiety increased. At first, you thought of making a second date jar, but he had quickly dismissed the idea, stating that he would be caught up with multiple things after the last date ended.

As you sat in the car that Bucky had sent for you, your apprehension grew. Bucky always picked you up, however this time, he had asked you to come alone in the car. Maybe he wanted to break up with you?

By the time you reached the park it was pitch black. You were sure Bucky had paid the guards to keep the gates of the park open just for you.

As soon as you entered, you saw the pathway lined with 25 lamp posts, leading you towards a breathtaking archway decorated with fairy lights and your favourite flowers.

On every lamp post, a photograph of the two of you - which were taken on your dates - was stuck along with a note. The notes described how he fell in love with you over and over again on every single date. Your progress was slow, as read each of his meticulously written words with tears in your eyes. You collected all of his notes and the photographs, and finally headed towards the lit archway.

When you entered it, the instrumental notes of the song "All of Me" by John Legend reached your ears.

You walked ahead and reached a bend. Upon crossing it, you were showered with rose petals as the live music grew louder. And at the end of the archway, your boyfriend, James Buchanan Barnes, was standing in a tuxedo, looking as sinfully good as the forbidden fruit. The entire area around him was lit with soft fairy lights that cascaded gracefully between tall lamp posts. Even on the ground, small wooden lamps illuminated the grass across the area. A live band was playing the music and your Bucky was standing with the most gorgeous bouquet of red roses that you had ever seen.

Your vision turned blurry as you started crying, and looking at your tears, he started sobbing as well. "No no no I can't cry now," he managed to say between his sobs while giving you his handkerchief, "I have to do this."

He got down on one knee and took your hand in his. You both laughed as you started crying harder. He took a deep breath and said your name, "These 2 years have been the most magical years of my life. You have accepted me as who I am, what I am, and never once tried to change me or make fun of me for it. I never thought I would be treated with the amount of respect that-" he started crying, unable to finish his sentence.

You sat beside him and handed him your kerchief. "Yes," you said with a tear-stained smile.

"Let me ask you first!" he exclaimed between his sobs.

You laughed and wiped your snot as he cleared his throat, "I love you so much. You are the only one I want to-" he started crying again.

"Yes!" you answered his unsaid question.

"I haven't asked you yet!" he exclaimed again as the two of you giggled between your sobs.

"Okay c'mon Bucky you can do this," he muttered to himself as you beamed at him. "Okay," he looked into your eyes and whispered your name, "Will you do me the honour of marrying me and becoming my wife?"

You choked up at finally hearing the words. Rendered speechless, you could only nod as fresh tears escaped your eyes.

"You have to say yes!" he almost shouted with excitement.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!!" you matched his enthusiasm as he slipped a ring onto your finger. His large arms then engulfed you in a bear hug, wrapping you in a safe and secure space for eternity to come.

Permanent tag: @donutloverxo @notyourtypicalrose @just-one-ordinary-fangirl

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mvnvgedmischief · 3 years ago

Text

unremarkable days.

summary: sirius black is trying to be a good man, a good brother, a good person. Sirius has a steady job designing book covers for a publishing house, a flat he never leaves, and a traumatized brother who was just removed from the custody of his parents. All in all, it’s wildly unremarkable.

chapter: 6/?

characters: sirius black, regulus black, wolfstar, background marauders

tags: tw: canon compliant abuse, child abuse, social services, abuse

words: 3. 1 k

read it on ao3 here

read the last chapter here

Remus was unsure what had come over him when he went into the team meeting at Quill. He had a relatively unremarkable morning. It was an early opening shift at the grind, he spent a lot of time in the backroom taking inventory, counting the same product over and over again. He remembered walking out of the backroom to a line at the front door. He didn’t remember how long it took him to fumble with the lock, or shuffle back behind the counter. He didn’t remember why some businessman was yelling at him because his latte, which just came off the milk steamer, wasn’t hot enough. He didn’t remember why he started yelling back, why he was so short. The entire morning felt like a blur.

Maybe it was all of the emails Sirius had never opened, maybe it was the text from Fenrir that remained unopened on his phone. He had no idea what had caused it, but he felt like he was spiraling out. Had he taken his meds today? All of them? His fingers methodically worked the POS system, his body ran on autopilot, he didn’t know how to handle any of the stress of working with others on something he cared about. He cared so much about this book, and he honestly felt like his toes were being stepped on. He was trying to pretend he didn’t feel that way, but he did. It was tiring. He didn’t know how else to handle this other than lashing out. He didn’t want to be a dick about things, he was just so passionate.

He was so incredibly proud of his healing and his recovery. He was proud of the way he got a handle on his lupus, he was proud of the way his body moved better and worked better. He didn’t know what else to think about or be proud of. He had come so far from the bruised, bloodied boyfriend he was all those months ago. months? years? How long had it really been? Did he even remember? Was he allowed to move on? Was he supposed to? What was he, the perfect victim, supposed to do?

He knew that he was a high-maintenance author, a high-maintenance person. It was one of the reasons he self-published before. But Quill had been so good about doing what he wanted, everyone except Sirius. Sirius was constantly MIA, who never spoke to him about anything, who had asked him on a date. What kind of mind fuck? Did he even read Remus’s book? Did he even think about the implications of his actions, or what something like this would do to his already fragile psyche?

He had always tried to give people the benefit of the doubt. Look at how far that had gotten him. So he wasn’t planning on doing it again. He didn’t want to get hurt, get his heartbroken, fall into all those same holes and pitfalls he’d been so prone to in the past. The way Sirius had ignored him repeatedly, had refused to talk to him, was a red flag. He wasn’t in the business of ignoring those anymore. He didn’t have the energy left to ignore red flags. He had been burned too many times and had no intention of getting burned again. Or at least, he thought that until he picked the fight in the meeting.

Sure, it might have been petty. It might have been rude to tell Sirius he didn’t like the designs when he did. It might have been uncalled for to tell him that it wasn’t his problem if he couldn’t do his job. But to be fair, Sirius had been wildly unavailable. Remus wanted to send a message, to remind him that he wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t getting anywhere with being polite, so he would have no problem making Sirius hear him. He wasn’t going to be kept in the dark on his own book.

It was unfair, how easily Sirius could get everyone back on his side, after all of the meetings he wasn’t in (Remus had no idea that only the most important meetings even got on Sirius’s calendar, as decided by the rest of the team). He offered a smile and a cordial response, and everyone was back in the palm of his hand. What the fuck?

But he wasn’t going to press the issue. Not when he was sure that all of these people knew something he didn’t, understood something he’d never get. The whole thing felt patronizing. It exhausted him. Was Sirius so great that he didn’t have to follow the rules everyone else did? The evidence remained to be seen, on Remus’s end. He didn’t know why everyone was always bending over backwards to justify Sirius’s behavior. To begin with, he just wanted to make sure Sirius was alright (the man looked so tired all the time), but at this point, it felt like Sirius was just avoiding him. It was so frustrating to think about what he could have possibly done, was it his book? Was it his past? Was Sirius homophobic? If he was, why had he slept with Remus? Was he repressing himself? Was it some kind of dare?

Remus felt himself spiraling with catastrophic thoughts about why Sirius hated him as much as he had. He didn’t understand. But James, who was quickly becoming a true friend to him, pulled him out of his spiral with a text inviting him to “family dinner.” Remus didn’t know who would be there, but he was excited to have this large group of new friends through Quill. He was eternally grateful to Lily for helping him get this opportunity. It was such a kind gesture that opened so many career doors and helped him connect with so many people.

He didn't know what to wear that evening. He usually settled on a soft jumper (not too overstimulating) and a pair of plaid slacks. He wanted to look nice because as much as he didn’t want to think about him, he was still quite hooked on Sirius Black. The thought of him catches in his mind, and he thinks he should probably get a meeting on the docket for the next week. He cared too much about this book, and it would probably be best to see what the man comes up with before the next team meeting. He knew it was unreasonable to get irritated as he had in the team meeting, but it stressed him out nonetheless. He didn’t know how to be calm and collected about all of it, and he felt burned by the way Sirius’s advances suddenly dried up. So he nervously drafted an email asking about it. But as usual, he was met with Sirius’s out-of-office message. So instead of waiting to not be responded to he picked up his phone and dialed Sirius’s number. God, why was he so nervous?

“Sirius Black.” For two people who had spent hours just being vulnerable and intimate, in the act of Sirius falling asleep in his lap, that felt like a clinical greeting, which put him off.

“We need to get that meeting on the calendar.” It was a question, even though he didn’t phrase it as one. He didn’t want Sirius to have the option of saying no, but he also didn’t know Sirius’s schedule.

“I’m out of office Remus.” Remus found himself getting even more irritated. Was Sirius just avoiding him?

He felt his voice rising, this was hurting his feelings if he was honest. “You’re always out of office. You never answer when I call you, it’s fucking nutty how hard I have to work to get you on the phone.” That wasn’t entirely true. He had heard Sirius was online quite a bit, it just never seemed to be when Remus wanted to talk to him.

“It wouldn’t be if you could just check the google calendar or get your nose out of my business.” Well, that wasn’t the response Remus was expecting. Get his nose out of Sirius’s business? Had he been caught out for asking around?

“I don’t think that’s—“ He began, but Sirius was quick to cut him off. This wasn’t fair.

“Stop asking people why I’m not in the office. It’s none of your business. It’s fucking weird. I don’t know you.” Well if his feelings weren’t hurt before, they were after that statement. He wanted to get to know Sirius, that was the whole point.

“I was just–“ Remus wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise. Sirius wasn’t going to let him, and he was finding that incredibly frustrating. He could feel the hot tears welling up in his eyes, even though he was trying to pretend they weren’t there. His breathing was becoming much more shallow, and he found himself picking at the cuticles of his fingers.

“And for that matter, it shouldn’t matter whether or not I’m remote. It seems to bother you so much, but you were the one who tried to put me on the project. You were the one who asked Marlene about it. I’ve been remote since before you got picked up, it’s not news to anyone else on the team. It’s weird that you’re so concerned with me.” That wasn’t a fair statement. Sirius asked him out, not the other way around. And then seemingly disappeared from not only their conversations but also any and all meetings.

“You were the one who—“

“That was a big fucking mistake.” The words felt like they cut into Remus like the scars all over his body were mirrored by the internal ones. This conversation was bringing too much up for him and he could tell.

He paused, trying to stop the flow of tears down his face, to keep Sirius from knowing just how upset he was. They didn’t know each other well enough for that. Sirius was right. “What was the point of it then? Why’d you ask me and then pull this?” His voice sounded far away like it wasn’t his own. He didn’t know why he sounded so small (maybe it was because Sirius made him feel small).

“I liked you until you started prying into my life. I don’t need more people running around trying to dig up information on me.” More people? Dig up information? Remus just wanted to know if he was okay. He wanted to know if Sirius was angry with him, or some other such nonsense. He wasn’t trying to pry or dig up information. But he wasn’t going to say that. So instead, he just mumbles “oh” and hangs up. He couldn’t handle the shock to the system that was more confrontation. So instead he mills about his and Lily’s apartment some more, trying to decide what to wear to this family dinner? He settled on his usual wares because he was already so overwhelmed. He couldn’t risk the way the tags of some of his other clothes, or the fabric blends would make him want to crawl out of his skin. He pulled himself together and left the house, hoping that Sirius wouldn’t make some surprise appearance.

He didn’t understand how he had ended up in this whirlwind, but he was here. He was in James’s home, sitting down to dinner, trying to be chill. He was trying to understand how he had essentially usurped what he understood to be Sirius’s role in the group. He didn’t want to, but seemingly he was because he had no choice but to show up to these plans. These plans at James’s house for dinner seemed sweet, but there were two extra place settings at the table. Remus wondered who the second was from because he was sure one of them was for Sirius.

Who had been seated at the second place setting? Who did Remus not know? It seemed that all of the people at this table were people who worked at quill, or the one-off adjacent person, such as Marlene’s partner, Dorcas, or Alice and Ted. He didn’t know them, so he was assuming that they didn’t work at Quill.

He followed along as they talked, but he didn’t add much to the conversation. He had nothing to say, really. He felt like he didn’t belong here. These weren’t his friends, they were Sirius’s. It felt like he was intruding after that fight over the phone. But he didn’t really have a choice, it was in his best interest to just go with it because these people were directly responsible for his poetic success. He couldn’t do anything to jeopardize his career, so instead, he sat there, staring at the empty chair before him. Was Sirius avoiding him? Had he overstepped his bounds?

He felt the mask he was used to wearing slide back on because he was stressing himself out. He joined into the conversations around the table mindlessly, he wasn’t going to make a mess of this opportunity. But he wasn’t thinking about it until James made a comment about taking leftovers to Sirius’s home. Clearly, his absence was felt around the room, and Remus couldn’t help but feel responsible. He was trying to pretend he didn’t feel guilty, but it wasn’t working. But he went along, in hopes of finding an opportunity to apologize for being so nosy, he just wanted to quell his own fears that Sirius hated him. He was trying to deal with actually being intimate with someone, and vulnerable with someone, after all this time.

He was shocked when they arrived at Sirius’s home and weren’t allowed in. Was the man agoraphobic? Why did he never leave the house? But he didn’t want to think about it, for fear of being considered nosy all over again.

“No, lads. Go home. It’s a school night.” That sounded shocking to him. Sirius was 21, he didn’t have a child. Even if he did, there was no way that child could be old enough to go to school. It didn’t make sense.

“You don’t have a kid,” Remus called, but then his mind roamed back to that first meeting. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Sirius did have a child, and that was the voice he had heard in that meeting. But then he remembers that they had been in Sirius’s house on a Thursday night, and he had seen no evidence of a child. He wouldn’t miss something so big when he had spent so much time in Sirius’s home that day and the day after.

But Sirius doubled down, so Remus dropped it. He wasn’t going to continue to talk about it with them. He just followed along with the group as they left, piled back into James’s car, and headed back to his house. Peter, Lily, and James were the only people who remained in their home. Lily had mentioned James taking them home later, and Remus wasn’t about to pass on a free ride home instead of paying for the Underground. Especially not after a long night of interacting with people. So he waited around, drinking beers and hanging out. Remus found himself becoming more comfortable, getting to know James and Peter even better. He’s caught off guard when James just answers the phone sitting in the room with them. Remus really felt like a member of the group when he did that. But then he suddenly stood up and walked away from the group, and Remus feels like it’s his fault all over again.

“Sirius, I didn’t know. I don’t want you to get him taken from you. I’m sorry.”

Well, that was interesting, because Remus had no idea what any of that meant. Get who taken? By who? He looked at Lily, incredibly confused. She and Peter exchanged a look before he started talking.

“You were going to find out eventually.” He began, but then Lily cut him off.

“Pete, I can explain, don’t worry about it.” But then Lily’s being cut off with a quick look and a dry laugh from Peter.

“At least he’ll forgive me. He wouldn’t forgive you. You don’t know him well enough for that, in his chaotic opinion.” He laughs, but it sounds humorless. God, Remus was confused.

“Sirius is in this messy custody battle over his younger brother. It’s why he never comes out anymore. He’s trying really hard to keep his younger brother happy and healthy, and in his care despite how often he gets taken to court over it. It’s why he’s only in like half of our meetings, and why he’s been working remotely. The poor lad has far too much on his plate.” Peter looks so incredibly worried, and Lily’s working her lower lip between her teeth. This was information he absolutely was not supposed to be privy to, and he felt so incredibly stupid for being so self-centered.

“I– I had no idea.” He whispers, shaking his head. How had he not understood why Sirius was so tired? Or busy? How had he missed all of the signs and the concern, or not thought through that voice that had sounded so terrified and sad? Why was someone trying to take his brother from him? Why was the council so involved? What did “messy” even mean?

“Okay but you didn’t hear it from us, okay?” Lily looks terrified. But Remus is already mentally drafting his apology to Sirius, he didn’t want to cause more chaos in the man’s clearly exhausting life.

So when the conversation shifted away from the absence of Sirius in the group, and when James returned to the group he began drafting an apology. Remus really was pretending that he didn’t hear James saying he was worried about him, that he was alone all the time, and he’d been lashing out. He definitely pretended he didn’t hear the concern in James’s voice as he said “I can’t remember the last time it was this bad.

Remus: I just wanted to apologize for how I was in the meeting, and on the phone earlier. I know I’ve been prying, and I understand it’s not cool. I was worried, and I went about it the wrong way, and I’m sorry. I also shouldn’t have lashed out in the meeting, I swear it won’t happen again.

He didn’t expect a response before the end of the night, but when James was driving him and Lily home, he received a text.

Sirius: Can we start over? I’m not really in the business of making more enemies these days.

He wondered what that meant. Who were Sirius’s enemies? Was that related to the people he was engaged in the custody battle with? He was definitely wary of someone dealing with the council consistently, he remembered his own trials and tribulations with the council, when trying to get a restraining order. But he had made too many snap judgements before, so he was trying not to make any now.

#unremarkable days #my shit #Marauders #modern au #marauders fic #marauders era #remus x sirius #Sirius Black #sirius #James and Sirius #sirius and remus #sirius and regulus black #regulus black #regulus and sirius black

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snowwhite-andtheknight · 4 years ago

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I’m going to preface this off with the fact that I’m a multishipper, and ship quite a variety of pairings, so this list might go all over the place. (Also, I’ve never written a fic rec before, though I have recommended fics and gushed about several often enough.) First of all, Above and Below Surface by Whitehorse102 immediately comes to mind. It’s probably my favorite AU fic that I’ve ever read for ZenYuki and possibly, my favorite I’ve ever read in general. It’s a Mer!AU; a type of AU that I’m always reading, but Whitehorse102 writes it so differently than any other Mer!AU, I’ve seen. The world building is insanely good, and the story reads a lot more like a published novel than a multichapter fanfic; there’s world building that even takes in parts of canon and plays around with them a bit. The ZenYuki is built up slowly. It’s a work in progress of the writer’s, and such a lovely read, that you absolutely would not regret reading it or rereading it. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12201172/1/Above-and-Below-Surface Apparently, the first fic I read was Of Assassins and Apples by Realm-Leaper, though since I sometimes accidentally refavorite stuff, changing the date that I favorited it or may have read stuff I didn’t favorite, I might not be accurate with this. It’s an Obi-centric oneshot collection with two oneshots, that I vaguely remember reading. (Eventually, I’ll share stuff that aren’t on Fanfiction.net, because I read all over the place.) I started rereading it, and it has almostly amazing Obi headcanons. The first oneshot is an Obi and Zen friendship piece, and honestly, maybe this is where most of my Obi headcanons came from as far as backstory. This oneshot collection of two oneshots is well worth your time! I’d wondered if the Mukaze and Obi scene was canon, had convinced myself that the talk they had was canon and took place during the Tanbarun Arc, but it was this fanfic, the second oneshot has an absolutely incredible and in character scene where Obi and Mukaze talk a few things out. (Honestly, it’s on my mind whenever I read a story where the two of them talk or interact in any way, and it a hundred percent affects the way I remember canon.) So do check it out! It’s a lovely two oneshot collection centering on Obi. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12933248/1/Of-Assassins-and-Apples

My favorite ANS OC right now is Setsuko/Vixen/fox, from Nostalgic Family by your1ocalpotato. I decided to read some of Potato’s work on a whim a few months back, once I realized that Potato wrote stories, and I absolutely adore Setsuko, especially within Nostalgic Family; I just love that universe, the added backstory for Obi, the found family dynamics, the way that Setsuko may be rough around the edges from the life she lived, but she cares deeply for her family, especially Obi. Just the sibling bond that Setsuko and Obi have in it is absolutely incredible, and in that particular universe, Setsuko has barely met Izana, so there’s a chance that that slow burn will eventually pick up, and Izana/Setsuko is such a lovely pair; they contrast very beautifully together, and it’s got to be my favorite Izana/OC pairing. Honestly, Potato’s stories are really good and more people need to read them. https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926751/chapters/54800950 (The Den Series is the name of the particular series I’m talking about, though there is a different story with Setsuko, where she has a different backstory, and it’s pretty much all slowburn Izana/Setsuko. Both are worth a read, though I haven’t finished the longer, slow burn fic yet.) As for An AU I Took A Chance On (And Now Love), it would be the Quarantine AU, that Muselover1901 wrote: Here With(out) You. I figured I’d read a Quarantine AU, and that one was really beautifully written. It’s one of my favorites by Muse. (I may throw in a few other stories that I recommend by Muse, because she’s a super talented ZenYuki writer.) I usually avoid writing any Quarantine AUs or Pandemic AUs unless I really feel like I need to. The same usually goes with reading them; I’ve found at least one good Quarantine AU in about four or so fandoms now. (I usually only read one per fandom, if it seems interesting.) Honestly, this is probably my favorite Quarantine AU ever. It’s longer, and the world is pretty well established. (And it’s a really lovely domestic ZenYuki oneshot.) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13668279/1/Here-With-out-You I’m going to cheat a little on the next two, because I actually reviewed them (and reviewed them around the same time). First, I want to mention a fic that Made Me Laugh Out Loud; the first one that comes to mind is A Snowy Surprise by MuseLover1901. It’s the first one that pops into my head, though I know that I’ve laughed out loud at probably plenty of other stories. I actually was unsure before I read it whether it was a romantic story or not, and had been a bit nervous about jumping in and reading it, but once I started to read it, it was love at first sight. There’s a snowball fight in it, and I’ll have to say one particular hit made me laugh out loud. The story is mostly a friendship story. (The kind of story that I always long for more of in any fandom, because I love friendship stories as much as I love romance stories, and I also love family stories just as much.) But it’s lighthearted and doesn’t contain too many manga spoilers for me, since I’m terribly behind in the manga right now. (I haven’t read all of Muse’s work yet, because some of them have more manga spoilers than I’m ready to read. I’m biding my time for the day that I can just binge read them obsessively. It will happen.) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13668260/1/A-Snowy-Surprise So, here’s the story, I’m cheating by mentioning instead of the above one. (I reviewed them around the same time, so it works, I think.) For A Fic That Made Me Friends With The Author, I’d have to say A Quick Library Visit; it’s a short, sweet read, and if you want quick ZenYuki fluff, it’s a go to. I read it around the same time as the above two Muse fics, and for some reason, some of Muse’s newest stories didn’t have reviews, so I figured I’d review. Shortly after, I reviewed A Quick Library Visit and A Snowy Surprise, Muse messaged me to thank me. (She’s really cool by the way.) And then, a little while later, I joined the old ZenYuki Week Server, and Muse invited me over to a ZenYuki Writing Collab Server, and we became fast friends after that. (She remembered me based off of the two reviews I’d left on her stories, which was pretty cool and definitely humbling.) (Also, heads up, I’ll post the fanfiction links to Muse’s stories, but she also posts them on AO3, so they’re there as well.) (I wish there was a reverse for this panel, because through the ZenYuki Writing Server; I met phenomenal writers and began reading their work as well!) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13668268/1/A-Quick-Library-Visit As for A Fic That Got Me Involved In The Fandom, I may be cheating by mentioning this too, since I starting writing fanfics for ANS practically right after I finished watching Season Two. The Mistress, the Plan, and the Secret by MisusedEllipses really made me long to write for Prince Raji/Shirayuki, and really kicked me off in that little rarepair haven, that Season Two won me over towards. This is an incredible fanfic, has absolutely amazing characterization throughout, and is incomplete on Fanfiction. (I’m hoping that somewhere online, it sits pretty and finished, waiting for me to rediscover it. I may be overly hopeful.) Okay, it ties in onesided!ObiYuki feelings, onesided!PrinceRajiYuki feelings, and wonderful characterization and sibling banter between Eugena and Rona! Honestly, Raji is written so well that it practically reads like canon: a very hard feat indeed for any writer to accomplish. Just, wow! I don’t know who to root for: Raji, Zen, or Obi! It diverges from canon right before the kidnapping, so Shirayuki never gets kidnapped, and eventually a rather interesting Raji and Obi friendship forms, though that’s right where the last current chapter is. It hasn’t been updated in four or five, I guess now or soon, years, but it’s well worth a read. I will recommend this to anyone if given a chance, regardless of whether the person is a multishipper or not. I love the friendship, the romance, the family, and humor that comes along with Raji’s siblings’ banter. It’s just a phenomenal canon divergent fic, and it’s what really made me realize there was a need for more Raji X Shirayuki fanfics, and it left me crazy about filling that gap. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12156186/1/The-Mistress-the-Plan-and-the-Secret I’m going to make a rather honest claim here, even though I’m not sure how often this writer will come up in what I gush about here, but this writer should: genee is one of my favorite writers in the fandom. (I’m not sure if genee is still active.) When I eventually thought of a fic with A Favorite Minor Character of mine, this particular story came up. history doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes is an absolutely amazing precanon story where it focuses entirely on Ryuu, gives him some backstory! (It’s an amazing read, and it follows his journey to becoming a Court Herbalist.) Honestly, the fandom needs a lot more Ryuu fics. (On a side note, a fic by a different writer also came to mind with this, but since that’s more romantic than this gen fic, I figured I’d stick with this one. The other one that comes to mind is the only fic where I could find Kai as a main character. It’s by a different writer, but if I can stick it into this recommendation, I will tell you more about it.) Genee writes really good fics. I know genee has a fanfiction account, but I think genee might have an AO3 as well. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12687531/1/history-doesn-t-repeat-itself-but-it-often-rhymes For Pre-Canon, I want to mention a lovely story by an incredible (mostly?) MitsuKiki writer that may not actually be active anymore. (Unless the writer uses a different site now.) (This story is actually not a MitsuKiki fanfic, though it is still one of my all time favorite stories by fiesa.) Roses, Violets by fiesa. It’s a beautiful story that focuses on Zen, Mitsuhide, and Kiki during the years since Kiki came there. Zen develops a crush on an OC, who doesn’t like him like that, who actually likes Mitsuhide, interestingly enough. It’s not really a romance story, as it focuses on the way time passes and uses summer and flowers to express that. The perspectives shift, so some parts may need to be reread to understand who is feeling that way, but it’s all written so beautifully. You get to see Zen develop a crush and get heartbroken, Mitsuhide trying to be really nice, knowing Zen likes the woman and sort of trying to let something happen between Zen and the OC. Though, Zen feels that that’s hopeless, since she likes Mitsuhide. It’s more a story of the friendship between Zen, Mitsuhide, and Kiki, and what growing up entails. It’s Zen before Shirayuki, and it makes for a rather lovely, read. (It’s a multichapter, though it’s not a super lengthy one as far as chapter count goes. It’s well worth a read though.) (fiesa and geneee I discovered around the same time, and I love what both of them write so much.) (So, if you like it, it’s always worth checking out the rest of fiesa’s work.) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12864975/1/Roses-Violets I was just thinking over how to mention an incredible writer, that wrote two ZenYuki oneshot that I’ve read and fell in love with. (Spotted the oneshot section. If I have to refill part of the Bingo Board later, so be it.) The Art Of Watching Stars Fall by Zen Wisteria on Tumblr. The metaphors and images are just so pretty and beautiful and with gorgeous meanings. (The writer feels a bit like a poet, and since I love poetry, that’s a definite plus in my book.) It’s really fluffy and sweet and contains pretty much all of the wonderful reasons to ship ZenYuki. It’s a delight to read and to reread. It’s highly recommended by me. https://zen-wistaria.tumblr.com/post/117283326416/it-feels-like-years-since-shes-seen-his-face AU That Made Me Find The Source Material: Lyrias Station by Eclectic80. I’m cheating here too. Shh… I’ve been slowly getting into Star Trek over the years very deliberately, and I just loved this fic so much! I found it first on the ObiYuki Community, going through a lot older fics, and then fell in love with just the way that Eclectic80 wrote it! It’s an absolutely incredible Star Trek AU, and a lovely ObiYuki story. (I think I did start with reading Historical Fiction, and it surprised me by being a Star Trek AU.) (On the note of really great AUs, there’s a Star Wars AU for ObiYuki that’s incredible, that I’ll have to refind at some point, and an incredible Harry Potter AU. I actually asked a lot of questions to people who know Star Wars lore far better than I do, in order to work through how much of the Star Wars AU for ObiYuki could plausibly happen in canon. (I think it was all of it. It was a great and engaging read too!) The Harry Potter AU left me obsessed with it, and the accidental soul bonding spell, whoops. But, since I don’t remember their titles or who wrote them, I’ll have to recommend them some other day. (I think they are also far back on the community page. I haven’t finished exploring it, since I took a break a while ago.) Back to Lyrias Station, it’s an absolutely incredible read whether you know very little about Star Trek, nothing at all, or a lot. I fall somewhere in the middle, and honestly, it’s a fantastic read, whenever you want to dig in and explore. (I may have reread certain oneshots in it way too much for my own good, practically back to back. It’s a really wonderful reread as well.) https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414148/chapters/34487988 For A Fic That Gave Me A New OTP, though my OTP is hard to define, so I’m technically cheating here, but Let Me Be Bold by Kaedix. It’s an IzanaYuki story, and that is a pairing that I was curious about, but hadn’t really shipped until I read this oneshot collection. I absolutely need to read the third oneshot; it’s new, and bound to be incredible. But, the first oneshot had me sort of falling in love with Izana right alongside Shirayuki, and the second oneshot had me cheering for Shirayuki, and all in all, it’s an incredible read that is well worth your time, whether just to read something new or different or whether you are on the fence about this fabulous rarepair. (Since it did win me over to the ship, I’m including it here.) It’s incredible! Go read it! https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982494/chapters/49894448 I was trying to figure out a fic that I loved that was under a thousand words, and since I haven’t paid a huge amount of attention to the word count, I couldn’t think of one at first. So, I was going through one of the writers that I really like the writing of, and stumbled upon one that I immediately remembered. Importance by bountifulnuggets. I remembered it strictly as the wedding story where Zen and Shirayuki hugged Obi, who desperately needed a hug. I’ve never read anything like it before, and it’s saturated with friendship. (Nugget is a phenomenal writer, so basically anything by her is really good, so if you haven’t heard of her, go check out her writing. You won’t be disappointed.) (I got temporarily sidetracked before going through Nugget’s stories, by a story I hadn’t read by Eclectic80, a ZenYuki(!) story, that if for some reason, I extend and do more than a Bingo Board (or find another way to include), I’ll tell you the title of. Either way, the story by Nugget is a lovely hurt/comfort fic that is more comfort than hurt, and it’s definitely a beautiful read. https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433481 I’m going to pause here for now, even though I haven’t gotten a Bingo yet, because I’ve spent way too long today, compiling this list, and kind of want to share how far along it’s come so far. I recommend every single last one of these fics and several more, honestly they’re all so amazing!

#ansficbingo #fic re #sctwilightvampwolfgal #submission

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shijas · 4 years ago

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hi chel! i hope this is ok to ask but if it isnt, you dont have to answer. lately, ive been struggling with my writing. i do still enjoy writing, but i find myself doubting myself more often. i sometimes wonder if what im writing is realistic to how the characters would act, or if my writing is embarrassing. i started posting my works on ao 3 more recently and... while my writing gets a somewhat decent? amount of attention, ill see other works with a lot of engagement and wonder if im doing

heyy nonny! ofc this was okay to ask!! firstly, i totally feel you. it’s completely natural to have moments when you’re unsure and dissatisfied with your writing. if you still enjoy the process of writing, then that’s great! i want to make it clear that your feelings may linger but they will pass!!

i talked about this in an ask on my writing blog once but my three biggest writing tips are: “a first draft is a first draft”, “if you’re writing is indulging you then it’s met your target audience” and “as long as your characterisation is consistent to how you feel about the character everything is fine”.

i think, especially, when you’re writing fanfiction that these are things that you keep in mind! when characterising characters, i can’t personally tell you whether how you feel and thus write about them is ‘correct’ or not! no one can, because the lens of which you read and write them is dependent on your whole life worth of experiences!! and this is fine!! you don’t have to write characters exactly as they are in canon, and in all honestly no one truly expects you too. people read fanfiction because they want other interpretations of a story/characters that they love!! as long your characterisation is consistent to you, rather than realistic to someone else’s standards i think you’ll be okay!

now, posting on ao3 is always a double edged sword, and once again, i totally get where you’re coming from. i think everyone who posts semi frequently has a work that they love, which gets barely any attention, and other works that maybe are more of a joke or a quick thing that do surprisingly well. sadly, you can’t force readers or engagement, you can only put your stuff out and hope. if your numbers seem small and the engagement does seem low in comparison to other people, this doesn’t necessarily mean you’re doing something wrong and as hard as that is to internalise or believe, please trust me on this!! i’ve read many a fic with barely any interaction and they’ve been brilliant, likewise i’ve read a lot of fic with a whole bunch of engagement that i personally didn’t enjoy.

a quick initial solution that helped me when seeing numbers really started to bog me down was using the site skin that removed all statistics from every work, my own included. this meant that i could still read fics, but i wouldn’t see anyones numbers, and it also meant when i went on my own page i was forced to look at my works for what they’re about rather than how “well or not” they did by numbers.

another thing that really helped me was advice from a tiktok i can’t currently find which basically said: “30, 60, 100 views might not seem like a lot on the internet, but imagine if that many people walked into your room and saw what you’ve created. they chose to come and see what you’ve created. 15, 40, 60 likes may not feel like a lot but imagine if that many people who had walked into your room to see what you’ve created and told you they liked your work. it would be pretty overwhelming.” i think there’s a really important message in that tiktok. every view, every kudo, comment and bookmark — even if it’s few — is an individual who chose to take a look at your work! they wanted to read it! some of them felt brave enough to kudo and tell you they enjoyed it! some of them were even braver and left a comment saying what they enjoyed! sure, it can feel underwhelming in comparison, but people are engaging, people do care and like your work!

the only person your writing has to be ‘good enough’ for is yourself! and if you enjoyed writing it then external numbers are just a bonus, no matter how big or small!! dissatisfaction is natural and expected from time to time, like i said earlier it will pass. sometimes it’s even a good thing, because if you finish something but feel dissatisfied, that might motivate you to write another draft, or redo a section or take a section out or add a section in! as long as this process is because you want to and it’ll make you happier with your work that’s good. if it’s draining it might be a hint that you should take a break from that project and try something else that you enjoy. you can always comeback. and on that note your ao3 and the fics you post there are not set in stone. if one day you decide you want to revamp a fic, do it! that’s allowed! it’s not a printed published fic! just hit that edit button and change at your hearts content. no one will mind! if anything those few people who might love you fic may be super happy that when they reread it, there’s something new or things have changed a bit!!

i’m really lucky that i have a friend that is not only is doing an english degree but writes fanfic herself, and other friends who frequently read fics and hc stuff over shared fandoms, so there’s always someone there to read my stuff — if you’ve got irl friends that are in your fandom spaces that you trust, i say subject yourself to the mortifying ordeal of being known and talk to them about it!! writing fics in isolation can be pretty hard!! online, i think if you’ve got the nerves to handle it (i do not OTL), twitter is a great place to interact with other writers!! my tips are maybe follow some of your fave writers and try and strike up a conversation?? be wary of the numbers again on twitter!!! similarly, if you do have a tumblr, talk to some of your favourite writers on here, and follow some writing/ao3 based blogs to see whose in the community! apparently there’s even discords for writers these days, so if you’re up to it that’s a great shout. if we’re in overlapping fandoms i love hearing people’s hcs so you can always throw them at me here or on my writing blog!!

i’m sorry that my reply got so long!! i hope that in some way it helps you even a little!! i’m sure you’re writing is pretty amazing and that it’s only going to get better the more you read and write!! have a great day nonny, and good luck, you can push through this!! 💗

#this gucci!!#writers woes on main

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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years ago

Text

Before This Dance Is Through IX

Chapter: 9/16

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

"I'll leave you out here to have your little tantrum, alright? I'll be inside when you've calmed down." John spat, quickly storming back into the club without giving a second glance to his friend.

What was his problem? Tonight was supposed to be fun. John always seemed to encounter that problem: whenever he was trying to have a good time, which was almost all of the time, someone had to go and ruin it by getting upset over something or making everything all serious for no real reason. He was sick of it, even if Ringo was his best friend he wasn't going to put up with tonight being derailed.

Ringo's words had stung him deeply, as much as he wasn't willing to admit it, even to himself. John had heard time and time again that he wasn't sympathetic enough, but he didn't view himself that way; more often than not people didn't even tell him what their problems were then would suddenly explode out of nowhere and blame him for not noticing the fuse being lit. Ringo rarely did, this was one of the few occasions he let his emotions get the better of him and John didn't have the patience, not tonight.

There was only one person left who'd give him the time of day right now, and that was Paul. John shoved his way through the crowds more aggressively than he needed to, but it at least felt good to exert the anger somehow, and asked the first dancer he saw if they'd seen Paul. His name was Stuart, he'd been working at the club the longest therefore he knew John the longest; when he'd first started coming here Stuart had been his favourite, but that all changed when Paul came along. It had gotten past the point of John even needing to ask where Paul was, if any of the workers saw him approaching they immediately knew what question was going to fall from of his lips. That didn't stop John from asking though, just because it was a strip club didn't mean he'd forget his manners. Stuart had given an unsure answer, John always thought he was a little bothered about being replaced by Paul but that might have been his ego talking.

John continued his search, trying to ignore how sticky the carpet was as he tried to move around - whose idea was it to put a carpet in a strip club? It didn't take long to find Paul, he usually always had a crowd of a few people around him and tonight was no exception. As soon as Paul noticed John he politely ended whatever conversation he was having and headed over to him, as he always did. The spat with Ringo had made John forget the reason they were even here tonight, or at least why he was here: to see Paul like this. He looked absolutely breathtaking, if John didn't know any better he would've thought Paul was biologically female. Makeup sculpted his already feminine face, his long eyelashes even longer and darker, his plump lips even plumper. He was wearing the highest heels John had seen so far, a black platform boot which went all the way to his thigh. Over his body was a dusty pink chiffon robe, loosely flowing over his bare arms, which he hadn't shaved much to John's approval. This sight was exactly what he'd been waiting for, and now that he'd seen it all the frustration about what had just happened seemed to melt away.

"You alright, love?" Paul asked, he stepped away from the group he'd been talking to and brushed John's elbow to turn his body to face away from them "Fancy some privacy?"

John let out a weak laugh "I don't have any money." He admitted "I was kinda hoping Ringo was gonna bail me out."

Paul chuckled and John couldn't help watching his coloured lips curl "Is that why you brought him here, so he could pay for your dances?"

"Well it wasn't not the reason." John felt himself easing up already, Paul's hand was still brushing against his arm.

"I can take my break and we can sit in the back, if you want to." Paul quietened his voice a little.

"Sounds like a plan." John never wanted to seem too enthusiastic when Paul suggested this, but he didn't think he did a great job of hiding it.

Paul nodded and started walking around the edge of the stage until he came to a door marked only for staff, he had to punch in a combination on the wall before the door unlocked. This was far from the first time that John had sat with Paul in the back room, in fact he struggled to even remember the first time it'd happened.

As much as John had wanted Ringo to believe he'd only been coming to the club recently, it was a gargantuan lie. John had been coming here for years and the majority of that time had been spent with Paul. The first time they 'met' unfolded with Paul approaching John who had been sulking in a booth surrounded by empty beer bottles. Paul had later explained that he went over to him because he had looked eccentric, with his multicoloured striped trousers and brown fur coat - not to forget the pin.

"Eccentric means one of two things: money or trouble." Paul had explained much later "I don't need to say which one I got from you."

John had been immediately taken with Paul, though he'd never tell that to anyone, with his doe eyes and honeyed voice. When it had gotten to the point that John couldn't afford any dances, Paul had offered a couple for free; the exact wording had been that it'd be put onto John's tab, but so much time had passed since then and no such tab had been paid off. Eventually though, Paul made it clear that this imaginary tab wasn't limitless and that he couldn't make a living off of charity. John had been determined to find a way around it but money hadn't been easy to come by for him at the time, no publisher was interested in his poems and he had no clue what to write his next book about. Paul had caught wind of this, namely because John had gotten drunk and complained about the abysmal condition of his life, and thus a strange new transaction began. Paul loved poetry, and there was no joy greater than discovering a work that nobody else had read before and through John he was able to experience this joy over and over again.

When Paul had suggested to John that he could pay him in poetry, he burst into a fit of laughter that didn't subside for several minutes at least. Once he realised Paul was being serious, the most productive writing period of his life began. The two of them never discussed the poems themselves, it all transpired like an illegal art deal as John would hand over the shabby piece of paper and Paul would accept it with a smile, slipping it into his pocket - or wherever he could fit it - then would lead John away to a private space. Unfortunately, the love Paul had for John's poems wasn't going to pay the bills either and even this had to come to a halt. Yet all was not lost, for Paul had discovered very quickly that when John was craving to see him, he wasn't really desperate for a lapdance, rather he just wanted some intimacy with someone, someone who couldn't express any judgement. This realisation led Paul to inviting John into the staff room, it wasn't completely unheard of for dancers to do this but it was mostly reserved for friends rather than customers, where the two of them would sit and chat over a drink or two.

It was policy to keep a bottle of alcohol in the staff room at all times, just in case of emergencies. But as the manager wouldn't allow anything to be taken from the bar, it meant an array of cheap and often obscure liqours being brought into the room.

"What have we got tonight?" John asked as they took seats by the mirror - luckily Paul was always here to distract John's gaze so he could avoid looking at himself.

Paul stuck his head under the countertop and returned clutching a bottle "Amaretto, it looks like." He read.

"That's barely alcohol." John scoffed as Paul set up two glasses in front of them "Well, at least I can drink it straight."

"Think we need to make a rule that if it's not at least 30% it shouldn't be under the counter." Paul suggested as he poured a healthy amount for the both of them.

John was already drunk enough, but he was never one to turn down free alcohol. They cheersed one another and drank a fair bit before slamming the glasses back down. There was nobody else in the room, as was often the case on a busy night like tonight. Before John had laid eyes on it, he'd expected the changing room to be some kind of kinky sex dungeon with whips and chains on the wall, so naturally he'd been very disappointed to see it was like any other changing room, except with a lot more glitter and a better smell.

"So, do you wanna talk about it?" Paul asked, looking at John through the reflection of the mirror.

Their chats almost always started this way, John had noticed that very early on. Whatever answer he gave, Paul would always respect it. He never understood why Paul just let him ramble on about his problems, or expect Paul to ramble on to distract him from said problems. In the end he supposed it was cheaper than therapy, he could only suppose since he'd never actually been.

"I'd love to, but I can't really. Ringo would kill me." John explained with a sullen look.

"I understand." Paul smiled softly "Whatever's happened I'm sure it'll be fine, you've been friends forever after all."

"For sure." John mumbled, and that was Paul's cue to begin the distractions.

"Tonight's been a right ballache, no pun intended." Paul began inspecting himself in the mirror "When I suggested it, everyone was all for it and now it's all 'Paul, my feet hurt' or 'Paul, this bra makes me look fat'."

"I think it was a great idea." John took another swig of his drink, his eyes were focused on Paul's reflection.

"Oh yeah? And how would you rate the illusion out of ten?" Paul smirked.

"Ten." John answered bluntly "If I was straight, I'd be having a right crisis after seeing you."

"It's a good thing you're not then." Paul rummaged around in a bag that was on the counter, eventually pulling out some mascara and touching up his makeup "I've just had the best idea."

"You'll never charge me for a dance again?" John suggested with a grin.

"You wish, love." Paul winked "No, what I actually had in mind was trying some of this makeup on your lovely face."

John paused "And why would you wanna do that?"

"It'll be fun! Don't you want to see what you'll look like properly done up? I bet you'd make a pretty girl." Paul urged, he was already laying out his makeup out.

"I've worn makeup before, Paul." John stated somewhat defensively.

"Eyeliner and tinted lipbalm doesn't count." Paul retorted, gesturing with the tube of mascara.

John sighed in resignation, scooting his chair a little closer to Paul's, who beamed in excitement. It was moments like this that made John want to question exactly what this dynamic was, he wanted to avoid the word relationship at all costs. On the one hand they saw one another every week or so, always dropped whatever they were doing to speak to the other and had spent hours of time doing nothing in particular besides chatting and laughing. Yet they'd never exchanged numbers, they didn't even know each other's last names and neither of them had explicitly expressed that they enjoyed spending time with one another. Sometimes John thought Paul did it merely to keep him as a loyal customer, and once he realised he wasn't going to be getting any money from him in the future he'd drop him in an instant. But here Paul was spending his only break trying to cheer John up, he didn't even need John to tell him that something was wrong, he just knew. Perhaps John had gotten so angry with Ringo because he'd been able to admit what John had never been able to. Perhaps.

The two of them continued talking and joking with one another as Paul delicately painted John's face. He'd almost finished John's second eye when his phone suddenly vibrated. John didn't need to check it to know it was Ringo, most likely apologising, and so he paid no notice to it. All of this would've blown over by the morning, he saw no point in dealing with it now.

"Aaaand done." Paul announced proudly, he leaned back in his chair to get a better look at his work and his smile only grew.

"This better not inflate my ego any further, I've already got enough issues because of that." John prefaced before he turned to look at himself in the mirror.

The sight absolutely stunned him. Naturally he had to move a little closer to the mirror so that he could get a proper look, a strip club was the last place he'd ever wear his glasses. Most interesting was how Paul had almost painted his own face onto John's, it was like looking at some strange feminine hybrid of the two of them. What John loved most was the eyes, how smoky and alluring Paul had made them.

"After all these years of people telling me to go fuck myself, I can safely say that I would." John turned his face from side to side to get a full view.

"You look gorgeous, John. But that's nothing new." Paul's eyes were filled with joy as he watched John's reaction.

"You're proper good at this, maybe when you get too old for stripping you could be a make up artist." John suggested jokingly which earned him a glare from Paul.

"The day I get too old for stripping is the day you earn a steady wage." Paul quipped back, the two of them began laughing before the door suddenly opened dramatically.

Behind the door was Stuart looking fairly alarmed, it was no surprise that he knew to find the two of them back here. He didn't even question why John was currently covered in makeup, it wasn't the strangest thing he'd caught them doing.

"Bloody fight's just broken out." Stuart explained as he walked into the room, Paul immediately rose up from his seat.

"What happened?" Paul asked desperately.

"I dunno. Two lads just started going at it, think Spike might've been involved." Stuart explained "They've both been kicked out now, it's all fine. Just thought you'd like to know."

"Nothing worse than missing a good fight." John added, he thought that Stuart had been speaking more to him than to Paul.

Just as Stuart opened his mouth to speak, the door opened again, and Spike walked in. He paused when confronted with the sight of everyone looking at him, as though they'd been expecting for him to show up.

"If you stare any longer I'll have to charge." Spike made his way over to his locker and began to change, he didn't seem phased by John being able to see him.

"What happened? Are you alright?" Paul walked over to him, inspecting his face and arms for any damage.

"I'm fine. Some prick just got a little too big for his boots and someone stepped in to help." Spike turned to look at John "It was your friend, actually."

"Not very bloody likely." John gaped "Are you sure?"

"Short guy with a beard. Wears a lot of rings." Spike detailed "That's him isn't it?"

"Shit." John sat back in his chair and let out a heavy sigh "Didn't think he'd go that mental."

"Someone's gonna have to cover my last dance cause I'm not going out there again tonight." Spike ignored John's words and focused on Paul and Stuart "I'm sick of these creeps, I tell you."

"I'll cover for you." Stuart responded almost immediately "Are you gonna be alright?"

"I can get you an Uber home." Paul chimed in, looking around for his phone.

"No, no, it's fine." Spike paused and took in a deep breath "I just need to get out of here."

He'd changed out of his previous outfit, it couldn't really be described as clothing, then headed back over to the door. With a quiet muttering of goodbye, he was gone. Stuart soon followed after him, he didn't tend to stick around too long when Paul and John were on their own. Paul sighed as he sunk back down in his seat, any time anything like this happened it always took a toll on him; it just brought up memories of all the times something similar had happened to him. Now wasn't the time to dwell, not when he was meant to be making John feel better, who was currently gazing off into space.

"Are you gonna go looking for him?" Paul asked, more of a suggestion than a mere question.

"Nah." John sighed, picking up his recently refilled glass "Sounds like he's in a right state, I'd probably only make him worse."

"You should text him at least, it'll make him feel better." Paul pressed his hand onto John's knee.

John paused "You're right." He breathed then pulled his phone from out of his pocket.

Ringo responded almost immediately which was a good sign, it meant he wasn't completely pissed off with John. As much as he knew Ringo wasn't going to take him up on his offer to head home with him if he'd been refused entry, he offered it all the same. All this was very much rehearsed, up until the next message Ringo sent. He was going out for drinks? With who? Wait.

"No fucking way." John almost gasped which alarmed Paul.

"What? What?" Paul leaned forward to try and get a view of the phone.

"He's going for drinks with Spike." A huge smile spread across John's face "Ringo, you bastard."

Paul didn't respond immediately, he took a moment to process exactly what John had revealed with those words and how in retrospect everything then made sense. Instead he picked up the rapidly emptying bottle and topped up their glasses.

"Good thing we've got our own drinks here." Paul said somewhat quietly, then picked up his glass to cheers with John once more.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." John mocked, but both of them knew all to well that he wasn't joking, it was probably the most genuine thing he'd said all night.

#the beatles #beatles #beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #mclennon #john lennon/paul mccartney #john lennonxpaul mccartney #paul mccartneyxjohn lennon #paul mccartney/john lennon

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swannkings · 4 years ago

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Do I want to wade into the murky waters of Ye Old Fanfic Vs Original Fic wars? Yes.

I don’t know who amongst Twitter or Tumblr needs to hear this, but your edgy as fuck takes on whether fanfiction has value or not aren’t new or enlightened. I tend not to get public with my takes on writing, because I was there 10+ years ago doing this exact thing on Quizilla & Mibba, and an individual’s medium of writing and impetus is their own damn business. Any and all writing has value. Sometimes it’s meant for personal indulgence or for small communities or friend groups, other times it has to pass muster for professional publication (which is a whole other shit bag of contention) or mass public consumption.

These arguments (they are never discussions) are also exhausting and pointless. Nobody wins these things.

I agree that Cassandra Claire/Clare and E.L. James are poor examples of professional writers having begun their careers in fanfiction. But, I’d also point out that actual literary agents and publishing houses signed and printed them, and professional editors did at least skim over their works. The authors aren’t the only ones to get blame for shit writing. And let’s not forget Anne Rice, infamously unfriendly toward fanfiction, chucked professional editors out of her equation altogether because she didn’t like them having opinions on her work.

Not all writers want to be published nor want fame.

It does seem to baffle when those words enter the ears of pretentious writers, readers, and others who don’t write at all. Some people write because it’s fun, like a hobby. Sometimes those people, who write for fun, will edit their work and sometimes they let it go as is because it’s just for catharsis.

My big personal project is to track down all digital and hard copies of my writing and catalogue them. I’ve been doing it for 10 years now. I’ve been writing and sharing my writings for the last 18 years. I have a hard copy of the very first major piece of fiction I wrote (a Lord of the Rings fanfic from 2002/2003) and a hard copy of the last piece of fiction I worked on (an AU fic for a Japanese otome game) and a hard copy of my first original novel (a urban gothic from 2017). There is an absolute difference in my writing from age 11 to age 28. And looking at my catalogue of writing, most of it is fanfiction. Do I have original works in there? Yes. Are they good? I think they are, and my friend thinks they are, but whether or not those works are up to snuff for a book deal—that’s up to an agent I haven’t sought out.

Improvements to my writing can be attributed to age (I’ll be 29 in a little over a week), to a university education (a BA in Performance Art from a STEM based offshoot of a way more prestigious school is the most I could afford after 3 years of community college), and alternating writing fanfiction online with a built-in audience/community and sharing original works online (where they got much less attention) and with writing groups/friends.

The truest rule of any endeavor is: you get better with practice.

Does fanfiction enable bad habits? Sure, but so does being educated at an Ivy League school. There’s no shame in acknowledging our own shortcomings. I mean, fuck though, I’d take overusing the phrase “carded his fingers” or inexperienced writers with funky grammar over being a snob with a Linguistics degree and a podcast.

What makes me, an unknown writer, a maybe valuable voice in this here shitkicking?

Because I’ve been doing this for half of my life and because I love stories. I’m an advocate for education and reading, and libraries and accessible information. I’m all for kids (anyone really) picking up comics or graphic novels, or reading fanfiction or webcomics, reading whatever genre or medium floats their boat if it means they’re engaging their minds and imaginations. This extends to film and video games and podcasts and audiobooks too because not everyone has the same level of literacy or ability to physically read or stay engaged with written text.

I don’t have a lot of experience in many things, and I am by no means a fabulous writer, but I am old enough to recognize an old argument and threadbare talking points coming from the mouths of unhappy people.

But is there really merit to writing fanfiction? Yes.

It’s a great way for people new to writing to learn how and practice creating engaging narratives.

It’s a great way for young writers to deconstruct their favorite worlds and characters in order to better understand both the creation of fiction and the types of fiction they enjoy writing. (Heads up: published literary fiction also uses tropes and archetypes)

Fanfiction has a built-in audience. This is perfect for any writers who a) are unsure of their abilities and wish to get feedback, b) wish to remain anonymous for various reasons such as being made to feel embarrassed for writing fanfiction but want a modicum of acknowledgment, c) have rich and engaging lives and just want to share some raunchy fantasies because they most certainly aren’t alone, and d) simply enjoy writing things that make others happy.

Have you seen the goddamned news? Let people have some silly little pleasures.

But what about... you know... brain rot?

That’s a real thing. Twitter has it too (have the last 5 years shown us nothing?) And have you met A Dude From Film School?

Let’s be clear: age doesn’t negate brain rot, neither does only writing original fiction. Young people who are Extremely Online, y’all can have brain rot too, it isn’t just Fandom Olds or your Uncle on Facebook.

You should never let your age dictate whether you are able to engage in fandom or fanfiction, but absolutely should in the ways you engage. Not every piece of fic is meant for you to read and not everyone has to praise the things you write, not even your friends.

For the record: writing tropes, even squicky ones, isn’t brain rot. Not believing fandom is racist or gate keeps is though.

The big take away...

Listen.

If you are a writer who primarily writes fanfiction and you want to someday be a published author of real live books, you do need to create original works and engage with writers outside of AO3, Tumblr, Wattpad, or whatever site is still hosting fic when you read this. It’s imperative you see other parts of the creative world. Stretch your wings, experience other ways of doing. Allow yourself to grow beyond what you know.

There is no guarantee you’ll have a career in writing. There is no guarantee your magnum opus will get you a publishing deal, or will even make it out of the slush pile. Writing to a career endgame can be just as detrimental as writing to a trend.

None of this is even getting into the gate keeping that exists in publishing already and only allows in diverse voices when it’s profitable, making fanfiction and online communities all the more important to marginalized creatives.

It’s perfectly alright to just write because you like writing, and it’s perfectly alright if you like playing in other people’s sandboxes. No one but you gets to place value on your hobbies or take merit from you for not writing like you have a MFA in Creative Writin. Writing a 100k Slow Burn fic takes just as much dedication as writing a 60k original novel, they just stretch different muscles.

#fanfiction #writing #will i regret this?

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daddecember · 1 year ago

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DadDecember 2023 Event Announcement

Welcome to DadDecember 2023!

While this is technically our second year running, we’ve changed purposes a little bit from last year. Last year we were very centric on MHA with DFODecember but this year we are instead multifandom to welcome in everyone!

So, with no further ado, everyone who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome in! We cannot wait to see what you create.

Please make sure to read this post carefully, as many questions have been answered here already. We have also answered all the questions that were submitted through our anon voting form already. If you don’t find what you are looking for there, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here. The mod team will get back to you as soon as possible.

This year’s AO3 Collection → HERE

Before we get more into the rules, I’d like to give a special thanks to everyone who submitted a prompt through our discord server back in September and all 85 of you who voted on the prompts these past few weeks. Event Info & Rules

DadDecember is an annual prompt month featuring platonic father and child relationships. We have a collection of prompts for each day meant to inspire works to be created.

*Due to the nature of this event being platonic, do not submit father/child incestual content. That is not the point of this event. This event is strictly platonic. Thank you for understanding.

There are 62 prompts this year with 10 alternative prompts. Each day has two prompts, one situational/trope prompt and one dialogue prompt. You do not need to use both. While we do encourage you to mix and match prompts with different days to fit your specific WIP, we do ask that you tag the prompt you used, not just the day.

This is a prompt month meant to inspire works, so please don’t take any of the prompts too seriously! If you want to get silly with it or really angsty, that’s up to you! How much of the prompt you use and how you use it is all up to you! If you think it fits the prompt, then it does. There is no gatekeeping in DadDecember.

It’s up to the creator how much they want to produce or what media form they want to create in! Anything and everything counts (and if you’re really unsure, you can always ask!). The idea of the event is to create, no matter in the manner you do so.

As far as “how much do I need to do in order for it to count?” – Well, that’s up to you! All participants, regardless of how many works they put out, will be recognized for their efforts! A google form will be sent out after December ends in which you will be able to say how many works you completed. Works do not need to be published in any way shape or form to count. Participants will be ranked by completion in a tumblr post after the form closes and a custom role will be available for completionists in our discord server.

Should you wish to upload some of your DadDec content to Tumblr, use these tags:

Required tags:

#daddecember

#daddecember2023

#sfw or #nsfw

Optional Tags (but appreciated if used)

#DadDec No.1, #DadDec No.2, #DadDec No.3, ect.

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings and content warnings. Add “tw” or “cw” AFTER the trigger/content warning )

For the sfw/nsfw tag, please use your best judgment. A Mature or Explicit rating (for anything except gore) should be marked as nsfw.

Reblogging Policies:

Due to the nature of the blog and for the safety of all fellow participants, nsfw posts will not be reblogged. - These works are still very much welcome in the AO3 collection.

You MUST tag @daddecember if you wish for your work to be reblogged

If you notice your work has not been reblogged (+ you tagged us) and it has been 2+ days, please send us an ask! It is likely that tumblr ate the notification.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much as you would like! Whether you can get out one piece between now and the end of December or 45, we are here to encourage you all along the way!

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. Due to time constraints, we may not reblog posts outside of December (pinging @Mod Addri via discord will always get you reblogged, though, so you can always try that ;) ).

Q. Can I combine DadDecember with other creation challenges?

Yes, as long as the other challenges allow it as well. Please reference their rules.

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only will count once for your total completion number (unless combined with a different unused prompt).

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes, you can post WIPs. Snippets or other forms of WIPs are completely fine and will still count for completion! As long as you started it, feel free to count it!

Q. Is collaborating allowed?

Absolutely, we even encourage it! Collaborations can be an amazing way to get full completion status (especially if you’re competitive) without as much work! It would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before December?

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a little over a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

Q. Do I have to use your required tags?

If you want your work reblogged, yes.

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Best of luck,

Mod Addri

Also: A special thanks to @eliserael for creating the prompt images!

Written out Prompt List:

Day 1: Reverse Adoption | "I trusted you." Day 2: Snowed In | "I thought I would never see you again" Day 3: Snuggling | "Midnight fast food run?" Day 4: Forehead Kiss | "I'm going to kill you" Day 5: Little Things | "And what about rocks in snowballs?" Day 6: Prison Visit | "There's no gift better than revenge" Day 7: Blizzard | "I won--- WOAH!" Day 8: Holiday Reunion | "Is it supposed to tilt?" Day 9: Abandonment | "You've never wrapped a present before, have you?" Day 10: Emergency Room Trip | "Say goodbye now." Day 11: Patricide | "It's alright to be afraid" Day 12: Hero & Villain | "Oh, I thought presents weren't a thing." Day 13: Vault | "Close your eyes" Day 14: Tucking Into Bed | "Would you hold my hand?" Day 15: Late Nights | "Why didn't you tell me?" Day 16: Decorating Gone Wrong | "You remembered?" Day 17: Secret Santa | "I swear if you fail---" Day 18: Meet the Parents | "Don't do that again" Day 19: Parent-Teacher Conference | "Who are you?" Day 20: Warm Drink | "Is Santa actually real?" Day 21: Home Alone | "Breath in an--- breath out" Day 22: Overseas | "I don't think that's how snow angels work." Day 23: Adoption | "Did you put in sugar or salt?" Day 24: Glitter Overload | "You made bricks, not gingerbread" Day 25: Holidays | "My snow castle is bigger than yours!" Day 26: Disappearance | "Do you have any idea how much paper this thing took?" Day 27: Snow Angels | "Let me sing you a lullaby" Day 28: Burnout | "You hurt me, you know?" Day 29: Injury | "Maybe we shouldn't be doing this?" Day 30: Parentage Reveal | "I love you" Day 31: A New Year | "Would you rather…"

Alternative Prompts:

"I'm not a fan of pain"

Early Mornings

"It wasn't my fault"

In My Time of Need

"This is what I call a surprise!"

A Scooby-Doo Worthy Mystery

"Could I have some flowers?"

A League of Their Own

"Liar, liar, LIAR"

Family Murder

Discord Server + AO3 links for previewing:

#daddecember #daddecember2023 #updates #events #announcement #fandom events

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wulfrann · 5 years ago

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Frost Bite (Andreil Jack Frost AU, part 2)

All for the Game

Rating: Teen and Up

Story Warnings: Swearing

Relationship: Andrew Minyard/Neil Josten, Andrew Minyard & Renee Walker, Andrew Minyard & Nicky Hemmick

Additional Tags: Neil is Jack Frost AU, writer!Andrew, winter spirit!Neil, Pining, Therapy with Betsy, Friendship, Andrew tries to cope with Neil being gone, German Folklore, Andrew Minyard POV

[Part 2 of the When the frost is in bloom series - 8200 words - Published 2019-11-28]

Summary:

A few months after Neil leaves for the second time, Andrew decides to break his first writing rule and starts working on a sequel to Der ausweichende Winter.

He made sure to give the story a definite, well-rounded ending, but for some reason the characters just won’t leave him alone.

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A few months after Neil leaves for the second time, Andrew decides to break his first writing rule and starts working on a sequel to Der ausweichende Winter.

He made sure to give the story a definite, well-rounded ending, but for some reason the characters just won’t leave him alone.

And if he catches himself replacing Isa Holle’s name with Neil’s more often than he cares to admit, well. No one has to know.

Wymack does a poor job of hiding his surprise. Still, given the book’s success, he can only encourage it. It appears Fuchsbau Verlag has been receiving a steady influx of kids’ letters asking for more of Isa Holle’s adventures ever since the book came out. Most of them are for Andrew, but a respectable number are addressed to the characters themselves.

It takes Andrew by surprise.

He’s received letters before - but never that many, and never have his readers (no matter how young and impressionable) written directly to his characters.

It’s flattering.

Wymack promises to have Renee deliver the letters the next time she’s in town - which, according to hers and Andrew’s latest call, should only take a few days. He knows Wymack will probably send Renee with instructions to figure out Andrew’s plans for the book as well, but he doesn’t object.

Let her try - he’ll reveal as much as he wants to, and nothing more.

Keeping Neil out of his mind is difficult. Andrew is reminded of him every time King saunters into the room and nuzzles against his ankles. Whenever he thinks about his book. While he writes. Every fucking evening as he steps outside to smoke.

Every time Andrew looks out the window, he can’t help but picture Neil opening the balcony door to drag snowflakes and white breaths inside with him.

It’s a nuisance.

It chips away at his concentration until he’s glancing at the cigarette pack lying next to his keys more often than he’s finishing a damn sentence.

By the point Renee finally comes back to Stuttgart, he’s about ready to throw his computer out the fucking window.

Needless to say it’s a welcome distraction.

Renee notices, of course, because she knows him better than anyone. But since she’s a good person, she has the decency to wait until after their sparring session to mention it - once Andrew’s sore and centered and lying on the ground, feeling more himself than he has since Spring took over.

Neil throws him off-kilter. Pulls him out of axis and into his own orbit with an ease that’s less of a surprise than it has any right being.

It’s dangerous. And it’s gotten worse.

The first time Neil left, Andrew had been fine. He’d thrown himself into his work with little more obsession than he always did, had drunk more coffee than he probably ought to, but he’d been fine. Spring and Summer and Fall hadn’t all sounded the same.

He wasn’t counting, wasn’t waiting - would not set himself up for disappointment.

But he had grown used to Neil the second time around.

He had let him worm his way into his life - slowly but surely, the shape of Neil huddled on the couch reading with King in his lap had become part of his routine.

There were other things too. Because of course there were.

There were quiet conversations in the night that smelled like smoke; there was a mug that was only ever filled with warm water; there was frost blooming on the window every morning -

There were mingled breaths clinging to bitten lips and a different kind of warmth curling all around them, slow and careful and heady, and yes’s that left him dizzy and hands that stopped at his command.

There was someone to make him coffee while he was working and hot cocoa when he was not.

Andrew had known it was dangerous, but he’d let it happen all the same. And he hates Neil for it. Hates himself most of all, for letting it get this far, for being unable to squash the weak and fragile hope that Winter cradles now in its arms - a snow-white, fleeting flake, as delicate as it is razor-sharp.

When Andrew’s breathing has finally settled, Renee holds out a hand for him to take. She pulls him to his feet, grasp slippery with sweat but steady all the same, then spins around and settles herself on the bench, uncapping her water bottle with a small tilt of her head. If he didn’t know better, Andrew would think it was choreographed - not a single movement out of place, not a breath lost or step unsure. In fighting as in life, Renee moves like a dancer.

A lethal one.

Andrew joins her on the bench and picks his own water bottle up.

“Wymack told me that you’re writing a sequel,” she says. Andrew shrugs and takes a generous swallow. The water feels good running down his throat. His body is wild, abuzz with endorphins - he envies Neil’s flying abilities for a split second. The fantasy is short-lived however, and he quickly brings the bottle back up to his lips. Still, thoughts of the void cause his stomach to squirm, so he taps the ground with the tip of his foot to make sure that it’s still holding steady, and briefly relishes in its safety. “I thought sequels were the mark of the Unimaginative?” Renee goes on, then gets up.

“Imagination isn’t lucrative,” Andrew deadpans. "Maybe capitalism finally got to me.”

Renee taps her chin with one finger and a smile. “That’d be unfortunate. But I don’t believe you.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Andrew says, then follows her up so they can start to stretch. Renee takes the hint. They bend and twist their muscles so and so in silence, and in the wishful hopes that they won’t feel sore come morning - or not so much that they won’t be able to walk, at least, in Andrew’s case.

(Sure, he stays in shape. He has a yearly membership at the gym and makes good use of it. But that level of exercise is as good as a stroll in the park compared to a sparring session with a pro MMA fighter.

Which Renee still is, official retirement be damned.)

“I’m tired of surviving, Andrew,” she’d said. “There are better fights than those we lead for our own sake. Fights that give, instead of fights that take. And I’m finally ready to give back.”

Andrew had taken a drag of his cigarette, aiming for nonchalant. He’s not sure it’d worked. “I thought that’s what praying was for.”

She’d smiled, because she always did.

“Faith without following through is like a cup without water. Useless, unless you plan to hit someone with it.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie,” he’d said, because he’d been buzzed and his best friend (not that he’d admit it) was leaving - and because Andrew liked a good metaphor, too, and that just hadn’t been one.

She’d left the next day with the Peace Corps. One week later, Andrew had received a package: a glass jar, filled to the brim with hollow, ravioli-shaped biscuits as tasteless as the ‘wisdom’ within it.

He’d thrown out the cookies because they were awful. He’d kept the jar because it was practical. (In the bottom left cupboard, beneath the sink. He’s been using it to store Sir’s dry food ever since she’s learned to torn open the sturdy plastic bag it comes in.)

He’s never told her, about the jar - the cookies he’d taken a picture of after he’d thrown them in the trash, and had sent it with the caption: ‘It was an insult’.

(‘You shouldn’t waste food, Andrew.’)

(‘This isn’t food. At best it’s cardboard.’)

Nowadays however, Renee has been leaving less and less. She’s always divided her time between volunteering and earning actual money - whether it was from beating up an infinite amount of people in a ring or doing whatever it is Fuchsbau Verlag pays her to do hadn’t changed that - but the proportions seem to have been reversed as of late, if only slightly so. She doesn’t leave for a full year anymore, and when she does spend most of one away, she never fully breaks contact.

Andrew tells her that, in his own words, on the way back to his place. Renee hums. Andrew knows not to take that for an answer, so they walk in silence until Renee’s done turning her thoughts into words. (And this is another reason why Renee’s his best friend, Andrew thinks. She knows the weight of words. The importance of choice.)

It takes a few minutes, but her voice is clear and steady when she speaks. “When I left for the first time, I thought I was finally ready to be good - truly good. I wanted to find redemption, and I thought that was the way to go about it: throw myself out there fresh out of the ring, and let helping be my healing.”

She pauses. Looks at her hands, loosely curled into fists in front of her. The index finger on her right hand is crooked, bent to the left from a vicious fracture. Her eyes linger on it.

“And it worked, at first, or at least I thought it did. The ring didn’t call to me anymore, not in the way it used to. I didn’t need my fists to stay sane. But I still needed to fight.”

She looks up, and finds something in the clouds, and blinks.

“I told you that fighting for others was better than fighting for myself, and it was - but better isn’t good.” She shakes her head. “I told myself I was helping, but really it was just another ring. I wasn’t giving back - I wasn’t even healing. I was just trying to forget.”

She smiles, then, because of course she does. “Retiring helped, but not as much as I’d hoped it would. It just wasn’t right. I asked Wymack for a job and he gave it to me. And it did help.” Her eyes find his, gentle, open, sincere. “The thing with stories is... they can reach even the most hidden scars in ourselves and pick at it. And I hadn’t healed right, so I needed to bleed again.”

There’s another pause. Andrew surveys the clouds for chances of rain and decides that it’s not for today.

“If I can heal through stories, then I want to try and help others do the same.” She says it like an evidence. A relief. Andrew knows the kind.

He feels it too, sometimes. This sense of direction. This meaning. This there’s a purpose for me here. He’s not sure he has the right.

They reach a street corner that marks the limit of what Andrew has come to think of as his part of town. His neighborhood, as much as the word doesn’t suit him. (There is always an itch where home is. Nowhere can wholly be truly safe, or so Andrew has come to learn. But it’s not as bad as it used to be.)

“How are King and Sir?” Renee asks him with a voice that hints at something else, disturbing Andrew’s thoughts.

Stuttgart’s early spring sky is white today, like a thin sheet of ice. Andrew shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “Irritating.”

Renee hums, playing with the hint of a smirk on the edge of her lips. She doesn’t ask why he keeps them around, then, because she knows. Instead she moves on, as Andrew knew she would. “How’s Mia?”

Andrew throws one of his deadpan looks that’s really a glare her way, just to make a point. He knows Renee’s immune to them by now, but it’s the principle. He has to at least pretend to be difficult.

He lights up a cigarette because he wants to annoy her.

“She’s having nightmares.”

The smoke curls up, volatile and barely there, almost tangible for a second before it’s gone. Vanishing into thin air. Like you. Andrew makes a fist of his free hand. “It’s always the same nightmare,” he pushes on. “Always the same boy, asking for help. But it’s becoming clearer. And the boy is starting to explain.”

“Can I ask who he is, or is that classified?”

She’s teasing. Andrew taps the ash off his cigarette and takes another drag, because that kind of information shouldn’t be easy to ask for. Stories take time. Fortunately for her, Andrew never seems to be able to reach the bottom of Renee’s patience, and she just waits for him to speak.

“Alberich, Prince of Nightmares,” he exhales with the smoke. (And how fitting is it, for this fleeting little prince. Curling away in the breeze.) “It’s in the first chapter.”

Renee smiles, a knowing curve to it. “Where did you take him from?”

“Das Nibelungenlied and some old Dutch poem, Karel ende Elegast. Mostly,” Andrew answers, punctuating it with a vague gesture of his cigarette-holding hand and a scowl. “For now. I need more material.”

Renee nods. She’s still smiling. “Will Isa be back?”

Andrew takes a deep cancer-filled breath, making a point not to look at the wreaths of smoke. His gaze ends up drifting upwards anyway.

He hums a yes.

Renee hums back, pleased and appreciative. Andrew is honest enough to admit that her approval feels nice. “I liked him - and so did your readers, judging by the letters they sent. I brought them with me, as you asked.”

Andrew nods. They’ve reached his block; he can see his door, his windows. The balcony.

“He’s a good character,” Renee goes on while Andrew opens the door. “He and Mia make quite the pair.” Andrew closes the door behind them. “Their relationship is an interesting one.” They climb up the three sets of stairs. “I don’t think you’ve ever written a character quite like Isa, to be honest. It almost feels like he’s actually real.”

Andrew puts the key in and turns, opening the door to his apartment. A soft thump, and Sir’s meow greets them both at the door. His tail is a question mark, a welcome home, where have you been? that Andrew answers by letting her smell the outdoors upon him. She saunters over to Renee then, curious and friendly, the known scent rising up from the shallow depths of her feline memory.

King, on the other hand, goes straight for the shoes. It gets a surprised laugh out of Renee.

“You never did tell me how you got that one.”

Andrew shrugs, shucks his coat off and goes about making tea. He doesn’t have to ask - the only reason he even has any in his flat is because of Renee, though he’s not about to admit it.

“Found him on the balcony freezing his fur off.”

“And you kept him.”

Technically it’s a statement, so Andrew chooses to ignore the implicit question there.

Renee doesn’t pry. She gets her tea and makes a neat pile of the letters Andrew and his characters have received on the coffee table, next to the yet-unopened book on German mythology Andrew’s been meaning to get into. He’s already gone through the other books he has on the subject, has combed every entry on the seasons, on winter - everything white-hair, ice-eyes, cold-hands.

(Where should I take you? Where do you fit?)

The myths are old and paper-worn. Any kind of new ink wears out under their weight, their dust and their mazes. They are enigmas kept alive from mouth to mouth, hungry voices to hungry ears. Humans and their stories. Andrew spins old texts through the spindle of himself and weaves a role for those threads of him that he cards out.

(It’s not you, it’s me. All I ever write is me. Take this image of you, shred it with your too-cold fingers, let me twine your story within mine.

Would you mind if you knew?

I made yourself a piece of me.)

Most of the letters are about what he expected. Kids who identify with the characters, kids who wonder whether Isa Holle is real (Have you met him? Does he really make snow fall? Did he teach you to talk to the wind like he does? and the answers on the tip of his tongue sing yes yes and no), kids who share their own stories with him, memories about winter, about snow, how they’ve learned to appreciate the cold weather more. There are a few from parents, too, who read the book with their children and found themselves enjoying it, and even one from a grandmother.

And then there are the letters that were written to Mia, or to Isa, and all of those kids believe in his story, and there’s even a few of them who say they’ve seen him.

It’s a lot.

Andrew leaves the letters on his coffee table and gets out. He’s not sure he could stomach smoking on the balcony right now.

Here’s the thing: Andrew knows he’s never written anything better than this damn book. He knows. He poured his damn soul into the thing. And he hates that he did.

The story is simple: a lonely girl makes a friend, and together they save the day.

Except it’s a little more complicated than that. Mia, a teenage girl, starts looking for Winter, because it’s the one season she loves and it’s late. So she falls into a well that leads her above the clouds, where she meets Oma Holle - Bringer of Cold, Destroyer of Pillows, Retiree Extraordinaire, and grandmother to the current Winter: Isa Holle, white-haired runaway on a vacation across worlds. Of course, once Mia finds him, she quickly realises that he is not, in fact, on a vacation, but is being chased by a pack of Sunlit Wolves. Shenanigans ensue, and she’s somehow roped into helping him trap them somewhere, and in the middle of adversity a beautiful friendship is born.

Except that it’s not just that, is it? Because Isa’s mother never wanted him and left, and his father is the one trying to get him killed. Because Mia is adopted, and the disconnection she feels towards her loving family is what ultimately drives her to Isa. Because their friendship is founded in part in a strong, mutual understanding of what it feels to be alone.

Bee, of course, is thrilled. She loved the first book, and cannot wait to see how Andrew will continue the story. It would have been a shame to drop such well-rounded characters, after all, although she understands why Andrew is - partially - reluctant.

“Exposing ourselves is hard, and it’s something we both know you struggle with. I’m proud of you for being so vulnerable with your readers in this book, Andrew, even if it was unintentional,” she tells him from over the steaming edge of her cocoa cup. Her smile is as warm as her drink. “The fact that you are now able to lower your guard as you did, though it can be frightening at times, is ultimately a good thing. It shows real progress.”

“I’m not sure I can do it again.”

“And that’s okay. But you won’t know unless you try.”

Andrew has a feeling she already knows something else is keeping him from writing, except that something is gone and never was here in the first place, so he leaves it at that.

Except that he was here, wasn't he? He was there on the balcony and on his couch, at his table. Andrew can’t write it off this time, not now, not ever because this time they touched, because Neil had become more real than a dream and Andrew had made him that way, had brought him that much more into his world by just writing about him. And even though he didn’t want to believe that he did, because they’d tested it, and a whole plane of Andrew’s life doesn’t make sense anymore.

Writing is a mess. The fleeting line between fiction and reality, stupidity and sensibility, magic and logic - he can’t tell where it’s gone. He doesn’t know what he believes in anymore. Stories are supposed to be safe. They’re supposed to bring you somewhere else for a while, somewhere where you can learn and play and hope all in the safety of your own mind. You aren’t supposed to bring anything back. You cannot bring anything back, and definitely not someone, definitely not him, of all things. The savior of trapped strays, riding the wind and clearing up a path for all lost kids. Those kinds of things don’t exist.

(In his weaker moments, Andrew often wonders why he couldn’t have been one of those kids. Where had his escape route been when all he’d had were bruises to cover and fairy tales to cling to?)

Andrew never should have been allowed to write about kids. It would have only been fair. He’d never been allowed to be one, after all.

So why does he keep doing it?

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never save me.

But they had.

Hadn’t they?

Andrew writes.

Not as fast as he’d like to, not as right. But he writes anyway. He pushes through the quiet whirlwind freezing his inspiration over. It’s a slow process, and thankless besides; Andrew has to fight the urge to delete and rewrite every sentence he produces, which is already trying on its own, and whatever he does manage not to frustratingly erase just leaves his lower eyelids twitching in distaste.

He hasn’t felt this solidly blocked in a long time. Usually this is cause for pride - or at the very least, satisfaction - but right now it just means that he isn’t equipped to deal with his own mess, which aggravates him in just that special kind of way.

It just figures that his ever-so annoying cousin would choose precisely this Thursday to hold one of his Mandatory Family Dinners.

Andrew would skip, but then Nicky would never forgive him, and he can’t have that.

(This isn’t true. Nicky would forgive him in a heartbeat. But there would be a look in his eyes, an old carefulness in the way he would move when Andrew’d be around, and that particular mess would take months to undo.)

Nicky’s flat is in Stuttgart West, a little ways off from the center where Andrew lives, on the third floor of one of those older, modernised buildings tourists take pictures of. It takes about one second and a half after Andrew's ringed the bell for Nicky to open the door with a smile bigger than his own face. “Andrew! You made it. Can I hug you?”

“No.”

Nicky shrugs and moves aside to let Andrew step in, megawatt smile absolutely unmoved. “I hope you like carrot salad because Katelyn brought, like, ten kilos worth of it.”

Andrew makes a face. Nicky snorts at it.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have your Schwarzwälder. Erik spent the whole evening on it.”

“Good.”

Nicky rolls his eyes. They join the others in the living room, where Aaron is busy telling Erik everything about his latest hospital story. He’s interrupted once Erik notices Andrew and immediately rises from the couch to greet him.

“You’re just in time for dinner, Andrew! I hope you didn’t have too much trouble parking.”

“You’re late,” Aaron supplies.

Andrew lets go of Erik’s businessman grip and nods at Katelyn, who nods in return and smiles, deliberately saving Aaron for last. “I had trouble parking.”

“You could have taken the tram.”

“He’s here,” Katelyn chimes in with a pointed look towards Aaron. “That’s all that matters.”

She still has her American accent, but even Andrew has to admit that it's barely noticeable anymore. She'd barely known any German when she'd arrived in Berlin years ago on that cultural exchange program, a weakness Andrew had taken advantage of immediately. The fact that he can’t anymore is irritating, but impressive.

Nicky emerges from the kitchen then, steaming dish in hand, cutting both Andrew's thoughts and Aaron's retort short. “Meal’s ready and I’m starving, so you all children will have to bicker later!”

Aaron huffs, but gets up to sit at the dining table with Katelyn in tow and a big salad bowl. Andrew is distracted by a movement in the corner of his eye, and watches Erik take a detour on his way to the kitchen to plant a kiss on Nicky’s cheek. “I’ll get the wine.”

Andrew looks away to sit as Nicky lets out an aggravated sigh. “Yes please.”

Erik snorts and they part ways, Nicky’s smile back in place as he puts the dish down in the middle of the table.

“Tada! Braised chicken with asparagus and baby potatoes, a la Nicky Hemmick-Klose. You’re welcome.”

“It looks delicious Nicky,” Katelyn beams.

“Wait til you taste it!” Nicky grins, sitting down.

Erik soon reappears with a bottle of white that he pours into everyone’s glass before taking his seat, right between Andrew and Nicky, and the chicken starts making its way around the table for everyone to grab a serving. Katelyn’s carrot salad goes around, too, but Andrew passes it along fast enough that he almost knocks Erik’s glass down. Small talk creeps its way across the table as everyone starts to dig in, so Andrew falls silent.

Watching Aaron interact with Katelyn, watching Nicky interact with Erik, listening to them all talk about coworkers and house chores or whether they want kids, Andrew is content to retreat to the sidelines.

When Aaron first had told him about Katelyn over Skype (and hadn't that taken his brother a long time to do), Andrew had felt like destroying the world. They'd been damn lucky Bee had talked him out of using all of his money on a plane ticket across the country. (“He's allowed to make his own decisions, Andrew . You don't have to protect him the way you did before.”) When Aaron had finally brought her back over with him for Christmas, Andrew had had enough time to mull it over that he'd only wanted to choke the life out of Katelyn.

Erik… Erik was different. Erik had saved Nicky's life and thus, the twins'. He'd gone out of his way to make sure the three of them could come back and settle in Stuttgart. He'd given them space. Andrew had hated him for stealing his cousin away from him when Nicky had graduated from college, but he'd only had to glance at Nicky’s smile upon hearing the news to let it slide.

(The fact that Erik could bake had helped his case. Sweetened the deal, Nicky would say.)

At the end of the day, Erik and Katelyn are - distantly - family. But allowing them in has disturbed Andrew's balance, and he still isn't sure if he'll ever gain it back.

Andrew knows, of course, he knows, from countless sessions with Bee, that there are many ways to make a good life. To find balance. And Andrew does like his life, for the most part.

Still, there’s a voice he can’t quite shut up in his head, that likes to sing whenever they’re all gathered like this.

(They don’t need you, and you know that, the voice whispers. They’re all safe now. They’ve even found their happiness. So why haven’t you?)

Andrew opens the kitchen window and lights a cigarette. The smoke fills his shell with a strange kind of heat, one will-o’-the-wisp flickering in the wind.

Eventually Nicky joins him. The night is vast outside, dark and thick and starless, wool-clouds heavy like blankets high above. They watch the city in silence: lonely passing cars and straying pedestrians in the dark, orange electric lights, whispering trees, nocturnal birds. Andrew surveys it all and then Nicky, one shoulder pressed against the wall, his chest leaning in slightly and his neck arched, eyes wandering out the window. They’re crowding the space, the both of them. This rectangular kitchen with its square window and barely room enough there for two.

Still, they’re not touching. Nicky made sure of it.

(They’d had a conversation here, when Nicky and Erik had just moved in. They’d been standing just like this. Andrew had rapped a knuckle on the window sill and Nicky’s gaze had drifted back inside.

“Are you happy?” he’d asked.

Nicky’s eyes had widened for less than a second, then his expression had settled and he’d smiled, quietly. “Yes. I’m happy.”

Andrew had nodded. Nicky had looked at him with that face he still makes when he wants to pry but isn't sure he can. Andrew had taken a drag out of his cigarette and blown the smoke outside, eyes trailing after it.

“Aaron is too,” Nicky had finally ventured.

Andrew had let a few seconds of silence pass before he’d said, “Good.”

“Are you?” Nicky’d asked then. He’d still been looking at him, on his face a smaller, more careful kind of smile. Caring. Andrew had been tempted to leave.

In the end he’d opted for honesty and said, “I don’t know.”

Nicky had opened his mouth, then closed it when Andrew’d glared at him. Then he’d sighed and said “Okay.”

Andrew had finished his cigarette in silence after that, and they’d gone back to the living room and kicked Erik’s ass at Mario Kart. It had been, all in all, a not-so-terrible evening.)

Nicky is the first to break the silence this time. It’s about the book, of course.

“A little birdie told me you’re writing a sequel,” he says. He’s grinning, and looks way too pleased about it. Andrew throws him a glare.

“Who told you?”

“No one!” Nicky says, holding both hands up in defense. “I’ve just got amazing detective skills.”

“Renee told you.”

Nicky’s grin becomes brighter in the face of Andrew’s statement and he shrugs, looking entirely too unapologetic. “Okay, she did. We had coffee together a few days ago and she knew that you’d never tell me yourself.” Andrew frowns. Nicky dismisses it with an eyeroll and a huff. “I’m not going to tell everyone, Andrew. I can keep it secret if you want me to. Give me at least a little credit.”

Andrew raises his eyebrows. Nicky mock-glares at him.

“I raised you,” he says accusingly, pointing at Andrew with narrowed eyes. It quickly morphs into a pout, however, as he goes on. “Shouldn’t that make me one of the first people you tell big news like this?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I run for Chancellor.”

Nicky snorts, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Don’t try and pass this off as if it’s nothing, Andrew. You never write sequels.”

“I just did,” Andrew says, and blows smoke out the window.

Nicky rolls his eyes at him again. “Alright, be difficult. One day you’re gonna get out of your teenage rebellion phase.” Andrew looks at him with a blank face. Nicy sighs, mockingly aggravated. The effect is utterly lost when it all melts into a smile. “I’m glad you are, though, Andrew. Writing a sequel.”

“Thanks,” Andrew says ironically.

Nicky huffs. “Seriously,” he says, and holds Andrew’s eyes with a sincerity that makes him want to look away. He doesn’t, though, because Nicky deserves better. Because he does, too. “I’m proud of you, Andrew. You know that, right?”

Andrew breathes smoke in then out, and in again. “I know,” he says, the words spilling out with the fumes.

“And I’m glad you found characters worth sticking around for,” Nicky adds.

Andrew frowns, but doesn’t respond. He finishes his cigarette in silence while Nicky waits, gazing out the window with a smile.

Erik still sucks at Mario Kart. Katelyn has upped her game, though, and Andrew only takes first place by a hair’s breadth. It’s not the worse evening he could’ve had.

Eventually Spring goes by. Andrew spends most of the Summer holed up in his flat, either writing or researching obsessively.

Renee comes around a few times but she’s busy with her brand new girlfriend, a friend of Nicky’s from oversea with blond hair and a wallet that’s probably the size of the whole country. She looks happy, though, so Andrew’s mostly okay with it. He’s tempted to make sure Allison Reynolds (‘Allie’) isn’t a threat, but Renee’s more than capable of defending her own heart and he’s neck-deep into Der Albtraumprinz anyway.

There are a few check-ins with Wymack, obviously. A few texts from Aaron. Monthly sessions with Bee. Nicky blowing up his phone with pictures of his wedding anniversary trip. Kevin even manages to drag him to a museum once while he’s in town.

Before he knows it the first leaves are already starting to fall.

It’s right in the middle of October when Andrew decides to tell Bee.

He doesn’t tell her everything, obviously. Only the realistic parts.

That there’s… someone. That they met two winters ago. That he left, and then came back, and left again. And yes, Neil came back, once, but what’s to say that he’ll find his way here again?

“Why wouldn’t he?” asks Bee. Andrew has about a thousand answers to offer, but he knows those aren’t the ones she wants him to find. So he searches, beneath the layers over layers of deflection and defense. It takes a few minutes. But here it is.

“There’s nothing worth coming back for.”

Andrew speaks the words matter-of-factly, like it’s nothing. Bee takes it in stride.

“Is that what you believe, or what you think?”

“Both.”

Bee nods, understanding as ever. “Very well. What makes someone worth coming back for, then?”

Andrew is tempted to cut the session short. He’s done it before, and he knows Bee won’t hold him back. But in the end he stays, and forces himself to think about it. He picks the question up and turns it around, examining the responses it creates in his mind. There’s a common factor there, so that’s what he focuses on.

“Protection. Safety.”

Bee hums. “Is that why he came back the first time?”

Andrew shrugs.

“Alright. Let’s try to look at this differently then. Why do you want him to come back?”

Andrew frowns. Bee is smiling over the rim of her cup, a small, patient smile she always has when she’s waiting.

Andrew opens his mouth. “He’s... interesting.” Bee raises his eyebrows at him, encouraging him to expand. Andrew’s fingers itch for a cigarette. “Every time I think I’ve got him figured out, he does or say something surprising and I have to reset my expectations. It’s irritating.” Andrew huffs. It only makes Bee’s smile warmer. “He respects my boundaries,” Andrew adds, because that had surprised him perhaps more than anything else, and because Bee will know. “Doesn’t question them, doesn’t push.”

“Does that make you feel safe?” Bee asks.

“No.”

“Why?”

“He’s a liability.”

“Because you’re not sure he’s coming back,” Bee says. It’s not a question. Andrew nods, even though it’s more complicated than that. But Bee knows this too, and he’s too on edge to explain. “Does he make you feel safer than Roland?”

Andrew frowns. He was not expecting that name to come up. “He’s nothing like Roland.”

Bee hums. “How so?”

Roland wasn’t a dead winter spirit with flying powers, Andrew doesn’t say. He leans back instead, crossing his arms. “Roland was a means to an end. I couldn’t have cared less about him.”

There. He says it with defiance, daring Bee to remark on it. Andrew’s fingers are digging into his arms.

And it’s true. Roland had been an opportunity, useful while it’d lasted.

Neil, on the other hand, is a risk.

This isn’t what he said. Not really. But it is what Bee will understand anyway.

She lets a few seconds pass, waiting to see if Andrew has anything to add. When it’s clear he doesn’t, she leans slightly forward with her elbows braced on her knees. “There’s nothing that you can do that will make Neil come back. That is entirely up to him. What you can do, however, is focus on the fact that you want him to and why, and what it means.”

That’s exactly what I don’t want to think about, Andrew almost says. But he knows that’s exactly the point.

It’s the middle of October, and outside the leaves make a carpet of red and brown. The whole world will be white in two months.

Andrew finishes Der Albtraumprinz’s definitive draft at about the same time that the last dried leaf reaches the ground. As he’s walking to Fuchsbau Verlag with the whole thing printed out, Andrew notices a new sharpness to the cold air blowing South. It bites into his cheeks and the tip of his nose, turning his breaths into small, white-as-the-sky-above-him clouds.

A gust of wind howls into his ears, blowing past his coat to stick something between his ribs. Andrew grits his teeth and pushes on.

It’s the 14th of December and Stuttgart’s Weihnachtsmarkt is in full swing when Andrew finally caves. Nicky has been to harassing him into going with him to the Christmas Market for days, but the promise of Renee’s presence is the only reason why Andrew ends up agreeing to the “evening of Christmas magic and late night shopping” Nicky’s planned.

As Andrew suspected, it ends up involving a lot more gawking at Christmas carols and wandering around than any actual Christmas errands. Nicky always buys all his gifts in November anyway, so does Renee, and Andrew tends to order it all online. So really, there’s no practical reason why they’re here, other than Nicky’s love for the festivities and Erik’s cross-ocean business trip.

So they wander. Nicky bribes Andrew with his weight in sweets, Renee adds a few handmade trinkets to her collection, as well a some decorations for the Fuchsbau Verlag office, and Andrew ends up purchasing a tiny felt donkey he’ll add to Bee’s present.

(It’s a bee-themed teapot. Bee broke hers months ago and has been using a plastic kettle since. The lid has antennas and the whole thing is probably one of the kitchiest objects Andrew has ever seen, so he knows Bee’s going to love it.)

They’re busy buying Würstchen at a snack booth for dinner when Nicky gasps, then starts jumping up and down and pointing at the sky. Andrew follows his gaze absentmindedly, expecting some kind of light display, and feels his whole body become rigid all at once.

It’s not a light display. It’s not even fireworks.

“It’s snowing,” Nicky gushes next to him. “We’re at the Christmas market and it’s snowing!”

And he’s right. There’s no mistaking the fine powder fluttering down into the light from the starless sky above, powdering the pavement like icing sugar. Andrew watches as the first snowflakes touch the ground and instantly disappear, physically unable to tear his gaze away.

It’s like looking into the void. Like vertigo. A part of Andrew desperately wants to look away, but the rest of him is determined to stare, unblinking, as the fear takes over in his guts.

Renee’s voice breaks Andrew out of his spell, making him flinch. “I guess Winter’s early this year.”

The cliff’s edge is gone. Renee stands close to Andrew, smiling softly with sparkling lights eyes and rosy cheeks. A snowflake has caught on her scarf and refuses to melt.

There’s something caught between Andrew’s ribs and it hurts.

Snow doesn’t make a sound as it falls.

They’d had melted snow several times since the end of November. Heavy drops of liquid ice that would beat the world into pulp and then vanish, as quickly as they’d arrived. Andrew would listen to them pound against the window with a warm cup of coffee or cocoa cradled in his hands and relish being inside, where it was dry and warm and comfortable.

Where the rain is a hit, however, the snow is a caress. It blankets the world in silence, covering everything with soft whiteness. It crunches harmlessly as you step on it.

But snow doesn’t come alone; ice and frost are never far behind, and those will cut and crush what the snow has mollified. And the wind will yowl, and the cold will burn, and children will laugh as they play in it all.

Andrew is shaking by the time he makes it back to his flat. He’s taken his gloves off to smoke and the tips of his fingers are frozen red, brighter than the flame he had to cup in his hand to light his cigarette. Brighter than the Christmas lights dangling in the air, too.

He doesn’t take his coat off once he makes it inside. Doesn’t even bother with his shoes, and won’t that seem stupid when he’ll have to clean up. He can hear Sir meow at him from the living room, but not the pat-pat-pat of her paws on the floor. There is no sign of King. The space between his ribs grows bigger.

Andrew makes himself walk into the living room.

His two cats are waiting for him there. They meow at him from his desk, walking to the edge but not crossing the distance, attention focused on something else entirely. It’s only after Andrew has made it close enough to pet each of their heads that he forces himself to look up.

Light spills from the streetlights into the room, casting strange shadows on the floor. Upon the window that lets the light in, something glitters.

As soon as Andrew has set his eyes on it the tiny snowflake blooms, tracing the outlines of flowers and stars, and strange geometrical shapes he doesn’t recognise. It’s beautiful. It covers the glass in a layer that’s thin enough that a feeble light can filter through, but it’s not nearly enough to keep Andrew from bumping into a chair on his way to the door.

As he opens the door, his ribcage starts to ache.

There, standing on the railing with his hair flying around his head like a wild crown made of snow, is Neil. His eyes flicker from the window to where Andrew stands and he smiles. It feels like falling.

Andrew focuses on the feeling of cold steel against his skin and clutches the handle tighter in his hand.

Neil says: “Hi,” and floats down onto the balcony. His smile widens again.

Andrew lets go of the handle and unclenches his teeth, willing the pain between his ribs to fuck off.

“You’re early.”

The smile on Neil’s face wilts a little. He shrugs, looking away, and there’s a lie there. “Climate’s changing. Everyone knows that.”

Andrew tilts his head. “Is that so.”

“Yes,” Neil says, and meets his gaze. Andrew almost swallows his own tongue. “But I also didn’t want to wait.”

Andrew takes a step closer, almost entering into Neil’s space. He watches as Neil takes in a sharp breath, eyes flickering down almost too quickly for Andrew to notice. But then Neil looks down again and this time he lingers, dragging his eyes up slowly enough that it’s obvious what he’s asking. Still, he speaks.

“Yes or no?”

Andrew’s answer is a final step forward and a hand to Neil’s neck, bringing him down.

Kissing Neil is like trying to lick lightning. The inside of his mouth is a storm and Andrew can feel every cell of his body rattling with electricity, buzzing with it from his lips down into his chest where it pools, melting the ice between his ribs like dew in the summer. Andrew chases it, this electricity, brings it from Neil’s mouth to his, holds it in the space between his palet and his tongue where it’s warm. He doesn’t care about the cold or the wind anymore - all he’s interested in, all he cares for is right here. Andrew wants to devour him.

Which is why he stops.

A deep breath through his nose and he exhales, lips still brushing against Neil’s. His hands are framing his face, holding him there, and he can feel his warmth seeping into Neil’s skin.

Neil’s eyes are closed. His lashes are white as snow and flutter open slowly, taking flight. A dazed smile grows upon his face as his eyes meet Andrew’s and hold them.

Andrew swallows. “Staring.”

Neil’s smile brightens. He looks breathless and flushed, and way, way too alive for someone who should have died five years ago.

“I wasn’t sure you’d wait.”

“This is my flat.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean,” Neil says, and holds a hand up slowly to his face, letting it hover near one of Andrew’s own, still holding Neil’s cheek. Andrew flicks his gaze back to Neil’s face without moving his hand, so Neil covers it with his. “This. I didn’t know if I could expect this, or even hope. I didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

There is… something in Neil’s eyes that unsettles him, as he says it. A vulnerability he had never noticed before. Andrew steps away from Neil like he’s been burned and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Neil asks, frowning now.

“I’m not your answer,” Andrew says, biting the words out.

“No. But you’re the one thing I’ve been looking forward to for nine months. So what does that make you?”

Neil’s fist is balled at his side, his right hand clinging tightly to his staff. They stay like this, glaring at each other, until Sir scratches at the balcony door to be let out and Andrew breaks it off.

Neil doesn’t follow inside after him, so Andrew turns around and arches an eyebrow at him until finally he steps inside, shutting the cold air out. King immediately starts rubbing against Neil’s legs, meowing at him to be picked up. Neil crouches down and gathers the ball of fur in his arms, softly smiling down in disbelief as King immediately starts to purr. Then Neil looks up and catches Andrew staring, so he makes his way to the kitchen.

He gets two small pots, fills one with milk and the other with water, and turns the stove on. As the pots heat, he goes to fetch two mugs, and drops three spoons of cocoa powder in his. Neil watches it all from where he’s standing in the middle of the living room, on smile on his as soon as he notices Andrew looking back. Only then, as if he’d been waiting for Andrew’s attention, does he start looking around. Neil takes it all in frantically, avidly, jumping from the carpet to the couch to the coffee table, but lingering upon the desk and the bookcases.

“Those are new,” he says, gesturing at one of the many plants Renee peppered around the apartment in honor of Andrew’s birthday. It’s a maidenhair fern, spilling over a bookshelf from its pot.

“Your sense of observation is noted,” Andrew deadpans.

Neil huffs, smiling still. Andrew distantly wonders what it would take to break it and looks away, letting Neil wander around without his supervision. The water is close to boiling anyway, so he pours it into Neil’s mug, doing the same with his when the milk follows suit. Then he walks up to Neil, who looks away from the bookshelf he was scanning to take the mug and thank him, wrapping both hands around the warmth with a sigh.

“I missed this,” he says, eyes trailing after King as he saunters off, then back up to Andrew’s. “I missed you.”

“It’s just water.” Neil snorts. Andrew takes a sip of his cocoa, mulling the words over in his mouth, and says: “I wrote another book.”

Neil blinks. “What?”

“I wrote a sequel to Der ausweichende Winter.”

Neil blinks again and then grins, a flutter of color brushing his cheeks. “Can I read it?”

Andrew sips at his cocoa again and then turns, walking to his desk where a small package sits, already opened. He takes the book, a test-copy, out, and holds it out for Neil to take. On the cover stands Isa, facing away from the reader, Mia right by his side with a sword in her hands. Isa has his staff, and on his left stands a figure cast in shadows. They’re holding hands.

Neil looks at the cover then at Andrew, then back at the cover when Andrew just stares at him.

“Der Albtraumprinz,” Neil reads out loud. “Mysterious. Is that supposed to be you?”

“I’m not a teenager,” Andrew says, throwing a blank stare at him.

“Neither am I.”

“Good to know.”

Neil huffs, rolling his eyes, but refrains from further comment. He turns the book over, reading the synopsis in silence, then flips it back and opens it. The first few pages he barely even glances at, skimming over the By the same author at Fuchsbau quickly - and then he stops.

Andrew doesn’t need to look over his shoulder to know why. His books rarely have a dedication page, but when they do it’s always on the seventh, right before the actual story starts.

“To the wind that blows the Winter to and fro,” Neil starts reading. “You better come back soon.”

#aftg #andreil #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #nicky hemmick #renee walker #jack frost au #tfc #the foxhole court #aaron minyard #betsy dobson #katelyn #erik klose #nerik #frost bite #when the frost is in bloom part 2 #wulfrann writes #fanfiction

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olderthannetfic · 5 years ago

Photo

Vidding absolutely counts as a fandom, and Escapade is key to the history of vidding.

Notice how the terminology shifts over the course of Escapade: The first year, it’s ‘songtapes’ being shown, then ‘songvid’ or ‘song video’ predominates for much of the 90s, and then we move on to ‘vidding’ and ‘vids’.

The vidshow moves from being more of a curated presentation of old favorites to having a lot of premieres. It goes from just one night to two, then back to one. Vidshow panels where you just watch vids for a whole panel slot come and go. In 1998, vid review starts up: This is a Sunday morning panel for in-depth critique of the vids shown the previous night and is a famously contentious part of the con. And then there was this:

2002, Friday, 6pm - VividCon Discussion (Come discuss the proposed VividCon, tentative time/location, August/Chicago.)

Yep. Escapade was where Vividcon was born!

By 2008, people were talking about how vidding had moved on from Escapade. In 2011 a vidshow retrospective was added to try to counter the lack of vidding-centric programming. There was a big resurgence for a few years, including such hard-hitting topics as:

2016 - Vidding Aesthetics (”Why is there so much show audio in this vid?", "Why didn't that cut hit on the beat?", "What do you mean 'Cheesy?' She's Celine Dion!" and other immortal questions of vidding aesthetics. If you've ever watched a vid, we want your opinions.)

Why yes, it was my panel. Why do you ask?

There were rounds of warnings wank, caused by Oz vids and by that time Absolute Destiny sent a vid of a violent coming of age film.

Check out this 1994 panel description from Fanlore:

"[The technology in fandom panel] included several things that people can now do in-home that they couldn't do five years ago: cutting and splicing songs on Macintosh computers (to remove inappropriate choruses, verses, or the word "girl"); the soon-to-be-easier ability to select different people from different clips and combine them onto a new background (also for songtapes); printing vhs video frames directly to computer screens, printers and/or color copiers (for fun); and zines and/or libraries on disk. Most of the new technology possibilities were followed by comments that the actual work we can do is illegal [...]. Which comments were followed by the statements that seventeen years ago, writing and publishing a slash fanzine was illegal.... [...] a few people [...], talked to me at different times throughout the con about getting accounts or modems [...]”

This is interesting not just technologically but aesthetically. Is the word ‘girl’ bad in a slashvid? Different communities have disagreed.

Conversations about digital vidding and digital vs. VCR really heated up around 2001, much later than you might expect if you’re coming out of an AMV background. While most of Youtube vids on Sony Vegas--a Windows-only program--at Escapade, Mac has been the norm.

The topics that have remained big are vidding aesthetics, including things like how to make an effective pimp vid, discussions of hosting options and where the community is hanging out now, and how-tos for people who want to get into vidding.

(And before anyone asks, the answer is that you should download DaVinci Resolve because it’s free and cross-platform. And you should encode with h.264 because it’s widely compatible.)

The 2020 vidding panels are:

Vidding 101: The Vid Bunny Farm So you’ve had an idea, and it’s gnawing on your leg? Or maybe you have too many vid ideas and can’t choose? Or you want to make a vid but don’t know where to even start? Aspiring fan vidders, unsure-vidders-to-be, and experienced vidders welcome alike to share vid bunnies, brainstorm together, and talk about the processes of conceptualizing a vid.

Vidding Genres Then & Now We’ve come a long way from “living room vids” vs ‚”con vids‚” or have we? Let’s talk about evolving fanvid genres, from ship vids to AU vids to multivids, from character vids to fake trailers, from genre-bending vids to long form vids to cosplay music videos, and more. Let’s talk about all the genres of fan videos floating around YouTube, Billibilli, AO3 and beyond, and also consider if the old school genre terms still apply.

Escapade has had many, many vidding panels. So many that even I feel the need for a readmore. I’ve pulled out the meta ones and left off some single-fandom vidshows and whatnot. Sorry for the wonky formatting, but Tumblr, in its infinite wisdom, seems to have removed the horizontal rule feature.

1991 - "Classic" songtapes were shown at 9:00 on Friday.

1994 - Song Video Roundtable (Bring works in progress or finished works you're having difficulty with for a quick jump-start. Open to anyone who enjoys videos as well as the people who make them.)

1994 - Songvid Editing (Authors get edited and usually have to do at least one rewrite of a story. Artists have erasers. What stops songvid makers from doing drafts and re-edits of their work? Let's talk about editing style (what cuts to use for best emphasis) and technique (how to physically do the inserts.)) [Notice how much of an issue editing is. These are VCR vids, edited in order, so insert edits are a gigantic pain.]

1995 - Techno Vids—Media Cannibals, (What's available with the new computer hardware and software? Can have Bodie & Doyle screwing on screen if we apply the right touches. Should we? How and when?) [Yes. Sweatily. Always.]

1995 - Video Workshop (video makers & watchers discuss the art.)

1996 - Music Video Critique and Workshop (Roundtable critique of videos, how to tell/recognize story, POV, rhythm. Also, tricks of the trade.)

1997 - Music Choice for Song Vidding (Finding the right song for the fandom is almost as great a challenge as finding the right clips for the song. Discussing what to look for in music choice.)

1997 - Songvid Critique (An exploration of different elements of media vids, with an emphasis on aesthetics. We'll look at segments of different songs to see how the images were used in conjunction with the varied rhythms of the music, and to enhance the mood.)

1998 - Media Cannibals Self-Indulgence Hour (Stunned to look back on vidding effort, MC plans to show -- and talk about -- some of their best and worst vids, pointing out some happy accidents and some annoying f*ckups. This is a great panel for people who want to learn about vid-making, the work that goes into them, and what to look for when watching them.)

1998 - Con Vids vs Living Room Vids (What are the elements that make a music vid accessible to a large crown, or more appropriate to an intimate setting?)

1998 - Music Video Show Review (Selected vids from Saturday's show will be replayed and discussed for their aesthetic, technical and musical choices. Open to all, for feedback and fun.) [Perhaps the start of the Sunday vidshow critique, which was also such a feature of Vividcon?]

1999 - Songvid Aesthetics (An exploration of theme, color, mood, and rhythm. Choosing clips to relate to the music and convey your message to the viewer.)

1999 - Sunday Morning Vid Review (Selected vids from Saturday's show will be replayed and discussed for the aesthetic, technical and musical choices. Open to all, for feedback and fun.)

2000 - Vidding Basics (Or "you want to learn how to make a music vid, huh?"—Carol and Stacy will take a group of novice vidders from the basics of what you need on your VCR, to all your hardware set ups, thru the selection of music, to actually doing some hands-on putting a dip (or two) into a music vid. So if you're interested in music videos and you want to try your hand at making one... you know what panel you need to go to.)

2000 - Songvid Appreciation 101 (Remember Art Appreciation? "Why is this painting good?" Well, we're doing the same for vids, using examples from the ESCAPADE Video Show. Let's take advantage of the fact that we've all just seen these vids, and use them to illustrate how to do cool things in a vid. We'll look at clever POV changes, appropriate choice of music to theme, skillful uses of musical changes within a vid, storytelling techniques, changes of mood, cutting on the beat vs. cutting on the lyric line, the different approaches to serious and humorous vids, or single fandom vs. multiple fandom vids, and more.)

2001 - Vidding Workshop (2 hours) (This workshop will cover: a comparison between digital and analog vidding; a how-to for analog vidding; a how-to for digital vidding; and a discussion of the artistic side of vidding, including song and clip choices, and techniques to avoid.)

2001 - Impact of Computer Tools on Vidding (Vidding used to be push-and-pause between 2 vers, and a LOT of patience. Now with I-movie and Final Cut and Macintosh G4's, the technological leap is here and it isn't going anywhere. Are vids better for the technology available to them?)

2001 - Songvid Appreciation (2 hours) (Comments and feedback on vids you saw last night, Escapade style.)

2002 - Art Manipulation Using Photoshop (A how-to overview, with demonstrations in Photoshop, and more detailed techniques for creating photo manipulations, web graphics, and zine graphics. Depending on interest, creation of vid titles and overlay vid graphics may be included.)

2002 - Digital Vidding (An overview of the digital vidding process, including some advice on the hardware and software you need to get started. Learn the basics of editing with Premiere and similar programs, and get an overview of some of the fun options you have when using a computer to vid.)

2002 - Vidding Workshop: Art After Craft (What is the Art of Vidding?)

2002 - Vid Revision (The art and craft of revising vids—how you get from a song in your heart and a bunch of clips on your hard drive to the final product. We'll show multiple versions of a few vids, critique them, and talk about what improves a vid. No technical knowledge needed; come whether you make vids or just like watching them.)

2002 - Vids: Pro vs Fan Editing (A long time fan vidder and a professional editor discuss techniques.)

2002 - Sunday Morning Vid Review

2002 - VividCon Discussion (Come discuss the proposed VividCon, tentative time/location, August/Chicago.) [VVC started 6 months later, in August 2002, and ran until 2018]

2003 - How to Vid on the Computer (A brief intra vidding on computers. It will touch on hardware requirements, software options, and basic concepts of non-linear editing and what makes for a good vid, and, time and tech permitting, it may also include a demonstration of some of the editing basics. There will be handouts.)

2003 - Vid Show Review (A discussion (and literal re-viewing in some cases) of some of the vids from the Saturday night show.)

2003 - Also Premiering Vid Show (The "Also Premiering..." vid show is for vids premiered in the last year that aren't going to be shown in the Friday or Saturday shows. This will be an informal setting and we'll go by participant preference — if folks want to see a vid a second time, or want some time to chat about it, or if a vidder wants some feedback on it, we can decide to do that on-the-fly. If you'd like to show any vids in this show, just bring them to the show itself. There are no hard-and-fast limits on number of vids; we'll just go with what shows up and take turns until we run out of time. Afterwards, consider going out to lunch with other participants to talk about the vids!)

2004 - I want to vid! (But I don't know how) (Introduction to vidding hardware, software and maybe some concepts if we have the time.)

2004 - Made On a Mac: The MacFen Symposium (So you're a slasher and a Mac user. Come and share your tips and tricks for HTML coding, photo editing, website management and vidding on a Mac, Share the programs that have and haven't worked for you and hear some helpful tips from the front lines.)

2004 - Vidding: Creating Mood (Why do rapid cuts of short clips create tension? What does a wipe *feel* iike? A vidder's toolbox Includes more and more options, but how do we know what emotional effect each technical effect will produce? Leave the music at the door; this one's about the visuals.)

2004 - Editing Techniques and Vidding (How can you edit together clips from widely different episodes and movies into a seamless whole? A familiarity with concepts in filmmaking can help you achieve the results you're aiming for. A look at some of the common rules of continuity editing and how they relate to vids.)

2004 - The changing face of vids (How has increasingly cheap technology, wider highspeed access and the new flood of vidders changed vidding? What should we rejoice about and what should we worry about? How do we help make it a winning situation for all?)

2004 - Vid Review (A retrospective on the Saturday night show.)

2005 - Vidding: Let the Lyrics Help You (How to look at lyrics to add depth and structure to your vid. or why top 40 songs usually make you do all the work.)

2005 - Vid Review (A Sunday morning tradition at Escapade, and a chance to discuss those great vids.) [See how it’s a “tradition” by this time.]

2006 - The Changing Vid Audience (The move to digital vidding, the availability of vid source and software, and the expectation of online distribution have all radically affected audience desires and expectations. What do audiences want from vids now? Vidders, share your historical perspectives. Vid fans, this is your chance to tell vidders what you want.)

2006 - Defining the Character Study Vid (We love character study vids, so how do you go about making a good one? What's the difference between a vid about a character, a vid about a universe, and a vid about seeing the universe through the eyes of a character?)

2006 - Marketing Your Vid (How can you stand out among the swelling ranks of vidders? What's the best way to present yourself, and to draw attention to your work? We'll focus on knowing your audience, timing your release, pimp communities, etc.)

2006 - Vid Review (Like Ebert and Roper, but much better looking.)

2007 - Ulead Media Studio Pro 8 and Why It's Better Than the Rest (A compare and contrast of the semi-professional video editing software programs with a strong emphasis on Ulead Media Studio Pro 8. If you are new to vidding, or interested in upgrading your video editing software, this panel should help you make an informed choice.)

2007 - Mac Workshop (The ins and outs of vidding on a Mac.)

2007 - Vid Show Review (Take apart what worked and what was missing from selected vids in the Saturday show. Audience participation at its finest.)

2008 - Ulead Video Editing Introduction (Intro to Ulead Video Studio/Media Studio Pro for those who are interested in vidding but don't have a clue as to where to start. or wouldn't mind a refresher course.)

2008 - Vid Review (Last night was for watching, today is for analyzing. What worked, what didn't, and why?)

2009 - Fannish Aesthetics: Extrapolation v. Subversion (How do we as writers (and especially as vidders) interact with the source material? Is that relationship evolving? What can we say about where we've been and where we're headed?)

2009 - Vid Review (Last night was for watching, today is for analyzing. What worked, what didn't, and why?)

2010 - 2010: A Vidding Odyssey (Current trends in vidding, including what's changed and what's remaind the same when it comes to slash, vidding in particular. We will show some examples of "classic" slash as well as some of the newer develpoments in constructed reality.)

2010 - Vid Review

2011 - Escapade Songvid Retrospective (A trip back to the days of yesteryear, when vids were made on VCRs and Escapade was the place for vids and vid programming. Compiled by Kandy Fong, this show will survey vids from a variety of vidders and shows, covering Escapade 1992-2001 in a fun, informal environment.)

2011 - Decoding Vid Meaning (How do you read a vid? Clip choice, lyrics, structure, symbols or the tone of the music— vids offer plenty of clues, and we decipher them as we see fit. Come watch a vid (or two!) and discuss how we get meaning from what we see and hear to develop a deeper understand of what's going on in the vid. Multiple viewings are required!)

2011 - Vid Review (Flash all the way back to Saturday night to dissect our favorite (or not) vids from the show.)

2011 - The Vidding Explosion (1985-1990) (Who taught whom. The growth of storytelling, technique, and sophistication. Includes vid show and presentation.)

2012 - Vidwatching 101 (Vids have their own language and their own framework for discussion. It can be tough to translate vids into words, but if we have the same language, vid discussion can be wonderfully rewarding for both vidder and viewer. This panel is a primer to get us all on the same page.)

2012 - The State of Vidding Fandom (Ten years of VividCon and roughly the same years vids have been distributed online, let's talk about the state of vidding and the community of vidders. Is there one? Where is it? How do vidders fit in with fandom at large? What are the different options for watching/releasing vids, and how do they stack up for vidders and viewers? If you love vids, join us—whether you vid or not.)

2012 - Festivids Review (Festivids is a fannish vid exchange inspired by the Yuletide fic exchange. This will be a vid review-style panel where we show clips from some of this year's highlight vids and talk about the challenge.)

2012 - MVD Vid Retrospective Show (Sometimes the oldies really are the goodies. Mary Van Duesen has made songvids since the 1980s, working in a range of fandoms. She has also remastered many old vids, and they look better now than they ever did. Come see some old favorites, or find some new ones.)

2012 - Vid Show Review

2012 - Nearly New Vids (So many wonderful vids were submitted for the Escapade show that we couldn’t fit them all in the early show. Here’s your chance to see the rest in the daylight hours (replay of the late-show vids).

2013 - Mac Vidders Roundtable (What’s the best way to vid on a Mac? Our vidding options have changed a lot in the last few years, and it’s been a while since we had a roundtable to discuss and compare our tips, tricks, and processes. This panel is for all of the above.)

2013 - The Art of the Pimp Vid (What makes a pimp vid so addictive one hit will get you hooked? Let’s talk vids for people outside of your fandom. Plot arc vids, character vids, pairing vids: How do you grab a new audience hard and never let them go? Hey there, little fangirl, the first taste is free!)

2013 - The Bestivids of Festivids (This year’s Festivids featured everything from incest testtube babies to care bear Avengers to a surprisingly large amount of kickass femslash. Let’s watch and discuss some favorites from Festivids 2012.)

2013 - So You Want To Be A Vidder (Nobody vidding your OTP anymore? Sad that vidders haven’t discovered your new favorite show? Why not vid it yourself? Come learn the very basics, from choosing programs in your price range to dos and don’ts if you’re planning to submit to cons.)

2013 - How Do Vids Work? (Let's talk about the techniques (not just the feelings!) that make a slash vid work. What makes for a vid that we watch over and over and that sticks with us long- term? We'll talk about these things with reference to a couple of specific vids, see what strategies, commonalities, and differences we can identify, and then open up discussion to additional favorites from the audience.)

2013 - Vidding Aesthetics (Vidders and vid watchers: let’s talk vidding aesthetics. How have styles changed over time? What makes a good vid and what’s just a matter of personal taste? What do you want to BURN WITH FIRE? Let’s get this cage match... err... discussion going.)

2013 - Vid Review (Flash all the way back to Saturday night to dissect our favorite vids (or not) vids from the show.)

2014 - Vidding 101 (Never edited before? Haven't made a vid since the VCR went the way of the dodo? Come learn how to turn those vidbunnies into reality!)

2014 - Vids for the Viewer (We often discuss writing from the perspective of a reader, but vidding from the perspective of vid-watchers not so much. Let's talk about how to read a vid, different vidding aesthetics and how accessible or popular they are with viewers vs. vidders, and impostor syndrome in vid review.)

2014 - Vid Review (Flash all the way back to Saturday night to dissect our favorite (or not) vids from the show.)

2015 - Best of Festivids. From the slashy to the merely sublime, what tickled our fancy in this year’s Festivids?

2015 - The Perfect Slash Vid. What makes the perfect slash vid? Is it the song choice? The point of view? The abs? (Okay, you got me: it’s the abs.)

2015 - So You Wanna Be A Vidder. Bring your laptop or at least a pen and paper and find out how to get started in vidding.

2015 - Vid Review: Flash all the way back to Saturday night to dissect our favorite (or not) vids from the show.

2016 - The State of *Vidding Fandom. Sunday, Noon, San Diego 2. What's going on in vidding fandom today? Where are people hosting and posting? What's next?

2016 - Vid Review. Flash all the way back to Saturday night to dissect our favorite (or not) vids from the show.

2017 - Vidding 101 - Have you dreamed of making a vid but just aren’t sure where to start? We’ll go step by step, talk finding your source(s), choosing music, finding your way with non overwhelming tech-tools, brainstorming ideas, finding collaborators, and learning by doing. Already a vidder? Come and help new vidders find their way, find new collaborators, and make new ideas happen.

2017 - Let’s Collab! New Forms of Collective Fan Creativity , Newport Changing technologies mean that we collaborate with each other in ever-evolving ways when we create fic and vids. What are the possibilities for collaborating beyond geographic boundaries with digital technologies? How are you collaborating with fellow writers and vidders these days? Are you interested in finding new collaborators and new ways to connect? And are these new forms of collaboration creating new forms of creative fan work?

2017 - Vid Review, Marina del Rey On Saturday night, we watched the vid show. On Sunday morning, we talk about it. Join Rache to discuss the good, the better, and the great of the show, including techniques and all of the reasons Charlotte doesn’t vid anymore and never will again.

2018 - Noon (Vids from the Vault, Part One Kandy Fong Newport A curated retrospective of vids from early Escapades.

2018 - Fanvid Feels (What vids do you return to again and again because they just make you *feel* things, thrill you, or fill you with joy, or even sadness? Maybe a vid introduced you to a pairing, or a fandom, or perhaps you love it even though you’re not really that into the source? Let’s look at some of our/your favorite vids and think about what makes them tick. Come with vids you want to talk about in mind, or just come to watch and talk about vids that make us feel stuff.)

2018 - Vid Review (Flash all the way back to Saturday night to dissect our favorite (or not) vids from the show.)

2019 - 3-Minute Pimp Vid (Forget telling: Show us your canon with a vid or clip! (3-5 minutes each.))

2019 - Lend Me Your Ears: Vids and Music (Have you ever discovered a song or musician because of a fanvid? Do you have thoughts on what music works and doesn't with fan vids? Let's talk about all the ways in which different types of music can work in vids, and look at some vids that work with music in awesome or surprising ways. Plus maybe there will be a little singing along...)

2019 - AO3 But For Fanart and Fanvids (AO3 has been great for fic, we need safe harbors for art and vids too. Let's talk about it!)

2019 - Pitch a Vid Bunny, Find a Vid Beta (Have an idea for a fanvid you'd love to see happen? Come with concept, song, source ideas, characters--share your bunnies, find some cheerleaders, brainstorm together. For newbie & experienced vidders alike, all welcome!)

2019 - Vid Review (Rehash the Saturday night vid show with a room full of fans.)

#escapade 2020 #escapade con #fandom history #vidding #vividcon

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thejollyroger-writer · 5 years ago

Text

You and the Night and the Music, Movement III: Andante

a/n: I was hoping to finish this before I dropped off the face of the earth for a few days, but it didn’t happen. Now it has, and Killian’s big secret has been revealed. And there’s art now, because I am unable to exhibit self control.

Movement One: Andante – allegro con fuoco // Movement Two: Allegro Vivace

Also on AO3!

It does bother her. Especially as he continues to act as if everything is normal for the next week: splitting time between her and work, staying at his apartment when he has to be at rehearsal in the morning and hers when he does not. She does notice that he is spending considerably less time at the publishing house and more time at rehearsal, but he says that’s normal as they’re approaching the opening of the new symphony.

The week after his birthday party, he insists on taking her to her favorite seafood restaurant down by the pier — not for the first time in their six months together, but it’s one of the pricier restaurants in the city, and they agreed to only come here for special occasions.

When they walk up to the hostess, she can feel his hand shaking against her back, finally settling there after spending the whole walk trying to figure out what to do with it. His laughter is filled with nervousness, ordering rum on the rocks as she decides on one of the fruity drinks from their specials menu.

She tries to make small talk, try to get him to talk about whatever he’s been ignoring.

“How are your rehearsals going?”

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes widen at her question, setting down his glass of rum before he even takes a sip from it.

“I think this is my favorite collection of songs,” he says, taking just a moment too long to think of this response. “But you guys, you’re — I hope you’re really going to enjoy it.”

“Ruby wasn’t sure how to feel about it at first, honestly,” she jokes, trying to convince herself that she has nothing to worry about.

“No surprise there from that woman,” he says with a smile.

“But also, I was wondering what made you decide to get us all tickets? Isn’t opening night the first one to sell out. And Regina says they’re some of the best seats in the house, so they couldn’t have come cheap.”

This time, when he picks up his glass of rum, he takes a drink from it, pausing the conversation for a moment. “They asked me if I wanted tickets to give to anyone before they went on sale, and when I asked how many I could have, the conductor just shrugged.” He leans towards the table, eyebrows high on his face when he whispers, “I think she might have a bit of a crush on me, to be honest.”

“I certainly don’t blame her.”

He reaches across the table, covering her hand with his own.

“Emma,” he whispers, a soft smile covering his face, one that she returns.

He opens his mouth to say more, just as the waitress approaches their table to take their order. Her name is Tink, and, aided by her short stature and short blonde hair, she reminds Emma of Tinkerbell. She wonders if the name is a coincidence or not.

“Are the two of you ready to place your order?” she asks, a large smile spread across her face, and Emma turns her attention down to the menu in a rush, forgetting that she had already decided what she was getting.

Killian orders the seafood scampi and Emma gets the rainbow trout, Tink asking them a few questions about salads and bread and sides before she leaves their table.

When Emma turns back to Killian, the smile has returned to his face, and when he reaches back across the table to take her hand again, she returns his smile again. But her patience has run out.

"Killian, what's going on?"

"What do you mean, love?"

Oh, he's good.

"We decided to only come here for special occasions, specifically because of the $35 shrimp scampi, but you insisted that we had to come here tonight. You're not as sly as you think, Killian. I can tell there's something on your mind."

He drops his eyes to the table, pursing his lips.

"It's not — I just…"

When he stops trying to speak, Emma leans as far across the table as she can without knocking over glasses, reaching out with her free hand to press it against his cheek. "Killian," she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear her over the din of the restaurant, and this finally makes his pull his eyes up to meet hers. "You can tell me. What's going on?"

He pinches his lips into a thin line, then slowly runs his lip along the bottom one, his eyes never leaving hers. She's searching them for an answer, hoping that pushing him hasn't closed him back off again.

And then he smiles.

"I love you, Emma," he says, as if it's the easiest thing he has said his whole life. It just may have been, if the relieved look on his face means anything.

Her breath tightens in her chest. She's not even sure if she tries to take a breath, or if her body has just decided that she doesn't need to breathe anymore. She would really appreciate if she could breathe again. It's kind of important.

"I don't expect anything more from you," he says, and she still can't breathe. "I don't — I don't need you to say it back, or anything like that. That's not what I want. I just need you to know."

Her eyes are dry. Not only can't she breathe, but she can't even blink. At least her heart is pounding heavily enough in her chest that she can feel that still works.

She knew this was going to happen. It's enough to terrify her, was more than enough to terrify her when Neal said them the night before he left her for good. Killian knows that, knows everything about her, but that doesn't stop him from sitting here, across the table from her, telling her that he loves her. She knows that's not what this is, that Killian and Neal are nothing alike, but it's still a shock to her nervous system.

"But that’s, uh, not it," he says after giving her a few moments, and fuck she's still not breathing, but she turns her attention back to him and off of everything that's happening — or, not happening — to her body, and his eyes are so blue and so real and so, so sincere that she begins to realize just how absurd she may be, not believing that he really means everything. "I think you should move in with me," he says, the words tumbling quickly out of his mouth, but finally she is able to take a breath and the world begins to shift back into place around them. "Or, l mean, if you want — if you need to stay at your apartment to be sold on the deal, then I would certainly be willing to move across town, even though my apartment is right by the concert hall and not any further from the precinct than yours is, but I would — I would do that for you, Emma. I would do anything for you."

"Killian, wait," she says finally, wishing she could have worked up the nerve to stop him at least a few dozen words ago. As she watches the smile melt completely off his face in just a quick moment, though, she regrets stopping him in the first place, regrets even the moment’s worth of time that he currently believes she doesn't want all that.

So that's exactly what she tells him.

"Please don't take this the wrong way," she starts, making sure to squeeze his hand still wrapped around hers. "I really, really care about you, somehow more than I've ever cared for anyone in my life.” She smiles at him, doing all she can to assure him that the last thing she wants to do here is run, what she is sure he was afraid of when she stopped him. "I've told you all the shitty things that have happened to me, and somehow you've still decided to stay. I might not have all the right words to say yet, because everything about you is still so new to me, as I've somehow known that it would be since that very first night.” Now, finally, he returns her smile. "But you and I both have pasts full of pain and hurt and letdown, and I want to make sure that everything we do, that every step we take, is a step in the right direction." When she pauses for a moment, quickly wetting her lips, both unsure of what else to say and whether she wants him to respond, she decides that the silence sitting between them is the worst option. "Please," she whispers, her eyes searching his face for some sort of response, "Just be patient with me."

The silence only lasts for another moment, but she feels like it is the longest moment of her life. And then, his face softens, no longer staring at her as if she has burned down his whole world, and everything that did not shift back into place when she could breathe again fixes itself now.

"Okay."

———**———

Emma thought for sure that was the secret he's been hiding, convinced herself that he was just really nervous about asking her to move in with him, about telling her that he — about saying what he did at the restaurant. But two nights later, when they are at the bar with his friends, Robin tries to convince her otherwise.

"No, no, Emma, I'm telling you, that's not it." They are sitting at a small table in the corner, watching us Belle and Regina absolutely kick his and Will's asses at darts. "I've seen Killian nervous in relationships when he was with—” He stops for a moment, looking at her across the top of his glass. "— before. And this isn't that. I mean, don't think I'm not happy my oldest friend has found someone that makes him happy, but I really think he's hiding more than just the next step of your relationship."

That certainly doesn’t make Emma any less worried about it all, still trying to figure out what Killian, the most open and honest person she has ever met, could possibly have to hide from all of them.

But the weight of that worry is nothing compared to the surprise that comes to her the very next day:

“He did what?” Elsa asks at the exact moment Ruby yells, “Why the hell are we just learning about this now?”, rounded out perfectly with Mary Margaret’s scream in the background.

“He — he asked me to move in with him,” she says again, her cheeks reddening, deciding to keep the other half of the revelation to herself.

“What did you say?” Elsa, of course, is the most levelheaded of them as the other two quickly lose their minds (though she’s fairly sure Ruby pregamed their brunch with something much stronger than mimosas.)

“I told him…” she starts, really thinking about she did tell him for the first time. “That I didn’t want to rush things, that I needed to make sure that we were both sure of things before we took the next step, just because we’ve been so hurt in the past.”

Elsa nods, but when Mary Margaret steps back into the room from the kitchen, she wears a frown to match Ruby’s.

“But you do want this, though, don’t you?” Ruby asks, and Emma pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth.

“Oh my god!” Mary Margaret cries, quickly crossing the room to sit next to her on the couch again.

“What?” Emma asks.

“You do!” she responds, hitting Emma’s shoulder with her hand. “You want this! You may not have been sure when he asked you, but you’re sure now!”

Another squeal fills the room, and Emma laughs silently to herself.

Because Mary Margaret is right. She wasn’t sure that night, didn’t want to be too sure of anything in the moment, but now that she has had some time to think about it — and to talk it out with the ladies that know her better than she knows herself — she realizes that they’re right.

She does want to move in with him. And — holy shit — she’s pretty sure she also loves him.

———**———

The next few days pass quickly, excitement for Killian’s performance at the concert hall buzzing through all of them (even Ruby, though probably aided by a little wine). They meet around the corner from the entrance, out of the way of most of the traffic and able to then come in as a group and figure out seating instead of needing to shuffle every time someone else shows up.

(Of course it was Regina’s plan.)

They take their seats, Emma between Mary Margaret and Ruby, and as the house lights go down and the curtain begins to rise, Emma leans over towards Mary Margaret and whispers, “I’ve decided to move in with him, by the way. I was gonna tell him tonight.”

But there is no response from her friend, whose eyes are locked on the stage.

Locked on the spotlights.

Because, front and center, lit up by not one spotlight, but three, leading the tuning of the orchestra, is Killian.

First chair.

Killian is first chair.

Holy shit.

She leans forward to look down the row, to see who else in their group is stunned, but the answer is all of them.

And when Robin leans forward the same way she is, she can see the knowing look on his face before they bring down the rest of the lights so the conductor can make her entrance.

Because this is it. This is Killian’s secret. Not wanting to move in with her, not being ready to say that he’s in love with her. Not only did he hide even auditioning for first chair, but he hid getting it, just so he could surprise them all with it.

They play beautifully through the first piece, but it is not until the second movement starts that Emma realizes why it seems so familiar: it is the Mendelssohn symphony from their first night together, which she quickly learned is Killian’s favorite piece to make love to.

Killian’s favorite piece to put on in the background while he does the dishes or goes for a run or folds the laundry, the piece that he hums almost as much as Vivaldi, the piece that has quickly become her favorite, too.

When she closes her eyes, she sees him perched over her, memories of the things he has done to her, of his lips on her skin, of all the times he has brought her to completion with his tongue, his fingers, his cock — but when she feels her cheeks begin to burn, she knows she has to bring her mind back to the concert hall.

So, she watches him play instead. He's brilliant, the look on his face unlike any other expression she has seen from him, even when he practices in front of her. (And even that one time that she went down on him while he was playing to see if he could keep playing like he did in his dream that very first morning — and while he tried, it didn't take long before he couldn’t get through anything faster than quarter notes before he gave up and gave in to her.)

As the memory of that specific afternoon rolls through her head, Mary Margaret leans over and whispers, “He really is incredible,” but she is so focused on his movements that she does not respond.

The second movement becomes the third, and then the fourth.

When the piece is over and the applause begins, Robin leans forward to find Liam in their row. “Did you know he got first chair?” he asks, but Killian’s brother just shakes his head.

They both turn to Emma. “Did you know?” Liam asks, almost angrily, and Emma doesn’t fail to notice Elsa’s hand placed on his arm, though she hasn’t yet moved to tell anyone other than Emma that she has a crush on the older Jones brother.

Emma shakes her head, as well. “I didn’t even know he was auditioning.”

As the applause dies down, the conductor steps off her platform to pull a microphone out of its stand behind her. Killian had described her to Emma before, had even pulled up her picture from the Symphony’s website, but the tall black woman on stage seems to emit an even bigger presence than Killian tried to describe. She is dressed in a sparkling emerald green gown, just long enough to show off her silver stilettos — both a sharp contrast to the black suits with crisp white shirts worn by the rest of the performers.

“The piece you’ve just heard was Mendelssohn’s Fifth Symphony in D Major, also called ‘Reformation.’ It was composed between 1829 and 1830, and Mendelssohn hoped to have it scored and toured fast enough to be ready for performance at the 300th anniversary of the Presentation of the Augsburg Confession in Berlin, a celebration of the day the new Lutheran church presented the doctrine on which it was founded. However, Mendelssohn fell ill while working on the piece, and it was not completed in time to be part of the celebration. It is certainly not the most famous of Mendelssohn’s pieces, but when it was brought to me as I was planning the performance for this evening, I knew it would be the perfect way to begin this new tour. My name is Ursula Boone, and I would personally like to thank each of you for being out here with us this evening, and I welcome you to the opening night of this fall’s tour for the Boston Symphony Orchestra.”

She smiles out to the audience, and applause begins again, though it fizzles out quickly.

“Before we continue, I would like to introduce all of you to someone who has quickly become important to this group, especially since it is his first night in the highly esteemed position of first chair violin.” She motions for him to stand, and though he shakes his head at first, his smile growing as his cheeks grow redder than the hot lights on the stage already make them, he does as she asks. Emma even hears some of the audience gasp when they realize that he only has one hand.

“During my fifteen years as a conductor, and quite a few more before that as a performer, I have never met anyone who deserves this opportunity as much as Killian Jones does. When our previous first chair left a few months ago, I was not looking forward to having to go through auditions to replace her. To spice things up a little, my assistant conductor and I decided to allow each person auditioning to choose their own solo piece, as well as play through a piece of my choosing, since the auditions were blind and we needed some way to tell them all apart. I never knew who was playing for me, but as soon as I heard this man in front of you play perfectly through part of this next piece we have prepared for you, he stole my heart away.”

At this, Emma turns her attention to him, and he is blushing so much he looks like he just wants to disappear, ducking his head to hide the embarrassment of the spotlight from most of the audience.

“However, the conductor tends to get close to whoever sits in the first chair position, and if I have learned anything over these past few weeks as we prepared for this performance, it is that I was too late, and that Killian had already given his heart to a wonderful woman that the man never stops talking about, who I’ve been told is in the audience tonight.”

Ruby begins to stand up next to her, no doubt to make sure that she is just as embarrassed as Killian is, but both Emma and Elsa hold her down in her seat to stop her. Mary Margaret practically squeals on the other side, and she is glad to hear that comments are not just coming from her row, but from all over the audience.

Everything is silenced, however, as Killian approaches Ursula, trading her his violin for the microphone.

They can all tell that he is incredibly nervous, but he smiles into the spotlight nonetheless before starting. "See, I'm maybe not the best friend, or the best boyfriend, because the decision to audition for the first chair position is definitely one that you should share with the people around you. But, my lovely Swan, the past six months have been the brightest of my life, and whether you knew it or not, you have pushed me to defy limits I didn't even know I set for myself, like reaching for this first chair position. You inspire me every day to be a better person, a better friend, a better boyfriend, and a better musician. You've reminded me of Vivaldi's Summer since I first saw you sitting across that bar, and now I get to play it for you. So, wherever you are out there, Swan, I dedicate this piece, this performance, and as much of my life as you'll allow, to you." The audience goes wild. Ursula does not wait for it to stop before she begins the first notes of the piece, but Emma already has tears rolling down her face.

“Come on,” Ruby says, pulling at Emma’s arm as they walk as a group out of the auditorium and into to lobby. “You’re really not going to make him celebrate tonight?”

Not for the first time, Emma shakes her head, and Liam does the same. “Have you ever done something like that?” Liam asks, posing the question not just to Ruby, but the rest of the group.

Somehow, he once again causes them all to have no response.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. It’s exhausting. The first time Killian had a solo in the high school orchestra, he almost passed out. It’s no small feat to play for three hours on a hot stage with every ear in the room waiting for you to make a mistake.”

Silence.

One day, Emma is going to ask him how he does it. She’s assuming it has something to do with his somewhat scary demeanor. (And, of course, the battleships that are his arms.)

“But you two promise you’ll make him come out one night soon and celebrate?” Will asks.

They’ve reached the lobby, where Emma and Liam are going to leave the rest of them so they can go back and wait for Killian to be done, so they pause instead of heading towards the doors.

“Of course,” Emma says, though it’s not necessarily the truth. All she cares about in the moment is celebrating with him. Alone. Possibly listening to that Vivaldi piece that he has somehow never played for her before.

This seems to be good enough to get Will and Ruby to stand down, pulled out the door by the rest of their friends while she and Liam head towards the back, just as she assumes Liam has done countless times before. Though never after a concert where his brother played first chair (at least, since Killian was in college.)

They wait outside his rehearsal room for a few minutes, Liam’s silence enough to cause her to do the same, but when Killian finally comes around the corner, pulling at the collar of his shirt while the man behind him carries his violin, both Emma and Liam break out into large smiles.

While Liam wraps his arms around his brother, Emma reaches to take the violin from the man behind him, smiling warmly at him before he walks away.

“Mum would be so proud of you, Killy,” Liam says, and Emma can swear that she heard his voice falter a little bit. “Seeing you out on stage like that, playing your heart out. I know I questioned your decisions a lot after the accident, but after seeing you tonight, I take all of those back, little brother.”

Killian is so moved by this, reaching up to swipe at a tear that has started to fall down his cheek, that he doesn’t even correct Liam’s little brother remark.

“Now,” he says, taking a step away from Killian so Emma can hug him, as well. “My only job was to make sure this lovely lady got back here without being trampled by all your fangirls, so my work here is done.”

With another small smile directed at each of them, he turns on his heel, leaving them in the hallway.

“I’d like to take off a few of these layers and drink a few dozen bottles of water before we take off for the night, if that’s alright with you, my Swan?” he asks, his head tilted down as he stares up at her through his eyelashes, fishing in the pocket of his suit coat for the key to his rehearsal room.

His rehearsal room.

She already wanted to take him home and tell him all the things she hasn’t allowed herself to since their dinner by the docks, say with her body what she still is not able to say with her words — but a private rehearsal room, one that only he has the key to in a concert hall that is quickly emptying at the end of a big, busy night, now almost seems like the better alternative, especially once he gets the door open and flicks on the light, revealing the contents of the room to her. There is a small piano in the corner, a small rehearsal space around it with two chairs and a music stand, with a counter running the length of the wall closest to them, a mirror hung above it the whole way, and a large maroon couch against the far wall.

Everything she needs for what she wants to give him.

She watches, senses heightened, anticipating her moves, as he pulls a water bottle out of the mini-fridge that sits under the counter before plopping down on the couch, stretching his shoulders against the top of it. Placing the bottle between his knees, he twists the lid off with his hand, and it is not until he sets the cap on the couch next to him that Emma realizes he might need her help removing the bow attachment from the end of his prosthetic, so she crosses the room to sit beside him.

After he downs half of the bottle, Emma helps him put the lid back on it and sets it at the ground between his feet.

"Let me help you," she says, her voice just as soft as her smile, and she reaches down to help him twist off the bow attachment, leaving behind just the metal piece just below his shoulder.

When he finally attempts to smile at her, she can tell that he is embarrassed by this for some reason, even though this is far from the first time she has helped him with the part of his arm that he is missing. But after she slides the shoulders of his jacket away from his body, pushing it away from him, he fills the space between them and crashes his lips into hers, not even waiting for her to respond before he nips her bottom lip, pressing his tongue into her mouth.

Nothing about their kiss is slow, and it only takes a few moments for Emma to finish unbuttoning his white dress shirt so she can push it from his shoulders as he turns them on the couch, covering her body with his.

"I am so damn proud of you," she breathes, his lips finding all the bare skin they can: her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, the swell of her breasts not covered by the tight top of her gown.

"You're a bloody marvel, you are," he mumbles, his lips never once leaving her skin. "Help me get this bloody dress off you so I can show you properly."

"I thought you would never ask." She smiles, pulling his mouth back to hers. "But I do hate to admit, you're going to have to get off of me for it to work."

"That is a shame," he says, but pulls away after kissing her once more. "But it's a sacrifice I am willing to make."

Laughing at his absurdity, Emma climbs back off the couch, Killian's hand quickly covering her waist, not wanting to completely lose his contact with her. It's the first good look he gets at the dress, a crisp white on one side and black on the other, a small trail of silver gems running between where the two colors meet. It's beautiful, the tightness of it accentuating her every curve so we'll that Killian almost doesn't want to take it off.

Almost.

She turns to the side, allowing Killian a moment to appreciate how the material clings tightly to her ass, before she gathers all her hair in one hand and raises it over her head, revealing a slim white zipper down the side of the fabric. When he doesn't move to help after a moment, Emma waves her hand in front of his face as a joke, and he smiles warmly up at her.

"I need your help," she says, raising her eyebrows at him, but it is at the same time that he whispers, "Sometimes I'm amazed by just how gorgeous you are," and she smiles at him.

"I still need your help," she says, reaching her hand down to find his, and he nods, helping her pull the zipper down her side. She slips the single strap off her shoulder, and the fabric falls to the floor with a whoosh, landing with a soft thump around her feet.

For a moment — one of the longest of Emma's life, as she stands there in just her black lace underwear — Killian just stares at her, taking her in just as someone would take in a piece of art at a museum.

Almost too much like that, she tells herself, but almost everything this man does is a marvel to her, and when he whispers, "Absolutely perfect," she can't help but smile down at him, lowering herself into his lap and sliding her lips against his. It starts out slow, but quickly becomes more, with both of Emma's hands tangled in Killian's hair and his roaming her body, never staying in the same place for more than a few moments at a time. When he runs his lips down her neck and along her collarbone, she gets chills reminiscent of those she got earlier when she watched him on stage, and even as he swirls his tongue around her quickly-hardening nipple, latching his mouth to it, she can't stop the words that come tumbling through her lips:

"Why didn't you tell me? Tell anyone?"

She feels his movements stop a few moments before he pulls away from her, releasing his mouth from her skin with an almost-comical pop. When he leans his head back to rest it against the couch, his eyes are closed, keeping her from reading them for some semblance of his thoughts.

"I auditioned almost four months ago," he says finally, his words soft, but his eyes are still closed. "We hadn't — Zelena left without warning, just came in and told Ursula one day that she was moving to England and never came back. So auditions started abruptly, as well, and as much as I was sure that I wanted to be with you, we hadn't been together for more than a few weeks, and I didn't — God, this sounds so stupid now that I'm putting it into words — I didn't want you, any of you, to get angry with me for deciding to audition without saying anything. Besides, I didn't think I was actually going to get it, I just wanted to audition to have another one under my belt, and then when Ursula told me that I got it, I didn't know how to tell you. I was going to on my birthday, was all ready to tell everyone, but then I got this stupid idea that it would be funny for you all to learn when I stepped out on the stage and that was what I decided to do." Finally, he opens his eyes, raising his head from the back of the couch to find her gaze, the beginnings of a smile on his face, embarrassment slowly darkening his cheeks. "I almost told you so many times, much more than anyone else, because it's so damn difficult to hide something this exciting from you since I lo—"

He stops himself, a flash of worry crossing his face, as if he is afraid to utter the words he told her just a few days before but hasn't attempted since. She rests her fingertips against his cheek,trying her best to flood her emotions with the words she is about to tell him. Her heart knows it, fluttering wildly in her chest, but it is not from fear or worry or anxiety — it's because it's true, and she knows it.

"I love you," she whispers, and the smile that breaks out across his face is the most brilliant sight she has ever seen.

"Yeah?" he asks, and before she nods, she would have sworn that his smile could not grow any more beautiful, but that's exactly what it does. He surges forward to press his lips against hers, almost forgetting to say it back to her — but he does, not removing his lips from hers as he says it once, twice, and again before swirling his tongue against hers.

She grinds down against him, still confined in his dress pants, but they do nothing to stop her from being able to feel his length hardening beneath her, even more so when he let's out a low groan at their contact.

"Right," he mumbles, his lips against her cheek as he wraps his arm tighter around her back, pulling her closer to him. "We should get back to that."

She nods, his lips now on her neck, and she untangles her hands from his hair to slide them down his chest, breaking the contact between them to unfasten his belt. "Yes, please," she says, quickly working through the layers that keep her from wrapping her fingers around him, and he lets out a soft chuckle. "I want to feel you inside me." When she finds her mark, hot and soft and hard in her hand, however, his chuckle turns into another groan. With her knees still straddling his lap, he holds her from falling from the couch while she makes quick work of removing his pants and his boxers — ("Looser for the performance, so I don't feel like I'm being strangled under all those spotlights," he had told her a few days before, standing in the aisle at Target. "I get a new pack for each tour." She laughed, but he did not, a comically serious look on his face for their location. "It used to be every concert, but that got expensive when I made it to a professional orchestra.") — pushing them down until her hips get in the way, before reaching around her to try and pull them that way. It's a little awkward, but at least she doesn't fall off of him (this time), and when he is finally freed from his pants, she lowers her hips back to meet his, covering him with her warm center but not taking him in yet as she presses her chest against his and finds his lips once more. She slides against him, teasing him — hell, teasing both of them — until she finally lines him up with her entrance, slowly filling herself with him.

"I love you," she whispers, surprising both of them, and he slowly slides deeper. “Oh, fuck.”

“Nothing feels better than being inside you,” he mumbles, stilling the movement of his hips for a moment to allow her to get comfortable. “Hot and wet and —” he sucks in a breath through his teeth as she begins to move above him, his eyes slamming shut and arm tightening around her back. “Fuck, just perfect.”

Leaving one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, she uses the other to brace herself against the back of the couch, warmth already starting to spread from her core. He finds her nipple with his mouth once more, and she is almost wrecked with these two things together — but when he growls, “Touch yourself for me,” never releasing her nipple from his breast, she cannot refuse his demand.

Moving her hand to his shoulder, she takes the one that was holding her up and cups her breast with it, finding his eyes for a moment before he watches her hand slide down her body, coating her fingers with the wetness from where they are joined before finding that spot that needs her touch.

He begins to move quicker beneath her, slamming deeper into her as he moves his attention to her other breast, and it only takes a few more thrusts, a few more flicks of her finger against her swollen clit, and she is crying out above him, forgetting for the few moments of her high that there are most likely still people around them outside the room.

She doesn’t care. She loves him. She’s proud of him. She wants to move in with him.

Holy shit. She completely forgot that she decided earlier she wanted to move in with him. She was so wrapped up in his getting first chair and in wanting to tell him — show him — just how proud she was of him, that she completely forgot.

This is maybe not the right moment to bring it up.

She leans down, pressing her lips against the spot just below his ear as she continues to move her hips against him, the aftershocks of her orgasm spasming through her, clenching her muscles tighter around him.

“I’m so close, Swan,” he groans, which only causes her to speed up her movements, laughing lightly at the waves of pleasure still rolling through her as he continues to slam into her, his hand tightening around her hip — and then he growls, spilling his release within her in a few spastic thrusts before stilling, resting his forehead against hers after pressing a soft kiss on her lips.

In the silence that fills the room around them, they can both hear the movements of people on the other side of the door, and Killian’s cheeks quickly redden against her wandering fingers.

“I guess we could have at least waited until we got ho—uh, back to my apartment,” he says, trying to avert his eyes, though it’s a bit difficult with his face touching hers.

“Maybe I was the one who couldn’t wait to get home,” she says, emphasizing the last word, the one that he tried to avoid moments before. The one they've both been avoiding. It takes him a moment to pick up on it, but when he does, he meets her eyes with his again, the pools of blue filled with wonder.

But he doesn’t say anything, even though she can tell he is trying to form the right question.

“I love you,” she says again, surprising herself with how easily the words flow from her lips when it comes to him. “And I want to move in with you, into your apartment since you seem to be a pretty big deal to the Boston Symphony Orchestra.”

“I love you,” he breathes, also seeming to not get enough of saying it, and slides his lips against hers, but he pulls away before either of them can deepen it. “And as much as I want to celebrate that, we really do need to get decent before someone finds us like this, because then I will no longer be a ‘pretty big deal’ and will instead be kicked out, the laughingstock of Boston who couldn't even keep it in his pants long enough to make it the few blocks home.”

That is enough to convince her, and she grabs a few tissues from a nearby box to clean herself up before sliding her gown back over her curves and moving to help Killian redress. Once they’ve both fixed themselves as much as possible, his violin back in its case and his prosthetic back in place, he grabs her hand as he closes the door behind them, ignoring the few people who are still moving through the performance hall as he leads them out into the cool Boston air.

“Let’s go home, my love.”

#my writing #you and the night and the music #concert violinist killian #wordsbymeganmichael #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #cs fics #cs smut #because theres actually smut in this one!#and secrets!#and my favorite meals!#and my favorite dress!#there you have it folks #movement 4 coming soon #also fun fact the third movement is the shortest of the song but hopefully this will be the longest chapter #oops??

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