#the secret is that this one's been sitting in my drafts half-finished for literal months and I finally figure out what was wrong with it lo

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 1

Masterpost - Ao3

Danny stares at the screen in front of him. The fact that he’s in a library is the only reason he’s not squealing at the clearly well-maintained website he’s currently exploring. As it turns out, this dimension does have NASA. That fact on its own isn’t too terribly surprising, considering all the other ways it’s similar to Danny’s home. What is surprising (and, in no small part, exciting!), is that in this dimension NASA seems to have much better funding. Danny had managed to resist looking up anything related to space for the first hour of his time in the library, but then Danny had chanced across an article about the ISS, and his resolve had crumbled. Not even fifteen minutes later, and Danny is here, exploring the very nice NASA website. Plumbing its depths, really, for all the information it can provide on what space is like in this world.There’s lots of new information; space research is definitely more advanced here than it was back home, and there’s occasional vague allusions to odd things like the livability of Mars, and other oddities, it’s almost like this dimension has come to the forgone conclusion that aliens must exist. Which is certainly an exciting thought, but it also seems odd to Danny. What divergent experiences lead to such a conclusion Danny wonders, as he absently hovers over the opportunities tab for the fifth time. He knows he really shouldn’t get his hopes up, but with a more funded NASA, maybe he could find a way to get a job there eventually. After all he has no real idea when, or even if, he’ll ever manage to go home, so maybe it’s okay to think about the future a little bit.

Maybe they’ve already come into contact with aliens, Danny thinks. Maybe I could get a job working with aliens! It’s that thought that gets him to actually click the tab, desperate to know if that’s even a possibility. The page that opens doesn’t really list specific jobs or anything. Mostly, it seems to just be advertising that NASA is always looking for smart people that are passionate about space (Danny’s definitely one of those things, at least). But there is an interesting little banner advertising a special summer camp for aspiring astronomers, ages 14-18. The idea of that is both surprising and exciting. Danny doesn’t think his home world’s NASA had anything like that. Sam had sent him through with some money, but he’s still unsure if it’ll even work here, and he’s also not sure he wants to risk getting in trouble if it’s just a really close match. Plus it’s definitely not enough to afford the inevitable cost of a whole entire space camp. Danny remembers going to summer camps a couple times as a kid and he knows they weren’t cheap. Still, Danny remembers that Sam had also given him a few pieces of really nice jewelry that he could pawn off for cash, and maybe that could let him afford it?.

It would be so much easier if Danny had a social security number. Or, like, literally anything proving that he really does exist. But, well, technically he doesn’t exist here. Obviously, physically he is here, but he certainly wasn’t born here. He’s basically an undocumented immigrant, just from a place that he literally can’t ever physically go back to. Even the computer he’s using right now highlights just how alien this place is to him, with its large, flat screen and graphics better than anything he’s ever seen in his life. It runs so smoothly, too, that he just knows Tucker would cry if he could see it. And this is what they have in a library. Danny can’t even begin to imagine what high end tech here might look like.

Everything here is strange and new, and Danny doesn’t even really know what he needs to catch up on. He wishes he could have stayed. He had wanted to stay. Of course he had. But after the second time the Guys in White managed to capture him, well, it wasn’t hard to see why they wanted him gone. So when Sam and Tucker and Jazz had cornered him, and explained that they’d found a way to send him away, to somewhere that the GIW couldn’t follow, he hadn’t argued. He hadn’t argued when they dragged him down to the lab, and he hadn’t argued when Jazz shoved a backpack into his hands, and he hadn’t argued when Sam had told him that she’d added cash and jewelry to what Jazz had gathered. He hadn’t argued as Tucker had messed with the portal, and he hadn’t argued when they pushed him towards it.

He can’t go home. Maybe just for a while, but maybe not ever again. He can’t see his friends, and he can’t go to sleep in his own bed, and he can’t come home from school and play Doomed with Sam and Tucker. But maybe all that wouldn’t be so terribly painful, if he could just have one little thing here that he couldn’t have done back home. Danny knows it’s a long shot, but he clicks on the banner, just to see.

The first thing he notices as he reads through the description, is that it offers a lot. Eight weeks, overnight in a specialized science camp facility, an opportunity to experience both a shuttle launch simulation and a zero gravity simulator? The opportunity to experience multiple different kinds of jobs? This isn’t some camp that wants to introduce kids to the idea of astronomy, this is designed for kids who already want to be astronomers. All in all, it’s everything Danny could have imagined and more. It’s not exactly cheap, though. Five thousand dollars isn’t exactly affordable when all you have is some cash that may or not work, and a few necklaces, fancy as they may be. After all, it’s not like Danny knows enough about jewelry to have even a hope of not being ripped off.

At the bottom of the description, there is mention of scholarships, though, and maybe if he angles it right, he can manage to make use of one of those? Danny glances through the list. He doubts he can prove himself worth the aptitude scholarship. His grades weren’t exactly good back home, even if he did have his transcripts. And he’s hardly going to get the financial hardship scholarship if he’s got no proof that he even exists here. One of the scholarships catches his eye, though, specifically because he has no idea what it’s for. 

Danny knows the word meta. It’s like self-referential shit or something. But it’s not exactly a scientific thing. That’s language arts stuff, the kind of thing Mr. Lancer goes on about, and there should be no reason for it to be a kind of scholarship. But maybe it’s an acronym or something? Danny mouses over, and clicks through to see what exactly it is, even if it probably won’t be relevant to him.

“Here at NASA we understand that people don’t always fit our standard expectations of normality!” The meta scholarship page reads. Danny tries not to let his hackles go up at the mention of normality. They can’t possibly be talking about people like him, after all. Nothing he’s seen so far has implied that ghosts have any sort of presence here. “In our efforts to expand our understanding of the infinite expanse of space, it only makes sense to do our best to work with those who do not conform to those expectations, especially when those exceptions often represent unique opportunities for possible field work. If you identify as a meta, and believe your talents make you uniquely suited to extreme environments, we welcome you to apply for our full-expense meta scholarship!*”

The introductory paragraph only leaves Danny more confused, and a bit wary. The references to normality and unique opportunities for field work have bile rising into Danny’s throat, and he shakily opens a new tab, and types the word meta into the search bar. If they’re experimenting on people here too-

The search returns an astonishing number of results. Among the first ones are a wikipedia article on metas, and so many news articles. Danny clicks on the wikipedia page first.

“Metas refers to an individual who possesses meta powers. Derived from the prefix “meta-”, meaning beyond or transcending, meta powers are innately defined by the natural capabilities of the general population. Thus, on Earth, the term meta, or metahuman, typically refers to anyone who has abilities beyond the standard human experience. A significant portion of metas can be attributed to the human metagene,  which typically triggers in moments of intense physical or mental stress, and can produce unique situational abilities. Other metas, may belong to other species who naturally have certain abilities, or to individuals who are granted powers by various deific forces or even objects.”

What.

It can’t possibly be that easy. This world can’t possibly be that perfect. Danny keeps reading. He realizes as he continues that this article is long, with literally dozens of subsections. On top of that, as he begins to read, there are references to numerous other events, and topics that he’s never heard of before. And by the time the librarian arrives to usher him out of the library for the night, he still isn’t finished with it, but he has learned quite a bit.

Apparently, it isn’t exactly as perfect as it sounded. Rather, this dimension has a long history of meta-related conflict. There’s been plenty of discrimination and mistreatment in the past; the kind of thing that Danny is more than familiar with. But on top of that, there’s literal, actual superheroes here. A lot of them. Superheroes that have fought against numerous world-ending threats and won. And those same superheroes have worked with the world governments, and ratified the protection of metas’ rights as being fundamental human rights. If Wikipedia is to be believed, Danny really is safe.

Still, Danny knows first-hand the way that governments can and will lie. And just because the internet claims that these so-called metas are treated fairly, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s true. 

Propaganda, Danny thinks. Who’s to say it isn’t all just propaganda? I need to be more careful about transforming tonight.

But the library does need to close, so Danny heads out into the second night in his new hometown, mind racing as he thinks about the implications of everything he’s read. The space camp seems so far away now, in the aftermath of the following revelations. Danny needs to get further from civilization if he wants to transform tonight. He follows the main street out, away from town. Maybe in a field somewhere, he’ll be okay? This doesn’t exactly seem like a large town. Even if it’s not true, Danny thinks as he walks. At least I’m not alone here. And I didn’t see anything about Anti-Ecto Acts.

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking [part two]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, blindfolding, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, clothed ejaculation, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, kissing, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, bickering, reader is lowkey depressed, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.6k

A/N: hey guys, i'm literally so nervous posting this... it's been sitting in my drafts for like a month now and i finally worked up the courage to post after spending a couple hours editing :( i'm literally scheduling this to post at like 3am my time so i'm not awake when it goes live i'm so anxious bahaha. the start of this part is a bit slow, pls hold on because theres some light smut and angst at the end. i have plans for further parts that'll look more into the other avengers finding out and the development between bucky and readers relationship and their shared healing. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

It was only on rare occasions that the full team of Avengers (and co.) were in the same room. A momentous historical moment, in fact, normally reserved for two particular occasions:

The world was ending (in some gloriously diabolical way that usually involved aliens, interdimensional warlords, or some ancient, forgotten god with a vendetta) or

Tony Stark was throwing another one of his famously exclusive penthouse parties (which, despite being ‘exclusive,’ still managed to include half of New York—most of whom showed up just to gawk at the Avengers like a travelling circus act sent to entertain them personally.)

Today, it seemed, was neither of those occasions. Thor and the rest of the Asgardians—Bruce Banner included, oddly enough—were busy rebuilding after the destruction of Asgard. Wanda and Vision were off playing happy family elsewhere, and Clint was busy with his own quickly expanding family. The others, agents, specialists, the people whose names you never bothered to remember, were preoccupied with their own missions. Which left you here, filed neatly into the elusive extra category. Not quite an Avenger. Too valuable to be let loose, too unpredictable to be fully trusted.

You leant back in your chair, only half-listening to the conversation beside you. The skin around your thumbnail was raw. You picked at it absentmindedly, peeling back the edge where it had already started to flake, a sting flaring along the nail. You were thinking—too much, maybe—so you let them talk, let yourself disappear as they debated which bar had the strongest drinks and the least pathetic men.

The three of you were early. By some miracle, morning training had ended ahead of schedule. Natasha had wiped the floor with you, to the point where it probably would’ve been more productive to stay on the mat rather than waste your energy hauling yourself back up.

“What do you think?” It took you a second to realise Yelena was talking to you, elbows propped on the table, chin resting in her hand. She was watching you expectantly, sharp eyes narrowed.

You didn’t look up. “I’m not coming.”

She sighed dramatically. “You never hang out with us.” She leant back in her chair with an exaggerated huff, muttering under her breath, “So mysterious and cool. You think you’re better than us?” 

Natasha watched on amused, the redhead poised as always. “She doesn’t want to drink in front of us in case she spills her secrets.”

You scoffed. “What secrets?”

“I don’t know.” Natasha leant forward, watching you a little too closely now, like she was gauging your reaction. “How about how that mission went with Barnes?”

Ever since the gala mission, the two had been trying to get you alone, a few drinks in, hoping for something—a slip, an offhanded remark, anything that would confirm whatever hunches they had. You knew what they were fishing for. They weren’t subtle.

You just weren’t playing.

Neither you nor Bucky had said a word about it.

That, apparently, was suspicious.

“She is right, you know. Neither of you will say a word about it. I’m beginning to think something happened—” Yelena cut over her sister with a grin.

“Nothing happened,” you interrupted smoothly, finally lifting your eyes from the wreckage of your thumbnail. “You keep asking, but you’re not going to uncover some dirty secret. Sorry to disappoint."

“Then why the silence? No one would care if you fucked him, you could just plead innocence, overcome by playing the perfect, doting wife—”

You shot her a look, one withering enough to turn bone to dust and ego to rubble. 

“I mean… maybe people would care, but I wouldn’t judge you! Super soldier, metal arm… so hot, or whatever.” Yelena prattled on, and you ignored her, exhaling through your nose.

"I think he’s just mortified that people assume something did happen. He’s got enough brooding energy as it is." You muttered. 

“I just don’t believe nothing happened, trapped in that hotel room together for a week. Apparently, you were convincing enough to keep the targets off your scent, and we all know Barnes’ acting is as stiff as a cadaver on ice—”

Your face twisted into a look of exasperation before you could control yourself, straightening in your seat. “God, you two really are like vultures, picking around for the slightest bit of gossip—”

“Wow, defensive—” 

“Isn’t that the joy in life? Digging for gossip?” Natasha cut back in with a sharp smirk.

“You two are insufferable!” You interrupted, slapping your palms onto your thighs. "I think I’ll keep my secrets. I’ll leave the both of you to continue plotting this fantastical mystery you’ve created in your minds—”

“It’s only fun because you get so worked up about it,” Natasha cut back with a grin you could only describe as predatory. “Plus, I do love watching Rogers squirm listening to all the theories."

“You know,” Yelena mused, swirling the thought around before letting it slip, “I don’t think Steve is as innocent as we think he is. I’m pretty sure I heard him and Sharon—”

She cut herself off just as the door swung open, and the rest of the team filtered in.

You schooled your reaction, easily slipping back into the picture of nonchalance. Bucky’s blue eyes flickered towards yours for a split second before darting away. It had been two weeks since your first ��lesson’. Two weeks of carefully measured distance, of subtle glances that never lasted too long, of conversations that stayed just professional enough to not raise questions.

Bucky had been doing well—shockingly well, actually. He was receptive to your touch, followed your guidance with careful precision, and was beginning to trust you, bit by bit. You hadn’t gone much further than heated make-out sessions that usually ended with him finishing in his pants, but you weren’t in a rush. You were still feeling out his comfort zones, making sure he never felt cornered or overwhelmed. There wasn’t exactly a handbook for this kind of arrangement.

You slumped in your seat even further, shaking off the feeling. It was fine. No one knew.

Still, the way Bucky avoided looking in your direction made something prickle under your skin.

You were certain the super soldier would combust on the spot if any of his coworkers caught wind of what the two of you had been up to. Hell, he turned red enough just having you perched in his lap during lessons, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. And yet, during meetings, training, or any moment the two of you were forced into the same orbit, you couldn’t help but wonder—did he think about those moments? Did his mind drift back to the ghost of your touch the same way yours did?

You weren’t usually the sentimental type. Nostalgia was a luxury, a foolish indulgence you had long since trained yourself out of. But there was something about him—his quiet hesitance, his wary but willing surrender—that stuck with you. It was a service, nothing more. A transaction in which you gained no tangible benefit, so why did you linger on it? Why did the thought of his gaze meeting yours send a sharp thrill through your chest? Was it because he treated you like a person instead of a tool? Because he understood pieces of you no one else even tried to?

He wasn’t like the others. Never cruel, never greedy. He never reached for more than you offered, never treated you like something to be taken. Maybe that was why you kept coming back. Maybe, for once, you liked the control. Liked the feeling of choosing, of being wanted on your own terms. Of knowing that, for once, you weren’t a marionette dancing on someone else’s strings.

You swallowed the thought down and let your gaze flicker to him. Bucky sat curled in on himself, as if trying to shrink into nothing despite the broadness of his frame. He looked like a wounded animal—no, worse. He looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes had deepened, his hair unwashed and slightly greasy at the roots. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t taking care of himself. You didn’t need to be a genius to figure that out.

He stared blankly at the grain of the wooden table, shoulders hunched between Steve and Sam, who were deep in conversation about something you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on. And for reasons you weren’t ready to name, that quiet, hollow stillness of his sat uneasily in your chest.

You had… concerns for Bucky after what he had confessed to you. But you weren’t sure what to do with those concerns. Or those confessions. You held them close to your chest, unwilling to betray his trust, but understanding instead. You knew it was probably irresponsible of you to sit on them, but you didn’t want to overstep. Besides, Steve and Sam didn’t know you. You’d had maybe three conversations with each of them, most of them mission-related. To them, you were just Natasha and Yelena’s friend—Red Room collateral. You weren’t social, you weren’t a part of their circle, and you sure as hell weren’t someone they trusted.

And if they knew about your arrangement with Bucky… well, you didn’t want to think about what conclusions they’d draw—

“Hi!”

The sudden, chirpy voice nearly startled you out of your seat.

Kate Bishop had arrived—loud, bright, and effortlessly excitable, like a golden retriever in human form. She had that kind of energy that made you suspicious. No one was that happy all the time. Her dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, messy strands framing her face. She was dressed in casual, slightly dishevelled layers, looking like she had just come from sparring but didn’t have the same dead-in-the-eyes exhaustion you did after a training session.

“I’m Kate!” she announced, beaming at you like you were about to be best friends. She pushed her hand out. “Kate Bishop.”

You blinked at her, ignoring her outstretched offer. “I know.”

Her grin didn’t waver, and she coolly withdrew her hand.

“You’re Clint and Yelena’s pet project.” You spoke again, your tone perhaps a little more hostile than necessary. 

“It’s apprentice, actually.” Yelena cut in before Kate could argue. “You know, you’re starting to hurt my feelings. Stark has an apprentice, so why are you always giving me shit—”

“Oh yes, Stark’s pet project.” You gave an exaggerated sigh. “What was his name? Paxton, Peyton, or was it Parker?”

“Did I ask for your opinion, K.G.B. Barbie?” Tony Stark’s voice cut in lazily as he walked past, sitting at the head of the table like he owned the place—which, unfortunately for you, he did. As usual, he didn’t look pleased to see you, and the scent of entitlement wafted off of him in waves.

You met his gaze evenly. "No, but I was under the impression that unsolicited opinions were your love language, considering the amount your hand out.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Remind me why we let you sit at the big kids’ table again?”

"You don’t." You glanced at Stark, unimpressed. "But I was invited, shockingly enough. Or are you reckless enough to ignore Fury’s instructions now?"

There it was. That smirk. He smirked at you, and you knew in your heart he had the foulest, most cutting rebuke to lay upon you. He hadn’t even opened his mouth, and you were already grinding your teeth in frustration as you stared back at him, eyes locked onto his smug face—

Kate cleared her throat, stepping in before you and Stark could escalate any further. “So, what do you do?”

Stark held his tongue, so in return, you slid your gaze back over to a nervous Kate. And in that moment, you knew you couldn’t help yourself. Natasha had already shot you a warning look, but the redhead's trained patience for the playboy Stark had unfortunately never extended to you. 

"Infiltration, espionage, recon." You shrugged, expression carefully neutral. "I gather information, and then the big boys get to swoop in, throw a few punches, and take all the credit. Isn’t that right, Stark?"

Maybe you had woken up grouchier than usual—not that you could even call the few hours of restless tossing and turning sleep. Or perhaps it was the fact that you’d spent the morning eating the training mat, then had to suffer through Natasha and Yelena’s constant interrogations that had soured your mood. Either way, you weren’t exactly in the best headspace to deal with him.

Truthfully, you thought Stark was a prick, and unfortunately, you had never been exactly shy about that opinion. You and Stark had just never really clicked. Not in the way he had with the others, not in the way Natasha had seamlessly folded herself into the team, or the way Yelena had bulldozed her way in, loud and brash. You existed somewhere in between, tolerated but always lingering on the outside. It wasn’t that you didn’t get along with them. You could banter with Sam, hold an easy conversation with Steve when necessary and trade dry humour with Clint in a way that made you feel almost at home. Even Stark, for all his grating personality, wasn’t always intolerable. But there was always something between you and them—an unspoken distance, a careful line you never crossed. They didn’t entirely trust you yet, and you never gave them a reason to try.

Not because you didn’t want to.

But because trust had never been a luxury you could afford.

Your job was reading people—analysing, dissecting, and manipulating. You understood them better than they understood themselves, saw the cracks in their foundations and knew precisely where to apply pressure. It made you valuable. Indispensable even, but it also made people wary. The team knew what you were, even if they didn’t know the full extent of what you had been. But deep down, you knew they were smart enough to assemble the pieces.

So you kept yourself at arm’s length. You wanted to believe you could have that feeling—belonging. But wanting and trusting were two very different things that you did not dare confuse.

Kate’s eyes lit up. “That’s so cool.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it,” Stark interjected, leaning against the desk. “She’s just a pretty face we send in to distract while the rest of us do the actual work.”

There it was.

Your jaw clenched, but you didn’t rise to the bait. This was your hubris. You could already hear Natasha’s scolding—You really shouldn’t egg him on like that. The two of you are as bad as each other, always trying to get under each other's skin. A bunch of alleycats fighting it’s ridiculous—

Somewhere across the table, Bucky’s eyes had shot up. The movement startled you, and your eyes met briefly. It was milliseconds, maybe not even that, but as soon as you registered your brief exchange, Bucky shied away like a spooked animal.

And when you looked back at Kate, Natasha and Yelena, you found that Natasha had been watching the whole thing. She didn’t speak, didn’t even react. There wasn’t the slightest twitch in her brow or twinge in her lips. She stared like some kind of omnipotent god, and deep down, you knew. You knew she knew. 

Maybe she didn’t know the full extent, but the way she stared… it made you shudder.

Fuck.

Kate, however, frowned, turning back to you. “That’s not true, right?”

“Of course not,” you deadpanned, not letting the dread pooling in your stomach let you miss a beat. “I do much more than look pretty. Sometimes I get to torture people—”

Kate’s face pale, then through several stages of grief, trying to figure out if you were joking. 

You weren’t about to help her.

“Relax, Kate Bishop, she is messing with you,” Yelena said with an amused grin, though it was tight. A silent warning behind her eyes told you to keep your mouth shut.

Kate still looked mildly concerned, but she shook it off quickly. “Okay, but—so you can fight?”

“Of course.”

“Not as well as me,” Yelena cut in before you could elaborate, grinning smugly. “Don’t worry, Kate. You’re being trained by the best of the best. Me? I am the best. You know this.”

You rolled your eyes, and Kate beamed. That girl was too fucking cute for her own good.

The door swung open before anyone could respond to Yelena. Fury stepped inside, long coat sweeping behind him, his boots heavy against the floor. His usual expression—somewhere between perpetually pissed off and quietly judgmental—was firmly in place beneath the shadow of his eyepatch.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Fury said, his voice edged with dry amusement, though his gaze flicked between you all with razor-sharp scrutiny.

"No, sir," Steve said, back straightening. Natasha, ever composed, merely leaned back in her chair. Stark didn’t even spare a glance.

“First off, I’d like to extend my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude for your attendance,” Fury began, spreading his arms in a broad, insincere gesture, his tone so dry it could have turned the room to dust. “I know how much of a hardship it is, taking an hour out of your busy lives to sit in a comfortable chair and listen to me talk.”

Sam snorted. Yelena smirked. Bucky, as usual, remained unreadable.

Fury’s eye landed on you and Bucky before he tossed a slim tablet onto the table, the display already flashing with the text of a mission report you hardly cared to examine in detail.

“Congratulations are in order. The gala infiltration went exceptionally well despite the odds stacked against you.”

You dipped your head in acknowledgement, catching movement out of the corner of your eye—Sam begrudgingly sliding Fury what seemed to be a twenty-dollar bill. Asshole.

Fury tapped the screen embedded in the table, replacing the mission debrief with a new set of images. An aerial view of a club, snippets of surveillance footage, a grainy close-up of a man slipping out of a side entrance, bodyguards in tow.

“And thanks to that intel recovered,” Fury continued, “we now have a location on our next target. Dmitry Karpin. Friend to H.Y.D.R.A. Dealt in smuggling high-profile weapons in and out of Soviet countries for a time, but now he’s taken to smuggling drugs. Serums, to be specific.”

Across the table, Bucky had gone still. Tension coiled in his shoulders, his hands resting stiffly on the surface, knuckles taut. H.Y.D.R.A. Serum. The words alone were enough to suffocate the room when Bucky or Steve were around. You didn’t let your eyes linger on him long nor allow your frown to deepen. 

Fury didn’t acknowledge the shift—maybe he was used to it by now, or perhaps he just didn’t care. His voice remained steady, rolling over the tension in the room as if he were reciting lines from a well-rehearsed script. Karpin’s security detail. The club’s weak points. Entry and exit strategies. The words blurred together, dissolving into background noise beneath the low hum of static in your head. It was hard to focus when you could feel Bucky sitting across from you, motionless, barely even breathing, his whole body locked up like a loaded fucking gun. And the worst part? He probably thought he was doing a good job hiding it.

You didn’t stare, didn’t let your concern show. Instead, you leant back in your chair, tilting your head just enough to feign disinterest. “So, just another fun-filled evening of chatting up sweaty old men for me? Sounds like a dream.” Your voice came out dry, with just enough sarcasm to mask any wobbles. 

Fury didn’t spare you a glance. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” he said, tapping the screen again. More grainy footage. More blueprints. The details kept coming, but you barely registered them.

You picked at your thumbnail hard enough that the cuticle began to bleed.

Eventually, the meeting drew to a close. Chairs scraped against the floor as the team rose, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out. You stood, ready to follow, but—

“You two, stick around,” Fury instructed.

You hesitated, glancing at him, then at Bucky, who had also stalled mid-step. Natasha and Yelena exchanged a knowing look, their amusement not at all subtle. You ignored their barely concealed grins as they disappeared through the door.

Fury exhaled, hands bracing against the table as he surveyed the two of you. 

“I’ll be honest,” he said finally. “I wasn’t convinced it would work when I paired you two. Thought maybe you’d kill each other before you got anything done.”

Bucky scoffed quietly, gaze flicking away.

“But you proved me wrong.” His good eye narrowed as he continued. “The mission was a success. You handled yourselves well.”

A beat of silence. Then, just as flatly, “I want to know if you’d be open to working together again. Similar style of operation.”

Your eyes slid over to Bucky, gauging his reaction. You didn’t want to appear too eager or give any more credence to the stories Yelena and Natasha were spinning, but most of all, you didn’t want to put words into Bucky’s mouth. You weren’t in the business of pressuring him in or out of the bedroom. 

Bucky was quiet as if silently working through some thoughts before deciding. Finally, he offered a dismissive “Sure.”

You nodded slowly, offering Fury a nonchalant shrug. “I’m fine with that.”

Fury’s lips twitched. Not quite a smirk.

“Well, that’s the most enthusiasm I’ve heard all day,” he deadpanned before shaking his head. “Damn, you two are depressing. Sitting there all broody, staring at me like I shot your goddamn dog.” 

Neither you nor Bucky reacted, which was met by a low chuckle from Fury. “Regardless, I appreciate the hard work. You made me a nice chunk of money winning some bets.”

Your brow furrowed. “You bet on us?”

Fury raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Course I did. Had to make it interesting. Half the team thought you’d get caught or kill each other before the first day was up.”

You blinked. “...Who bet against us?”

“Stark.” Fury’s lips twitched again. “He didn’t think you’d make it past security.”

Of course he did. Prick. 

—

"Alright, I’m in position."

You blinked. Bucky sat there like he was awaiting orders, his posture rigid as if he were about to breach enemy lines.  His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure where to put them like touching you required the same level of strategic planning as a high-stakes extraction mission.

You stared, straddling his hips, your fingers ghosting over his collarbone, feeling the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He didn’t quite meet your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere just past your shoulder as if making direct contact might detonate something neither of you were ready for. For a split second, you half expected him to press a finger to an earpiece and murmur something about securing the perimeter.

In the dim glow of his bedroom, he looked every bit like a man being held hostage rather than one about to receive a very generous favour.

Lately… something felt off. The signs had been subtle at first, the way he always seemed a beat too calculated, his hands found the same places every time, and he would grow still like he was waiting for a command. 

And now, looking at him, so wound-up he might actually vibrate, it finally clicked.

Every touch and kiss was executed with the precision of a soldier running a drill rather than a man lost in the moment. It was methodical. He was analysing a strategy rather than experiencing pleasure. You half expected to glance down and see him taking notes—touch here, kiss there, don’t forget to do this. The thought horrified you, but if you were honest… it also amused you. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“…Bucky, are you seriously treating this like a mission?”

He stiffened beneath you, his reaction just a fraction too quick, too defensive.

“What’d you mean?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge. He was already on guard, bracing for imaginary discipline. 

“The way you’re…” You trailed off, head inclining as you studied him. His jaw was clenched, brows drawn tight, the creased skin between them betraying him entirely. One could mistake him for a soldier behind enemy lines, waiting for the crack of a rifle. There were dark smudges under his eyes, no worse than usual. You knew he didn’t sleep well. Nightmares haunted him and left him running on fumes more often than not. You recognised the signs, and it was like you were looking into a mirror. 

“It’s like you have a mental checklist,” you murmured, watching for his reaction. “Like every move you make is planned like you’re running through a strategy in your head instead of just… feeling it.”

Bucky remained silent, his lips pressing into a firm line.

Gently, you squeezed his shoulder, fingertips pressing into hard muscle. He was tense—too tense. “You’re not clearing a building, Bucky. You’re not scanning for threats. You’re here with me. Just relax a little, won’t you?”

“I am relaxed.” He bit the words out, though neither his voice nor expression were even remotely convincing.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “I appreciate the attempt to lie, but when I can feel the fucking tension in your body, it’s a little, well, very obvious.” Your hands traced along his shoulders, fingers kneading into the tight knots beneath the fabric of his shirt. His muscles were rock-solid, never fully uncoiled. His body had forgotten how to rest.

“See?” You gave a pointed squeeze. “This is not ‘relaxed,’ Bucky. This is as solid as a goddamn steel beam.”

Bucky scoffed a tiny huff of air through his nose. “Those are my muscles. I work out. Don’t you?”

You gasped in mock delight, lips parting in exaggerated shock. “Oh my God. Did you just make a joke? Bucky, was that a joke?”

Something flickered in his expression for the first time, a sliver of amusement breaking through the ever-present brooding. He finally met your gaze, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners, and the sight sent a flicker of warmth through your chest.

You grinned. “Well, isn’t that a first? Guess I should mark the calendar.”

His smirk was brief, fleeting—but it was there.

You softened, your voice dropping just a little. “But seriously, you need to loosen up.” Your hands smoothed over his shoulders, slow and deliberate.“Attraction, desire… sex. It’s messy, it’s unplanned. It’s not a mission. This isn’t the army.” 

You didn’t dare say the following words in your mind aloud. 

This isn’t H.Y.D.R.A. 

But you knew that was where his thoughts drifted, that unspoken trouble that plagued you both. Your fingers ghosted along the silver chain at his throat, the faint jingle of his dog tags barely audible under the fabric of his shirt. “You don’t have to follow orders. You can just be.”

“I know.” The words came low, rough, frayed at the edges. You could feel yourself losing him, his eyes growing foggy as if pulled away to a place you couldn’t quite reach to drag him out from.

“I just…” Another breath, deeper this time, as though steadying himself. “They used me. For so long, they used me as a weapon. I don’t know if I can ever be anything different than that. I don’t want to lose control—what happens if I lose—”

“Hey.” Your hands framed his face now, thumbs brushing against the sharp angles of his cheekbones, anchoring him. “Hey, look at me.”

His eyes lifted, hesitant, guarded.

“You are more than that.” The words were gentle but unwavering, as steady as your hands on him. “We are more than that, okay? You’re Bucky. Just Bucky. And you are in control. Say it.”

His fingers curled against your thighs, knuckles pressing into the cotton fabric of your shorts. He was quiet momentarily as though testing the words in his mind before speaking them aloud. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’m in control.”

“You’re in control.” You echoed, smoothing your thumb over the faint stubble on his cheek. “And you still want to do this?”

His breath was slow, deliberate. “Yes.”

Your fingers had drifted higher, threading into his hair, the strands silky and cool beneath your touch. You swept a loose lock from his forehead, letting your fingertips linger against his temple. “And if you don’t want this at any point, what do you say?”

“Stop.”

“And what will happen if you say that?”

“You’ll stop. We’ll stop.”

“Good.” You praised him, your smile widening as you felt him squirm beneath you. There was a subtle hitch in his breath as your hands began to trail lower, palms smoothing down to his chest. The pulse at his throat fluttered beneath your fingertips, quick and uneven, betraying the calm he was trying to hold onto. You leant closer, your breath warm against his skin as you pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his temple. Then lower—to the sharp line of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw, and finally to the hollow of his throat. A shudder ran through him, his grip on your hips tightening just a fraction. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” He uttered after a thick, audible swallow.

You pulled back just enough to study him, to see how his lips parted slightly as though chasing the warmth of your touch. A quiet, almost reluctant noise rumbled in his chest, just shy of a whine. You traced your fingers along his jaw before tilting your head, considering him. “I want to try something.” You hummed to him. “You can say no if it’s too much, but I think it might help you.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah?”

“I want to blindfold you—”

“You want to what?” He went rigid beneath you, every muscle tightening again as if you’d flipped a switch and snapped him back into defence mode.

“Hold on, just let me finish.” You held up your hand, hoping to counteract his immediate, instinctive reaction.

He huffed, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the response, but said nothing. 

“I want to blindfold you,” you repeated, slower this time, words deliberate. “And I want to kiss you. And touch you. I want you to focus on feeling good rather than anticipating something bad. I want you to just… be here with me. Not thinking about what comes next, not waiting for an attack. Just focusing on feeling. That’s all.”

His expression was cautious before turning to contemplation—as though weighing the idea against everything instinct told him.

“You can say no,” you reminded him gently.

“No, I—” He hesitated, his fingers twitching against your hips.

You shifted back just a little, offering him the space to decide. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do it.”

“No, I—shit—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I mean—no, I want to. Yes. I want to try that.”

Your gaze searched his. “You’re sure?”

His lips pressed together, and then he nodded once, firmly. “Yes.”

You grinned, pressing a sloppy, lingering kiss to his temple before slipping off his lap with ease and rolling onto the bed beside him. “Do you have something we could use?”

“Uh, I don’t—”

“Like a tie, maybe? You wear suits, right? Or does Stark demand them back the second you step foot in the compound?”

Bucky let out a huff, eyes narrowing. “I don’t want to talk about Stark right now.”

You shot him a knowing look, but before you could tease him further, your gaze flickered downward—and you smirked. Even through the soft material of his sweatpants, you could see he was already half-hard. “Sure.”

A faint flush crept up his neck, staining his ears and cheeks pink. He cleared his throat, voice rough. “Top drawer. In the wardrobe.”

You were on your feet before he could finish, slipping into his walk-in wardrobe. Every apartment in the compound had one, though Bucky’s was noticeably bare. His clothes were monochrome, muted shades of grey, navy, and black. No bursts of colour. No sign of impulse. It was not a lack of wealth. You knew that for sure. No, this was intentional—a desire to blend in, to disappear.

You’d always known he was the type who preferred the shadows, slipping between crowds unnoticed. No wonder he hated the tailored suits Stark and Fury forced him into—arm issues aside. For some reason, S.H.I.E.L.D. were determined to parade him around. Look, the Winter Soldier. He’s a good boy now. He plays nice. Nothing to fear anymore. You were unsure how he felt about such displays, but you were sure it wasn’t too far off from how you felt about it. You had once been in his shoes, though more in the eye candy territory. A doll to dress up and play with, to smile and play the part.

Powerful men enjoyed degrading that which they knew to be dangerous, enjoyed playing with fire, and enjoyed the illusion of control. 

Shaking off the thought, you pulled open the top drawer, sifting through a few neatly folded ties. You selected a smooth black silk, running the cool fabric over your palm before returning to the bedroom.

Bucky was still seated at the edge of the bed, stiff as a board. His hands curled into fists atop his thighs, knuckles taut. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You slowed, holding the tie between your fingers like approaching a spooked animal. Visible to inspect and assess. No threat.

“Yes?” you asked, giving him another chance to change his mind.

His jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. “Yes.”

You smiled softly. “Just breathe, yeah? Like we always do.” You inhaled deeply through your nose, then exhaled slowly and steadily through your mouth.

After a beat, Bucky mirrored you, chest rising and falling with measured breaths.

You moved behind him, settling onto the bed. He sat still, poised for an attack. Carefully, you draped the silk tie over his eyes, looping it around his head and securing it with a loose knot. It wasn’t tight—one purposeful tug and it would slip free.

You could feel the tension radiating from him. Even blindfolded, he was hyper-aware, attuned to every rustle of the sheets, every shift of your weight. His breathing had turned shallower, the serum sharpening every sound, every sensation.

“If you need to stop for any reason, just say so.”

He jolted slightly at your voice, caught off guard in the quiet. “O-okay.” His voice wavered, and then he cursed low under his breath in Russian.

You grinned. Some habits died hard.

“I’m going to touch you now.” You crept closer, lifting onto your knees behind him. “Just focus on me and how it feels. Nothing else. Can you do that?”

He gave a slow, hesitant nod.

You started at his shoulders, palms skimming over firm muscle, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Every dip and ridge, every knot of tension. Your hands slid to his collarbone, then across the joint where flesh met metal, mapping out the contrast between warm skin and the smooth, cold vibranium.

He was solid beneath your touch, every muscle taut and solid as it stretched across the bone.

You had noticed the way his shoulders gave him grief. The slight tilt of his frame and the way his left arm always sat heavier. It was incorrect weight distribution; the metal limb was too heavy compared to its flesh counterpart. S.H.I.E.L.D had surely offered him physical therapy—massages, treatment plans—but you doubted he had ever taken them up on it. He didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Too wary. Too untrusting. 

“Can I take off your shirt?” you asked softly.

He stilled.

“I don’t—” His voice was lower now, rougher. “My scars. They’re not—”

“I don’t care about that.”

He swallowed hard. “You don’t?”

“No,” you said firmly. “Why would I?” 

Without a word, his hand reached behind his head, gripping the collar of his shirt. He yanked it over his head in one fluid motion, tossing the fabric to the floor. You adjusted the blindfold where it had shifted, then let your gaze drift over the broad expanse of his back.

His shoulders were massive, sculpted with muscle. The scars on his left shoulder were brutal—jagged lines of gnarled tissue where the vibranium met flesh. It might have been seamless after the amputation. Painless even. But it had been H.Y.D.R.A who had ruined him, left scars so deep even the Wakandans couldn’t erase.

And H.Y.D.R.A didn’t care for comfort. They cared for necessity. Likely, you suspected, they had wanted him to suffer.

An endless reminder of their ownership.

You swallowed, then placed your hands on his shoulders again, thumbs pressing gently into the base of his neck. You started slow, careful, massaging along the muscle, working your way down. His skin was warm beneath your palms, the mass taut and unyielding at first, like stone beneath your fingers. But you took your time, applying gradual pressure, thumbs circling into the knots built over time.

Beneath your hands, Bucky let out a low, guttural sound—a half-growl, half-sigh of approval. His head dipped forward slightly, chin brushing his chest, an unspoken invitation to continue.

You kept going, kneading deep into the knots in his shoulders, feeling the tension resist before you coaxed it loose. With each press and roll of your fingers, the stiffness unravelled like a cord being undone, thread by thread. You worked methodically, digging your thumbs along the curve where his neck met his shoulders, pressing firmly enough to elicit another low, unconscious groan from him.

You bit back a smile as you felt him lean into you just a little.

Trailing downward, you traced the slope of his shoulder blades, following the ridges of tendons and old wounds. The scars on his left side were tougher, the tissue uneven where flesh met metal, but you didn’t hesitate. Your fingers brushed the seam between the vibranium and skin, then continued downward, thumbs pressing slow, firm circles along the fuse.

Bucky shuddered.

His breath hitched as you dug into the deep-seated strain along his spine. A sharp inhale, a low exhale—he was losing himself to the sensation, surrendering to your touch. You didn’t rush. You worked him slowly, thoroughly, feeling him yield with each measured stroke. When you reached the dip of his lower back, you flattened your hands, smoothing over the tightness that lingered. He was warm now, his skin melting like wax beneath your fingers.

Satisfied, you finally pulled back, smoothing your hands along his spine one last time before shifting your position.

Rising onto your knees, you moved around him, hands trailing over his shoulders as you slid into his lap. His breath stuttered, but he didn’t pull away. You settled against him, straddling his lap, your arms draping lazily over his shoulders. The blindfold was still secure, and he looked… calmer now. Less wound up, his jaw no longer locked so tightly.

“You okay?” You murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you hummed, tilting your head, lips just inches from his ear. “I think you needed that.”

Bucky exhaled a breathy, almost disbelieving laugh, but he didn’t deny it.

Your fingers trailed up the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly against the short hairs, and you felt him shiver beneath you. You leaned in, lips brushing over his cheekbone, just at the edge of the blindfold, before trailing downward. You kissed along his jaw, soft and teasing, pressing your lips into the warm skin beneath his ear, down the column of his throat.

His hands fidgeted at his sides, tightening around the sheets. Then, as if giving in to some internal battle, they rose—hesitant but desperate. His fingers found your waist, sliding over the curve of your hips before gripping tight.

You grinned against his skin.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice a breath of silk against his throat.

A sharp exhale left him, his fingers tightening, pressing you closer, holding you in place. You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up before pressing your lips to his.

Bucky groaned into the kiss.

It was soft at first, your mouth moving against his, teasing, coaxing him deeper. But it wasn’t long before he cracked. The tension he had held onto for so long—his control, his restraint—it frayed at the edges with every pass of your lips against his. You pressed closer, shifting in his lap, and the moment your hips rolled against him, his breath stuttered.

A broken sound escaped him, part groan, part whimper.

You did it again just to hear it.

His hands flexed against your sides, his hold firm, frantic, but he didn’t stop you. He only breathed harder, his forehead falling against yours as you peppered kisses along his lips, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Then you moved again, grinding against him slowly, carefully, and Bucky outright whimpered.

He made no effort to stop you—no attempt to control the rhythm, no resistance left in him. His mind was no longer caught in the tangle of right and wrong, of what he should or shouldn’t do.

He only felt.

Only responded.

You kissed him again, deeper, fiercer this time, and he met you with equal hunger.

Bucky’s hands roamed, sliding up your back. Then, his vibranium hand found your face, cradling it between cool, unyielding metal, and you shivered at the contrast—the bite of cold against your flushed skin, the sheer strength in his hold, barely restrained.

He kissed you like he was starving.

You sighed into his mouth, rolling your hips down to meet his, and he groaned—deep and guttural as his body jerked beneath you. He was fully hard now, the evidence pressing against you through his sweatpants, and you couldn't help the soft, breathy giggle that escaped between kisses.

Bucky growled, his grip tightening, his body chasing yours as you rocked against him.

Your hand trailed down, slipping between your bodies, fingers teasing along the waistband of his sweatpants. You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath hitched as your fingertips ghosted lower—

Then he flinched, catching your wrist in a shaky grip.

“Too much,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but the strain was evident.

Immediately, you withdrew, pulling your hand away without hesitation. “I’m sorry. Do you want to stop—”

“No.” he replied quickly, breathlessly.

You cupped his jaw, kissing him slowly, tenderly, as he shuddered beneath you. His hands flexed where they held you, his body still trembling with need, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your movements soft and gentle, pressing your forehead against his, letting him breathe as you kissed him repeatedly. 

“Is this better?” you checked in between kisses, voice warm, reassuring.

“Yes.” He muttered against your lips.

You kissed him deeper, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip and into his mouth.

His body convulsed beneath you, hips twitching up to meet yours, his breath turning shallow and erratic. You could feel the tremors coursing through him, his muscles tensed, his restraint crumbling with every slow, dragging roll of your hips.

Then, with a choked groan, he stiffened.

A broken moan tore from his throat as he came, his body shuddering beneath you. His breath hitched, then stilled, his head falling back onto the bed as he panted heavily, completely spent.

You smiled, watching his chest rise and fall, his body finally wholly relaxed.

You let him catch his breath, your hands smoothing over his chest in slow, soothing strokes. His eyes were still covered, the black silk of the tie snug against his skin, and for a moment, you just watched him—his expression relaxed in a way it so rarely was, his lips parted as he inhaled deep, steadying himself.

Reaching up, you brushed your fingers over his jaw before carefully undoing the knot at the back of his head. The tie slipped away with ease, and his eyes fluttered open, blinking as he adjusted to the room's dim light. His pupils were blown, irises hazy, but there was something else. Softness. An openness you didn’t often see.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “Hey.”

You leant down, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before shifting off of him, allowing him to breathe. He hesitated momentarily before sitting up, his movements slow, almost reluctant. His sweatpants were clinging damply to his skin, and he grimaced slightly before rubbing a hand over his face.

“I should, uh—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, watching as he climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. The soft sound of running water followed soon after. You stayed where you were, fingers idly playing with the silk tie as you listened, giving him the space to clean up and gather himself.

When he returned, his sweatpants had been swapped for a fresh pair, the fabric hanging loose around his hips. His hair was damp in uneven patches where he’d raked wet fingers through it, a lazy attempt at tidying up. He lingered in the doorway, weight shifting from one foot to the other, eyes flickering over you like he wasn’t sure what to do next.

You patted the empty space beside you. “Come here.”

His shoulders loosened just a fraction before he climbed back onto the bed, settling beside you with a quiet sigh. He was warm—solid and steady. Without thinking, you nestled closer, resting your head against his chest. His arm came around you automatically, like muscle memory, pulling you in and holding you there.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, barely above a whisper, you asked, “Did you like it?”

Bucky exhaled a deep, slow breath. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice lower than usual, like he wasn’t used to saying it. “I did.”

You smiled, tracing absentminded circles against his chest. “What did you like about it?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful.

“It made it easier,” he murmured. “Not seeing. I could just… feel. Focus on what was happening instead of everything else.” His thumb brushed lightly against your side. “Didn’t have to worry about if I was doing something wrong.”

You frowned slightly, tilting your head up to look at him. “Bucky, you’ve never done anything wrong.”

“I know,” he said, but his voice was tight, a shadow crossing his expression. “It’s just—” He stopped, mouth pressing into a thin line.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek. “Talk to me.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, he said, “I’m scared of it sometimes.”

Your brows furrowed. “Scared of what?”

“Pleasure.”

His fingers tightened slightly against your side like he was bracing himself, but he didn’t look away from you.

“I was taught…” He inhaled sharply. “That it could only be taken. Taken from me. That it was never given freely.” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “That it wasn’t mine to have.”

Slowly, carefully, you sat up, shifting so you were fully facing him. He looked at you, expression guarded, but there was something vulnerable beneath it, something fragile in the way he held himself.

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Those people, the ones who taught you that, they were trying to hurt you, degrade you,” you told him firmly. “Pleasure is to be shared equally. It’s something you deserve.” You squeezed his hand, your voice softening.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“I want you to know that you don’t have to do anything to earn it,” you whispered.

He swallowed hard, his grip on your hand tightening. His voice was barely above a breath when he said, “I don’t know if I know how.”

You smiled softly. “That’s okay. We have time.”

You lifted his hand again, pressing a lingering kiss to his knuckles before settling back down beside him. His warmth seeped into you, but the ache in your chest remained—persistent, lingering. It had nothing to do with exhaustion, the tension in your muscles, or even the way your body still hummed with remnants of touch. No, this ache came from somewhere deeper, from the thoughts unravelling in your mind like a loose thread tugged too far, too fast as you contemplated his confession. 

You had always been a giver. That was your role, your purpose. You gave and gave until there was nothing left. Until you were hollow inside. And yet, the world kept asking for more. You wondered if, over time, it had chipped away at your soul, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The words left your lips before you could stop them, before you had the chance to weigh whether you truly wanted to say them aloud.

“Do you ever feel like you’re not… whole?”

Bucky turned his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the low light, lids heavy as he blinked his dark lashes. He didn’t press or demand, didn’t look at you as if he needed clarification. He just waited, silently, like he knew you weren’t finished.

So you kept going.

“Like with every mission, every fight, every demand, you lose something? A tiny piece of yourself, given away without even realising it?” Your voice dropped lower. Bucky was still beside you, completely still, only his breath tickling your cheek with each slow rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t even know if I’m still the person I was when I was born or if I’ve just been rebuilt from borrowed parts. Pieces given to me, made for me, shaped to fit what I was supposed to become.” You exhaled a sharp breath. “Or maybe… what they wanted me to become.”

The words were bitter on your tongue, and yet they kept coming.

“And I think… maybe I’m afraid that if I ever showed the real me, the world would reject me. That they’d be disgusted by my soul. By everything I have done.”

A shaky breath left your lips, your voice barely more than a whisper now.

“Because sometimes… sometimes I think the only way people will keep me around is if I give them something in return.”

Silence.

You turned your head toward him, searching his face, waiting for something—anything—that would tell you what he was thinking. You hoped for a look, a breath, a word to ground you. But as your gaze swept over him, you realised his breathing had evened out, his lashes fluttering softly against his cheeks. The sharp furrow of his brow had smoothed, his lips slightly parted in a way that spoke of exhaustion finally pulling him under.

Asleep.

Your words had been lost to him.

You weren’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Maybe it was for the best. He needed the rest, the peace of slumber more than you did. Even now, in the soft glow of the room, dark circles remained etched beneath his eyes.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling momentarily before carefully slipping out of bed. You moved with quiet precision, gathering your things without making a sound. When you reached the door, you hesitated, glancing back.

For a second, a small, selfish part of you wished he had—wished he had heard you, had held you, had given you something, anything, to quiet the storm inside your chest. But he hadn’t.

And maybe that meant you could take the words back.

Tuck them away for another time.

Or hold onto them forever, maybe all you had needed was to say them aloud, even if only silence itself was listening.

Bucky didn’t stir from his slumber, not even when the door clicked shut behind you.

---

taglist: @civilbucky @buckysbbydoll @rosegarbage @fleurenoir @oikarma @blackstabbath6 @kcbug1128 @ellesbellswrites @thaynarajejheje @wunder-blunder @oceanaroma @dyscalculiaaa @murdocklvrr @pursuedbyamemoryy @fantasyheroine @chronicallybubbly @nikkinss @maryevm @doilooklikeagiveafrack (sorry if it didn't tag anyone properly)

[natrome]

ok now that i for real know what my writing commitments are going to be for the next, like, year, at least the majority of them, here is the actual for real i s2g hold me to this writing schedule

Fic in a Box - due 10/15

1 assignment of 2k words remains, write it this saturday

Five Figure Fanworks Exchange - check in 11/11, due 1/20

i expect this will take about a week to finish, and ideally i'll have it done prior to check-in.

Yuletide - works due 12/18

UNLESS i get an assignment that i want to go hogwild on, which i should be prevented from doing, i should be able to finish this the week of 11/26 and not work on it outside of that.

galactic santas - est. due 12/25

my fave event of the year lol, the logh secret santa exchange. uh anyway this one is usually due around christmas and also is the easiest thing on this list by a mile and a half. i'm 0% worried about this one.

tomorrow ye will get your pay - aka the whale novel. - first draft due 3/1, physical product due for display 4/1

this is an extremely short timeline, and while it's not "drop everything else" level short, it is going to have to be my #1 writing priority for a long time.

my plan is as follows

spend the remainder of october getting situated w/ the research i'm going to have to do, figuring out who i need to talk to, etc. as well as put together a detailed chapter-by-chapter outline

nov/dec i'm assuming will be eaten by SMST and other commitments, but get research done and essentially braindump into document

jan/feb, just write as much as possible, take time off of work/quit job if i need to

if possible confine edits to the first 2 weeks of march, get books printed; deliver final product by last week of march.

god this schedule is miserable. well i signed up for it! i did this entirely to myself! lmfao.

anyway i'm going to bracket in that it's a 20 chapter novel, which seems like a reasonable number of chapters. i essentially have ~10 weeks to write this book. this is totally normal and fine, i have written longer books with less of a solid outline in shorter amounts of time. if i can just sit my ass in a chair and hammer out 2.5k words/day i will EASILY make this deadline and have time for editing. the issue will be making myself do that. but having a deadline and like professional accountability should majorly help. esp if i quit my stupid fucking job lol

serpent's mouth, serpent's teeth - due 12/31

i have four chapters left on SMST. i do not think they will be EASY to write but I do think that I'm CAPABLE of getting them done before the end of the year. at the very least i've sworn until i was blue in the face that i would finish this book by the end of the year. i need this book to stop haunting my waking nightmares lmfao. i estimate ~50-60k words remain, but we'll see what it actually ends up shaking out as. hopefully it's not more than that.

anyway this is another just "ass in chair" moment. though if i could have made myself do that months ago, this book would have been finished sometime this summer lol

every link was freedom's name - aka the fucking. arle heinessen play. no due date.

this is my yay you finished all the obligations you had now you get to do something deeply deeply stupid and entertaining only to a tiny number of people project. lyric play about arle heinessen. book of exodus pastiche. probably not that long. estimate it'll take me as long as POD did, so a month and a half? but i won't stress it. aim to finish it mid may?

new constellations - aka the logh rarepairs exchange i run

I'm planning to run signups in late march, with works due mid may. this is slightly earlier than last year but due to my own personal schedule i don't want it to overlap with...

heart attack exchange - works due 6/2

yeah you literally only get 2 weeks to work on this one so it kinda is what it is lol.

life out of balance rewrite. no particular due date.

i expect this will take me 3-4 months to complete. finish by september?

lighting out for the territories augmentation. no particular due date.

i'd like to think that i can get this done in 2 months but i don't actually have a plan for what i need to do to it. so who tf knows lol. assume it'll take me the rest of the year.

every hateful instrument - no firm date

this will likely take between 6-8 months to finish, but it's another thing that i really want to stop having hanging over me. i'll either work on it before the LOFTT stuff or after

WIAW phezzan novella - ultimate TBD

to be completed immediately before starting LL/SS, probably

other misc nonsense

there are other small exchanges that i like to do (space swap, unsent letters, we die like fen) so as those pop up i probably will sign up for them. i'm not going to look up/prognosticate when they will happen at this moment in time

god i owe so many people gifts for birthdays and holidays and stuff >.> you may or may not get them. lean towards may not b/c what the fuck is this writing schedule. i'm so sorry lmao

i've now gotten back around to "oh this goes up to the end of the year again, so the end of the year exchanges (yuletide, fffx, fiab, galactic santas) should be on this schedule" but down that road lies only pain and horror lol

this list has gotten incredibly vague as things have gone on. the last part of this year and the first part of next year are pretty set in stone though, and i just need to like, get myself to the starting block and then start running

literally so funny that i was like "i should relax and take a break from writing before starting LL/SS" lmfao. lmfao.

obviously some of these things could be deleted from the schedule. i don't have to do a bunch of exchanges (but i liiiiiike them) and i don't have to write a stupid play (but i wannnnnnt to), and i don't have to do any rewrites to the early parts of WIAW (but they're a mess). so it's like. idk. maybe none of this is real and i'm just making lists b/c i like making lists lol

[starlightxsvt]

Hellion

pairing: Jeonghan x female reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, idk what this is

warnings: cursing

word count: around 1.5k

A/N: Firstly, happy birthday to the Jeonghan, our con man. I know I'm a day late so forgive me for that. Secondly, I've no idea what the hell I wrote. I've cancelled two other drafts I wrote for his birthday cause none of them were coming together and in the end I've decided to post this shit. Anyway, your feedback would be really appreciated in this mess of a story :').

"What's Jeonghan doing here?" You hiss to Mingyu who has a hard time prying his eyes off of Chaeyeon. "I invited him. I never thought he'd actually come. I'm surprised too." He replies.

"Wha- why would you invite Jeonghan to my birthday party!" You glare at him to which he rolls his eyes, "Come on now, he's in our friend group. And college is almost over. You don't know when you'll see him again. Ogle him while he's still here." He smirks.

"What did you just s-"

"Oh come on, don't act like I don't know that he's your secret crush. Maybe make up with him and if you're lucky you'll get some good dick as a birthday present." Mingyu chuckles at your open mouth before scurrying away to avoid your wrath. You glare at his retreating figure before inhaling sharply. And before you can stop yourself, you start to look for him.

You spot Jeonghan at the large porch in the back of Mingyu's house, sitting in one of the porch seats while sipping beer. He looks dashing as always, his black hair messy, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight, his cheekbones getting a prominent shine. You sigh.

Jeonghan was an exhausting person to be around and maybe, he'd say the same for you. You've known him since highschool and after a particular incident of him spilling his banana milk all over your brand new scarf, you decided to call it war. To this day you believe that he did it on purpose because you told your homeroom teacher that he slept during his class.

After that it was like an unspoken rule- you two would bicker whenever you were in the same space. It only infuriated you that he was so good looking, smart, famous and the fact that you had some feelings developing for him. Each time you saw him with a girl you'd feel a bitter feeling all over and you could only hope that those feelings would pass over time. But no they didn't, they only grew- the small branches had formed a tree now, the roots planted deep in your heart.

"How long are you going to stand there and stare at me?" Jeonghan calls, without turning behind. You clear your throat before walking to him, "Didn't expect to see you here, fuck face."

"Can you not call me names for a day please? You're just jealous I'm good looking." He remarks drowning the can of beer.

You snort, "Haha. You wish, loser." You plop down beside him. "I see you've finished quite a few cans. What's up? Got ditched?" You poke him.

"What do you care?"

"You're ruining the mood here with all these sad aura around you. Go drink your sorrows away somewhere else, this is my party."

"Yet you are sitting with me and my sad auras."

"I came to tell you that," you scoff, crossing your arms over.

"Parties are not your thing, I know. And Mingyu wasn't shy on inviting people. It feels more like his birthday than yours." Jeonghan comments, still staring ahead. His words are true and they infuriate you. You can't help but get defensive, "What do you know, sad boy? I'm enjoying myself just fine."

"And yet you are sitting with me and-"

"Stop saying that, will you!" You snap. Jeonghan chuckles before looking at you. He unabashedly eyes you up and down, heating your cheeks up in the process.

"Nice dress," he murmurs. His words catch you off guard and you glare at him, "Stop staring at me, pervert."

"You were staring at me earlier."

"Seriously? Can you stop for one goddamn second?"

"You're the one who started it."

"That's it. I shouldn't have come here," you stand up to leave but to your utter surprise Jeonghan grabs your hand, sending your heart to a frenzy. "Wait."

You swallow nervously, heart thudding loudly in your chest as Jeonghan lets go of your hand and meets your eyes, "Sit down, I've a gift for you."

You frown, "You have a gift for me?" Jeonghan nods before sitting straight, setting down his can. "Before that, I need you to know something."

"W-what?"

"I really didn't spill my milk all over you intentionally that day." He meets your eyes.

You can't help but laugh out loud partially because he's still concerned about that and partially because you believe he's lying.

"Listen here, sad boy, I've put that well past me. And I know for a fact you did it on purpose so don't-"

"You didn't, ___. We've been fighting over that for our whole goddamn lives. And no, I'm not lying. I've no reason to. I never cared if you told our teacher shit or not." His chocolate orbs bore into yours and you swallow. The air surrounding you suddenly becomes thick and you start to feel jittery and maybe a slight amount of guilt. Is he really speaking the truth?

"W-whatever, I don't care anymore." You say, sitting down gently beside him.

"And yet you still hold a grudge against me," Jeonghan sighs. "Besides you're not even fun to fight with."

"What did you say?"

He laughs, his eyes forming crescents and the sweet melody echoing in the air. You quickly look away before he catches you staring, "I don't have all day. Where's my gift?"

"Yeah, right." From beside him he produces a bag that you didn't notice before. He hands it to you and you tentatively peek in, half expecting a bug to jump out.

To your utter surprise, a scarf that looks identical to the one he ruined lies there. A small gasp leaves your mouth.

"I bought it that day after I stained yours. I was going to give this to you as an apology but dear lord, you were on my ass the second I got to class next day." Jeonghan speaks and a blush coats your cheek leaving you feel vulnerable all of a sudden.

"I don't know what to say," You whisper more to yourself. Jeonghan chuckles, "I know, you're touched. It's okay, we're even finally."

You bite your lip and exhale loudly before meeting his eyes, "Thanks." Jeonghan moves his hand in a dismissive wave. "I thought I'd finally give it you, call it a truce. We'll probably never see each other again after this month and I wanted to depart on good terms."

Your throat constricts, an overwhelming sadness enveloping you. He's right, you two would probably never see each other again. His dad owns a huge business and he'd probably go abroad to manage it.

"You're right, let's call it a truce," you whisper staring at the scarf in your lap.

"Come on now, don't look so sad, sad girl," Jeonghan teases you and you roll your eyes. He's still the same.

He hands you a beer, "Have a drink with me to sign the truce." You quietly laugh, taking the can from him. You two share a comfortable silence, staring at the night sky, the music from the party fading into the background until Jeonghan decides to break it.

"I know you like me, ___." The words slip past his lips like it's the most casual thing ever. You choke on your beer before looking at him eyes wide like saucers, "W-what!"

Jeonghan slightly turns to face you, his features calm, "You don't have to act. I've known all along."

Oh. My. God.

Heat spreads all over your face like wildfire. Your first thought is that Mingyu told him. You chew your lip as you see no way out. "W-who told you?" You squeak.

"I've figured it out myself," He says nonchalantly, resting his head on his hand as you stares at you.

"You-you did?"

"Mhmm."

You fumble with the hem of your dress before murmuring out, "I-I should get going." You need to escape him. Forever.

But Jeonghan isn't done. He casually goes on, "I've always thought you were pretty. Even when you get red after losing an argument." You blush furiously as your palms sweat.

"You know I really had no intention of picking a fight with you but you...you were so desperate to bring me down. You always speak too much and I often think about the many ways I could shut your loud mouth. Such a shame, we would've made a great couple."

Your face feels like it's on fire by now. You swallow before nervously laughing, "I s-see what you're doing here...You're trying to p-prank me, asshole."

Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair, sighing, "See? There you go again, running that damn mouth." Your lips press together as you clench your fists, thinking of a way out. In the blink of an eye Jeonghan scoots closer to you and leans in to capture your lips in a kiss.

A squeak leaves your mouth as Jeonghan tilts your head, cupping your cheek. You want to pull back, smack him, call him names but you can only moan as his mouth slots against yours perfectly. Your tongues clash as you grab a fistful of Jeonghan's shirt, moaning.

When you pull back for air, you're mortified, wanting to be swallowed up by the ground. Jeonghan is totally calm as he takes in your messy state licking his lips.

"Do you want to continue?"

"W-wh-what?"

"I said do you want to continue this? If you don't want to I'll leave. If you do then you're coming home with me. Which one is it gonna be, ___?"

You bite your lip. Oh my God. This can't be happening.

You grit your teeth as every ounce of your resolve disappears, "I...I want you."

The smile on Jeonghan's face is victorious, a smile you've seen million times before, a smile that makes you week in the knees. "Good girl." He says encasing your lips in another kiss before standing up holding out his hand. "Come along, sweetheart. I'm gonna ruin you for any other man. Even when it's morning you'll only be thinking about me," he whispers in your ear before tugging you out of the porch- your heart hammering in your chest as you squeeze the scarf on your hand.

Fuck, you owe Mingyu a fruit basket or some shit now.

A/N 2: Also, that video of Jeonghan exercising made me 🥵🥵 this man is so infurating. I was literally dehydrated from watching that video.

[clevercatchphrase]

2020 Year Review~

2020. Pretty unique year, don’t you think? It’s the first year since 2002 to have only two different digits in it. After 2022, this won’t happen again until 2111. Yep. Absolutely nothing more interesting than that.

Anyway! It’s time I reflect on my 2020, look back on my yearly goals and rant about things that happened to me this year. I made a post like this last year, where I went over my 2019 goals and talked about what I accomplished and what I didn’t, and it’s only fitting I do the same again this year. Read more under the cut for a random stream of consciousness ramble!

So, first things first, let’s look at my 2019 goals;

Finish paying off that last student loan

Put more stuff on my redbubble

Illustrate my own fan fics

Sew at least one stuffed animal

Make an enamel pin

Read one new book a month

Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic

Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make

Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch

Boost my patreon

 Paying Off My Last Student Loan: Going down the list, I am proud to say that I FINALLY paid off all my student loans! (and not a moment too soon. The last payment I made was literally days before the first quarantine rolled out). It took me roughly 4 years on my part-time paycheck to pay off all my loans, and once I finished, I had no money to my name (literally; I had less than 1k as emergency money in case of car troubles or health issues). Heck, I’m STILL living at home as a save up for a place of my own. Finally paying off all my student loans DID activate my secret 2020 new year’s resolution, which was to adopt a cat! I did this too, literally a week later! She is the best thing that’s happened to me this entire year and I love her so much and she is the snuggliest cuddle bug I’ve ever met. I’m so happy she’s in my life now~

Put More Stuff On My Redbubble: ah ha ha ha… I thought I did this, but then I went and checked, and it turns out-! I did not. I made art I intended to go on my redbubble, but haven’t put there yet. They are all drawings of some OCs from a game I want to make, but because I haven’t progressed on making the game this year, I never got around to putting more stuff related to it on my redbubble. At the time of writing, there are 7 days left in December, so I guess I could go and put it up on my redbubble right now, but without context on where the characters are from, there wouldn’t be much point, now would there?

 Illustrate My Own Fan Fics: Another goal that I was so stoked to actually do… and then just didn’t. Gee, I wonder why I couldn’t find the energy or motivation to do it this year? Truly a conundrum. (Hey, you know what? If Ghost Switch counts as a fan fiction in a visual form, then I am doing GREAT on this goal. 2.5 years in, 1 of ~4 arcs done, and still going steady~)

 Sew At Least One Stuffed Animal: Okay, I have a valid excuse for not doing this one. I even knew which stuffed animal I wanted to make, and had the pattern drawn out and everything, but I had no money for materials because I had just paid off my student loans. And then, by the time I did have enough money again, quarantine was in full effect and I couldn’t go out to the fabric store. I’m still trying my best to stay out of public places even if the rules are laxer now, because I don’t want to catch the plague even if everyone in my goddamn city thinks and acts like the problem is over already. Even if they’re all wearing masks, even if they’re staying 6 feet apart, I still don’t want to risk it. I will stay inside until health experts give the all clear, and when that day comes, then I will buy some fleece and make a plush.

 Make An Enamel Pin: I ACTUALLY DID THIS ONE. TWICE! Halfway through quarantine, I was feeling anxious and depressed about my job and how they were planning to have me work with the public despite climbing infection rates and positive covid cases. I didn’t quit then, but in a desperate move to try and become self-sufficient, I went to madebycooper and made two enamel pins based on some butterfly dragons I drew last year. They’re on my etsy store now! I even went out of my way to open a P.O. box just to start a small business! I haven’t sold a single pin yet, and I’m actually really nervous to sell my first because I don’t trust the efficiency of the postal system thanks to the actions of the GOP that really screwed them over this year! (If you would like to see my enamel pins, click here!)

 Read One Book A Month: I did this! With dragon books I bought a couple years back! In fact, I read FOURTEEN dragon books, and still have more books for next year to read! The 14 books I read this year were:

 The Hive Queen

The Poison Jungle

Wings Of Fire Legends: Dragonslayer

Dealing With Dragons

Searching For Dragons

Calling on Dragons

Talking to Dragons

The Bronze Dragon Codex

The Brass Dragon Codex

The Black Dragon Codex

The Red Dragon Codex

The Silver Dragon Codex

Dragon Strike, and

Hatching Magic

 To be honest, I had read The Red Dragon Codex years ago when it first came out, but completely forgotten what it was about. I remembered liking it, and I knew the reading level was on the lower side, but the whole dragon codex series was pretty good! So far, the Silver dragon codex was my favorite, and black dragon codex was probably the worst! Hatching Magic was also really slow and bad and had plot points that went nowhere, but the book was written in the 80s, so I don’t know what I expected. The Dealing with Dragons series was very charming and great for the most part, save for one line in the last book that really rubbed me the wrong way, and all the Wings of Fire Books go above and beyond in this third arc. The second legends book could be a little tighter, though (sky and wren are the best duo and I want a book solely about them, but I honest to god do not care about leaf and ivy’s stories.)

 Write one Page of any story every day/ complete at least one fic: I… did this? Okay, I kinda cheated near the end of the year. I was keeping up the one page a day thing for the first four months, but then the world went to shit and my schedule and habits got disrupted and I fell off my good track record. I completed 7 out of roughly 12 one-shots I had planned for this year (my goal WAS supposed to be one short a month, but… you know how it happens) I kept trying to catch up on this goal all year, but the days kept piling up…. Until November hit. I managed to write over 250 pages for Nanowrimo, and I consider this goal a win. 365 pages of fiction in total, which averages out to about one a day~. SHUT UP IT COUNTS.

 Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make: Another goal I didn’t have the mental energy to commit to this year. Truly a mystery to where all our willpower went in 2020.

 Fully Finish Scripting Ghost Switch: still haven’t done this one yet! The Snowdin arc is completely planned, but I just haven’t gotten around to getting the other areas. I’m not worried, though. I know all the major plot points I gotta hit, it’s just weaving them together in a way that flows nice is the final task. I’m not too worried though. I don’t expect to finish the Snowdin arc for another year and a half, at the bare minimum.

 And my last goal of 2020, Boost My Patreon. I did this at the beginning of the year, but then very intentionally stopped about a third of the way through. It didn’t sit right with me to tell you guys to donate to me when suddenly EVERYONE was financially strained from layoffs or being furloughed. I told my patrons the same, and if you ever need to stop donating to me to take care of yourself first, then by all means, please do. I would feel much better knowing you’re using your money to see yourself fed and housed instead of given to me (where it is pretty much only used to buy gas for my car, honestly)

 Welp! That was all my goals for 2020! I achieved 4 out of 10 goals plus 1 secret goal! Pretty much the same ratio as last year, but now this time I can blame all my failures on the pandemic! I don’t feel so bad about myself anymore~

 ON TO 2021!

 I have 11 goals for the new year, again some rolled over from this list, and some from even older years. They are, in no particular order;

 Read 12 new books (roughly 1 book a month)

Finish the first draft of 2019’s Nanowrimo project and rewrite it

Script TDV

Finish Scripting Ghost Switch

Build A Comic Buffer

Sew 1 Stuffed Animal

Finish 1 Song Comic

Make another Enamel Pin

Finish 2 short original comics (this one counts as 2 goals)

Finish the 5 remaining one-shot fics

 Now to go into depth on each one, more for my own sake, really. I want to know exactly what I have planned for each goal this year, and sometimes just looking at a short list doesn’t capture all the smaller details.

 1)Read 12 new books. Same as last year! I The only difference is I might not be able to make it all dragon-related books. (I try my hardest not to buy from amazon anymore, but half-price-books doesn’t always have the obscure stuff I’m looking for)

 2)Finish 2019’s nanowrimo project. If you read my 2019 year reflection, you’ll notice I said I wanted to do some original writing. And I did! The story I wrote for nanowrimo back then was a story I’ve been toying with since 2017, but it was only last year I finally got pen to paper. Now, you may find it odd that the keyword says “finish”. You may think, “but isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for nanowrimo?” and to that I say, WRONG! I wrote 50k words for nanowrimo, but the draft was only about halfway complete. I was kinda discouraged about what I had written last year, because I didn’t like how it was coming out, but I did manage to get it half done. Now it’s time for me to bite the bullet and just finish the thing so I can finally revise it and make it into something I DO like. (It’s still gonna be hella long, tho. That’s what I get for trying to write an epic fantasy, I guess.)

 3)Script TDV. TDV is the abbreviation of the game I want to make. I… still need to do so much for this project OTL… In addition to getting the story solidified, I still need to draw art and game assets, and learn how to code for it, both of which are no small task. I keep having some sort of new year’s goal related to this on my list, and every year I just don’t hit this one. Will 2021 be different?

 4)Finish Scripting Ghost Switch. (Or at the very least, get the waterfall arc completely written out). I have a plan to break this down into simpler steps, by focusing on just one arc for a month or two. Every major arc has 2 to 3 parts, broken up by flashbacks, and if I can just finish one section a month, then I should have the entire thing scripted by the end of the year. It’s not a difficult pace, but seeing if I stick with it will be the real challenge, as it is will all my goals it seems.

 5)Build a Comic Buffer: I’m actually working on this one right now! Since I paid off my last loan and got a new job this year, my current Patreon goals are kind of out of date. They had all been centered around me paying off that last loan, and working towards full-time employment, but those are both completed now! So instead, I would love to get to a place where my patrons could read pages at least a week ahead, and to do that, I need to build a buffer. And since I’m working 5 full days a week now, I can’t afford to fall behind. But you can’t fall behind if you constantly stay ahead! I would like to have… a 10 to 12 page buffer. That’s roughly 3 months’ worth of pages to always have on hand in case I get swamped with work, or something. Right now I currently have a buffer of 3, which will cover me for half a January, which is better than not having anything at all, but still not the best. (ultimately, I would love to have a buffer so big, I could queue them up for the whole year. Wouldn’t that be something?)

 6) Sew one stuffed animal: same as last year. ASSUMING the plague gets under control in 2021, I don’t expect to get to this goal until the summer at the earliest.

 7)Finish 1 song comic: I have 7 song comics planned. One is a gift, one possibly for wandersong, one is a collab that’s currently in the works, but I’m waiting on a friend to do their part before I can continue mine, 2 are UT related, and 2 (well, technically 3, but one is the collab) are KH related. It’s one of the UT ones that will probably get finished, if I’m being honest. It’s completely story boarded, and now I just need to ink and color it. I would like to get it done for UT’s 6th birthday, since I made a song comic on the fly for the anniversary this year, and it was fun, and I’d like to do it again! So, look forward to that next september~

 8) Make another enamel pin: I have a dolphin design I’d like to make because dolphins are cute, if not little murder machines. (need to save up some expendable income first, tho. THESE THINGS AIN’T CHEAP TO MAKE.)

 9 and 10) start and finish 2 original short comics: I’ve got some comic ideas I want to do, but I need to get them written out first. I don’t think either would be too long. Each maybe a couple “episode’s” length, if envisioned on a website like webtoons or tapas. They’d both be heavy in allegory, but not overly drawn out (hopefully)

 11)And lastly, Finish the 5 remaining one-shots I had planned for this year but never got around to. I’m going to try to write one every other month. Pure self-indulgent shipping fluff. If I finish these 5, then maybe I’ll ask other people for more prompts and ideas, which I’ve never done before. We’ll see how it goes~

 Also, Like last year, I’d like to look at everything that’s happened to me this year, though to be honest, I’m not sure how much I remember/how accurate it’ll be. God, I don’t even remember what January was like. Who was I back then? Who were we all back then? I guess I’ll start my yearly retrospective in march because, heh, god we ALL know what started happening in march.

 Firstly, I paid off my last student loan! Then a week later on March 18th, I drove half an hour out of my city to adopt a cat and I love her and it was the best day of this year for me. Spring break is just beginning this weekend, but the attendance at the zoo is shockingly low this year. Apparently, a lot of people watch the news, and they’re all taking precautions about social distancing. I wasn’t too disappointed. Fewer people at the zoo, the easier my job is for me. I was looking forward to getting some free overtime on spring break, since I’m broke after paying off that loan, and I’m a cat parent now and have a furry child to feed. Monday rolls around. My manager calls me and tells me that the zoo is going into lockdown until further notice. I worry for the birds I take care of, but understand it’s for everyone’s safety.

 For two months I sleep in and watch way too much YouTube. I join a couple writing discords. I have nightmares about my birds escaping their enclosure and I dreamed one of the security guards I really like at the zoo gets covid and has to go to the ER. I woke up really upset.

 I started and finished BBS for the first time. I also replayed and finished KH2 final mix for the first time. It had been about 5 years since I last played KH2 before my PS2 died, and it was like coming home~ I also finished tearaway, and played and beat Ryme for a second time (which I can’t remember if I did that last year, but it was a fun experience regardless)

 Mid-June, and I’m allowed to start going back to work, be it on reduced hours. The zoo is still closed to the public, but I’m loving it! I get to work with full-time keepers and do full-time keeper things. It’s so much fun not having to deal with the public. August starts to creep up and there’s a rumor that the zoo will be opening to the public again, which I’m not stoked about. I don’t want to go back to standing in one exhibit all day, talking to guests who don’t listen to the rules or to me. 2 of my younger coworkers (who had both only been there a couple of months) get chosen for full-time positions, while I get passed up which really pisses me off. My other 2 coworkers quit when they think we might be reopening because they cannot risk catching the virus due to at-risk family. I am now the last keeper in the interactive bird exhibit.

 I keep working, the zoo slowly opens, but with me as the only interpreter in our interactive bird exhibit, we can’t open because I can’t run the entire exhibit by myself. So my exhibit stays closed. September comes and goes, and then October starts. Now there is more serious talk of opening my exhibit before the end of the year because the zoo expects to bring in larger crowds for the Christmas lights event in November/December. I ask if I get hazard pay or health insurance since I’m doing full-time hours until they hire more staff. They say no.

 I immediately start searching for a new job feeling incredibly indignant/hurt/slighted/insulted/used/abused/ALL the negative feelings at my job. I had been there for 4 years, but never got a chance to work full time, while the two newest hires who had only been there 2 months both got moved up. I can’t help but feel they were holding one mistake I made two years ago against me and never wanted to give me a chance. (that, or they knew I was reliable when it came to showing up for work in such a volatile position that sees a lot of new faces, and they didn’t want to bother going through the process of hiring someone new) I don’t want to risk my life working around guests who don’t wash their hands and don’t properly distance. I don’t want to gamble with my health when they won’t offer me health insurance because I’m part time.

 Mid October, I get an interview for a full time job and get hired on the spot. I peace out at the zoo 2 weeks later, literally 3 days before they planned to open my exhibit to the public. It was a close call for me to escape before they opened to the public (and pettiness was only partially the reason I dipped out so close to opening). Sorry new hires who are now in charge of the bird feeding exhibit. I taught you the best I could in the short time I had. If the managers are struggling with what to do with one less person, I can’t say I feel bad. I can only hope they delayed opening/closed you down again for your own safety. You are not lightbulbs. I really hope the higher ups stop considering you as replaceable as one. Will I go back to the zoo to visit? Probably. But not for a year at least.

 I started my new job the very next day after I quit the zoo, and have been there ever since, (which isn’t that long yet, tbh. Christmas day was my 2 month anniversary). It’s full time, but it’s also a small business, and everyone’s hours this year have been on the short side due to the plague. I understand, though. They don’t want us to work if they can’t afford to pay us. Everyone is nice enough, though some people smoke and it’s hard to avoid them with how frequently we have to go in and out, and I really don’t want to get lung cancer, sorry not sorry, please and thank you. Also, with such a small team, gossip is certainly harder to go undetected, so it’s a relief knowing people don’t talk behind one another’s backs.

 I participated and beat my 4th nanowrimo in a row, I made TWO apple crisps on thanksgiving, and made baklava on Christmas and both of these recipes were my first time making them, and they both came out adequately! I voted the first day of early voting, and I did an art trade/collab with two of my friends for my birthday! (normally we would have done monthly “art days” where we get together and do art projects for fun because we’re adults and we can spend our time together however we want, but the plague said otherwise this year) We drew pokemon and it was fun! (hopefully I can show you all the results soon. At the time of writing, I’m still waiting for the last two colored parts to get back to me)

 I reached 100 pages on my undertale comic, and finish the first arc out of…! (im not sure. It’s either going to be 4 or 5, I haven’t decided yet)

 Over all, I managed to stay healthy as far as I know. I wasn’t as productive as I wanted to be this year, but then again, who was? (don’t answer that. I don’t need that kind of comparison in my life right now)

 Will 2021be any better? Honestly? I don’t think so. Not right away, at least. Just because a new year is about to start does not mean the slate is completely wiped clean. The change of the calendar year doesn’t magically make all our current problems disappear. Covid will still be here and cases will still climb when January starts. Small business will still be strained when the month rolls over, police will still go on murdering innocent civilians and getting away scot free, amazon and disney will still be monopolizing all consumer goods and media, and I can’t help but feel like there’s an impending shit show about to go down on inauguration day. I do hope things will get better, though. It’ll be arduous and unpleasant, but I do hope things will improve, because sometimes hoping is all you can do.

 Good night.

[dirtydobrik]

special guest - d.d.

plot: you and david just recently announced that you were dating and one night while david and jason record the podcast, they bring you on as a special guest

requested: yes! One where you’re a special guest on the podcast after David recently revealed his relationship with you?(love your writing 🥺💕)

author’s note: hi! this was requested over a month ago and i completely forgot that i had it in my drafts😅

if you want to send in a request for an imagine, send me a message! i am super behind on requests right now but i have a few pieces in progress that i am working on. i am hopefully back to posting daily because i am trying to get caught up.

word count: 1225

masterlist

 "What's up guys, welcome back to Views," David said, introducing the podcast. You were sitting in the bean bag in David's living room, half listening to the playful banter between David and Jason while scrolling through your phone. They talked and argued about a few different topics for a while, before David said something that caught your attention.

"If you didn't know, I posted vlog last week and revealed that I have a girlfriend. We've been together for a little over six months. She's absolutely amazing." He gushed, and you couldn’t help but blush at David's words, a smile spreading across both of your faces.

"It's good to see you so happy, Dave," Jason said sincerely. "Especially since she's helped mellow you out and it gives me a little more peace and quiet," he joked, earning a laugh from David and a small giggle from you.

"She definitely brings out the best in me," David grinned, looking over at you and meeting your eyes. "She's fucking incredible. I won't bore you guys with the details but, yeah, she's just the best." David "She's sitting behind us while we record this. Why don't we bring her out?" Jason suggested.

"Sounds great, Jase. That is, if you're okay with it," David replied, turning to you to make sure you wanted to do it, and you happily agreed. You moved from your seat on the love sac to the couch, sitting with your legs over David's lap since you two had to share a microphone. "I wish we still videoed the podcast so you guys could see how these two are sitting. It's disgusting," Jason scoffed.

"You're just bitter because you're single and I'm in love," David teased and Jason quickly flipped him off. "Why don’t you introduce yourself, babe?" David tilted the shared microphone towards you. You gave a brief introduction of who you were and what you did to let the listeners know a little bit about you.

"So Dave," Jason started, sounding like he was interviewing the two of you. "After your breakup with Liza, you said you didn't want to have a public relationship again. What made you reconsider?"

"I don't know, man. We had to keep our relationship a secret for so long and I just wanted to be able to talk about her." "We don't really want to publicize every aspect of our relationship. David just wanted to let his fans know that I exist," you added.

"I'm just so excited that I don't have to hide her anymore. And I mean obviously not everything will be shared because our privacy is important since she's not a public figure. And because she's just a normal girl, she shouldn't have to deal with hate comments, so guys please don't send my girlfriend hate. She doesn't deserve it. She's truly the best person I have ever met and she makes me a better person. And yeah, I just love her," David rambled, not able to shut up about you.

"I love you, too, bub," you smiled, looking up at him and reminding him that you were still sitting next to him.  

"The fact that you haven't left Dave yet blows my mind," Jason chuckled. "You could do so much better than someone with the mental age of a six-year-old."

"Jase, shut up," David groaned. "I know she could do so much better than me, but don't tell her that."

"I'm just saying. There's no reason for her to settle for you when she could get literally any guy she wanted," Jason continued.

"I'm sitting right here," you giggled. "And besides, David's the only guy I want." Then you dropped you voice to a low whisper and covered the microphone before turning to David, "I'm not going anywhere. Don't worry."

"So give me the details. Where and how did you meet? Who made the first move? All the good stuff," Jason insisted.

"I don't want to bore you guys by talking about my relationship for half of the episode but since Jason asked," David started, looking at you to make sure you were okay with sharing personal details of your relationship. You gave a small nod and David started talking again. "We met in a meeting. She was interning for a company that I did a brand deal for and she was the only person around my age. They brought her in because she had social media marketing experience and my manager wanted someone with those skills on the team to negotiate contracts because the older men in the company didn't know much about it. I technically made the first move because I asked for her number, but it was strictly for business at that point. She made the first relationship move by flirting with me during a business lunch. It was super distracting but I didn't want her to stop. Sorry, am I rambling?"

"You are, but it's fine. Joe will just edit this all out anyways," Jason joked.

"Anyways," David said, jumping back into where he left off. "She was flirting with me throughout the entire lunch and I didn't really know at this point so I didn’t know if it was her personality or if she was actually interested in me. But after lunch she sent me text that explicitly stated that she was flirting with me and was waiting for me to say something."

"Is that true?" Jason asked you, seeming genuinely shocked since you were a quiet person and didn't seem like the type to make the first move.

Your cheeks turned red and you were suddenly embarrassed as you gave a weak nod. "Yeah, I did make the first move," you confirmed.

"And I'm thankful that you did every day," David beamed, kissing the top of your head as you smiled up at him.

"Alright guys, well that's all the time we have for today's podcast. Thank you guys for listening and a huge thank you to our special guest this week. If you guys want to know more about her and our relationship, I'll try to convince her to film a Q and A with me something."

"Bullshit," you muttered, cutting him off, "I'll be the one that has to convince you to film one." And David couldn't help but laugh, because it was true.

"I'm David and that's Jason. Bye guys. My name Jeff," David finished, ending the podcast.

Joe packed up the equipment and Jason got up to go home since it was late, but you were comfortable and didn't want to get up.

"Thanks for doing that," David whispered, mindlessly tracing circles on your thigh. "I appreciated it."

"I know you two have been losing listeners, so I'm glad I could help out," you teased.

"I'm serious, babe. It felt so good to finally be able to openly talk about our relationship."

"It did," you sighed happily, resting your head on his chest and wrapping your arms around him. “Thanks for wanting to have me on the podcast. I know it’s yours and Jason’s thing and I don’t want to overstep.”

“You didn’t. Of course I want you on the podcast. I want you in every part of my life,” he said seriously, giving you a quick peck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Dave,” you smiled up at him.

[yayee-prsp]

I was talking with a friend about this idea I have been having for a while, so i ended writing and drawing about them.

(It is a rough draft and i have no beta so all the mistakes are mine ,,)

The background is blurred from this

That time when Grantaire writes on cups.

Courfeyrac and Jehan have a café.

It is a small thing. Two stories building in a small space, cosy and warm, filled with different flowers every day at the request of Jehan himself. Various paintings and dried flowers are put up almost everywhere. Everything is environment-friendly, Jehan has made sure of it. No straws unless requested, uses paper cups and only a few plastic ones, with recycle bin near. Located in a quieter part of town, only a few people know of this place, but those who discover it will surely come around again for more.

The atmosphere is always warm, no matter how cold the weather is. It might be from the smell of coffee and tea lingering around and in the air at all time when you enter, or because of how welcoming Courfeyrac and Jehan are - or maybe both. Courfeyrac will always greet you with a smile and ask you about your day, while Jehan will always leave a small poem for you on your cup - a cheery little thing for your day.

One of the patrons is, of course, the friends of the owners'. A group of students who called themselves 'Les Amis de L'ABC', or the friends of the abase. They are a group of students who wish to change the world, and the small café is one of their bases.

At first, the idea of writing on cups was only reserved for customers, in which Jehan would write their names in beautiful cursives and end with a few couplets or tercets. However, some customers wanted to request something to write for their friends, namely Eliza, a cheerful sweet girl who stumbles into their café one day and wish to add a few things on the cup for her boyfriend.

Enter Grantaire, who sees this and thinks of an idea.

Grantaire, a man who believes in nothing but still a romantic at heart, wishes to spread his positiveness into the public world by requesting quotes for Jehan to write on the cups. Which, well, mostly consists of cheesy pick-up lines which never fail to at least put a small smile and a headshake from the poor readers' face.

The first customer who gets the cup mumbles to herself: “You look cold. Would you like to use me as your blanket?” A scoff leaves her throat, and she leaves with a small smile.

After that, the victims range from Jehan himself, to Courfeyrac, and some poor random customers - sometimes the friends. He wrote for Bahorel once: ‘You must be a broom, ‘cuz you just swept me off my feet.’ To which Bahorel laughed in an obnoxious volume, and jumped up to literally pick Grantaire up from where he was working on his art. And another time to Joly: ‘Can you help me, Doc? ‘Cuz I just broke my leg falling for you :(’ Which was fun, considering the face Joly made.

The point is, many people had to read his lines, except one. It has, and will never, been Enjolras, Grantaire has made sure of that.

Courfeyrac, however, will not have any of that. So he takes it upon himself to deliberately pick a certain cup for the leader of their little group.

"Do you have a sunburn, or... are you always this," Enjolras reads, "hot?"

Courfeyrac just grins and says nothing, while Jehan laughs and shakes his head.

"An admirer requested it," he replies, “Just for you!”

A small smile plays on Enjolras' face though, so Courfeyrac counts it as a win.

———

Grantaire, however, freaks out.

"Why would you give him that, you traitor!" He whines one day, a cup of hot latté held between his hands, and his face buried into the cold table top. Jehan laughs softly and pats him on the back, while Courfeyrac, too, is laughing. Hard. Apparently Grantaire sulking and embarrassment is kind of funny to him.

"It's alright, R," Jehan tells him, patting him a few times on his head, "Enjolras seems to like it. Plus, he doesn't know who wrote or requested that anyway."

Grantaire sniffles, but he looks up at the poet and considers it. Jehan seems genuine, and Courfeyrac seems to agree.

"Can I write it this time?" Grantaire asks and receives a brilliant smile of Jehan's in return.

——

"Roses are red, my face is too," Enjolras reads, "that only happens when I'm around you?" He raises his brow after finishes. Jehan, a sweetheart that he is, remains silent and replies with only a smile.

"This is not your handwriting," the leader observes his cup of black coffee, holding the weight firmly in his hand while careful not to spill it.

"From your admirer," the poet answers.

Enjolras frowns, but shrugs and turns away. Not fast enough that Jehan misses his smile and a small shake of his head.

If only Grantaire could see.

——

For the next two weeks, Enjolras has a collection of take-out cups with pick up lines on them. Some have 2 or 3 on them since he decides to reuse some of the cups. (He also notes that when he reuses the cups, Jehan would be the one who writes the lines. So whoever it is is not in the café when he is, or they do not wish to be found.) He hates to admit it, but those lines do make his days.

He wonders who comes up with all these cheesy lines, and can't help but think about it. When it comes to, he has narrowed it down to only a few people who could possibly do this. And he thinks he is pretty sure who it is, but he needs more proof.

One day he decides to pay back the kindness and walks up to Courfeyrac. He asks the man for a marker and a cup, and makes quick scribbles of words on it, before returning it to Courfeyrac.

"For my 'secret admirer'," he instructs, earning a raise of eyebrows from the cheery man behind the counter.

Then he waits a while, sitting in the café and pretends to do some work while trying to see if Courfeyrac will slip in the cup for someone. Apparently, the man is loyal because all the day he has been sitting, the cup is not given to anyone. So Enjolras just resigns and packs his stuff. He'll find out, one way or another.

As soon as Enjolras walks out, Courfeyrac springs himself into action. The sound of the coffee machine echoes out all over the room, emitting a pleasant smell of coffee everyone loves.

A few moments later, a cup of iced latté with extra whipped-cream is placed in front of Grantaire, startling him out of his trance. He jumps and glares at Courfeyrac who simply grins at him like nothing has happened.

Grantaire puts his sketchbook and art supplies down on an empty chair beside him. His hands, which are half-covered by his green knitted sweater reach out to grasp the cold drink, all the while saying, "I thought I would never get my drink in this life."

Courfeyrac just keeps smiling, then points to him his cup. Grantaire frowns and looks down before his eyes go wide.

"Apparently you also have an admirer," the barista states happily, before making his way out and throwing a wink over his shoulder, leaving Grantaire to his shock.

He would recognise that handwriting anywhere, and that makes it even worse. Because Enjolras, of all people, wrote, in his quick but neat handwriting, "I would say God bless you, but it seems he already did."

That bastard. Grantaire has lost the ability to focus on his work after that.

——

It goes like that for another two weeks, with Grantaire writing pick-up lines for several people every day, and one reserved coffee cup or a line for Enjolras, with additional doodle of small things on all the cup: flowers, cats, dogs, or whatever it is that inspires Grantaire. Jehan seems to like his addition though, and so Grantaire has become one of the professional coffee cup artists of the café after two or three days or so.

Customers seem to appreciate it since Jehan notices they would smile wider when they receive their cups. However, their little game has to stop when the reputation of their heart-warming café has spread for some reason, and there are more customers than ever. Courfeyrac loves it, and Jehan is more than happy, but it exhausts them every day. So, Grantaire takes the matter in his own hands and volunteers to be a barista.

"And don't you pay me with cash, I just want some free coffee every day and that's that. No argument," he says, dismissing any further complaints from the couple.

Now Grantaire has full-control of everything behind the counter. He spends some times learning how to make basic coffee and how to do it quick. But Courfeyrac prefers to let him station at the cashier, and Grantaire is more than happy to oblige. He loves talking to new people, and being at the cashier gives him the opportunity to write on the cups as much as he wishes. Jehan still comes in and writes beautiful poems at times though. He loves it after all, but making coffee at all time makes it hard for him. So, unfortunately, he can only do that when the customers are not so overwhelming. That gives Grantaire no time to write for Enjolras.

Grantaire wonders if Enjolras notices or misses the small exchange of random cheesy lines. But considering Enjolras, it would be indifferent to him, Grantaire thinks with a twinge of disappointment. Still, he is happy doing this - working and meeting people.

A month and a half after the first time Grantaire asked to write, or a few weeks after getting behind the counter, however, Courfeyrac hands him a latte cup with another line written on it, catching him by surprise.

"Apollo sent for you," he states. And on it, written in Enjolras' usual handwriting: 'No wonder the sky is grey today, all its blue is in your eyes.'

And that just leaves him with a racing heart and a face that can be used as a stove to fry some eggs. And the temperature of the countertop is just so perfect to cool his fave temperature down because damn this is so unexpected. It's been too long since their last exchange and Enjolras has to attack him with this-

He is so caught up trying to calm his racing heart and burning face down that he doesn't question why Enjolras knows his admirer's eyes are blue - or to see a smile of a certain someone just through the window outside the shop.

After a while, Grantaire moves to work at the coffee machine since he has mastered it. Jehan and Courfeyrac are more than delighted to know that he can also make latte art! It is amazing, and everyone loves it.

Grantaire practically works at their little café full-time by now, and Courfeyrac would not let him work for free any longer, so he guesses he's an official employee of this café. It's not that bad after all.

(He tried to refuse for a while but it didn't work anymore. Jehan can be terrifying when he chooses to.)

Even then, Grantaire still tries his best to write some messages on the cups, but since the new shop policy which tries to reduce even more plastic, he has to adapt. Hence, he chooses to write on the napkin or the receipt instead. Jehan seems to adore this idea also.

Enjolras comes to the counter one day, tapping absent-mindedly on the countertop. Grantaire, who takes on cashier duty, raises his eyebrow, holding up Enjolras' stainless tumbler.

"Human to the God of sun, Apollo?" Grantaire calls and smiles with delight when Enjolras snaps his head to frown at him. "Iced coffee like usual?"

Enjolras blinks at him then slowly nods his head. The artist smiles back, before turning away to the coffee machines behind him. Jehan and Courfeyrac are on a break since there are only a few customers and Grantaire declares they deserve a break. So it's a one-man job that Grantaire is more than happy to do.

The machine whirs into action, filling the cosy shop with a constant sound. The smell of coffee slowly swirls all over the shop once again. Grantaire smiles, watching as the liquid pours down and into Enjolras' tumbler.

"Well, there we go, Enj. We don't have straws to preserve the environment - you know the drill. And here's no poem from Prouvaire because he's not here. And since you've paid, you're free to go!" He rambles on with a big smile, handing Enjolras his stainless bottle. He frowns, however. When Enjolras takes it but doesn't move away, "Is there anything I can help you?"

Enjolras bites his lips, looking down at the countertop where he is still drumming his fingers. And - is that blush on the leader's face?

"Since you don't use as much cups anymore," Enjolras begins, looks up to meet Grantaire's eyes. "Would you now say those cheesy pick-up lines to me in person now?"

[purplellamanator]

Drabble Request 🥳

72. "Just smile, I really need to see you smile right now."

This ask was sent in by @unicorn-rainbow321 🤗I'm so glad you liked the other one enough to send in another ask so here it is 😘 Hope you enjoy this one as well 🥳 I have two more requests after this one, so I’m gonna have to put a hold on the requests after these two 👍 Just so I can finish the next chapter of Interview Mania. 🤗 it’s done I just need to edit it!

Saying he was naive for believing everything could just go back to the way things were before, was an understatement. To actually think after all him, his family, and his friends had gone through with the takedown of the Black Organization- after all the lies he told, that life could just bounce back was honestly stupid.

With the takedown of the Syndicate and the finding of a cure, he was exposed. The great secret of Edogawa Conan was revealed and how he always knew there would be, there were consequences.

Shinichi had known since the beginning that Ran would want to kill him. He knew what he had done was a betrayal against her trust. Especially when they had been dating for three months of it.

When it finally came out, the half a year of school work he missed meant nothing to him in comparison to his . . . girlfriend?

He said it questioningly because at the moment, he honestly didn't know if that was the correct endearment to use with her. Since leaving the Mouri Detective Agency to live in his own house and between all the court cases and hearings- they hadn't been able to talk. Shinichi had no idea where they stood in their . . relationship?

Ran was avoiding him. He knew that. And for the first few days, he let that slide. He figured she'd need the time anyway and him bombarding her with apologies and pleas would only aggravate the situation further.

But after all the hearings and almost two weeks in of being the Great Detective of the East again, Ran had yet to even acknowledge him. Even Sonoko would glance between them nervously when instead of going to talk to each other, they would both just sit silently in their seats.

Admittedly, during all the initial madness, he had to miss some more school. He was a key player in taking the BO down and solidifying why they should all be behind bars for as long as they lived. But during all of that, he still checked his phone. He still looked at her contact in his cell phone debating on if he should call her.

He never did. And each message he ever composed, he'd delete it or save it as a draft before finally deleting that too. It wasn’t like he was gone again. He was here. He was here with her. If she wanted to reach out him, she could and she would’ve done so already.

The one thing that killed him more than anything though, was the constant frown she walked around with. Her eyes seemed dull and her lips in a firm line. She never looked happy anymore and he wished he knew how she was really taking all of this.

He had expected for things to either go back to the way they were before or for her to come out with fists flying. Since neither happened, Shinichi was confused. He hadn't expected no reaction. He had at least expected her to demand answers and ask a billion questions. Ran however was acting like she couldn't care less. Well- more like she was acting like he never came back.

Finally deciding that he had given her more than enough space, he texted her. It was a weekend so there was no school so no real excuse to see his girlfriend except for the fact that he wanted to. And she was his girlfriend as far as he was concerned. She'd be his girlfriend until she told him otherwise because Shinichi didn't care what her or anybody thought. A cold shoulder was not going to be the way she dumped him. He wouldn't allow it.

He knew he had always said he'd let her go if that's what she wanted. If that was for the best. But he had gone through so much. He had missed so many chances and he would allow himself to be selfish just this once. He loved her. If she would just speak to him he'd make sure she knew that. He'd admit anything to her, no matter how much it embarrassed him.

So taking a chance, he sent her a mail.

'Hey, we haven't really had a chance to talk about everything. Can I see you?'

He didn't want to sound too desperate even though he really was. But there was no way he was going to hide the fact he wanted to see her. He had already done that before the whole Conan incident. He had already played pretend with his feelings. He wasn't going to pretend with her anymore.

Her response was almost instantaneous and he'd like to think if it was because she had been staring at her phone as well.

'Can I come over now?'

Swallowing hard, Shinichi sent her an affirmative before he felt something odd enter his gut.

He was actually nervous. He was nervous to see Ran and it honestly had nothing to do with the argument they would no doubt have.

As Conan, he had forgotten a lot of things about being in his own body. One of them being how beautiful Ran was up close. He was used to being only three feet tall. He had forgotten the hasty thump of his heart and pulse when she got too close to him. Shinichi couldn't remember feeling that way before the BO case though he knew he had liked her long before that.

Just from the sound of a knock on his door had his chest racing. He almost wanted to calm down before greeting her but there was no way he'd risk her leaving.

Opening the door wide, he had to take a breath before opening his mouth for fear it'd come out sounding small and nervous- like he was feeling.

Figuring it would probably be best to not say anything yet, he stood back gesturing for her to come inside.

As they sat in his living room, he hated the tension in the air. It was just strained and awkward and he had no idea where to even begin. Should he just start apologizing? Should he beg for forgiveness? Figuring that probably wouldn't be the smartest route, he asked, "How've you been?"

It was a dumb question or rather he worded it incorrectly. The way he said it almost sounded as if he hadn't seen her for a long time. And though it felt that way, he had seen her everyday at school. Which was significantly less than when he was Conan and even before the whole Conan thing happened, but still in a sense, misleading.

"Dad's okay," she said simply. "I think mom's moving back in next week."

And then it was quiet again. She went back to sitting quietly while looking at her hands in her lap blankly.

He didn't have to use any detective skills to realize she hadn't mentioned herself in all of that.

"And you?" He prodded further.

"What about me?"

She couldn't be serious? She had been giving him this cold shoulder since he returned. She knew exactly what.

"I just. . . I feel like you're not even happy to see me. Like maybe it would've been better if I hadn't come back." It pained him to say it but that was literally how it felt.

"You lived in my house pretending to be a seven year old child for almost a whole year and didn't tell me till just two weeks ago," she said in the flattest tone. "I'm sorry if I'm a little upset that my boyfriend of three months already bathed with me without my consent."

Shinichi almost wanted to point out that he did indeed have her consent but he knew that was wrong. He didn't have her consent. Conan did.

Instead, doing the proper thing; he bowed his head in shame and apologized. But she had acknowledged him as her boyfriend and he decided to take that as a good sign.

"You're right. You have every right to be mad. I should've argued more about it. I should've refused. You were already finding me suspicious. I thought that if I refused then you would surely know something was up. And I know this probably means nothing to you but I swear, Ran, I never looked," he shook his head and he meant every word. There had only been one time he saw the entire front of her and it had been when she got scared and dropped her towel during the Red Woman case.

Even then, she had every right to be mad. He just didn't like how upset she looked or how depressed she was looking. And when she said nothing in response, he swallowed nervously.

He hated what he was about to suggest.

"If you want to break things off, I won't hold that against you. I just. . . I don't want to see you hurting over this anymore. If that means getting rid of me, that's fine," he said slowly like he had to pry the words out. It hurt because he knew there was a possibility she'd be taking his advice.

"Just smile. I really need to see you smile right now."

That surprised her and glancing up at him, she blinked confusedly. At the unspoken question he raised a brow.

"You've been frowning since I came back. It's worrying me," he admitted.

For the first time in two weeks, her features softened. It was clear she hadn't realized how upset she looked. Or at least she hadn’t realized she was making it that obvious. But then her face suddenly went red before she was avoiding his gaze all together.

"It's been quiet at home . . . since you left," she said while shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

Shinichi's mouth almost fell open. Was she saying she was lonely without him and that's why she was upset?

"Why didn't you call me?" He said almost disbelievingly.

“Because I was angry with you,” she admitted. “Or at least I wanted to be,” she almost whispered but he had heard her. He had picked up on the ‘was’ and his brows raised.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Shinichi,” she sighed. “I’m honestly much more relieved than mad. I just knew with the hearing you had a lot to focus on. I mean I waited a whole year almost. I can wait two more weeks,” she said gently as she looked at him with a soft smile.

His heart skipped a beat as he picked up her meaning. He honestly thought she was ridiculous for thinking that. That he needed space from her so he could deal with these court cases. She was right. He had been gone for a good portion of a year. He had enough space but her words rang loudly within his chest.

She was still willing to wait for me?

Not really thinking about if he had her permission or not, he leaned forward at the same time of caressing her cheek and kissed her.

[howveryheather]

good time (the 2010s + me)

10 years of Heather... YESSSSSSS.

I mulled over various drafts of what you’re going to read today.  

There was a draft where I summed up everything, literally everything, that happened to me over the last 10 years. The more I read that draft, the more it felt increasingly like a diary entry that did not warrant publishing of any kind. 

I had a draft where I was only going to recap the good things that happened to me. That read like I had the world’s worst blinders on. 

I weebled, I wobbled, I tried to organize my thoughts using bullet points. None of it worked and all of it sounded like noise, even though I was technically going in order of the last 10 years. So, I’m just going to keep it simple and focus on the basics.

I went on two pivotal journeys in the last 10 years. The first is the start of my writing career and the second was repaying my student loans. Note that the latter half of that sentence is written in past tense. In 2019, after nine years in debt, I paid off all my loans in full! 

I want to talk about the loan journey first because it had an expiration date, even though I did used to think I was gonna die with those loans. Rather than sound like a broken record rehashing the story of how I paid everything off again, I want to share two aspects of paying off student debt that nobody talks about online. 

The first one is that once it happens, after your debt is paid in full, you’re not rich. You have a little more money every month, but you can’t go out and change your lifestyle radically. If anything, you have to remain in place a little bit longer and remain on a budget. There’s certainly irony in debt repayment. The debt is gone, but you are not exactly free yet. You have to recoup the losses. 

The other aspect of student loans is how quickly you forget about it once it’s paid off. And I mean all of it — the emotions and experience associated with loan statements and making monthly payments. I spent years lying in bed unable to sleep at night stressed out about my loans. I never think about it now. 

Paying off my debt alone was really difficult, but deep down I think I always knew that this was going to be my journey. My debt was not going to disappear, no matter how much I wished for a genie’s lamp or hoped a dead relative would throw me some bones in a will or I could magically find a spouse to marry who would assume the payments for me. I made a lot of lifestyle sacrifices to get out of debt. I prepared a few years in advance because I knew that what was ahead was going to be miserable. I remained disciplined, I treated my life with a Spartan mentality, and I crawled my way out under the 10-year deadline to freedom. Sometimes that’s what freedom looks like. It’s not a climb or a sprint to a finish line. It’s a crawl.

Onward to writing!

I was still in college at the start of 2010. Back then, I was an extremely green writer with few clips under my belt outside of an internship at the Ventura County Star and a column in The Echo (CLU’s newspaper). As a post graduate, every writing experience I have had has been a combination of good luck, timing, location, and the willingness to push myself and work hard.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to write in the entertainment space. I always loved reading the pop culture section of the USA Today and soaked up my subscriptions to Entertainment Weekly and Premiere Magazine like a sponge. I was determined to break into entertainment however I could, and I got in on the ground floor of BettyConfidential and HelloGiggles as a contributing writer in 2011.

The early 2010s was a short-lived timeline before most of the major media moguls began buying these sites out. I remember this time as one — and everyone who started during this time will say the exact same thing, trust me — where everyone really was each other’s friend in the media space. Content felt fresh. It was new. It was also really kind. There was a lot of room to share your story and experience and receive incredible, positive feedback from readers. 

BettyConfidential... What a wonderful group! Was there anything better than waking up at 5 AM the morning after the Golden Globes to email over my best-dressed picks? (Sometimes emailed over the night before, I must admit.) I wrote my heart out in that LA Correspondent gig, covering fashion and celebrity news. It gave me so many opportunities to lead the kind of life most people who move to California never get the chance to have. I had the good fortune to go to red carpet events and awards ceremonies and gifting suites and sit in on movie sets and chat with celebrities (often in more candid spaces than is the norm) that I would never have had otherwise. Betty gave me a much-needed glimpse behind the camera of celebrity and the etiquette for how to be a reporter in this space. My experience at HelloGiggles differed from Betty in that it was much more social media driven. That was definitely the site where you earned your following and found your people in the Twitter space. 

Collectively between Betty and HG, my favorite memories were...

1) The first time I went to New York City to cover Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. I went to as many shows as I possibly could in Lincoln Center, took photos with my iPhone, stayed up writing and writing with my photos at the hotel afterwards, and did it all over again the next day for 3-4 days. I also packed very poorly for February 2012 weather. A trench coat and flats in 20 degree weather with snow... but I still looked good!

2) I went to an event celebrating L’Oreal’s 40th anniversary of their “Because I’m Worth It” tagline (an early foreshadowing of my future in writing in advertising). I wrote a nice article about the event, shared the story, and went about my merry way into the rest of my workload. A few weeks later, I received a gift in the mail from their team: a huge gift card to Saks Fifth Avenue! There has never been a Cinderella moment in my life quite like the way I spent this gift card. I went to the Saks Fifth Avenue in Beverly Hills and bought a beautiful designer day dress that I wore everywhere (and still have in my closet).

3) The first time I went to, and covered, the Pillsbury Bake-Off for HelloGiggles. (Look at all that foreshadowing!) The Pillsbury Bake-Off is such a delightful experience and not just because there’s a life-size Pillsbury Doughboy walking around either. The events are held in hotels with convention-sized rooms where one can fit 100 ovens. 100 finalists all bake at the same time and compete for a chance to win a million dollars with their recipe. Bake it like you mean it! I even had dinner one table away from Martha Stewart at the Orlando Bake-Off.

I tried not to decline any opportunities. I made everything work, as much as I could. As far as regrets go, the only event I turned down was an opportunity to go backstage and cover the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. The logistics and timing were really off. There was absolutely no way I could have flown to New York in time for it... but I will always wonder what if!

In a post-Betty and HG world, which is where I was in 2014 when both gigs wrapped, I began pivoting toward a new vertical: advertising. My discussions with Advertising Week began in late 2014 and I started writing for the website in 2015. Initially, this was a situation where I filled in the gaps with whatever content I was asked to write. A lot of it had pop culture tie-ins with Mad Men. (Shout out to my brain for already being a fan of the series and intricately understanding the ins and outs of its characters that tied in with advertising’s heyday!) 

The first major series of articles I worked on were sponsored by Adobe, so there was an increased expectation to go above and beyond in the manner I wrote, the amount of research conducted in each article, and understanding the audience. I was ready to meet the challenge and was met with high praise for this hard work. During this time, I also briefly worked in transcription for Flaunt Magazine. I transcribed interviews for one of their writers, which made me feel as though I came a little full circle yet again to entertainment.

In March 2015, I received the opportunity to go to Chicago to the Museum of Broadcast Communications. It was for an event called “A Salute to Advertising’s Greatest Icons” which honored 10 of the greatest brand mascots in advertising. My favorite character, the Pillsbury Doughboy, was one of the honorees. Even more exciting, the creator of the Doughboy Rudy Perz would be in attendance. I immediately asked AW if I could cover the event and they agreed. However, a great tragedy occurred days before the event. Rudy passed away. I was completely crushed. As a lifelong Doughboy fan, I realized I would never get the chance to tell him how much of an impact that character had in my life.

In the 24 hours I spent in Chicago, I got to tour the museum space, meet and spend time in the studio of JoBe Cerny (the voice behind the Doughboy’s giggle!), and attend the event and its dinner. Each menu course was inspired by the 10 brand mascots. It was so much fun! I promptly wrote up the article and gave it to my bosses. 

This article sparked the beginning of how I have carved a name out for myself in advertising. Brand mascots. We started discussing how to create content about characters, which I jumped at the chance to write. Before long, I had written so many character-based articles that the content spilled over the website. It required its own platform, PopIcon, which officially launched in 2016.

The greatest joy of my writing career so far has undoubtedly been PopIcon. There is so much to cover that I have gone through stages in writing. The initial stages of introducing the character to the world, the stage of updating everyone on the character’s current events (these critters are more active than you think!), and the historical narrative behind the mascot. There is only so much information a PR person can provide you before you can’t work with a one-sheet condensed timeline anymore. You have to get out there and behave like a journalist, finding creatives to talk to and share their stories. My favorite thing is when someone tells me that they have nothing to say. Then, they launch into a narrative of what life behind the scenes was like animating Lefty from Hamburger Helper or recruiting a voiceover actor for an ad campaign. That’s a lot to say! There is no absolutely story that is too small. Every bit of it is history and it has a place to be shared.

I struggle to pick my favorite PopIcon piece. At any given point, every article I have written has been my favorite. They are all jewels in a crown to me, which is a unique way to view your writing. Really, it’s how I hope every writer views their body of work as it grows and progresses.

However, if you must read anything... try these pieces on for size!

Leo Burnett’s Oral History, As Told By 8 Former Creatives (Part One & Two)

Putting The “Kool” Back In Kool-Aid

How Seth Werner Turned A Cluster Of Grapes Into The California Raisins

Monsters! A Brief History Of The Monster Cereals Icons

Ken Stewart, Creator Of The Coca-Cola Polar Bears, Reflects On Their 25th Anniversary

AW has been responsible for sending me back to New York City. In 2017, I went to New York to attend my first #AWNewYork event. My articles ran in their print publication, I hosted a panel, and I appeared on NASDAQ’s Closing Bell ceremonies live on CNBC and HLN. In 2018, I did the same rounds plus an Icons Gala which I worked on at the same time I was paying off my student loans. The Icons Gala was a massive success and I am so proud of it because it was really tough work. And in 2019, I came back for another #AWNewYork event and celebrated with all my mascot buddies once again. 

Outside of PopIcon, I have my hand stuck in a series of freelance honey pots. I always like to keep the wheel rotating, as a means of avoiding stagnation and growing my work. It never ceases to amaze me where the wheel naturally rotates next. I wrote for Brit + Co when I lived in Orange County in 2016. I had a few pieces run on The Drum. I wrote for Ed2010 for two years, which felt like a return to my roots because Ed was the reason I got in with BettyConfidential. I still write with Business Insider, Coin, and Fairygodboss, all outlets I’ve been with for a few years now (minus Coin which started in 2019). Weirdly enough, I was fact checked in an obituary this year in The New York Times.

“Dabble in something new” was my fortune I received from a fortune cookie in the spring of 2019. Good timing. What could I do next that felt new? Where could I start to grow?

I have had my eye on weddings for awhile now, in more ways than one. You can’t help but notice when everyone you know is getting married. You really can’t help it when you’ve been a bridesmaid three times. When I think of the last frontiers of verticals where pure joy exists, it all goes back to basic life rituals. Marriage is one seeped in love, history, and etiquette. I started writing with the aptly-named wedding app Joy a few months ago. Finally, I was able to break into modern wedding editorial.

That has been the last ten years of my writing career, in a nutshell. Upon writing this out, I realized just how lucky and fortunate I am that everything looks so neatly tied together. The gaps have been few and far in between. Regardless of what was going on in my personal life or when things were difficult, doors kept opening for me. And I did everything I could to walk in when it happened.

Doesn’t it look like the land of Oz over here sometimes? It has been 10 years. If you juggled this much writing on top of a full-time job, nonstop for a decade while aging from a twentysomething into your thirties, you would probably run into some issues keeping your self-sustained sausage factory running. It’s not a realistic story if the heroine isn’t facing growing pains.

I am not a perfect writer. I’m never going to act like the Heather cup of tea is for everyone to drink up because it’s not. 

I have had countless nights where I have been up late writing, researching, or editing drafts. My interviews with creatives sometimes last for a few hours. I have procrastinated my workload until the last possible minute, leaving me frantically pinned against a wall pushing all the puzzle pieces around until they fit in the eleventh, in the twelfth, hour. 

I’ve had my brain switch completely off into a “duhhhhhhhh” setting. In this setting, I shut myself in and watch reruns of TV shows I have already seen before. I have to mentally peace out from the world. This is because operating at eleven every single day takes a lot out of you. 

I have been rejected by a few outlets. Totally happens. I have also been told I am overqualified on more than one occasion. 

In 2019, I finally seized the opportunity to buy my domain, which was not previously available, and create a space for my work. 

I’ve learned a lot about one other person in the last decade: myself.

I know exactly who I am. I’ve hit reset on my life multiple times over the last 10 years, switching jobs, cities, and freelance work. I can reinvent some of me, but I can never leave myself behind. Nor would I ever want to do that. I love myself. She is still a work in progress, but it is progress I will do anything for, even if it means crawling alone for years on end. I do it for her.

Everything is up to timing. In time, everything will be as it is supposed to. That time will be the right time. 

If you are ever unsure of what to do next, look to the past for guidance. Everything I loved as a child is coming full circle into my life as an adult. 

I think the greatest thing I can do, now and in the next decade, is to continually work at making the younger version of me happy with her adult self. If the 10-year-old version of you could see you now, what would she think? Would she be proud of the person you grew up to become? Certainly I think the younger version of me is probably a little upset I don’t read as many books as I did in my Scholastic book club days (I’m working on it!). But, I do think she would be pleased with the woman I am in 2019. The things I have already accomplished and feathers in my hat. My personality and work ethic. The dreams ahead of me and the goals I still have left to achieve. 

While I have no idea where I will go in the next 10 years, I am excited to see everything that comes my way in 2020 and beyond. I will keep writing. I will keep working. And I will continue to keep not telling anyone what I’m doing until it happens. I have found life is a lot more fun when you whip out a good, unconventional “surprise!” on everyone that nobody saw coming.

Keep your pen at the ready. It’s gonna be a good time.

[mittensmorgul]

not a strictly spn question, but, as someone who wants to start writing, how the ever-loving fuck do you pump out so many fics so fast?? i’ve been working on outlining the same three stories for like a year (not really) ((but kinda))

Hi there, and congrats on that much outlining! I… don’t outline that much, ever, for anything. But I also don’t think I crank out fics all that fast. It might seem that way sometimes, but the Pinefest fic I posted in February has actually been drafted (and through several rounds of editing) since last August. I only just posted it for Pinefest. So it might seem there was only a month and a half between me writing that and the thing I posted last night, I’ve actually been working on THAT since January… three and a half months for 30k isn’t very fast. :P

I’m putting this under a cut because it’s kinda long, and possibly boring or irrelevant in the big scheme of things…

(I once wrote a 105k word original novel in 15 days, and a friend of mine wrote a 130k novel in just over three days on a deadline, but heck that is atypically fast… and nearly killed them… no really they developed shingles from the stress of it, do not recommend)

So I might be slightly biased here, but at some point you gotta stop outlining and start writing. That’s the secret. You can’t crank out stories unless you actually start writing them.

That said, when I say I don’t outline, I mean I have notes for fic that range from this, for my 8k short:

*soulmate situation described here: http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/173681098950/i-saw-a-writing-prompt-that-went-like-this-you Officially written and posted on 11/14/18 as Lost Time.

that’s just a link to a post that inspired the thing, to this, for a 65k fic: 

*NAILED IT! How could I fanfic my way through this baking show? or maybe I should just… write fanfic of this… (notes document: Cakepocalypse notes) (in process as of 4/1/18 as a potential dcbb as Cakepocalypse) (posted 6/23/18)https://archiveofourown.org/works/15017792

(sorry, I removed the link to my notes doc, but what I am willing to show of that:

wherein a lot of those 15 pages consists of images of the cakes in each challenge for my own personal reference while writing.)

Basically the ONLY two fics I’ve ever written an outline for structurally required it:

Cakepocalypse and Around the World in 24 Days, both fics based off “reality show” formats– Cakepocalypse was basically Nailed It!, and AtWi24D is the Amazing Race (and over 101k, based on about 5k worth of very detailed notes I’d be happy to show you if you come off anon). There was no way I could keep track of that many “contestants” and all their challenges, travel, baking, guests, etc. without keeping these sorts of detailed notes.

My previous pinefest fic, Winchester 275, was a 57k AU based on a two sentence thing that had been sitting on my to be written list for YEARS:

*(writing for pinefest, working title of Winchester 275 as of 8/29/17, draft finished 11/29/17, posted 3/6/18 http://archiveofourown.org/works/13788693) astronomy night at a dude ranch in arizona, Cas brings the telescope, dean only sees the stars in his eyes oh god did i actually write that down? yes. yes i did.

And my first DCBB, Revenge of the Subtext, was 80k based on a one sentence prompt: http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/130269813965/meangreenlimabean-mittensmorgul.

So if your fic doesn’t NEED you to make such detailed notes, just start writing already. :D

When I first started writing (loooong before I ever started writing fic), some of my encouraging friends told me some interesting stories. We got to talking about how annoying it was that so many people respond to someone saying they write with, “Oh, I’ve been thinking about writing a novel for years,” or something else along those lines. My friend told me she knew a guy who had been outlining his novel for more than a decade, but never seemed to be able to get it quite right so that he felt he could start writing. With that sort of attitude, he probably never will, you know?

You will never have a “perfect” outline. Just like you’ll never have a “perfect first draft.” You have to have a draft to be able to edit it, you know? Can’t edit a blank page, and an outline can only take you so far before it becomes so fleshed out that it ceases to be an outline and looks more like a first draft.

So set a writing goal for yourself. Shoot for easy to start with, and then you can tweak the goal as you fall into the habit. Say, 200 words a day. Or 1000 words a week (because in all honesty you might miss a day here and there, and you shouldn’t get down on yourself for that, either). I personally shoot for 1000 words on days when I write, but I’ve been doing this for more than a decade now. I don’t always make it, but sometimes I double that, or quintuple it, or more. And I have scheduled days off (Supernatural nights when new episodes air, and usually the day after, and Monday night when I play pub trivia and it’s Mr. Mittens’ night off work). But outside of those days, barring extreme exhaustion or illness, I try to write at least 1000 words a night.

Being that I’m not an outliner, I feel I need to say that I always know the whole story before I start writing. It’s all up inside my head, running like a film that I “transcribe” into a fic. So even if I don’t have a written, bullet-pointed list of plot points and emotional beats, I do have the “finished product” looping through my head continuously until I transcribe it all. I know that’s not actually useful writing advice for most people, and I have no idea if this is how anyone else approaches writing, but it’s how it works for me. Minor details may only show up while I’m writing, but the whole story is already there.

This is why I never, ever post incomplete, wip fic. I am a compulsive editor, mostly because I don’t create detailed outlines before I start, and for the sake of continuity, editing is my friend. Can’t go back to insert a reference into chapter 3 that will become important by chapter 14 if you posted chapter 3 half a year ago, you know? Your readers are not gonna go back and reread your updates when you remember that Important Detail never actually made it onto the page in the exact way you needed it to way back when. :P

Now, an outliner MAY have picked that detail up and inserted it before they ever started writing, but one thing folks might not understand until they actually start writing: Actually writing the thing out, making it flesh and letting it breathe, will inherently change your two-dimensional outline. I’m not saying that your plot will derail itself, but only once you begin bringing the story to life, begin living on the page through the characters, will you begin to feel them as living beings, and can really begin to understand them and make them feel real to readers. No outline can do this, and will always fall short of feeling “good enough” for this reason.

(sorry, a lot of how I feel about writing sounds slightly unhinged when I try to talk about it, so please remember that the first original novel I wrote was based on a recurring nightmare I had after a psychotic break, which I literally wrote as therapy to banish the Bad Thoughts. Yes, it worked. Yes, that’s why I still write this way more than a decade later.)

But this is where you’ll begin to fill in the “gaps” inherent in any outline. Personality quirks, inside jokes between characters, feeling their feelings and translating that to the page. But also picking up all the dangling threads like repeating themes and emotional triggers.

I think I’ve gone way far off the path here…

Basically, pick one of your outlines. Decide you’re gonna start writing it. Then start writing it. It’s that simple, and that seemingly impossible. Write one sentence. Then write another. Then write lots more.

Good luck! I know it’s terrifying. I’m terrified every time I pick a new fic idea to write and stare at that blank document. But I stare it down, give a hearty pterodactyl screech, and dive bomb the keyboard. It’s really the only way to do it.

It’s worked pretty well for me so far. :P

[areadersjoy]

Girlfriend

Summary: *requested* Tom Holland Imagine where he is doing a talk show and they pull up a photo of y/n and Tom cuddling up on their hotel balacony early in the morning and he admits they are dating and starts gushing about how much of an amazing girlfriend she is and a great mom to Tess

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: C U T E

Note: it’s been a minute, huh? this was a request we’ve had in our drafts since before we went inactive on you guys, which i apologize for. life can be a jerk sometimes. anyway--here’s a little something i started last night! i had so much fun writing, and i hope you all have just as much fun reading! x - K

Posted: 08/30/2018

“So, Tom,” Ellen Degeneres says, leaning forward in attempts to make it seem that she was way more interested than she was just seconds prior.

“So, Ellen,” Tom replies in his best imitation, folding his hands in his lap and having a stare-down with the host for no more than ten seconds, until the audience broke into a fit of laughter, making the two who were having the stare down laugh, themselves.

“So, Tom, I can call you Tom, right?”

“Yes, it’s my name, I’d prefer it,” he chirps back in the most polite matter, which somehow made the audience laugh.

“Alright, TOM... you’re here today to talk about the newest Avengers Movie, Avengers: Infinity Wa—!” Before she could finish, the crowd erupted into screams of joy and excitement. 

Running his fingers through his hair, Tom maintained the smile over his face.

“I am, yes. And I’m here all by myself—I can hardly believe they’re letting me do one of these by myself again,” the young boy goes on, gaining a few laughs from the audience. 

“So you’re saying you don’t have anything to tell us today?”

“No, no!” Tom let’s out abruptly, sitting up. “And even if I did, I couldn’t.”

“Really?” Ellen asks, a devious grin going across her lips.

“Yes, really,” Tom replies, once again getting into a stare down with Ellen. However this time Tom found his heart beginning to race.

“So,” Ellen finally breaks eye contact as she looks to one of her producers, now motioning to the screen behind the both of them.

“You have nothing to say about this picture you posted?” 

Oh no. Tom knew exactly what the picture was before looking. Slowly taking a glance, his eyes widened a bit at the sight of (Y/N) and Tom almost quite literally spooning on a chair meant for one person. Tom had prayed that this picture would never see the light of day, though it was his own fault it was now being seen. Instead of pressing the save button a week or two on Instagram... he had hit post, instead, giving life to more rumors that had been flying around for the past few months.

Tom was known for spoiling things. However, when it came to you, he liked to have it just between the both of you. While rumors were swarming about whether he was with Zendaya, (Y/N), or sometimes even Harrison... all roads lead back to you. You two had been dating since before the first Spider-Man movie came out, and were notoriously private about what was going on between you guys. Nothing other than a oh, they’re one of my greatest friends was shared.

So for Ellen to bring this up was a literal punch in the gut, his absolute nightmare had become a reality. He brought his hand up to cover his face, feeling his heart now stop, if that was even possible. While having his own internal mini-meltdown, Tom hadn’t even noticed all the oohs, ahhs and whistles coming from the audience.

Soon enough, the male uncovers his face, and put on his best smile, hoping that he was ready to answer what was to come.

“You know what, based off of that reaction, you totally have nothing to say about the picture,” Ellen retorts, a knowing look over her face, that sent the audience into another fit of laughter.

“Well,” he begins, feeling his face heat up—watching Ellen’s grin grow. “That’s a photo of my friend (Y/N) and I from a few weeks ago,” he explained rather calmly, leaving the host of the show unsatisfied.

“Okay, so you’re telling me that you and the girl in this picture are just friends?” She asks, looking back to the picture, then back at Tom, and then back to the picture.

“Because I don’t believe you.”

As the audience laughs, Tom does as well—finding himself a bit overwhelmed at this point. Honestly, as much as he enjoyed keeping things private, he would love to tell everyone about you guys. He wanted to scream out to the world about the love he had for you. But... if something’s not broken, why fix it?

“Yeah, I don’t believe me either,” the male lets out softly, a hand wiping over his forehead, going on to let out another laugh, once again feeling his heart begin to race.

“Okay... so if you aren’t friends, then what are you? I mean, you have to at least be friends to be that close to someone in a picture. I wouldn’t want to be that close to someone I didn’t like,” Ellen rambles on, which somehow made Tom feel better.

Letting out a huff of air, he smiles her way, and shakes his head. “(Y/N) is... phenomenal, really. I’ve known her for a while now, and she’s really one of my greatest friends,” he pauses, a wave of relief going throughout him, as he was truly just genuinely happy to be talking about you. “I’m very lucky to have her in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

With that, Tom wipes his hands along the pants he wore, and averts his eyes to the ground. The once giggly and rambunctious audience was now filled with so much love, and some resentment for the girl that made Tom feel so happy.

“So she’s your girlfriend?” Ellen chirps, waiting for Tom to look back her way.

“I didn’t say that,” he says back, desperately fighting back a smile that wanted to shine through.

“Alright, yeah. She’s your girlfriend.”

~

It was just nearing midnight when Tom was getting ready for bed, delighted that his day wasn’t an absolute train wreck. He had done press all day, most with someone by his side, and other sessions by himself. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

As he lay on his back for the first time since early that morning, a sigh of relief passed his lips, a smile creeping up seconds later. It was kind of fun teasing everyone about what was going on in his relationship. But most of all, it was nice to tell the world how important you were to him.

As he finally began to doze off, his phone began to ring. Tom didn’t check the caller ID, as he knew that ring tone by heart at this point—the BatMan Theme Song. He always insisted that it made no sense as his character and BatMan will probably never cross paths in the Marvel Universe, and you would always say that’s why it makes perfect sense.

“Hello?” He lets out as he answers the phone, a smile in his voice.

“You are in TROUBLE!” You shout in a playful tone, which makes your boyfriend laugh.

“Why am I in trouble?”

“You told Ellen that we’re dating, I thought we were keeping it a secret.”

“Come on darling, you know I can’t keep secrets,” he teases, knowing very well that you would be rolling your eyes at his remark.

You two spend up to a half an hour chatting, when you decide to cut things off.

“As much as I would love to talk to you all day, I have to head off to work soon, and I think you need to go to bed,” you tell him smoothly, just happy to have heard his voice to start out your day.

Right, time zones. That’s why they were talking on the phone and not in the same room. 

“Alright, I’ll talk to you tonight, love,” Tom says sweetly, though he felt part of him aching over the fact that they were so far away.

“Goodnight, I love you.”

“I love you, too. Have a good day and give Tessa some kisses for me.”

You laugh, which is pure music to his ears. 

“Will do, babe.” 

Click.

[salamoonder]

I’m so tired.

I used to be full of words and ideas and universes--and I still am, but now they’re trapped in my head, pushing out the things I need to function and survive and simply remember how to operate as a decent fucking human being.

I’ve spent weeks--months, honestly--going through all my old stuff and wondering how in the hell I managed to do it. Just the sheer volume of the words I produced astounds me. Right now six pages sounds like an impossible amount. In an early NaNoWriMo, my parents decided that I was spending too much time on “that dumb writing thing” and confiscated my laptop, and so I finished the last half of my novel in an old notebook in secret with one week remaining.

I flip through the pages and gape at it. I was sixteen. It’s not quality writing, but still, it exists. It’s there in solid ink, pages and pages and pages of my cramped, tiny, sloppy handwriting going from word to sentence to paragraph to chapter on and on until I wrote “The End” ceremoniously in cursive. And it’s only half of the full text.

Another year, I had fallen behind between school and work, and wrote fucking 12,000 words in under two hours. I’m sure most people who write or read fic know roughly how much that is but if you don’t, it’s the equivalent of a little over a fifth of The Great Gatsby. I don’t say this to brag but to illustrate how freaking impossible it sounds to me now.

There are documents in my google drive I haven’t opened in literal years that I know contain well over a hundred pages of original concepts. Unpolished, unedited, but there. First drafts, complete.

There are other folders containing nothing but notes; fully fleshed out universes and characters that I never used. Fanfiction ideas I forgot I had. The biggest group by far is a folder simply labeled “WIP”.

Abandoned, all of them. Even on my AO3 page, which I used to strive to keep completed as much as possible, houses several abandoned chaptered fics. And none of my original stories have ever seen the light of day outside of a few close friends. There’s even some screenplays in there. Stage plays. Poetry that I never reworked.

I have a nearly 60k fic that I’m releasing bit by bit now, slowly, editing each chapter and releasing it, waiting a week, repeating the process. It’s feeding my need to put something out into the world and the comments and kudos don’t hurt either. But the words are beginning to run out and I’m going to have to add to it soon, if it’s going to continue.

I’m going slowly insane.

I can’t sleep again. I’m on a low dose and I have a psychiatrist appointment soon, but I don’t think my meds are working. School is starting to catch up to me. Forgetting to eat is starting to catch up to me. The stress of jobhunting is starting to catch up to me.

It’s so, so much easier to put on Star Trek or New Girl or whatever and just kind of collapse in on myself rather than sit down and actually write. It used to be easy. Words used to flow out of me. Now I have to shove at them. Coax them out. Threaten them.

I hate not writing, though.

I want to finish what I started. I want to do more than that. I want to keep going. I have new ideas that need to escape. I’d like to share my OCs with the world. I’d like to perform and record some of my spoken word. If a writer is a god of their respective works, then I have been a severely neglectful one. I’d like to do better.

[nanowrimo]

5 Tips for Writing a Bestseller with Ulysses

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. Ulysses, a NaNoWriMo 2017 sponsor, is a professional writing app for macOS and iOS.  Today, New York Times bestselling author Lauren Layne shares her best tips for writing books that sell:

I’m what one might call a “process-junkie”. Although I’ve been a full-time author since 2013, my background is in the corporate world, and I was on an operations team. Figuring out the best way to go about accomplishing tasks and goals was literally my day job.

And it’s a proclivity that’s carried over into my writing life. I’ve published over two-dozen books, and in my early days, half the battle was figuring out how to write those books with the most effective, stress-free system possible.

It took me a couple years and several writing programs, but I’ve finally found my Holy Grail of systems: Ulysses.

I’ve been using the writing app since 2015, and it’s the first and only program that I’ve never cheated on. In the past, I’d flit from program to program, convinced that the next one would make the writing process easier. I’ve used Ulysses for two years now, and never once wavered in my loyalty. Simply put, it works. Ulysses is built for writing quickly and writing well. Since switching to Ulysses, I’ve signed multiple book deals, hit the USA TODAY bestseller list multiple times, and even made the elusive New York Times list. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Here are my 5 top tips for writing books that sell, as well as how I utilize Ulysses to achieve them:

1. Your story comes first.

Looking to write a book that sells? It won’t matter how compelling your characters, how nuanced your setting, how exquisite your prose if you don’t have a story—a plot. Bestsellers tend to be high-concept; they’re stories that can be described in 1-2 sentences, in what’s often known as an “elevator pitch.” 

Take a look at these examples: Orphan finds out he’s a wizard and gets sent to wizarding boarding school. Teen volunteers to take sister’s place in death match on live television. A Harvard professor follows clues left in Da Vinci paintings to solve a two-thousand year old secret. Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, and The Da Vinci Code. Three wildly successful books that pique reader interest right from the very first: “It’s a story about ...”

Even if you’re not a planner/outliner, it’s crucial to know what your story’s about before you write. Luckily, Ulysses makes it extremely easy to keep your plot front-and-center as you begin the writing process. Unlike traditional word processors where you have to work with one long scrolling document, Ulysses allows you to create “sheets” within your book’s project folder/group. The first thing I do before starting any book is to create a sheet that I label STORY. It’s where, in a single sentence, I sum up the core of the book’s plot. I’ll use other sheets/features for more detailed planning, but having a single sheet with a single sentence serves as a quick reminder of what the story’s about when I start to lose my way.

2. Think scenes, not chapters.

When I first started writing, I used to picture my manuscript as one big entity (the book) chopped by into random intervals (chapters). The result was a meandering, often boring, slog. My breakthrough came when I moved beyond books on writing to books on screenplay writing. That’s when it clicked. A book, just like a movie, is made up of scenes. Small, mini-stories, that are interesting in and of themselves. Often, those scenes are contained neatly within one chapter, but not always! Some scenes span multiple chapters, other chapters contain multiple scenes. Think of your book like a movie—something should happen in each scene. It doesn’t have to be an action scene, per say, but each scene must move the story forward in some way (even via dialog) in order to keep readers turning the pages.

Ulysses is perfectly designed for this “scene” approach to writing. I set up all of my books so that each scene gets a dedicated “sheet,” and the list of scenes sits along the left side of my screen as I write (or can be hidden, for distraction-free writing). If I want to access a particular scene, I need only to click on it from the list. No scrolling through hundreds of pages to find “that one part ...”

3. Leave breadcrumbs for yourself.

The hardest part about writing a book in a month (or writing a book at all!) is staying excited when we get to what’s known as “the sagging middle”—that part of the story where the fresh newness has worn off, and The End seems very far away. To combat this mid-book slump, I like to skim over all of the scenes I’ve already written, as well as create placeholder sheets/scenes for whats to come. As mentioned above, Ulysses makes it easy to organize your book by scene, but there’s another trick that makes this even better: by putting two “plus signs” on either side of a piece of text, you can create a note to yourself, that won’t show up in the final document. For example, I can also remind myself what Chapter Twelve is about by putting two plus signs around this chunk of text at the top of my Ulysses sheet for that scene:

++Jennifer shows up late for work (again) after her son’s morning asthma attack, and her boss, while sympathetic, tells Jennifer that it’s simply not working out. She’s fired. As she’s carrying her box of things to her car, the box breaks. It starts to rain as the scene ends, and Jennifer thinks she’s officially hit rock bottom.++

The above text will show up for me in Ulysses, but the plus signs tell Ulysses not to export that particular “note to self” in the final Word document. Not only does this scene summary make for easy quick reference looking back at what you’ve already written, but it can serve as motivation/ inspiration on future scenes! You can see the crux of that exciting climax scene waiting to be written, even if you’re not quite there yet.

4. Break the writing rules.

I used to think there was one “right way” to write a novel—that precise writing was good writing. I’d agonize that all of my chapters had to be roughly the same length, and at least 2,000 words. I’d think that if I did alternating POVs at the start of the book, I had to keep that going throughout the entire book. I thought that one-sentence paragraphs weren’t allowed. Or that you could never ever start a sentence with but or so, and that sentence fragments were completely off limits. I followed all the rules, published a few books with a big publisher... and sold almost no books, and made almost no money.

I figured if I wasn’t going to make much money from my books, I might as well have some fun with it! So, I started breaking rules. If a particular scene ended up at 898 words, and I loved the idea of it being its own chapter, I did that, even if the surrounding chapters were 3,000+. I once wrote a book where 80% was the heroine’s POV in first person, 20% was the male POV in third- person. I’ve written scenes made up primarily of text messages.

And you know what happened when I started breaking rules? I started hitting bestseller lists. Breaking rules and trying something different doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer—it means you’re developing your own style. This again is where Ulysses really shines. Traditional word processors force you to see your book in a very “finished” format, even in your earliest drafts. You may not realize it, but this “formal” appearance can really hamper any creative innovation. Ulysses provides freedom of structure, and because it’s a Markdown editor, you’ll be focused on what your words and stories are, rather than whether they or not they adhere to the “rules.”

5. Push through to the end.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, don’t stop until you reach the end! This seems so obvious, but it’s truly the most crucial advice I can give. A finished book is what separates authors from writers. Writers write. They put words on a page. But they also sometimes stop. Authors push through to the end so they have something to publish. Confession: my official story is that I wrote my first book in 2011, but the truth is, I tried NaNoWriMo 3 times in the early 2000s. I’d always start out November strong, excited about my new story, already envisioning the mansion I’d buy when I edged out Stephen King in book sales. All three of those times, I quit before even reaching 30,000 words. But the strange thing: it was never a sudden stop. It’s not as though I was on an inspired writing tear one day, and then would just abruptly abandon the book the next day. It was slow. Subtle. I’d tell myself that I had writer’s block, and just needed to “reevaluate” my story, and go back to fiddling with the my outline. Or tweaking my notes. I’d tell myself that I just needed a little time away from my story, and would watch TV instead. Or I’d tell myself that my problem was lack of organization. I’d spend hours (yes, hours) in my then-writing program, playing with formatting and cork boards and style editors. Slowly, I’d fall further and further behind in my word count, until finally I just... quit.

This is why Ulysses is so crucial. I know I sound like a broken record, but Ulysses is one of the few programs that gets it right. It keeps the focus on what matters: words. But with just enough organization prowess so that you don’t lose your way.

Lauren Layne is the New York Times bestselling author of over a dozen romantic comedies. A former e-commerce and web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated to New York City in 2011 to pursue a full-time writing career. She lives with her husband in midtown Manhattan.

[clevercatchphrase]

2019 year in review

So… The 2010’s are almost over. Huh. What a decade it’s been. Hard to comprehend how much has changed in 10 years. I can barely believe that I was in high school at the beginning of this decade, and now I’m a college graduate with 2 degrees who’s been working at the same job for the last 3 years. But trying to summarize the past 10 years in a single post is a good way to give myself an existential crisis, so let’s not do that! Instead, let’s just focus on 2019 because there has been more than enough shit that’s happened to me in this year to talk about.

PART 1 OF 2: 2019 AND 2020 GOALS AND RESOLUTIONS

Huh, looking back through my archives, I apparently didn’t make a tumblr post about my goals this year. I definitely had some, though. Lemme list ‘em off real quick, and then we’ll go through them point by point.

1)      Pay off all my student loans 2)      Finish some song comics 3)      Make art for my Redbubble account 4)      Finish the first rough draft/script of a game I wanted to make 5)      Practice ASL 6)      Sew some stuffed animals 7)      Finish some fan fictions 8)      Work on Ghost Switch 9)      AMVs 10)   Do some original writing 11)   Make illustrations for my fan fictions

Okay, first off, the student loans. I was actually SO CLOSE to successfully completing this one bUT THEN MY CAR HAD TO BE A WHINEY PISS BABY AND HAVE ITS ALTERNATOR DIE ON ME WHILE I WAS ON THE HIGHWAY AND THEN A BLOW OUT THREE WEEKS LATER.

GOD, if I had to summarize this year in two words, for me it would be “Car troubles”. I swear I spent more on auto repair in the first third of this year than I ever have just freakin’ OWNING a car. All four of my tires had to be replaced, my alternator failed and my car literally just SHUT OFF while I was driving, and I was barely able to coast into a gas station. Both my front breaks and rear breaks were worn down the metal and I only learned this when my car was barely able to stop after I had to slam the petal down full force!  I went in for an oil change, and they found some problems and then I didn’t get my car back for three days! I don’t even like owning a car! I hate driving! I hate my country’s refusal to provide universal, free public transportation! I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS!

Oh-kay… number 2. Finish some song comics. I didn’t finish any. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t work on them. I have made tiny progress, but that’s certainly better than no progress. One of these song comics I hope to be realizes is going to be a collab with one of my friends. It’ll be a long-time coming as it’s pretty low priority for the both of us, but if anyone else out there was disappointed with KH3’s ending, we’re gonna have ya’ covered… With SONG!

3. Make some redbubble art. I actually did this one! Not in the way I expected, but I added (technically) 3 new designs to my redbubble in the middle of the year. If you like butterflies and dragons, I got some product for you~!

Number 4, finish a script for a game I want to make. I… thought about this. I thought about this a lot, but I never put pen to paper, so… oops. It almost happened! I debated making this my main writing project for NaNoWriMo this year, but ended up having more inspiration for another story. Maybe next year? (god, I hope not. I don’t want to wait a full year just to write something)

Number 5, practice ASL. I just straight up didn’t do this and I only have myself to blame. Still keepin’ up that Danish Duolingo streak, though. 4 years going strong and not a day missed yet.

Number 6, sew some stuffed animals. Again, another one I just straight up didn’t do, but I have an excuse of trying to save money while my car crashed and burned in every other sense except literal this year. Hopefully 2020 will be different. I’ll definitely be able to pay off this last loan within the first half of 2020, and then I can start saving for whatever I want to buy.

Finish some fan fictions was number 7, and I did this! Well, I only finished, 1, but it was a story I’ve been working on for over 3 years, and it came out to over 200 THOUSAND words long, which is the longest thing I’ve ever written, and I’m quite proud of myself. Now that the big story is out of the way, and I’ve gotten into a good rhythm of working on Ghost Switch, maybe I can squeeze in some short writing sessions more frequently. (either that, or just wait for my car to break down again and then go on a writing spree in a pepboys. The lord and the fan fic discord know that’s solely why I finished my other fic this year)

Speaking of Ghost Switch, working on it was a goal this year too, and I did that! I kept it up all year and took a vacation in November and it was wonderful. While the major plot points have been in place since before I started drawing, I still need to script each arc beyond Snowdin, but hey, by the time we get there, it’ll be 2022 so I got time. (Note, don’t do this, kids. Script your stories and comics thoroughly before publishing. The road I’m on is paved with misery and pain and it will only end in tears unless I change lanes soon)

Number 9, amvs. Do people make AMVs anymore? Idk… the last one I made was... Jesus, 5 years ago? (it was a gravity falls/fall out boy crossover, if you were curious) I’ve been wanting to do 2 more for just as long, but in order for me to do that, I’d have to spend time re-watching the shows to find the footage, and then actually edit them together, and I just don’t…. feel like it. Maybe someday, but not any day soon.

10; do some original writing. I did this! For nanowrimo! I wrote the first draft of some original fiction I’ve been planning for a year or two now and it completely sucks! But it’s on paper now and I’m happy. Will I revise and edit it? Sure, but not for a while. I want to let it sit and forget about it and look at it with new eyes months from now so I can be sure I can make it better when time comes to rewrite.

11, make illustrations for my fan fics. Now that You Monster is done, I want to go back and add pictures to it. I didn’t do any this year, but I did keep a list of scenes I wanted to draw, so I have plenty of ideas to do as warm up sketches next year~ I kinda want to stream them~

So, that was 11 goals, and I successfully fulfilled 4 of them! That’s! Not a very good ratio… QmQ So, goals for 2020. Some I’m gonna keep from this year, some I’m gonna drop and some I’m gonna add. In short I would like to,

1)      Finish paying off that last student loan 2)      Put more stuff on my redbubble 3)      Illustrate my own fan fics 4)      Sew at least one stuffed animal 5)      Make an enamel pin 6)      Read one new book a month 7)      Write one page a day/Complete at least one new fan fic 8)      Learn Python or C# for the game I want to make 9)      Finish fully scripting Ghost Switch 10)   Boost my patreon

Most of these I think are pretty self-explanitory, but I’ll go into detail just a bit because I’m on a roll and typing my thoughts helps me feel less alone in the middle of the night when you’re super tired and you know you should probably go to sleep, but the toddler in you is throwing a tantrum and doesn’t wanna go to sleep just yet, but you can’t fight the progression of time either way.

Number 1- I should be able to reach this goal by the end of March. End of June at the absolute latest. Once that goal is met, my secret new year’s resolution will be unlocked as well!

Number 2- I want to put more art of my OCs on redbubble. These OCs are tied to the game I want to make. There’s already some art of them up there, but I want at least one piece for each character.

Number 3- Mostly for You Monster. Embrace the cardinal rule of fan fic and apply it to fan art. If you want to read about see art about certain ideas, scenarios, or what-ifs, you gotta make it yourself.

Number 4- I have 3 potential ideas to sew. One is definitely leagues easier than the other two and will probably be chosen if/when I have the time and materials.

Number 5- This year I got really, REALLY into the idea of making enamel pins. Unfortunately it’s a pretty big investment (like, $350 to make 100 pins you  might not even sell). If this happens, it’ll probably be towards the end of the year, and if I get enough interest. I’m currently torn between making an original enamel pin and one based off Undertale. We’ll just have to see where this goes.

Number 6- Back in 2018 when I paid off one of my many student loans, I rewarded myself by spending over 200 dollars in used books. All these books had a theme; they were focused on dragons because I have a problem. I have not yet read a single one of these books I have bought, and I would like to fix that. I have, like, 20 unread dragon books, and even if I only read 12 out of 20, I would consider that an amazing accomplishment and money well spent.

Number 7- I currently have about 8 different WIPs I could work on. (well, I don’t know if I can even call them wips. More like, a general idea and a title written down.) I want to build good writing habits, and if I can write just 200 words a day, hell, even 200 words a week and just one of my 8 stories done, I would consider this goal met.

Number 8- I’m torn between making my game in unity or ren’py. I know jack shit about both. Ren’py is more user friendly, but unity will allow me more customization. (Lol, can you guess what kind of game I want to make yet?)

Number  9- I really just want the full story to be done and written incase anything goes horribly terribly wrong in my life and I find myself unable to continue making ghost switch in comic form. Then at least I can finish the story by other means, you know?

Number 10- It always surprises me every month when I get that patreon email saying I got paid. Sure, I don’t even make double digits on it, but it still awes me enough to know that people out there like my work enough to throw me a tip. I can’t thank my patrons enough for supporting me and I hope to one day be in such a good place I can update my comic/song comics/writing frequently enough without need for goals or milestones. But until that magical day arrives, money is always a great incentive for anything, I suppose. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

 ALRIGHT. PART 2 OF 2: SHIT THAT HAPPENED TO ME IN 2019

Cheesus crust what a year. This year started off great! Back in late January Kingdom Hearts 3 FINALLY released, and let me tell you a little story. Back in the summer of 2006 I was a 13 year old middle schooler with no way of making money other than by doing house hold chores at a rate of 25 cents a task. A few weeks ago, I had a sleep over at a friend’s house and they let me play this weird game called “Kingdom Hearts” and god, I was instantly hooked on it. That summer, I did over 800 chores, enough to earn myself 200$ and buy myself a playstation 2 (just in time for the ps3 to come out, gg me) The only games I had for the ps2 were KH1, 2, Re:CoM and Okami, and I beat them all… except Okami. Miffed that the PS3 wouldn’t allow for backwards compatibility, little 13-year-old me made a promise. I looked myself in the mirror and said “I will not buy the next playstation console until KH3 comes out, AND BOY that was probably a good choice for me to make with my level of gaming. I’m even less of a casual gamer than the average casual gamer, but I have been waiting 13 years for this piece of closure, and I even told my friends and family that “the day Kingdom Hearts 3 comes out is the day I will buy a playstation 4”. My dad apparently thought this was the funniest shit, because he literally took the day off from work that Friday to drive me on base to get the game and console (he thought it would be less crowded than a regular walmart, I suppose). I paid $400 on a ps4 pro while he bought me the game. Again, I have an impecible sense of timing seeing as the PS5 is now right on the horrizion, but just like before, I’m not buying a new console until the next KH game is released. See you in 2045, sony~. While I was at the gamestop on base, I also picked up Okami HD and The Last Guardian. For all of February and even early March, I took my time playing through KH3. And…! It was the best disappointment I’ve ever played. After a month away from gaming, I started The Last Guardian and finished it in a couple weeks. I love trico and would die for him, but trying to get 100% completion on that game is udder insanity. Okami, HD, however… again after a month break after finishing TLG, I started replaying Okami. I think I had only managed to get about halfway through the game before I just… stopped playing it on my ps2 version. I am currently SO CLOSE to getting a 100% on the ps4 version. In fact, I’ve beaten the game. I only (techinically) need 2 more trophies to be done; 1st, escape the water dragon without being eaten, 2nd, I need to beat that dumb stupid race with Kai, in order to get the last bead on my rosary, as well as the top dog trophy. I hate her so much. I hate this race so much. It’s awful and bad.

Flash forward to December! Earlier this month I was at Barnes and Noble, buying myself a planner for 2020. I exit the store and notice that there’s a gamestop across the street. For shits and giggles I go inside to look at their game selection, and I find KH 1.5 and 2.5. Now, my PS2 died a few years back (it just won’t read my discs anymore, I don’t know why) and I haven’t been able to replay any of my other kingdom hearts games since. If you had seen me the day I finished kingdom hearts 3, after the ending credits rolled, you would have heard me say “Man…. I wish I could play kingdom hearts 2 again”. AND NOW I CAN, ALONG WITH BBS which I had never even played yet, but knew the story of. I’ve restarted playing kh1, and I was so happy to hear that familiar music when I booted the game up for the first time. While at the game stop, I also picked up Rime and Tearaway, two games that had looked interesting to me. At the time of writing, I’ve finished Rime and am 25% done with tearaway. Rime was…. An interesting experience. I learned about it through Jacksepticeye’s channel a couple years back and thought the art style was enticing. For a super casual gamer like me, I found the puzzles just the right level of challenging and exploring was a blast! The music gave me VERY strong Princes Mononoke vibes, but the overall story left something to be desired. Overall I had fun, and enjoyed completing this game to 100%. Now for tearaway. Can I just say this game is super fucking adorable? I know the original was on the ps vita and the gameplay there was arguably more diverse and imaginative, but this game is just so fucking cute I don’t care?? ALSO, this game’s sound track is ABSOLUTELY incredible and I’ve only heard the first fourth of it! Listen to The Orchards, Pig Riding, and Gibbet Hill Pilgrimage for a taste of their wonderful beats and fantastic use of string and woodwinds! God, I’m so excited to get some more games in 2020. I’m proud to say I currently own more ps4 games than I ever did with my ps2 (and now the majority AREN’T Kingdom Hearts titles!), and I’m still hoping to play Journey, The Witness, and Abzu before everything becomes ps5.

What else happened to me this year. Oh, I went to a doctor for, like, the first time in seven years. I also had my blood drawn for the first time ever, and the nurse said the most disturbing thing to me while she did it. Now, whenever I get shots, I refuse to look. I did that here. So she thought it would be appropriate to say to me “Can you feel your blood leaving your body?” Lady… You can clearly see I am uncomfortable with what is happening here. Why, of all the things you could say, did you choose to say that. Unfortunately, while my doctor is nice, she keeps wanting to run tests on me, that I just cannot afford with my current salary, and my monthly insurance is about to go up to 200$ a month, so I’ve cancelled my next appointment with them, and don’t plan to go back until it’s absolutely necessary. Capitalism is fun, guys. Preventative healthcare is for wusses.

I started going to a chiropractor on a monthly basis. Story time- I don’t know when it started, but sometime late last November I began to notice that I had a headache that just... wasn’t... going away? And each day it was starting to get a little worse. It made it hard for me to find a comfortable position to sleep, it made it hard for me to be in bright areas or move fast. So I said to myself “Okay, if this headache persist through the month of december, then something is proooobably wrong and I should go see someone about it. And hoo-boy were thing wrong with me. By the time this January rolled around, I couldn’t even stay on my feet for more than a few hours without it physically hurting to just BREATHE. So I started going to this chain called The Joint (A+ name, I know). THey aksed me “How are you doing?” I said “I’m in pain” and they said “We can help fix that!”. I’ve only been to a chiropractor once before in my life a few years back after my freshmen year of college because I began to notice my hips weren’t able to support me? LIke, I would lie on my back, and I couldn’t push my hips up when my feet were flat on the floor. I also couldn’t climb anything steep, because my legs just couldn’t push me up if my knee had to bend more than 90 degrees when I lifted my leg up. (Turned out both my hips were apparently out of place). This time only one of my hips were out of place (which they fixed. they said one of my legs was an inch “longer” than the other because I had been leaning all my weight on one leg when I stand). But two of my ribs were apparently “Stuck” which was why it was hurting for me to just breathe, and one of my shoulders was missaligned too, causing one of my trap muscles to constantly be streched, which was pulling on my skull, and causing the headache. Anyway, after they popped all my bones back into place, I still felt terrible, but by god, that night was the first time in weeks I was able to sleep without a migrane. A chiropractor can’t magically heal your arthritis, or fibro, but I definately think they have merit to keeping your posture good and helping your body with things like circulation. 10 outa 10, would recomend. It’s all the fun of getting your neck snapped without the dying!

Earlier this month I got together with two of my friends and we baked Christmas cookies. It was a lot of fun, as well as a great learning experience. A member of my family has a gluten allergy, so we used rice flour for most of the cookies. We learned this is a bad idea! The cookies will just fall apart! A few member’s in one of the friend’s family have nut allergies. Other friend and I knew this and were careful to avoid cookie recipes with nuts, bUT THEN COMPLETELY FORGOT THAT ALMOND MILK AND ALMOND EXTRACT COUNT AS NUT. IN FACT, ALMOND EXTRACT IS PURE CONCENTRATED NUT JUICE AND WE FELT SO BAD FOR ALMOST ACCIDENTALLY POISONING THE FAMILY.

Earlier this year me and these same friends took a field trip to Hobby Lobby and just dicked around the store for a couple of hours. It was super fun, 11 outa 10, would recommend, a great date idea for your artsy S.O.

Back in May I went to a wedding for the first time in my life. (well, not true, but the first one I could remember) we left at 5am, drove 5 hours to get there, hung out at a zoo and spent the night in a la quinta before the wedding day. I slept on the bathroom floor because my mom was snoring too loud in the main room and keeping me awake, and the rest of the day was just spent me trying to keep myself together because I was pissed off and tired.

Other than all of that, nothing really major happened to me this year. I guess one more thing I’ve tried to do this year is started the process of breaking certain internet addictions so I can use my free time for more personal projects. Seriously, I found myself watching way too much youtube and following blogs that didn’t even make me happy. I had a personal intervention with myself where I sat down and asked myself, “why do you watch these videos and youtubers? Why do you follow these blogs? Do you really enjoy their content? Do you really care? If you stopped watching/following them, would you even notice?” After critically thinking it over, I’ve found myself unfollowing several channels and blogs and suddenly I feel so much happier. I thought I would miss it, but I realized I didn’t really care if I saw their content or not. I wasn’t missing much. And now I feel like I have more time to draw, read and write. If you think you spend too much time consuming and not enough time creating, I suggest you try and de-clutter your internet habits as well. It’s done wonders to un-fuck my headspace.

And… well, that about sums up my year. How are your holidays going? Anything fun, exciting, dramatic happen to you this year? I hope your new year is warm and safe! Good night, everybody!

[lizartgurl]

Waiting (Torpedo/Aquarocket)

Word Count: 1900+ Characters: Raquel Ervin/Rocket, Kaldur’ahm/Aqualad, Amistad Ervin, Zatanna Zatara (sort of), Nightwing (sort of), Artemis Crock/Tigress (heavily mentioned) Set during the invasion. Raquel knows Kaldur’s secret. Written for @sand-son and anyone else who’s wondering who the fate Raquel’s getting married to, whether it be lady or gentleman.

---

"You're getting married!?" Karen squealed.

Raquel nodded, grinning as she held up the hand with the diamond ring sparkling for all her friends to see.

"When's the big day?" M'gann asked.

"Who's the lucky guy?" Zatanna added.

Amistad burbled loudly, and spit out half a dozen bubbles from his spot on Artemis's knee. the women all laughed, and Zee turned on him, her fingers wiggling threateningly.

"Maybe you can tell us, Ami. Who's your new dad gonna be?" She tickled his ribs, and Raquel smiled as her little boy laughed.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

-------

Amistad was put to bed and Raquel poured over a draft with a critical eye, tapping a pen against her gritted teeth. She should be getting some rest too, Amistad rarely slept, but she had English homework to finish, and that was almost as important as sleep.

A tapping at the window made her jump, literally, out of her train of thought. And then she saw who was at the window and smiled.

"Hey, fishface," she said, helping him in the window. He'd ditched the suit, opting for an inconspicuous hoodie and jeans.

"Hello my dear," Kaldur took her hands in his and kissed her on the lips.

"Oh lord, I missed you," She gasped a moment later, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"And I missed you," Just as he was about to kiss her again, Amistad started whining.

Raquel was annoyed at being interrupted, but Ami was too cute for her to stay mad at him for long. If Kaldur was annoyed, he didn't show it. He obediently followed Raquel to the nursery helping her tend to their son.

"You are wearing the ring," he observed, handing her a warm bottle of milk.

"Well yeah, did you think I wasn't?" She asked, bouncing Amistad gently as she tried to coax the bottle into his mouth.

"Didn't people ask questions?"

"Well sure they did, but I didn't tell them. Look, I know it's a risk, but I want to wear it. I want people to know that I'm taken, that I'm yours," she squeezed his hand.

"Besides, it's fun to see the looks on the girl's faces when I refuse to tell them who I'm getting married to," she grinned.

"Raquel Ervin, you are too much."

"Don't pretend you don't love it," She sang, walking Amistad up and down the hall while she burped him.

Kaldur smiled to himself, watching her pace and coo at their son.

"Yes," he said quietly, "that is why I proposed to you."

-------

Zatanna had just called to tell her about Malina island the next time she saw him. She made up an excuse about Amistad being fussy, hung up, and quickly let him in.

"I just heard," she said, noticing his heavy breathing. She helped him stumble into a chair at the kitchen table and got him a large glass of water. Amistad was sitting in his high chair, and banged his tiny fists against the tray. He was always excited to see Kaldur.

"I couldn't save them," Kaldur said, staring at the glass Raquel placed in his hand. "I couldn’t save the Kroloteans.”

He raised his glass half-heartedly. “But at least Manta has sealed his place within the Light and I have won his trust," he said sarcastically. Amistad cooed, raising his arms like KAldur did and flinging food everywhere.

"I know, I know, don't beat yourself up, Kal," she squeezed his empty hand. "You did all that you could, I know you did. And that's all we can do."

Kaldur set aside his cup, and kissed Raquel, much to Amistad's delight.

"I love you, Raquel Ervin."

"I love you too, Kaldur'ahm. Even if you are a hopeless idiot. Now help me feed the baby before he tosses out all his food."

-------

The next visit was much shorter than the last two.

"I have to report to my father, but had to tell you-"

"Artemis and Wally are in on it and you had to win the trust of the other Light whackjobs. Nightwing told me." She told him, placing her hand on his chest.

Kaldur held her close, kissing the top of her head. "It's getting more dangerous. Nightwing thought that sending Artemis undercover would give me a boost, she has more knowledge of the criminal world workings than anyone else."

"Well you cost me my best babysitter, Fishface. You owe me." She warned.

Kaldur leaned down so that their foreheads touched. "Then let me make up for it."

-------

She felt guilty having the bridal shower Karen and Dinah threw at her, both keeping the identity of her fiance and the knowledge of Artemis's survival from them, from her friends, the ones who loved her so much they put together a bridal shower for her without even knowing when the wedding would be or just who the heck she was getting hitched to.

"To the bride!" M'gann cheered, wearing that same smile she used to give everyone years ago, back when she was still that peppy cheerleader that Raquel only found slightly annoying.

And as everyone toasted her a happy marriage, Raquel made her own silent prayer that she'd actually get to be married.

-------

She left Amistad with the elderly next-door-neighbor and barged into the team's makeshift base the moment she heard.

"What the heck happened, Nightwing, you tell me right now!" She shouted, lifting him by the collar of his kevlar suit. Rick looked to Connor for help, but the boy of steel was staying out of it.

Impulse, Beast Boy, and Wonder Girl had gathered at the commotion Rocket was causing, and long story short that's how Nightwing's plan came out to the rest of his team.

"Tigress- who is Artemis- took M'gann to help Kaldur. So long as the three of them have each other, I think they should be okay." He finished up. "All we can do is wait."

"You think!?" Raquel snapped as the freshman watched in terrified awe. "You're the freaking boy wonder, Richard John Grayson, you'd better darn well know that they'll all be safe the next time you try to pull a stunt like this."

-------

Zatanna visited that night, finding Raquel on the couch watching informercials with Amistad asleep on her lap, the two surrounded by unfinished homework and empty junk food containers.

"Oh, Raquel," she whispered, taking Amistad from Raquel to let her friend curl up and cry.

"I knew it was gonna be like this when I said yes, why did I say yes?" she sobbed as Zee rubbed her back in circles. "He could be dead right now! And so could M'gann and Artemis!"

"They aren't, you know they aren't!" Zatanna insisted. "Artemis is a fighter and M'gann is so incredibly powerful, they won't let anything happen to Kaldur. And now that we know that he's not evil, neither will the rest of us."

"So you know?"

Zee giggled, "You're not the only one with an affinity for bad boys," She admitted.

Raquel leaned her shoulder on Zee's head. "I miss when we were on the team, back when everyone trusted each other."

Zee kissed her forehead in a totally platonic but completely loving way. "I think I know just what you need."

-------

She came home from Zatanna’s suggested mission to Bialya tired and sore, pondering if she still had some ice cream left over in the fridge or if she had enough energy to take Amistad out to the frozen yogurt place down the street. She said good-bye to the sitter, and then the tapping came at the window.

With Amistad still propped on her shoulder, she ran back to the kitchen. And there he was, still there, still alive.

He opened the window himself, whispering her name over and over as he held her and their son in his arms.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too," she sobbed. Then Ami started crying too. Kaldur took him without hesitation, carefully bouncing him and rocking him as he'd seen Raquel do.

"So what happened?" She asked at the two sat on the couch, watching Amistad play on the blanket with his toys from Auntie Dinah and the rest of the League.

"M'gann was able to fix what she had destroyed, I feel fine, nothing out of place, and my memories are still intact-" he paused suddenly, looking at Raquel's hand.

"Why do you have a ring on your finger?"

Raquel grabbed pillow after pillow and lobbed them at him. "And you said I was a tease!" She spluttered as they both laughed. Amistad gave a laugh of his own.

Kaldur blocked her pillows with his arms, and grabbed Raquel, holding her in his arms.

"Soon, my dear," he promised soothingly, "The team is pulling Artemis and me out in a few days. You do not have to wait much longer."

-------

Like any good mother, Raquel made sure her boy was far from the danger of aliens threatening the world. She put him on the Watchtower with Catherine Cobert and Simon Carr to watch him, while she and literally every other League member, team member, and ally gathered outside of Lex Luthor's building, of all places, to stop the Reach's Endgame.

She stood by Kaldur's side, while Luthor droned on, holding his hand so tightly you'd think the heavy winds would suddenly carry him away from her again.

They were each put on different squads, Kaldur with his old friend Lagoon Boy, and Raquel with the, er, strange Doctor Strange.

"Good luck," He whispered, quickly kissing her forehead. Dang, he looked so good back in his old red-and-black uniform again.

"Go save the world, Fishface," she smiled at him.

And they did.

-------

Raquel had been waiting for six months. You'd think that two weeks would be easy.

It. Was. Torture.

Since they didn't really know when Kaldur would finish his job undercover, and since Raquel couldn't quite tell everyone exactly who she was engaged to without blowing his cover, plans that would have spanned over a few months or maybe even a year were crammed into those two weeks.

Raquel wanted to just have a plain and simple wedding to get it over with, but then Dinah and Oliver stepped up and offered to pay for the whole thing, and she couldn't refuse that. And then there were Atlantean and surface cultures clashing where both Kaldur and Raquel each wanted their partner to be able to have their culture represented as much as possible.

Somehow, it all worked out.

It was held in a small church in Dakota city, on the edge of the street where she grew up. Atlanteans and metas and normal human friends crowded the tiny white building, each fighting for a better view of Augustus helping Amistad walk down the aisle as the ring bearer, or Roy Harper carrying his daughter and her basket of petal bombs which she promptly pelted at the guests more so than the floor, and of course, the beautiful bride herself.

Raquel met eyes with Kaldur as she entered the chapel, watching his face glowing and his smile growing as she approached him step by step.

After all she'd been through and all the time she'd waited, the ceremony flew past, and soon enough they were kissing and people were cheering and Amistad was clapping his chubby little fists as he was handed back to his parents.

"So was it worth the wait?" Kaldur whispered lowly, kissing her again.

"Oh it was, Fishface," she grinned, "Worth it and more."

[infinitehouseofbooks]

BLOG TOUR - Night Blood Series

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS by Bewitching Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

GUEST POST FROM THE AUTHOR

Not Writing…What Now?

Between friends, family, obligations, and a “real job,” finding time to write can sometimes be a struggle. I’m also the type of person that feels like I’m “missing out” if I’m locking myself away from people for hours at a time, especially on a gorgeous, 80 degree weekend, therefore I prefer to write in the wee hours in the morning when everyone who is sane is still asleep. I’ve heard many people comment that life often time gets in the way of the thing they want to accomplish, like writing a novel, but in that respect, I heartily disagree. Life (specifically first hand experiences) and books are fuel for my writing. Sure, there are times I admit that I think, “if only I didn’t have to go to work, I could be writing,” or “if only I didn’t have to go grocery shopping, do the dishes, and clean the apartment, I could be writing,” and almost even, “if only I didn’t have to go to this family function or friendly get together, I could be writing…” and when that creeping, terrible, unacceptable thought occurs, I take a step back and remind myself that life NEVER gets in the way of writing. Life is what writing is based on: if I don’t live and struggle and find joy and embrace family and friends and every experience that life has to offer, how can I ever hope to connect with my characters and describe their life and struggles and joys and experiences? So for all those cloistered writers out there, I know its so easy and oh too tempting to shut yourself away and write to your heart’s content, but there are times in life when writing is not the most important thing in the world (gasp!) the people surrounding you and the places around you are. Everyone’s priorities are different, whatever your passion might be, but when I take that necessary step back from writing to appreciate everything life has to offer, this is what I really live for:

  Beaching

I absolutely LOVE the beach and everything that comes with it: the sand, the surf, the boardwalk, swimming, playing volleyball, getting tan, reading on the beach, walking on the beach, eating on the beach, drinking on the beach… basically everything is better on the beach. This obsession with sitting in the sand next to the ocean is likely a byproduct of my upbringing: my parents planned a one week vacation every year to Seaside Heights, and I absolutely lived for that week. And as soon as I earned my license and parental permission, I convinced friend after friend to join me for weekend beach trips nearly every weekend, every summer, for the rest of my life. I spent my money on a lot of gas and boardwalk food, and I loved every moment of it. It’s no wonder that as an adult I live less than half an hour from the beach and drag my reluctant but willing husband there every weekend.

  Traveling

Seeing new places is a grand adventure, especially if that place is somewhere I’ve read in a favorite book or if it’s near the beach (obviously.) Since moving to Georgia after living a lifetime in the same small, northeastern Pennsylvania town, I can’t get enough of exploring my new home and planning trips to explore other new places. We’ve visited Los Angeles, San Francisco, New Orleans, Savannah, Fernandina Beach, St. Augustine, DC, and my husband’s hometown state of Michigan. Literally, he showed me the entire state in one weekend. (That is not a dig upon the size of the state but rather the manic enthusiasm my husband has for Michigan.) What is my next planned trip, do you ask? I am beyond thrilled to say that I have planned a week-long sightseeing trip for my honeymoon to Scotland!

  Wedding Planning

For the past year and four months, I have been wedding planning: visiting venues, cake tasting, meeting vendors, developing a budget, sending invitations, creating spreadsheets, counting RSVPS, researching decorations, spending ungodly amounts of money, buying gifts for my bridesmaids, shopping for a wedding dress, and the list of endless wedding preparation activities just goes on and on into the horizon. Planning a wedding had become a third job (first being my “real job” and second being my writing life) and despite the stress that most people experience (and honestly, I experienced a little as well) planning my wedding has been the most exciting extended period of time in my life.

  Wedding Planning for Everyone I Know (an exaggeration, kind of)

I am one of the last gals in my friend group to get married, and before I planned my wedding, I was a bridesmaid in all of theirs. I’ve done and experienced everything a bridesmaid can possibly experience x5: planned showers and bachelorette parties, attended engagement parties, bought and drank regrettable amounts of alcohol at said parties, held my friend’s hair as she regretted the amount of alcohol she drank, too, danced my ass off (not literally; that’s unfortunately impossible), created and made my friend wear a toilet paper veil in public at a bar because that’s what best friends do to and for each other – make them do ridiculous things and laugh all night long—pretended to be a florist and arranged bouquets and centerpieces in a very cold garage so even if I died from the shivers the flowers wouldn’t, bought/altered/wore a variety of beautiful dresses I’ve never worn again despite the fact I said I would, kissed a groomsman, briefly dated a groomsman (very briefly), and the list doesn’t end. It’s nearly as long and far-reaching as the to do list to plan a wedding. And every memory of every moment with my friends are treasures I hold dear. Most of my friends and family are physically far from me, but the good times we’ve experienced together – I keep them close to my heart.

  ABOUT THE BOOKS

The City Beneath

Night Blood

Book 1

Melody Johnson

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Kensington Publishing/ Lyrical Press

Date of Publication: April 28, 2015

ISBN: 1601834225

ASIN: B00OEW5T10

Number of pages: 256

Word Count: 91,999

Cover Artist: Kensington Publishing

Book Description:

As a journalist, Cassidy DiRocco thought she had seen every depraved thing New York City’s underbelly had to offer. But while covering what appears to be a vicious animal attack, she finds herself drawn into a world she never knew existed. Her exposé makes her the target of the handsome yet brutal Dominic Lysander, the Master Vampire of New York City, who has no problem silencing her to keep his coven’s secrets safe…

But Dominic offers Cassidy another option: ally. He reveals she is a night blood, a being with powers of her own, including the ability to become a vampire. As the body count escalates, Cassidy is caught in the middle of a vampire rebellion. Dominic insists she can help him stop the coming war, but wary of his intentions, Cassidy enlists the help of the charming Ian Walker, a fellow night blood. As the battle between vampires takes over the city, Cassidy will have to tap into her newfound powers and decide where to place her trust…

Amazon Kindle Kobo      Apple     Google Play      Nook

Excerpt Book 1:

Vampires Bite in the Big Apple- notes from draft 1

Cassidy DiRocco, Reporter

I didn’t need to believe in the paranormal to believe in monsters. I reported murders, rapes, assaults, and robberies every day: men strangling wives, women stabbing lovers, children shooting children. If someone had interviewed me last week—before I was attacked and bitten and manipulated in the pursuit of everyone else’s personal and conflicting agendas—I would have said that the world darkened a little more with every sunset and turned a little more bloody and vengeful and uncaring with each passing day. But I’d also have said that after almost ten years in the business, I’m no longer surprised by anything I report.

If someone had interviewed me last week, it wouldn’t have mattered how long I’d been in the business; I’d have been dead wrong.

Humans aren’t the only murderers and rapists and thieves in this city; the real monsters—vampires and night bloods alike—have hopes and goals and desires just like the humans. But without the limitations of a fragile human body, the vampires achieve every goal and desire without consequence. Who can bring a murderer to justice if the murderer can’t be arrested or detained? Who can testify against a rapist when the victim can’t remember whether she’d been raped or mugged? Who can stop a crime spree when no one realizes crimes are even being committed?

No one, of course, except for me.

Even after everything this insane week taught me about the world, this city, and myself, I’m still breathtakingly shocked by everything I reported—and, most especially, by the one story I couldn’t.…

Chapter 1

Last Monday

I nearly limped right past him, clouded by my own physical pain and the churning unease in my gut, but the rattling hiss that growled from the alley tripped my interest. I stopped walking. 

The night was cool and quiet in the aftermath of sirens and flashing lights. My scalp tingled in response to the noise emanating from the alley, and I thought of all the things I should do: I should return to the main crime scene, I should finish my interviews, I should write my story and submit it to print like a good, reliable, by-the-book reporter. The hiss rattled from the alley again, but as I’d never been one to leave questions unanswered, I slipped a can of pepper spray from my brown leather, cross-body satchel and side-stepped into the alley to find the source of the noise.

What I’d found was a man, and the rattling hiss was his struggling, gurgling, uneven breaths. His entire body was ravaged by third-degree burns. Tucked into a shadowed alley between two buildings on the corner of Farragut Road and East 40th, he was crouched down as if warding off an attacker—perhaps in his case a flamethrower—and not moving. I cringed, thinking about the injury that was blocking his throat to produce such a horrible rattling. Maybe he was crying. Maybe he was just trying to breathe. I couldn’t decipher his expression because his burns were so devastating. His face wasn’t really a face anymore beyond the rough distinctions of a lump for a nose and a hole for a mouth. The unease churning in my gut all night bottomed out. I wouldn’t have imagined that someone so injured could still breathe.

Trading the pepper spray for my cell phone, I dialed for Detective Greta Wahl.

“Wahl here.” She answered on the fifth ring, just before I suspected my call would transfer to voicemail. “I already gave you a statement, DiRocco. Let the other sharks have a bite, will you?”

“I found another victim, G.” I said without preamble.

“Alive? Where?” Greta asked, snapping from friend to detective instantly.

“A block up Farragut. He’s still breathing, but he’s different than the others. No bites.” I swallowed the bile that clogged my throat like hot ash. “His entire body is burned to charcoal.”

“Is he wearing a necklace, like the ones from last week? They were gold with a wolf pendent.”

“I remember,” I said. “And no, he’s not wearing a necklace. And he’s not shot execution-style like those victims either. He’s burned. This is probably a different case all together.”

Greta sighed. “Stay with him. I’ll send a paramedic to you ASAP. It might be a few minutes, though. We’ve still got our seven victims being stabilized here.”

“Got it. We’ll be waiting.” I hesitated a fraction of a second before asking, “Any one of our victims talking yet?”

“The few that still have throats haven’t said a word. They’re all in shock. It’s not pretty down here, DiRocco.”

“I know. Keep me posted, and send Nathan to me if you can.”

“Will do,” Greta said.

I ended the call and sat gingerly on the ground next to the man to offer what comfort I could and to give my arthritic hip the rest it needed. Injuries were supposed to heal with time, but the scar build-up on mine had only increased in the five years since I’d taken a bullet. The first stakeout of my career had set a high standard for my field performance, but it had also left a permanent reminder to listen to my gut. My hip ached on a regular basis, and lately, it would click and grind when put to excess use. After an entire day on my feet, interviewing officers and tracking down witnesses, my activities had apparently escalated way past excess.

Once I settled on the pavement, I held the man’s left elbow—one of two visible patches of skin not blackened or blistered—and felt an overwhelming, humbling gratitude, no matter my past injuries or current residual pain, that none of these victims had been me.

Sweet Last Drop

Night Blood

Book 2

Melody Johnson

Name of series and book number in series:

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Kensington Publishing/ Lyrical Press

Date of Publication: April 26, 2016

ISBN: 1601834241

ASIN: B00VEG4T0Q

Number of pages: 322

Word Count: 131,084

Cover Artist:  Kensington Publishing

Book Description:

Cassidy DiRocco knows the dark side intimately—as a crime reporter in New York City, she sees it every day. But since she discovered that she’s a night blood, her power and potential has led the dark right to her doorway. With her brother missing and no one remembering he exists, she makes a deal with Dominic Lysander, the fascinating master vampire of New York, to find him.

Dominic needs the help of Bex, another master vampire, to keep peace in the city, so he sends Cassidy to a remote, woodsy town upstate to convince her—assuming she survives long enough. A series of vicious “animal attacks” after dark tells Cassidy there’s more to Bex and her coven than anyone’s saying. That goes double for fellow night blood Ian Walker, the tall, blond animal tracker who’s supposed to be her ally. Walker may be hot-blooded and hard-bodied, but he’s hiding something too. If Cassidy wants the truth, she’ll have to squeeze it out herself… every last drop.

Amazon     Kindle     Kobo     Apple     Google Play     Nook

  Excerpt Book 2:

Vampires Bite in the Big Apple- notes from draft 4

Cassidy DiRocco, Reporter

Nightmares are supposed to stay in dreams, but for the past three weeks, absolutely nothing, not even my dreams, are as they’re supposed to be. Reality is the nightmare. When murderers, rapists, thieves, and gangs were my choice topics to report, I was sickened and made unendurably angry by what people were capable of doing to other people. Now, I’m just sickened by what I’m capable of, and I can’t sleep at all.

After sunset I see vampires lurking in every shadow, pressing against every doorway, committing every murder. Reality is further from anything I could have imagined, and I feel helpless against the enormity of Dominic’s reach. What’s the point of breaking my lease when Dominic will just demand entrance into my new apartment? Whom can I confide in about my life after dark without putting them at risk?

The one question that haunts me most is ironically one that I struggled to answer long before stumbling upon Dominic’s existence. It haunted me after my parents died and I struggled with Percocet addiction—how long will I search for the answers before buckling under the unbearable truth that my efforts were futile from the start?

My brother disappeared three weeks ago. In another three months, will the agony of Nathan’s absence still drive my efforts or drive me insane? When do I draw the line between hope and insanity—in another three years? Unfortunately for me and everyone’s peace of mind, I don’t think there are lines for love. Love is already insane, so the only answer is to drive toward the truth….

Chapter 1

The bus ride from The Big Apple to Erin, New York gradually descended from the metropolitan area to suburbs, from suburbs to woodsy small towns, and then to nothing but fields and sheds and, of course, cows. I’d never seen so many cows in my life. Considering I’d never actually seen a cow in person, I suppose that wasn’t much of a statement, but it certainly seemed like Erin had an over-abundance of them. Their mooing reminded me of Dominic’s night blood-and-hamburger metaphor when he’d described how my blood tasted. “You are a rare dish,” he’d said, and I’d been terrified by his attraction.

As a night blood, I was one of the rare humans who had the blood type necessary to complete the transformation into a vampire, but just because I had the potential to become a vampire didn’t mean I wanted to become one. That was only one of many points of contention between Dominic and me, albeit one of our more vehement disagreements.

I was still terrified of Dominic, attraction or not, but terror could only hold so much immediacy for so long, especially when the object of my terror was being relatively civil. Dominic, Master Vampire of New York City, and swiftly becoming a master pain in my ass, had visited me on numerous occasions at the hospital while I recovered from my encounter with Jillian. He visited me at home once I’d been released from the hospital. He visited me in the office when I returned to work and outside the office at every starlit opportunity.

I suppose guilt may have played a role in his consistent and regular visits, considering Jillian had been both his vampire and the second in command of his coven, and somehow, I had been the one to take the biggest hit when she’d betrayed him. But I doubt that guilt was his only motivation; when he came calling, he was always fully fed, completely gorgeous, and the ultimate gentleman.

I knew better than to believe the illusion.

In his infinite patience, I think Dominic was biding his time, and I suspected it had everything to do with this very road trip to Erin, New York, Ian Walker’s hometown, and the resting place of Walker’s abundantly powerful coven Master, Bex.

Dominic, however, wasn’t the only one biding his time, although Walker had been decidedly less patient.

“I can’t wait to see you, darlin’,” Walker had said at least once per conversation during the multiple phone calls we’d enjoyed daily for three weeks. I would have found his persistence coming from someone else nauseating, but between all the darlin’s and ma’ams, we shared an indelible bond that went beyond incorrigible flirtation.

Walker was the only other night blood I knew, the only other person who knew that vampires existed, and the only person who could relate to the danger and drama of my life. Meredith, photographer at The Sun Accord and my very best friend, didn’t know anything about vampires or night bloods because telling her anything about my life these days—or more pointedly, these nights—would only put her at risk. But she most certainly knew the look on my face when my phone rang, and Walker greeted me on the opposite end.

Meredith assured me that I owed it to myself to discover how deep my bond with Walker could grow, but I remained skeptical of both him and my feelings for him. We’d only physically known each other for one week. How well could I legitimately come to know a person in one week? But when I looked back at the week we’d shared and survived, I swallowed my doubts.

 “Pu-lease, you say that to all the girls,” I said to him. My tone was deliberately sarcastic, but I was glad we were talking on the phone; he’d know by my ridiculous smile that I was just as excited to finally see him, too. “You forget that I’ve seen you in action.”

“You certainly have.” Walker’s voice deepened salaciously and I was reminded of that one night in my office. He’d lifted me onto my desk, and his strong hands had touched me in places I’d never thought I could feel again.

I swallowed. “My point is that this is a business trip. Carter finally approved my piece on city versus rural New York crime fluctuations—”

“That I encouraged you to write,” Walker interrupted.

I rolled my eyes. “—and as one of my primary sources, you and I will—”

“Be spending hours upon hours alone together.”

“For interviews on your experiences and discussions on crime rates and—”

“I have an experience I’d like to discuss: how delicious your body felt against mine.”

I sighed heavily. “You’re killing me.”

Walker laughed. “Good.”

“I really am writing this story, Walker, despite your ulterior motives for inviting me to your home.” 

“You like my ulterior motives. The most grievous crime at the moment is how long it took for your boss to approve your damn story. I miss you, DiRocco.”

I swallowed again and forced myself to say the words because they were true. “I miss you, too.”

And now, after three weeks of pitching this story to Carter, avoiding Greta—my personal friend, and unfortunately, one of NYPD’s finest—and her stink-eyed interrogation, bracing against Dominic’s creeping advances, and swallowing my festering doubts about Nathan, I had finally arrived in Erin, New York earlier this afternoon for what should have been a vacation from all those demons back in the city. Less than twenty-four hours into our reunion, however, and Walker and I still weren’t putting the moves on either my career or each other. He’d barely had time to give me a proper tour of the town before we were once again staring at a body.

Her name was Lydia Bowser, and she was last seen by her grandmother, leaving the farm for a walk before dinner. According to her grandmother and Walker’s detailed notes, she left for a walk before dinner every night. She’d loved the last moments of daylight, when the sun had already dipped below the horizon but its rays still lit the sky with a dim, burning glow. I raised my eyebrows at the description, both from its nostalgia and its telling timeframe. Foul play after dark meant only one thing.

Eternal Reign

Night Blood

Book 3

Melody Johnson

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Kensington Publishing/ Lyrical Press

Date of Publication: April 25, 2017

ISBN: 1601834268

ASIN: B01JEJDHGG

Number of pages: 330

Word Count: 110,974

Cover Artist: Kensington Publishing

Book Description:

Last week, Cassidy DiRocco had some influence over the vampires that stalk the streets of New York City. She was never completely safe, but with her newfound abilities as a night blood and her honed instincts as a crime reporter, at least she had the necessary skills to survive.



Now, thanks to the injuries she sustained while saving her brother from a fate worse than death, she’s lost her night blood status just as another crime spree hits Brooklyn. Dozens of people are being slaughtered, and each victim bears the Damned’s signature mark; a missing heart.



Cassidy will need the help of all her allies to survive the coming war, including the mysterious and charismatic Dominic Lysander, Master Vampire of New York City. But as his rival’s army threatens his coven and his own powers weaken with the approaching Leveling, even Dominic’s defenses might not be enough protection.



With nothing left to lose, can Cassidy find the power inside herself to save Dominic, his coven, their city, and survive?

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Excerpt Book 3:

Chapter 1

Dominic looked pretentious and posh, as usual, leaning against the wall in the hallway outside my apartment. Even gazing at him through the fish-eye lens of my door’s peephole—from the top of his immaculately cut and styled black hair to the bottom of his shiny Cole Haan wing-tipped dress shoes—he was a hopeful-mother’s dream, a shrewd-woman’s nightmare, and the reason I no longer bothered trying to sleep at night. Knowing the truth beneath the pretty wrapping—that he was the Master vampire of New York City—didn’t stop my heart from jumping and dropping in confused anticipation and adrenaline. After I’d nearly lost him last week, I’d come to the implausible, unwelcome conclusion that I actually preferred my life with him in it, but since I’d completely lost the protection and mental strength of my night blood, his unexpected presence also twisted my gut with pure, unadulterated fear. 

I hadn’t seen Dominic in five nights, not since he’d entranced his name from my mind and confirmed our worst suspicion: I no longer had night blood.

Without night blood, I didn’t have the potential to transform into a vampire, I couldn’t reflect Dominic’s commands if he attempted to entrance me, and I no longer had any of the qualities that Dominic held in such high esteem, that he’d planned to leverage during the Leveling; the one night every seven years that he lost his strength and abilities as Master to his potential successor, allowing a new Master to rise in his stead. Without those qualities, I couldn’t help him survive the coming battle to keep control of his coven. I was nothing but another human.

I was nothing but food.

Dominic knocked a second time, this series of staccato raps on the door more insistent than the first.

“Who’s at the door?” Meredith asked. Her eyebrows rose and disappeared behind her bangs.

Of course, on the one night Dominic finally decided to confront me, I had company. I should be grateful; he was knocking on the door rather than inviting himself in through one of the third-story, living room windows. That would have been difficult to explain to Meredith. Longtime best friend and wing woman at the Sun Accord she was, but night blood she wasn’t.

“I’m hoping if I wait long enough, he’ll give up and go away.”

“He?” Meredith asked. A mischievous smiled curved her lips.

“It’s probably best to answer the door of your own will,” Nathan murmured.

I stared at my brother, surprised that he’d uttered a full, intelligible sentence beyond “We’re out of milk” or something equally inane. Inane seemed all he was capable of lately.

“He’ll make it worse for you otherwise,” he added.

I ignored Meredith and narrowed my eyes on Nathan. “How do you know who’s at the door?”

Nathan dropped his gaze to the cereal bowl in front of him and continued spooning scraps of shredded wheat and milk into his mouth without further comment.

Maybe he’d actually keep the food down this time. Then we could work on gradually introducing warm meals and protein back into his diet.

I worried the doorknob with my thumb. Nathan might have been monosyllabic and near bulimic since returning to the city, but he was right. If I didn’t open the door of my own will, Dominic would probably force me to grant him entrance into my new apartment. A tenuous spring of hope coiled in my gut. Maybe, just maybe, my efforts to create a fallout shelter here in the city had been a success; maybe I didn’t need to worry about entry, forced or otherwise.

I might have put my newly fortified apartment to the test, but with Meredith sitting at my kitchen table, a slice of sushi roll halfway to her mouth, the risk of exposing her to the danger standing on my doorstep wasn’t worth the pleasure of denying Dominic entrance.

I opened the door.

Dominic smiled, deliberately flashing his sharp, elongated fangs. “Good evening, Cassidy.”

His voice purred in a deep timbre that plucked at the taut cords in my stomach. I squelched the feelings, but after weeks of denial, I could finally admit that they existed.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered.

He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “No ‘Hello?’ No ‘What a pleasant surprise?’” Dominic tsked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Where are your manners?”

“What a surprise,” I muttered, deliberately omitting “pleasant.” “You should have called before coming, Dominic.”

He inhaled sharply. The fragile hope that softened his expression shamed me.

“Don’t,” I warned, keeping my voice low in an effort to prevent Meredith from overhearing. “I didn’t remember your name on my own. Nathan reminded me. It still feels like a void, like Nathan telling me your name four days ago was the first I’d learned it.”

His face fell. “That’s unfortunate.”

I sighed. “Are you only here to antagonize me, or was there an actual purpose to this visit?”

“Antagonizing you would be purpose enough, but yes, I have a greater purpose than even that,” Dominic said, magnanimously. “Must we converse in the hallway? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of seeing your new apartment. Won’t you invite me in?”

About the Author:

Melody Johnson is the author of the gritty, paranormal romance Night Blood series set in New York City. The first installment, The City Beneath, was a finalist in several Romance Writers of America contests, including the “Cleveland Rocks” and “Fool For Love” contests. Melody graduated magna cum laude from Lycoming College with her B.A. in creative writing and psychology, and after moving from her northeast Pennsylvania hometown for some much needed Southern sunshine, she now works as a digital media coordinator for Southeast Georgia Health System. When she isn’t working or writing, Melody can be found swimming at the beach, honing her newfound volleyball skills, and exploring her new home in southeast Georgia.

Website: http://authormelodyjohnson.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormelodyjohnson

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MelodyMJohnson

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10707142.Melody_Johnson

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/melody-johnson-20ab7334

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BLOG TOUR – Night Blood Series was originally published on the Wordpress version of SHANNON MUIR'S INFINITE HOUSE OF BOOKS.