#they’ve gotten a new project and that doesn’t mean they hate me it just means I’m like. not on their radar how I once was.

[theflannelwizard]

My dad has this theory about “project-based friends” that I’ve been thinking about lately. A project-based friend is someone you meet through fandom/hobbies, and they’re usually really easy to get super close to while you’re both invested in the project, be it an actual project or the same fandom/fixation or whatever else.

But as soon as one or both of you moves on from the project, you fall out of touch. Because the project-based friend doesn’t really care about you as a person as much as they care about what you bring to the project. Or even if they do care about you, they just don’t know how to keep a friendship up when you don’t have a project together.

This isn’t necessarily a selfish thing, it’s just… the friendship isn’t personal. A project-based friend will have fun with you while it lasts and then either move on entirely or stay kinda half in your life, never really reaching out or holding real conversations. And I think a big part of my problem is that I’ve been expecting project-based friends to stick around for me when really we just liked the same work of fiction for a while. I keep thinking I’ve made a new best friend and then they get into some media I don’t like and the whole friendship kinda disappears.

[justkending]

The Number One Rule. Chapter 15.

Summary: Y/N has always been seen as “Steve’s rambunctious sister.” However, she grew up, graduated, and moved to London to study abroad for 4 years and get her bachelor's degree. The girl that returns looks nothing like the teenager that left, but don’t worry the attitude is still there and stronger than ever. What’s to come of the two grown adults that used to push each other's buttons, but now have a lot more in common than they’ve ever realized.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N Rogers (Steve’s little sister)

Word Count: 3100+

A/N: Ladies and gentleman. This is in one of my top 3 chapters I’ve written in this series. The next one being my number 1;) I hope you enjoy and I would love any and all feedback you are willing to share!! xoxoxo

Chapter Fifteen:

Eventually when Bucky had snapped out of his thoughts, Y/N had long fallen asleep on him. He smiled down at her with a sad smile. One filled with remorse for everything she had gone through, but pride in how she handled it and didn’t let it destroy her. At least not to the extent that a lot of people get into.

She had years to do that, whereas Bucky was fresh on the subject. It would take him time to move on from that for her. He couldn’t help but feel hate for himself knowing exactly what party she was talking about. 

It was one of the few he and Steve didn’t attend. They had planned on it, but Dot wanted a quiet night in, and Steve just didn’t feel like it or something. It had been a while since that party, so he didn’t remember intricate details. 7 years to be exact. And the only reason he could guess which one it was, was because of how she acted after it. A whole month of depression and guilt she sat with and it showed. For the last 7 years Y/N had carried that with her. The only person she trusted to tell to this day was Beck. Now he was the other. 

He gathered her up in his arms, and she drowsily threw her own over his shoulders and hung on in a sleepy daze as he brought her up the stairs. He laid her in her bed, turned on her fan, and tucked her in. 

But as he stood to go back downstairs, her hand clasped around his. 

“Where y’ going?” she asked. The wine was playing a big part in the sleepiness and he could tell by her weak squeeze to his hand. 

“I’m just going to clean up downstairs. I’ll be back up in a second, sweetheart,” she nodded before giving him another squeeze to his hand and pulling the bed covers up to her cheeks. He smiled at her cute self and bent down kissing her forehead. He moved the strands of hair they fell over her eyes and studied her for a second. 

Eventually, he pulled away and went to do what he said. Popcorn kernels trashed and bowls cleaned. Leftover wine in the fridge and beer bottles recycled. He folded the blankets on the couch and set the pillows back in their original arrangement. Lastly, he went and checked to make sure all the doors were locked for the night. He had spent the night there enough to do a lock up without issues. 

Coming back upstairs, he changed into his own pajamas and snuck into the other side of the bed. Careful not to wake her, he gently and ever so softly, pulled her back to him. In her sleep, she turned to where they were face to face. Curling into his chest in comfort, trying to get as close as she could. 

He couldn’t hold in the chuckle that rumbled through his chest as she nuzzled under his chin. He ran his hand up and down her back and noticed her body relaxing with each stroke. He was glad he had that effect on her. It was the least he could offer after not being there for her in those hard times.

Now when he held her, he wasn’t just protecting her, but also trying to shield her from any more pain. He had been doing that his whole life for the family that the Roger’s had become to him. But now was different. This was a different kind of defense. This wasn’t just family protection. This was protection for someone you love. 

________________

The next morning, Y/N was the first to wake. She found herself practically embedded in Bucky’s arms. He had wrapped his giant self around her waist pulling her in close to his body. 

They had cuddled before, and even had a few sleepovers when Steve wasn’t in town, or if Becca wasn’t going to be home for the night and lent them her space. But it was only enough to count on one hand. That, plus, it never escalated to anything other than cuddling and maybe a makeout session here and there. 

Bucky had been gentle and patient in that area. Even if they hadn’t had that talk yet at that point, he didn’t push. Something she wasn’t used to in most of the guys she had dated. Pietro probably being the only other one that was understanding of it. 

Even if they had been dating a little over a month, she was glad they were taking it slow. Even if they had known each other their whole lifes. 

She somehow was able to turn in his arms and see a soft smile on his lips. He wasn’t awake, so he must have been dreaming of something nice. She took a second just breathing him in and trying to wrap her head around how all this came to be. 

Sure she had crushes on him growing up. I mean who doesn’t form a crush for your older brother's hot best friend. Though if she was being honest, she had always thought deep down that it was never a card that would be played in this game of life. 

Little did they know, it would just take time and growth. Then the fates would do with them what they will. Most card games were just a game of chance. You never know what’s going to come around the corner...

Eventually, she pulled herself away ever so gently and quietly to escape downstairs and make breakfast. She was still in her sleep shorts, but at some point took off her sweatshirt in the night from almost overheating. That plus the surprisingly excessive amount of body heat Bucky gave off made it hard to sleep with it on. 

She found a new one laying over her chair in the corner and threw it on before grabbing a hair tie and brushing her bed head up into a bun. 

Tiptoeing to the door, she slowly closed it leaving it open just a crack. 

Just as she took a step on the stairs, she heard the front door unlock and open. Freezing in her spot she waited a second. The only person who had a key besides their mom and her was…

“Hey, sis,” Steve said coming around the corner seeing her at the top of the stairs. 

“S-Steve,” she said in almost a whisper. Panic. Fear. Dread hit her at full force.“What, um, what are you doing here?”

“It’s Saturday and mom’s out of town, and I knew you were home alone. I thought I’d come over and we can go get breakfast or something,” he said with a sweet innocent smile. 

Running down the stairs a little quicker, she met him at the bottom. 

“Um, why didn’t you call? I would have gotten ready. I just woke up,” her voice was filled with anxiety and Steve noticed. 

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You ok? You seem off?”

“Um, no. I’m fine. I just got a text from work that one of the projects they had me on needs to be done sooner than I expected.” How she came up with that lie on the spot like that? She had no idea, but she ran with it. “Yeah, not the best thing to wake up too. Making me a little nervous.”

“Oh, well do you want to go get breakfast and we can talk about it? I’ve barely heard about anything with your new job. We need to catch up, Mini,” he said, poking her stomach and making her let out a loud laugh, having always been super ticklish. 

Just seconds after that, having heard voices and a loud almost shout, Bucky swug open the door and peered down the stairway where they were both at the bottom. 

Two seconds. 

Two seconds was all it took for Steve to put two and two together in his head. Bucky acting weird lately. Sneaking off randomly and never telling Steve anything, which wasn’t like him in their friendship. Hell, he had even noticed Bucky’s lingering looks, but always put in the back of his mind thinking nothing of it. 

But now. Oh, he was thinking about something now. 

Bucky was frozen at the top of the stairs, eyes locked with Steve. To make matters worse, he only had pajama pants on and no shirt.

Even from the distance of the stairwell, Bucky could see the storm brewing in the blue eyes of his best friend. 

“Steve,” Y/N started placing a hand on his arm. 

The blonde immediately ripped away from her as he turned to fully face Bucky. The alpha male, big brother, pissed off best friend was in a stance ready to fight. 

“Why the FUCK did you just come out of my sister’s room half fucking naked?” Steve growled.

“Steve, you don’t know the full story,” Y/N said softly, but she could sense the tension and for once in her life, she was slightly scared to enter the fight. 

“The fuck I don’t know the full story,” Steve said finally whipping his head back to Y/N. His blue eyes were carrying a category 5 hurricane in those ocean blues. But they didn’t stay on her long as he turned back to Bucky. 

“Listen,” Bucky said, coming down slowly. 

“I don’t know if I want to,” he responded through his teeth. “Take one more step down here, and you’re going to need some serious dental work and a nose job.”

Bucky froze about 4-5 steps away from the siblings. Finally, he looked at Y/N, worry in his eyes, but they were also apologetic. 

Y/N immediately moved around Steve and stood between the two. Closer to Steve to try and hold him back if she needed to. 

“Now wait a damn minute,” she spoke up looking straight at her older brother even if he was sending a death glare past her shoulder. “You need to calm down before we talk-”

“No. You need to go to your room. Bucky and I need to talk,” he said in an authoritative voice. 

“Excuse me?” she retorted back. Her gentleness in the situation was fading and being replaced with aggravation. “Go to my room? Am I a 13 year old girl?” she said stepping in his eyeline so he was looking at her. 

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Y/N!” He shouted. “Go to your room!”

“No,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest. 

The two had this kind staring contest all the time growing up. Anytime there was a fight, they almost never relented with their stubborn asses. Their mom or dad had to send them to their rooms themselves and kept them there. The time ranging from 20 minutes to 5 hours before they calmed down. 

They were two of the most headstrong ornery people to live in this world. And it didn’t help that they were now pitted against each other. This kind of fight looked as if it could be ranging more into weeks or months. 

Knowing and experiencing situations like this with them before, Bucky spoke up again. 

“Y/N, you should listen to him. We need to talk,” he said sedately. 

“I leave and he’s going to beat your ass,” Y/N said, still staring at her brother. 

“I think he’s going to beat my ass either way,” Bucky mumbled. “Really Y/N. Just give us a second.”

“I’m a part of this equation too,” she said. Her tone easing just enough to be noticed. 

“Yes, you are. But right now, Steve and I need to talk first,” he said trying his best to defuse the fire against the heated situation happening in the entryway of their house. 

There were a few more seconds of silence as they glared at the other. 

“Fine, but I’m coming back down in 10 minutes,” she bartered. 

No one responded as she started to go up the stairs backwards. The staredown did not cease until she was even with Bucky on the steps. 

“If he does anything stupid, I’m going to beat his ass,” she said looking at Bucky. 

“I’m sure you will,” he said with a small smile that was forced for reassurance. 

She placed a hand on his shoulder. A silent good luck as they studied the other in a quick second. 

Turning back to look at Steve, she saw he was still in a rigid stance. The tension in his shoulders doing nothing but grow with every passing second. She would’ve sent him one more warning glare if he was looking, but his eyes were trained on Bucky with a look that could kill. 

Eventually she went into her room and shut her door, leaving it open just a crack. They deserved their privacy no matter how bad she wanted to step in. Deep down she knew, as best friends, they needed to talk on their own. 

Bucky looked back down and saw a bull looking at him like he was a red cape.

“Outside. Now,” Steve commanded before stomping off to the back and letting the screen door slam harshly. 

Letting out a long sigh and running a hand down his face, he finally went down the stairs. He grabbed a shirt from the bag he had left down there and headed to the backyard. Steve already in the grass pacing. 

“Steve,” Bucky said softly as he walked down the porch steps barefoot. 

Instantly, a fist collided with his face. He stumbled trying his best to not fall from the impact. When he looked up, grasping his jaw, he sent a glare to Steve. 

“I’m not saying I don’t deserve that, but-”

“Oh, you deserve a lot more than that, but I need you to explain what the HELL I just walked into and you can’t do that with no teeth,” Steve glowered. 

Looking at him while straightening his posture he wiggled his jaw some feeling just a tad bit of blood on his lip. Damn him for teaching Steve how to make a proper swing like that. 

“You gonna punch me again before I talk, or can I fucking explain myself now?” No response, only a stare was given. “Ok, so I’ve been hiding something from you.” Steve raised an eyebrow. 

“You think?”

“Listen, I’m almost as taken aback as you. One day, she’s like a little sister running around with my actual sister, and the next she's a mature grown adult who knows what she wants, exudes confidence, and is intelligent beyond measure.” He paused before adding. “Not that we didn’t know that.”

“I know what my sister is. What I want to know is why you’re sleeping with her?” Steve said, taking a step closer. 

Bucky just straightened up more as if expecting another hit. But then he processed Steve’s sentence. 

“Sleeping with her?” he questioned almost in shock. Steve not breaking his gaze. “I’m not fucking sleeping with her, asshole! I’m dating her.”

The smallest amount of tension released from Steve’s body and his face wasn’t frowning as much.

“You’re dating?” 

“Yes. Dating.”

“So you guys haven’t-”

“No. I’m a little upset that you think that low of me,” Bucky scoffed. “You think I would really just start booty calling my best friend's sister? If I wanted a friend with benefits, I can easily find a girl at a bar,” he said, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. “You’re sister isn’t a girl from a bar, Steve.”

Steve was silent processing it. He still wasn’t happy, but at least it wasn’t as bad as had thought. 

“Listen, Y/N’s been in my life just as long as she has been in yours. We’ve grown up together, created childhood memories together, picked on each other, and protected each other. She would be the last person on this earth I would want to degrade to a one night stand. She deserves so much more than that.”

“Exactly,” Steve said. 

Bucky paused taking note of Steve’s tone. “Exactly? Why do you say it like that?”  

“I mean she deserves a lot,” he said, confirming Buck’s thought. 

“I see. So I don’t make the cut?” Bucky said, now getting frustrated. The silence was enough of an answer to his question. “Wow. 26 years of being best friends and you think that little of me?”

“She’s my sister,” Steve answered. A slight tone of apology behind his words, but he kept the stoic face. 

“Yes, Steve she is! And 2+2= 4! We know this!” he said waving his arms and scoffing as he turned in his spot before turning back. Hands on his hips before one came up and ran a hand through his slight beard. 

“You know what? Screw this. I’m not going to sit here and be that guy that says, ‘Yeah, you’re right. She doesn’t deserve me. I’m not good enough for her.’ You know why, Steve? Because I know that. And it’s because I know that, that I’m going to strive with every muscle in my body and every might of my being to make sure I can be that for her one day. To make sure I can give her everything and more that she deserves. To make sure she never has to see a sad day again. To make sure she only experiences joy if I have any say. To make absolutely sure that no one ever hurts her. Why? Because I love her!”

Out of breath, Bucky chest heaving up and down showed how hard his lungs were working to get air back in them. 

Steve’s posture had almost gone back to normal. The anger no longer there. Whatever emotion he was feeling, Bucky couldn’t tell. 

“How long?” Steve asked. 

“What?” Bucky asked, confused. 

“How long have you loved her?” he repeated, looking down at the ground. 

Bucky paused. He couldn’t actually answer that. There was no specific time frame. Truth was he had loved her for a while. 

“Honestly, longer than I know... It’s just taken me this long to figure out that’s what this feeling was.”

Steve nodded his head as he put his hands in his pockets and continued to stare at the dirt by his feet. 

“Ok.”

Taken aback, Bucky's eyes widened. 

“Ok?” 

“Yeah. Ok,” Steve repeated before he started walking to the back fence that led to the driveway. 

“Wait. You’re just going to leave it at 'Ok,’ and walk away?” Bucky rushed over to stop him. 

Steve slowly turned from staring at the ground and then back at him. 

“You know, I thought that we were close enough that you could come to me with this kind of thing. That you wouldn’t feel like you had to hide it from me. Y/N and you both,” he said with pursed lips. “Guess I was wrong.” 

With that he turned back and walked to his car. Bucky watched as he started the engine, pulled out, and disappeared. 

What the hell kind of mess just happened?

(Tags for this series will be closing soon as it is getting pretty full, please send an ask if you want to be added:)

I’ll post on whatever chapter I decided to close it down here.

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[quillsareswords]

could u do a damian wayne x reader where the reader is a titan and damian and her are friends and where the reader has a really crooked smile and crooked teeth and damian just adores it but the reader hates it because everyone makes jokes about it even though they’re just kidding she’s just really insecure like maybe a fellow titan makes a joke about it and damian defends her

Thank you for requesting! This is written by someone who two snagle teeth that sit more like tusks that I despise, so I get where we're coming from here 😔

Prompt List • Masterlist (in bio)

He's always liked your smile. Yeah, it's lopsided and looks more like something torn straight from an evil swamp witch in a storybook, but he adores it.

He loves it because it's yours. Trademark yours. Nobody in the world has a smile exactly like yours. He loves it because it means you're happy. It isn't something torn from a billboard and slapped across someone's face—it's your happiness, in all its realistic and lifelike glory. Nothing any orthodontist can recreate.

He remembers when you first joined the Titans. Barely two weeks after he did, himself. You'd smiled broadly back then, laughing openly at his quips and jokes too dark for you to repeat.

After so long spent around rich people with perfect teeth and catered smiles, your crooked grin stole his heart right out from under him. He hadn't noticed at first, when his heart toppled into your hands: he was too busy admiring your mouth and wondering what'd it could feel like against his.

It took a long time for him to come to terms with his feelings for you. Years, actually. But even while he was trying desperately to suppress an emotional attachment that ran much deeper that just your smile, he couldn't deny himself the pleasure of seeing it. He continued hissing comments in the middle of meetings and pinpointing the things you thought were funniest, cutes, sweetest. Anything to earn a smile.

Unfortunately, he suspects not everybody felt the same glimmering warmth that came with your smile. At the years dragged on, your grin shrank. It was gradual at first, fewer and farther between, until one day they stopped altogether. No more teeth peeking out between the break in your lips. You still smiled plenty, at all his jokes and barbed comebacks, but never showing any teeth. Close-lipped smiles only. When you laughed, it was with a hand or wrist over your mouth. No teeth.

It was late, the night he asked about it. You were sixteen, and he'd given up on shoving away emotions. He still refused to admit anything to you, but he'd allow himself to call you a close friend—one of his two best friends (not that he'd ever said that to your face). It was in San Francisco, and you were laying beside him on the roof of Titan Tower.

You were chuckling still chuckling about watching Beat Boy spurt fruit punch put of his nose when Raven kissed his cheek on a dare (your dare, simply because you wanted to see how hard you could get her to blush).

He was staring up at what stars could be seen through the city's light pollution. He was smiling and listening, but he was only really paying you half his attention. He was thinking about the pictures you'd been in throughout the night, the close-lipped smiles, the hands covering your laughter. That one time you covered your mouth again because you couldn't help grinning at him from across the room as he deadpanned, listening to Dick drawl on about celebrating the successful mission you'd all completed the night before.

He let's your chuckling die down before he rolls his face toward you. "Can I ask you something?"

You look his way, an uncovered, tooth-flashing smile still settled across your mouth, though it starts to fade at the seriousness in his tone.

You still smile for him. Just him.

"Why do you cover your mouth when you laugh?"

Your smile becomes lopsided. You aren't totally sure how to react, and it's written across your face, despite trying to play it off. "What?"

"When you laugh, you cover your mouth with your hand," he reiterates. "And you don't smile around people like you used to."

Your smile droops again. You turn away, to face the stars again. "I dunno. I just do."

He knows there's something else, but he's learned to recognize when you don't want to talk about something. He wants to press you, he wants to figure out what the problem is so he can fix it. Hedyfix all your problems, if he could.

He shoves the thought away before it advances on as to why. "How many Titans can pass out in one room?"

You recognize the tone he uses specifically for a joke. You're already starting to smile. "I dunno, how many?"

"Let's go back inside and find out."

It's a good week afterward that he finally gets his answers. You're sandwiched between him and Raven, focused more on the movie than Beast Boy trying to get Cyborg to spit out his mouth full of water. Some bet they'd made, you've gathered. Why they'd chosen a horror movie is beyond you.

Damian's got more out of you that Garfield has gotten out of his target so far, and it's already halfway through the movie. Raven even giggled at the few she overheard.

It's all fun and games, until Garfield looks up at the screen, and barks out a laugh from the other side of Raven. "Look, it's (Y/N)!"

He's referring to the clown on the screen. The original Pennywise. With rotten, crooked teeth and a chilling grin that probably made kids cry.

Damian rolls his eyes and scoffs. He turns toward you to snicker something about Gar projecting his own issues, but stops cold when he sees the look on your face.

Your eyes are still on the movie, but they're unfocused and your face is twisted with hurt. You try to wipe the expression away when you realize he's looking.

Oh. That's the problem. He should have guessed. Suppose he was too caught up in his own opinion to really consider what any ignorant rodent might think or say about you.

Cyborg groans something, completely unintelligible with a mouthful of water, but it sounds like it was supposed to be scolding. Raven doesn't seem to have heard it.

There are tears in your eyes when you absently scratch the side of your arm and stand up. "I'll be back," you brush off with a forced half smile that's meant to look playful, but comes off pained. You make for the kitchen too quickly to be subtle.

Damian watches you go, but his attention hones on Garfield the moment your out of sight. The green boy is still staring questioningly at Cy's glare when Damian whacks him with the remote.

He swears, reaching up to rub where the hard plastic made contact, turning to tell Damian off and to make him pick up the batteries that came flying out, but Damian's on him first.

"Looks like (L/N), does it?" he growls, jerking his head toward the paused imagine. "Are you always this idiotic or just an asshole?"

Damian watches the confusion turn to pained understanding as he looks between Pennywise and a very angry ex-assassin.

Cyborg spits his water back into the cup on the table. "Dude, come on. That was such a dick thing to say..."

Damian doesn't sit around for the rest. He shoulders the kitchen door open with an empty glass in hand.

You're staring into the yellow light of the microwave, listening to popcorn kernels pop, with your back to him and tour hands braced against the counter.

He hesitates by the door, steps forward suddenly slow and unsure. He glances the sink, remembers the glass, and makes for the faucet. He doesn't want to make it terribly obvious that he knows you're upset, for fear of upsetting you further.

"You shouldn't stand in front of the microwave like that," he grumbles, twisting on the cold water. "Radiation, and all that."

You don't reply. Forty five seconds left on the timer.

He sighs. He pulls his glass from the sink and switches off the water. He leaves the half-full dish on the counter.

You feel his hand on your shoulder without hearing him move. Your head jerks toward him reflexively, but you're quick to turn back to the microwave.

Not quick enough to hide unshed tears and red rimmed eyes.

His hand slides down to your shoulder blade. "Hey. Look at me."

"I'm fine," you mumble, shaking your head dismissively. "I'll be back in a second, just wanted–"

"(Y/N)." His voice is soft in your ears, softer still on an emotional wound. "Look at me."

You release a deep breath, steeling yourself as best you can. His hand is warm on your back, and all you can think about is how badly you want to be held by him. You drop one hand from the counter and turn.

His hand glides with your movement, resting now on your arm. "It was a stupid joke. He's going to apologize. He didn't mean it."

You consider faking another smile and brushing it all off, but you can't seem to bring yourself to do it. Instead, you take a new interest in his shoes. "He wasn't wrong."

"He was." There's enough conviction in his voice to draw your eyes back to his. "He's said enough dumb things to convince mute man glad to be, but that was possibly one of the stupidest."

You chuckle, despite yourself. "That's an awful joke to make," you scold. Still the corners of your lips are tilting upward.

"I know," he admits. "But I'll tell an even worse one if it means you'll smile for me."

Your face falls slack. Eyes wide, surprised.

His free hand finds your other arm. "You have the happiest smile I've ever seen, (Y/N). You don't have to look like a orthodontic aligners commercial to have the prettiest smile in any room. And if anyone tells you otherwise, I'll knock their incisors out."

You've got tears in your eyes again, but your wobbling bottom lip is still tilling toward the ceiling. You sniffle once, shuffling forward just enough to wrap he your arms around him.

His arms come up around you like they've been waiting his whole life for you. And the way you fit against him so perfectly, he wonders if they have.

You bury your face in his shoulder. "Thank you," you mumble against his shirt. "Nobody's ever said that about my smile before."

"No one?" He sounds genuinely surprised, and your body gently shakes hon his arms and you chuckle again.

You pull away slowly, but you can't convince yourself to step away just yet. He doesn't seem to mind, arms still so secure around you. "No. But I shouldn't be surprised," you smile again, wider, "considering you're the only person I've never felt so self conscious around."

He smiles right back. "Good. I couldn't stand it if you tried to hide from me like you do everyone else."

Your teeth disappear again, but it's not behind tight lips and self conscious dread. It's something soft, made solely for him. "No. I don't think I could hide it from you if I tried."

He doesn't remember who moved first. If it was your hands on his cheeks or his arms around your waist, or who leaned and who met them halfway. All he does remember is how many times he imagined tour lips against his, and how many times he'd guessed it all right.

[imkylotrash]

Black And White (2)

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Summary: Farah discloses an uncomfortable truth concerning the Burned Ones leading you to fear for Saul’s life. 

Tagging: @grey-girl @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quuenofblacks @quarterback-5 @bitchwhytho @estelmei @music-of-melody​

Series Masterlist

A/N I know this isn’t exactly what happens in the series but I have to change it a little to make it work with the plot. 

“Fuck.” You have no idea how to tell Saul without telling Dowling too but it’s clear that he hasn’t spotted it. 

“Thank you for seeing me this late. I want your perspective before I do anything,” Dowling says making you realise that this might just be something serious. For a second, you forget about the piece of evidence dangling off the chair instead listening in on the conversation. 

“Of course. What’s going on, Farah?” Saul asks concern evident in his voice. 

“The Burned Ones. Marco’s team found a whole group.” You furrow your brows wondering why this is so important to discuss with Saul right this instance. The Burned Ones have always been a concern and part of the reason why Saul insists on training the specialists so hard but when you think about it, you’ve never gotten that much information on the Burned Ones. 

“A group? How many?” Saul asks clearly as worried as Dowling. 

“Eight. Maybe more.” 

“They’ve never done that before. They never hunt together,” Saul says revealing the reason why they’re so worried. A change in behaviour like this definitely means something. When Dowling starts moving further into the room, you remember the bra hanging off the chair. It’s only a moment of time before they’ll head for the chairs. 

“Shit,” you whisper under your breath knowing that the only way to solve this is getting Saul’s attention but you’re too worried about what you just heard to think clearly. Very slowly you push the door to the closet slightly open cringing when you hear it creak. They both look towards the closet but Saul recovers quickly.

“Sorry about that. I’ve been meaning to get that door fixed.” He hurries over to close the door giving you the chance to whisper bra. He looks back spotting it immediately. You feel like you can finally breathe when he manages to grab the bra and throw it in the bin. But then Dowling sits down and starts talking. 

“We haven’t seen a Burned One for sixteen years. Not since Rosalind was here. And now they’re back seemingly stronger. I fear for what that means.” There aren’t many who can hunt Burned Ones. Specialists have been trained to do so but practicing is very different from being out there. You remember Saul telling you about his father one night and the story has haunted you ever since. 

“We’ll do a search party tomorrow,” Saul insures her in turn striking you with fear. You know he’s one of the best there is for haunting them but it’s also been almost two decades since he had to do it last. He’s a great fighter but he’s also not as young as he once was. You know he’ll never agree to you going with him but how are you meant to stay here when he’s out risking his life? 

“Marco is returning tonight with what’s left of his group,” Dowling sighs covering her face with her hands. Ever since you could remember, you’d been told just how dangerous the Burned Ones are and now Saul will lead to search for them. Just the thought of it chills you to the bones. It takes everything you have to not just burst out and forbid him from leaving but you know you can’t do that. Instead you wait patiently for her to leave for the night and Saul to open the door once it’s safe. 

“You can’t go out there tomorrow.” It’s the first thing you say when you’re finally alone with him and apparently, he expected it. 

“I have to! I can’t send my soldiers out there and stay behind the barrier. I wouldn’t be able to look at myself.” In any other situation, you’d commend him for his loyalty to the soldiers but right now you want to chain him to the bed and make sure no harm comes to him. 

“I know that! But what if you get hurt?” You didn’t mean for this to turn into a fight but you’re already on edge and the fact that he’s not meeting you with more of a reassurance just add fuel to the fire. 

“That’s a possibility every day. If anyone should understand that, it’s you!” It’s true. You’re a specialist yourself and you know that danger is present every single day with this job but it’s different when it’s Saul. Logically, you know you wouldn’t think twice about it if it were anyone else going out there tomorrow. You might even volunteer. 

“I understand the danger. It’s the reason I’m worried about you. I can’t lose you too.” You cover your mouth in shock from your own outburst. Your father never returned from the forest leaving you to fend for yourself and now you had to watch Saul head into the very forest that stole your father from you. 

“You won’t lose me. I’m coming back for you.” He reaches out to touch you and you let him. 

“You don’t know that,” you say choking back tears. He gently grabs you by the waist and pulls you towards him. 

“I promise you I’m coming back,” he whispers kissing your forehead. He gives you a minute to just breathe before gently placing two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up. 

“You can’t promise something like that, Saul. No one can.” Images of your father leaving the house that morning flashes before your eyes proving that even with the best intentions, it doesn’t always go the way you intended. 

“I can promise I’m coming back because I’ll need this back when I do.” He holds out his ring to you. It was his father’s ring and in the time you’ve known Saul he’s never taken it off. Carefully, he unlocks your necklace and adds the ring to the chain before closing the lock again. The metal feels cold against your chest even though he just took it off. 

“I will be coming back for this. And for you.” This time you don’t argue. Instead you kiss him trying to convey all your feelings for him through it. You don’t much sleep that night and as you get ready for the day, the feeling of his ring against your skin feels like a constant reminder of what’s about to happen. 

“It’s time,” he says giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“A kiss for good luck,” you say giving him several kisses before finally letting him go. By the door he stops to look at you a final time and even with his promise of returning, you can’t help but feel like this is a goodbye. 

“I’m coming back for that ring,” he says trying to convince you as much as himself. 

“I know.” You stand by the window in his room watching the group of specialists cross the barrier and head into the forest. In an attempt to clear your head, you make a beeline for the training rooms. There’s no one there giving you the chance to work off some steam without anyone asking questions. It’s several hours later before you finally collapse knowing you won’t be able to move tomorrow. You don’t even notice that your necklace has slipped out from under your shirt before Terra comments on it at dinner. You meant to just grab a plate with food and hide in your room but of course, it’s not that easy to remain anonymous. 

“Hello. My father told me to tell you to meet him in the greenhouse this weekend. He has some new mix of herbs to show you.” Expanding your knowledge of herbs and natural medicine has been a private project with Ben Harvey and a reason why you and Terra have gotten to know each other over the years despite her being a first year. 

“Right. I’ll stop by,” you reply not paying much attention. 

“That’s a pretty necklace. I feel like I’ve seen that ring before,” she comments and you freeze. At last, you realise that you can’t feel the metal against your skin. If Terra realises that the ring is Saul’s, you know the whole school will know tomorrow. As much as you hate lying to her, it’s necessary to keep your relationship with Saul hidden. You tell yourself that lying is okay when you’ll be able to tell her the truth in a couple of weeks. 

“My mother sent it to me. It was my fathers,” you reply hoping that the mentioning of your dead father will shut her up long enough for you to make your escape. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Terra quickly says properly feeling horrible about mentioning it but definitely not as horrible as you feel. Lying right to her face somehow seems worse than keeping you and Saul’s relationship hidden.

“It’s fine. I’m just really tired so I’ll get to bed.” You don’t wait for her reply as you hurry off to your room. It’s tiny but right now you’re happy that you have it to yourself rather than suites like the fairies. That night you try your best to fall asleep but nightmares of Saul and your father torments you. Clutching the ring in your hand you tell yourself over and over that Saul will return to you. This is not where your story ends.  

[raleighcarrera]

outpoint

foreign affairs | m!blaine hayes x mc (kennedy monroe)

a cut scene from chapter 4; after dionne’s party, blaine and kennedy work on their project a little bit and then not at all.

catch up: knockout (E) / on the ropes (T)

tagging: @pixeljazzy ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixelsandkink ; @writinghereandthere ; @choicesarehard ; @natesewell ; @flyawayboo ; @withbeautyandrage ; @blainehellyes

~3.3k words | T

it would be easier not to be seen together if not for the fact that they’re no where near done with their project. in fact, they’ve barely even started.

there’s also the added complication of their less-than-platonic relationship; they’re far from just classmates, or even friends. 

everything feels like it’s gotten out of control so quickly.

but he hadn’t planned for this. he’d agreed to go to vancross because it was that or the campaign trail; when he’d first arrived on campus, blaine had expected to coast through his classes, party until he forgot how pissed off at his parents he was and wait out the boring political drama unfolding back home with a few more years of school.

he hadn’t expected her. 

to their credit, his father’s advisors had done their best to warn him. still, he’d slept through so many briefings before packing up and heading out that he lost count -- going to vancross was supposed to be a reprieve from being blaine hayes, a chance to get out from under his parents’ noses. the first daughter of rutherland was a nonissue, hardly part of the equation at all.

...then he’d met her, and she’d called him a jackass with that cute little challenging sparkle in her eyes, and a part of him that had long since been quiet slowly stirred awake again.

and now he’s here: playing it so cool that kennedy is clearly starting to doubt whether he even likes her at all, fidgety and tense where she’s doing her very best to pretend to be engrossed in her textbook, sitting right beside him on the couch in her suite. 

her bodyguard is definitely glaring at him, too. 

blaine looks away, clearing his throat and nudging kennedy with his shoulder. “hey,” he murmurs, voice purposefully low, “i think i found something.”

it’s only when she blinks at him curiously that he realizes he has absolutely nothing at all to offer her and only wanted an excuse to break the silence between them. he points to a random passage in the book in his lap. “we can use this for our argument.”

kennedy looks down at the section he’s indicated and then stares back at him as though he’s one of the dumbest people she’s ever had the displeasure of talking to. rather than wilt under the disappointment in her eyes, he only smiles charmingly back at her, until she heaves a sigh and says, “maybe you should just work on our citations.” 

god, no. anything but that. panicked, he grabs for the book she’s holding before she can retreat silently into its pages, burying her nose in the spine and refusing to look at him like she has been for the last hour. “look,” he starts, tongue darting out to wet his lips. the sudden spike of nervousness that flares up within him is... new, to say the least. he needs a plan. “can we talk privately for a minute?”

she looks past him, quirking an eyebrow at her bodyguard. there’s a beat or two of silent communication between them that makes him feel uneasy and a sharp twist of her mouth before he hears the front door open and shut, and then they’re alone.

blaine exhales, jumping to his feet. “okay -- come on.” 

he crosses the room without waiting for a response from her, prying open one of the windows in her kitchen. his head leans out to judge the distance to the cobblestones beneath them; it’ll be a bit of a jump, but he’s had worse. when he looks back at kennedy, she’s still blinking at him owlishly. “uh, what are you doing?”

“we’re ditching your bodyguard,” he grins, more confidently than he feels. it is kind of funny how she’s looking at him, like he just suggested a bank heist. “come on. he’ll be back any second.”

kennedy glances at the front door, then rushes over to meet him at the window. “but -- why -- we’re supposed to be working on our project.”

he arches his eyebrows at her, unimpressed. “and we’re obviously not making any headway. plus, i can tell you’re distracted, and since i’m pretty sure that’s my fault... i want to fix it.” well, those are words he’s almost definitely never said to anyone before. to cover up his own surprise at himself, and how uncomfortably true they ring, he widens his grin and asks, “don’t you trust me?”

as soon as she leans around him to peer down at the length of the drop, he knows he’s won. “not enough to go first.”

blaine winks at her before deciding to hell with it, leaning out the window and jumping down to the ground, wincing when his shoes slam against the pavement. fuck. that probably wasn’t worth a shot at impressing her.

though it is worth being in the perfect position to catch her, when she slips from the windowsill and straight into his arms, windswept and adorable. her trip down had been clumsy and imprecise, with all the grace of someone who had probably never snuck out of anywhere before. 

before he can stop himself, he lifts a hand to her face to brush her hair back behind her ear. she smiles at him, as his fingertips graze her temple, and for a moment it’s like they both forget who and where they are.

it’s terrifying. 

he sets kennedy down on her feet as quickly as he can, reaching for her wrist to tug her through the courtyard. “come on.”

“where are we going?” she asks, stumbling to catch up with him, “and -- slow down, jesus. i can’t run in these shoes. no one’s chasing us, anyway.”

right. he knows that. he’s done this plenty of times -- evaded his own security detail so frequently he could probably do it in his sleep. he’s snuck plenty of pretty girls around behind guards, including this pretty girl just a few days ago. there’s no reason he should be off his game now.

blaine shakes his head at himself and then slows to a stop, finally dropping kennedy’s wrist back to her side. “well, you can’t ever be too sure,” he muses, pleased to find that they’re definitively alone, no other students or faculty or wayward paparazzi following behind them. “but you’re off the grid, now. how’s it feel?”

kennedy pauses, then unleashes a blinding grin that’s a little bit dazzling. “i see why you do this all the time.”

he hums his agreement, trying not to stare at her smile. “we’re not even at our final destination yet.”

she makes an interested noise that he tries not to find sexy and fails. no one ever said he didn’t have a one-track mind. “where are we going?”

“you’ll see,” blaine promises, his own smirk sharpening as soon as they reach the gate and his hands find it unlocked. some state-of-the-art security.

kennedy falters beside him as he holds the wrought-iron out wide for her. “we didn’t fill out any paperwork.”

that’s true. but it would’ve been impossible to ask for permission when the plan was still only half-baked in his mind, sprung into being just twenty minutes ago. “we’ll be back before anyone notices,” he assures her, “except maybe your shadow.”

kennedy rolls her eyes, but his teasing does the trick. she saunters out of the gate with him without a glance back. “tatum’s just doing his job.”

“right,” blaine scoffs, “that’s all he’s doing.” 

there’s a pause that feels just a touch too long before kennedy carefully asks, “what do you mean?” 

“i mean --” he adopts the most casual tone of voice he can muster. it still feels like not enough, making him instantly regret dancing around this topic of conversation. “it just seems like there’s something else going on between you two.”

yep. kennedy smirks wide, as obviously delighted as any one person can look. he should’ve seen that coming. “is that so?”

“don’t be smug,” he mutters, hunching his shoulders in when a group of random strangers walk past them on the sidewalk. 

“no, i’m going to,” kennedy argues, looking unfairly cute as she does the same, mimicking his movements. god, he hates her. “tell me, what do you think is going on between us?”

“only if you tell me why you’ve been so quiet,” he fires back, leading them off down a side street. “you’ve been weird ever since we got back from pavadena.”

“i have not,” kennedy insists immediately, though when he looks her way again while they wait for the light to change so they can cross the street he sees she’s biting down anxiously on her bottom lip. “i’m not even supposed to be seen with you.”

“i know.” he’s not, either. yet here they both are, in broad daylight together, in the middle of town. “so?”

“so, i’m risking a lot, and it’s like, for what? you didn’t even -- you’ve barely spoken to me, too.” she looks embarrassed by the admission, avoiding his gaze while she stares at the sidewalk instead. “when other people are around, you act like... it’s nothing. me and you.”

blaine frowns. it’s unexpected, how hurtful it is to hear her say that in the soft tone of voice she’s using, uncertain and uncomfortable. she shouldn’t sound like that. “isn’t that what you want?”

she sighs, hesitating for a moment before opening her mouth again. “i --” kennedy cuts off abruptly, leaning to the side to peer around his shoulder. with a sheepish shrug, he realizes they’ve reached their destination, and that kennedy’s stopped talking because of the music playing, trying its best to lure them across the street and into the carnival. “oh my god,” she laughs, her whole face transforming from shy to excited so quickly it makes his head spin, “how did you know this was here?”

her reaction is worth any potential disaster waiting for them back on campus. it might even be worth the ass kicking that’s definitely heading his way from that surly bodyguard of hers, too. “doesn’t matter. come on.”

they jog across the street with their heads down, though as soon as they’re actually on the fairgrounds he realizes there’s no need to look over their shoulders; it’s the middle of the day and the carnival is pretty much empty, a wayward toddler being chased by an au pair the only other sign of life on the premises besides a few bored looking workers hanging out of their booths. 

“god, i haven’t been to something like this in ages,” kennedy gushes, already dragging him over to a big table marked tickets. “this is amazing.”

the thing is -- he knows exactly what she means. growing up like they did, being who they are, it’s impossible to do anything normal. he can’t remember the last time he had an afternoon out that was as mundane as this one, either. even date night with his last girlfriend had become a production; nothing was ever just dinner and a movie.

instead of acknowledging her gratitude, he shoves her out of the way with his shoulder and opens his wallet for the most tickets the teenager behind the counter will give him. kennedy completely ignores him while he pays, twisted around to look out over the fairgrounds, cataloging every offering with wide, overeager eyes. somehow she makes this traveling carnival that’s absolutely seen better days feel like a luxury destination, and as he passes the tickets over to her blaine finds that his smile is tough to dampen, despite his best efforts to keep his expression contained.

they burn through a good chunk of the tickets throwing baseballs at milk bottles -- mostly because kennedy insists she can knock down more than he can, and that simply won’t do. he refuses to stop until he’s won her the biggest prize they have available, an obnoxiously pink stuffed elephant with giant, floppy ears. 

fortunately, there’s still enough tickets left for the fun house and the photo booth and every other stupid thing she wants to do that he pretends to hate but doesn’t, until eventually the sun’s starting to set and he knows their afternoon out is coming to an end. 

“we should head back,” blaine suggests regretfully, watching her pick her way through the giant cotton candy he probably shouldn’t have bought for her with a mix of disgust and pride. “we’ve been gone awhile.”

“have we?” kennedy blinks, as though she’s only now noticing how late it’s gotten. “ugh. one more ride -- i have to finish this.”

“you don’t,” he remarks with amusement, noting the tips of her dyed-blue fingers even as they walk off indulgently towards the only ride they’ve yet to approach. “you can just throw it out.”

“that’s quitter’s talk,” she says through a mouthful of melting sugar, chewing with her cheeks bulged out while blaine uses the last of their tickets to get them onto the ferris wheel, which is completely abandoned except for the two of them, as far as he can tell. 

once the door is shut and they take off it’s the most alone they’ve been in awhile. the last time they were this secluded was in the kitchen in pavadena, when he’d licked frosting off her fingers and she’d looked at him like maybe she wanted him to kiss her, too -- like maybe she wanted even more than that.

sort of like how she’s looking at him now, doe eyes wide and nervous, the cogs of her mind very clearly turning into overdrive behind them.

it seems so obvious, now, staring at her in the cart. of course she’d wanted him to kiss her on dionne’s birthday. she’d dressed up, searching for a sincere compliment that she hadn’t gotten and invited him to dance in the hopes that if she made the first move he’d make the finishing one, like they’d done before. and he hadn’t even realized it.

so -- he probably is as stupid as everyone thinks he is. 

the ferris wheel creaks around them as they slowly ascend to the top, old machinery groaning while they climb higher and higher. it feels like it takes forever for him to sort his thoughts into a sentence that’s actually passable, but for once, he wants to be careful about what he says. “i didn’t mean to make you think i don’t care.”

he hears her inhale. kennedy flicks her gaze out at the view behind him, then bravely looks back at his face. “no?”

“no,” he confirms, shrugging helplessly again. “this is new to me.” even this conversation is beyond him.

but judging by the look on her face, he’s yet to colossally fuck up. that’s good. “me, too,” she admits, leaning in a little closer across the metal bench they’re both sitting on. “it’d be weird even if we weren’t... us.”

except that who they are has nothing to do with why this is so strange for him. kennedy could be from antartica, and he’d still be the unlucky bastard who finally met someone he thinks understands him and has botched talking to her about it at every opportunity. 

well, there’s one thing he knows he can still execute perfectly. as the ferris wheel glides to a stop for them to take in the view, the setting sun streaming in picturesquely through the little window in the cart, he leans in and kisses her, hands fanning out low over the small of her back.

kennedy tastes like cotton candy and her hands are sticky when they cup his face -- sticky like they would have been if he’d seen the signs for what they were and kissed her in pavadena like he’d wanted to, if he’d taken advantage of the rare moment alone in the way he was now, crowding her back into the corner of the cart with a grip that he knows is probably too tight.

but she kisses him back just as urgently as he’s kissing her, dragging him in closer and biting at his mouth. she’s kissing him like she’s been thinking about this, too -- like she’s found it even a fraction as all-consuming as he has, late at night when he can’t get to sleep and he’s staring at his ceiling cursing the absurdity of it all.

the moment is gone in the blink of an eye. the ferris wheel lurches back into motion with a sound that would be alarming if he wasn’t so distracted, the cart swaying in the wind as they slowly come down the other side of the circle.

she pulls away despite blaine’s best efforts to keep her in his personal space, his hands still firm on her hips. “blaine,” she murmurs, so prettily he actually has to shut his eyes -- just for a second -- just to catch his breath -- 

light spills into the cart as the door is wrenched open. they’re on the ground again, and there’s a line of kids waiting for their turn on the ride. going up had felt like forever, but the descent was done before he could even figure out what he wanted to say. 

they make their way back to the street silently. blaine is so lost in thought it takes him a minute to realize kennedy is on the phone, wincing and rushing to promise the world to whoever she’s talking to -- that they’d only run out for a little, that she was perfectly safe, that she’d be back soon. tatum, she mouths at him as soon as he catches her eye, though as she talks he finds it hard to do anything but stare at the blue corners of her mouth, where she probably still tastes like cloyingly sweet artificial sugar.

he half expects an ambush to be waiting for them at the vancross gates, but it’s quiet when they head back across the quad. after a few steps in the direction of kennedy’s dorm, blaine’s horrified to find that he’s dragging his feet, reluctant to let what was probably one of the better days of his adult life come to an end.

this is going to be a problem.

they stop on the side of her building, out of sight from any students who may be using the main entrance. kennedy clears her throat, then announces, “well... this was fun. consider me -- fixed. i think i’ll be able to get my head in the game, now.”

he should make a joke. she’s lobbed up the spike perfectly, all he has to do is hit it. he’s done it a thousand times before -- it should be as easy as breathing.

instead, he finds himself staring at her. blaine ignores what she’s said. “it’s not nothing.”

kennedy blinks. “huh?”

well -- saying it once was one thing. repeating it is something else entirely. he shoves his hands deep into his pockets, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “you. this. it’s not nothing... to me.”

she’s smiled at him a lot since they’ve met, in pretty much every way imaginable: exasperated, fond, excited, alluring. none of them compare to the way she’s looking at him now, her whole face lit up with joy.

the kiss she presses to his cheek is soft, yet still so heavy. there’s a promise of something that makes him feel off-kilter weighted beneath it, and his stomach unknots as he realizes he’s said the right thing. “me either. goodnight, blaine.”

she disappears around the corner, pink elephant tucked up under her arm, half-finished bag of cotton candy dangling from her free hand. he watches her go, shaking his head at himself again and running his fingers through his hair once she’s out of sight.

ideally she’d be out of his mind, now, too, but he’s starting to realize there’s just about nothing that can make that happen and, if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t really want it, anyway.

you just went on a date, chirps an annoying little voice in the back of his mind. 

huh.

so he did.

for the first time since he came to this stupid school, blaine whistles on the way back to his room.

[riverdale-retread]

Riverdale S5 E6 Back To School 

5 Things I Loved/ 3 Things To Consider

The S5 Character Resets are underway and I really love them.  Let me count the ways.

1. Jughead the adult is someone who rolls with the punches. I love that he grew out of that boy who was willing to DIE to belong or prove a point or save others and was in general so tense and defensive about who he was.   He has a new relationship with the word “weird,” going from the high octane emotionality of  I’m a weird weirdo and not your project!!!  to this casual,  Embrace the weird acceptance. He also has a relaxed sense of humor about his writing (I don’t know, but it makes a good story), rather than the white knuckle performance anxiety he used to have about it.  Jughead blatantly fishing out money from the tip jar his students have put on his desk in his classroom to mock him was DELIGHTFUL. I loved it SO MUCH.

2.  Toni is basically on a mission to correct the things she didn’t like about her childhood before her own baby arrives and I adore that.  Her work started last episode with reclaiming what the Serpent Dance (Female) is, making sure that the Serpents are financially solvent, that Sweet Pea and Fangs are gainfully employed, and giving Archie a bunch of homework about how to rehabilitate Riverdale.  In this episode she makes the point that cheerleading is a sport and that Archie needs to get over his Football Supremacists nonsense, and works on getting Cheryl out of her doldrums.

3. Cheryl was always a fragile, tender person underneath her mean girl and theatrical exterior, and the adult character reset seems to be that she’s done with pretending that she’s fine that her brother died. She’s supposed to be done grieving, but she isn’t. For personal reasons, I love this.  I understand you, Cheryl.  Cheryl used to aggressively hide this part of herself - the no-lipstick self - and  I’m not sure that Toni is actually doing the right thing by trying to revive the Red Lipstick Cheryl.  That tension is delicious though.

4.  Archie and Betty have completely stopped trying to be nice, warm, fuzzy people who mean well.   They’ve become the people I’ve been tracking in the retread all along - tough, pragmatic, violent, domineering, and not all that interested in anyone else’s issues/agenda/ problems, including each other’s. I guess I’m in the severe minority, but I love anti-heroes, especially women, so I am getting such a kick out of the shitty stuff they do. Archie, knowing what he knows about how Reggie’s father humiliated him on the football field as a child and the tender, boy-bonding they did in the aftermath, goes charging up to Reggie, when he’s the coach, and just punches him in the face with no hesitation. Holy shit. I love Betty enjoying her own beauty (her hair!) and sexuality (she was always the more sexual one in Bughead), approaching sex as a fun sport activity more than anything else.  Betty has no qualms about pretending to be FBI and neither actual law enforcement (Tom Keller) nor law enforcement adjacent (Kevin Keller) dare say a peep. 

5.  Veronica’s current liberation from the cult of Archie (even if it’s temporary) is a relief to me.  When Chad correctly points out that what Archie is asking for - and has always asked for and gotten - from Veronica is a handout, she doesn’t argue or launch into a speech about how wonderful Archie is and how he’s going to save the town or whatever. She just didn’t want her husband to be rude to an old friend by being so crass. Veronica’s also developed some of Hermione’s sadness (because being in a straight marriage is unhealthy for people, as per the Riverdale thesis), but at the same time it’s given her some emotional directness. She no longer seems to need to find The Perfect, Everyone Wins solution. She just says what she wants and needs, to her husband. 

Sidebar: So in addition to being Ethel Muggs and Brett Weston Wallis, I’m also goddamn Chad Gekko because Veronica continually pouring money into everything and anything Archie wanted funding for always irked me SO much. Thanks, Riverdale, for the self-realization I’m getting.

Things to Think About

a)  Is Archie capable of having sex only in Riverdale? The Music Room basically became the Archie Andrews Sex Room when he was a student. He says he’s dated no one since leaving the town, which Veronica apparently understood to mean he was practically celibate (which I find unlikely; I mean - HAVE YOU SEEN ARCHIE?).  I do feel like Archie Andrews is turned on by the Riverdale High School building itself. Betty says My sister who has gone through long bouts of various kinds of instability and involuntary confinement is missing and his answer is Cool, anyway, let's fuck and just propositions her in the teacher’s lounge.

b) Ms Bell is playing all sides of the game (she calls Cheryl about Toni, and then calls Hiram about the Bulldogs) but I can’t tell what game she’s playing. I love that actress - she’s at Dr. Curdle Jr. / Nana Rose levels of interesting and I’m all for having her have more to do.

c) The Serpents really hating Jughead’s book, and then his next book also being something to do with Riverdale made me remember a tidbit my AP English teacher told us about D.H. Lawrence, who would approach someone who looked sad, look at them with his sad blue eyes and tenderly ask, “Whatever is the  matter?” and let them pour their heart out, and then, two or three months later, when that person was ENRAGED at their heartache having been turned into a thinly disguised short story for publication, could not understand what the problem was.  I think this may be a commentary about this type of writer from the Riverdale writing team - We are the truly creative creators, and better than this dude, might be what they’re saying, because they invent outlandish events rather than trying to do some sort of ‘slice of life.’ 

[lalainajanes]

For the square “water park” on my Klarosummerbingo card! Might be my worst title ever but it’s actually better than the original one so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Slip and Slide

Caroline speedwalks through the lobby, weaving around people who seem to think it’s the appropriate place for an early morning stroll. “Hold the elevator!” she calls, ignoring the few disgruntled looks she receives.

She hadn’t been that loud, and she’s nearly late for a critical meeting. It’s the first one with a new client, and she’d hate to make a bad first impression.

She’d had to head to the dry cleaners before work, had gotten caught in a traffic snarl in an area she wasn’t that familiar with, and it had taken her way too long to figure out the detour. She should have left her place earlier.

She gets to the security gates, juggling a garment bag, her briefcase, and a portfolio. Her ID seems to be just out of reach, and she jams her hand further into her purse. Albert, her favorite guard, murmurs, “Take a breath, Ms. Forbes.”

She blows one out, frustrated. Rolls her shoulders in an attempt to relax. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“Stressed? I can tell.”

Yikes. Caroline hopes that doesn’t mean her hair has exploded.

She smiles weakly, “Big day today.”

A brand new project, after the last one had been a disaster. Caroline’s comfortable with stress, thrives on high stakes, but she could totally use a win.

Her fingers touch the familiar edge of her badge, and she pulls it out triumphantly. She taps it on the sensor, walks through the revolving gate. “Good luck, Ms. Forbes,” Alfred murmurs as she passes.

It’s a little thing, but Caroline feels a little better knowing someone’s rooting for her.

She’s relieved to spot that one of the elevators is open, a man holding the door, his eyes on her. She doesn’t recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything. The building has 55 floors, offices for more than two dozen companies within it. He’s dressed in a suit, like the vast majority of the men she sees in the building. His is nicer than most, charcoal grey, perfectly fitted, with a very subtle pinstripe that she only notices when she gets closer. Caroline hurries into the car gratefully. She leans forward, punches 32. “Thank you so much,” she says to him, turning so they’re shoulder to shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver.”

The man on her other side makes a noise, a tiny scoff. Caroline glances at him quizzically. He’s stoic, eyes forward, but she’s sure there’s a hint of amusement on his face.

An arm brushes against hers, drawing her attention. “Feel free to ignore him,” the man who’d held the elevator says. His voice is low, smooth and she’d be charmed by the accent if they’d met in a social situation.

Or any situation, if she’s honest.

“My brother would probably describe me as more of a troublemaker.”

Huh. She hadn’t have figured brothers. They’ve both got attractive and well-dressed going for them but little other familial resemblance. Caroline’s head swings back, “Are you a trouble maker?”

His amusement is plain. His full lips curl, and deep dimples appear in his cheeks.

Oh yeah. Definitely a trouble maker.

“I’m about twenty minutes early for my meeting today; how much of a trouble maker can I be?” His tone is playful, a touch too innocent to be believed.

Damn it. Caroline does not have time for an attractive man this morning. At least she hadn’t changed into the frumpier outfit in the garment bag. Hopefully, she’ll run into this guy again.

“I think I need more info. Could be a one-time thing. I’m almost late for my meeting, which is wildly out of character.”

“Not the trusting sort, are you?”

Caroline shrugs, raising her brows expectantly.

He laughs briefly, “Well, I did send an email ahead to inquire about the coffee preferences of the team I’m meeting. I’m stopping at one of the cafes to pick it up now. Would a troublemaker do that?”

“Hmm, maybe. Could be an underhanded tactic to get on a good side before the trouble starts.”

Dimples’ brother chimes in again, dry this time. “I believe your assistant sent that email. And that she learned the practice from my assistant.”  

Dimples glowers, and Caroline must admit this is a delightful distraction from her anxiety. She glances up at the panel above the door and is disappointed to find they’re almost on her floor. “If you’re going to the café on 36, I recommend the oatmeal raisin cookies. Most people go chocolate chip. Trust me, that’s a mistake.”

The elevator pings, the doors sliding open. Caroline smiles, hitches her briefcase higher on her shoulder. “This is me. Thanks again.”

The receptionist spots Caroline, stands up, a sheaf of papers in her hands, and Caroline’s reminded about how much she has to do. She hurries out, her heels clicking across the shiny tiles of the lobby.

She still glances back at the elevator, can’t help smiling, pleased, when she finds her new friend from the elevator watching her as the doors close.

Even if she never sees him again, he’d made her morning a little brighter.

Now, though, it’s time to work.

* * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, Caroline’s pacing in her office. She’s pinned her hair back and changed into the purple pantsuit she’d picked up at the dry cleaners. It’s a great color but not the most flattering fit. The pants are fine, but the jacket’s boxy, and she’s wearing a plain pink blouse underneath, buttoned to her throat, a thick silver necklace threaded through the collar. There’s a pair of glasses perched on her nose, and she’d changed into sensible flats.

She’d learned her lesson last time, at the first meeting where she’d been the project lead. She’d been called ‘Honey’ and other more annoying pet names and asked to serve coffee and fetch snacks. She’d received skepticism when she’d introduced herself. By the end of that first meeting, Caroline had wanted to scream her credentials – a B.A. and a Master’s in Civil Engineering, a whole pile of certifications, several prestigious internships, and stellar work references, thank you very much – at most of the people in the room.

Ultimately, the project had been successful, but Caroline had experienced frequent bursts of frustration that bordered on rage. Her suggestions were met with questions that made it clear her intelligence was doubted, her corrections with condescension, even though she’d usually been the only one in the room with any significant scientific expertise.

Expertise that’s kind of crucial in designing a water park. It wouldn’t have been a good look, or a sound investment, if guests were to end up injured or dead after paying exorbitant ticket prices and expecting a fun day.

Her skin has thickened considerably, but Caroline hopes that’s less necessary this time. Her boss had assured her that this job would be easier, and Caroline’s choosing to believe her. It’s even potentially exciting – these clients own several international resorts, the park she’s pitching on will be built in Spain.

Being project leader, she’d traveled to oversee construction on the nightmare build, but Tennessee doesn’t carry quite the same appeal as the Spanish coast, at least from the photos Caroline’s seen.

At the very least, it can’t be a worse experience. She hopes.

She hears Katherine coming her way, takes a final deep breath before Kat breezes into her office. “What are you wearing?” Kat asks, sounding both mystified and vaguely disgusted. She pauses in front of Caroline, fingers pinching her lapel and tugging. “Is this polyester?”

“Maybe. I thrifted it.”

Katherine’s face twists in the sort of revulsion one would expect if Caroline confessed to grave robbing the ensemble.

“Ew, why?”

“Figured I needed a costume. To make sure that this time, no one in there thinks to call me ‘sweet cheeks.’”

She’d been paired with another designer last time, Matt Donovan, who was a nice enough guy but had been pretty useless in the having her back department. Caroline likely wouldn’t have cried into her Ben and Jerry’s quite so often had Katherine been her partner. Kat has the unique and impressive ability to make demands and issue orders and have people thank her for it.

Kat snorts, “Elijah Mikaelson would never. He’s aggressively polite. I haven’t spoken to him yet, but I doubt Niklaus would either. I assume he has the same hot accent.”

That’s a new name. Caroline doesn’t like surprises. “And who is Niklaus?”

“A brother. And a business partner. He wasn’t originally scheduled to be here but is unexpectedly in town. What do you think the British equivalent to sweet cheeks is?”

Caroline’s eyes go wide, a few puzzle pieces clicking together. British brothers, twenty minutes early for a meeting. What are the odds?

Crap. Had she been flirting with a client? In front of another client?

There’s a tap at the door, her boss’ assistant’s head poking in, “They’re ready for you in the conference room.”

Ugh. Maybe she’s cursed.

* * * * * 

The presentation goes fantastically.

Katherine had been correct – the Mikaelsons don’t seem to labor under the misapprehension that a conventionally attractive blonde woman can’t grasp complex concepts. They’d shaken her hand when she’d arrived; Niklaus (or Klaus, as he apparently prefers) had looked a bit puzzled when they’d been introduced, Caroline had chalked that up to the outfit. He’d said it was nice to see her again. Explaining her mad dash to the elevator, and Klaus’ assistance, to the room had broken the ice nicely.

Kat kicks them off, and her design is gorgeous; Elijah and Klaus appear suitably impressed. When it’s Caroline’s turn, her nerves fall away by her second PowerPoint slide. She knows her stuff backward and forward, and she’s incredibly pleased with her innovation.

She also begins to feel less bad about the flirting once she sees that Kat throws Elijah a few looks that are borderline inappropriate for the office (that he seems pretty pleased with).

They ask questions, pour over the mock-ups and technical drawings Caroline and Katherine had prepared. Their ideas are actually good, which is a nice contrast for the last project. She’d done far too much lying and finessing to attempt to steer the previous park into a less terrible direction. The Mikaelsons have far fewer notes than Caroline had anticipated, and she promises to put together an update ASAP. They schedule another meeting.

She thinks Klaus’ handshake lingers when they say goodbye, but maybe she’s just riding high on adrenaline and imagining things.

She kind of hopes she isn’t. It’s probably too messy to date a client, but a girl can fantasize, can’t she?

Caroline helps herself to the cookie tray, pleased by the generous helping of oatmeal raisin she finds. Kat’s disappeared, but she knows their boss will want to debrief. Caroline collapses into one of the conference chairs, pulls out her phone to check her messages.

She replies to a few emails before she notices one that’s just arrived.

 Hello Caroline,

I enjoyed your presentation today. I look forward to the next.

Warmly,

Klaus

 She grins to herself, slumps lower in her chair. Clearly, she hadn’t imagined anything if Klaus is emailing her when he’s barely out of the building. She takes a risk and sends a slightly more casual reply than she’d usually attempt at this point.

If he reacts badly, she can up the formality later on. If he doesn’t, well… she’s only fostering a good working relationship. That’ll be essential if they land this contract.

And she’s like 90% sure it’s in the bag.

 Hi Klaus,

Thank you!

The photos your team sent over of the location were gorgeous; both Kat and I were inspired. I think this is some of our best work to date. I’m excited to dive into the updates and meet again next week.

Best,

Caroline

P.S. Thanks for the cookies.

His reply comes minutes later.

Caroline,

I believe it. Your work is impressive, as I’m sure your new ideas will be. Have you ever been to Spain? The pictures hardly do it justice.

Warmly,

Klaus

P.S. You’re welcome. Which coffee order was yours?

 Well, that’s the opposite of a bad reaction.

Caroline sets her phone aside, tells herself she has to be smart here. She’s reasonably sure she’s not doing anything that’s prohibited. The emails will speak for themselves, and they live on the company server. Neither she nor Klaus are offering anything untoward for the contract. If things go well, she may just have to fill out an HR disclosure form. She’ll double-check the firm’s code of conduct.

Just in case.

[ad1thi]

2020 fic recs!! [Part 1]

this idea was stolen from @iam93percentstardust cuz i just,,,thought that this year was absolute shit and it would be nice to make a fic rec list of fics from this year that helped me through it. this will be over a range of fandoms and ships, but all fics were written this year. 

fics are ordered by the month they were published. ive tried to keep to five fics per month, but this is not obviously all the fics ive read that month - i just didn’t want to make this insanely long. 

im releasing the first half of this on the 1st of December, and the second half on the 1st of January 2021 - because otherwise it would just get so long (and also so i will actually have fics for December)

happy reading!! hopefully you find fics on this you haven’t read yet

***

January

The cat is mighty dignified (until the dog comes by): @five-wow

Steve and Danny find them on the pillow in the corner of the dining area, where Eddie is on his side, ass half on the floor because the pillow is more cat-sized than lab-sized, and Pickles is nestled between Eddie’s front legs, essentially being spooned and looking very I-got-the-cream about it. Pickles’ head is tucked into the crook of Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s head slots perfectly on top of Mr. Pickles’, like a furry jigsaw puzzle.

“They’re cuddling,” Steve points out, unnecessarily.

Or: There is a love story unfolding under the McGarrett roof.

Captain ‘Socialist Rage Muffin’ America: @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

It takes three months of dating Steve Rogers for Tony to understand why Aunt Peggy once shot at him in sheer frustration.

Alternately titled, Honey, I committed treason again.

The Best Laid Plans (Of Mice and Men): @arboreal-elm-ash-oak

His Dark Materials AU

It was Annalise who noticed their small visitor first.

“Tony,” the spider daemon said softly, skittering up the collar of his dress shirt, two of her eight legs resting delicately against his cheek, “Don’t startle them, but I believe we have a guest. Look, by the coffee table.”

Fourteen Million to One: @tunastorks

Six months after Thanos, six months after Tony’s death, six months after Steve returns to his own timeline, Tony Stark turns up on their doorstep.

Brewed Awakening: @iam93percentstardust

Two years after he comes out of the ice, Steve is drifting through life. On his teammate's recommendation, he decides to go back to school where he meets the grandson of an old friend. He finds happiness with Tony but Steve won't be in Boston forever and someone is out to hurt the Starks. Will Steve and Tony be able to reach their happily ever after?

February

the young, the reckless and the foolish: @bruciewayne

In most universes, they don't know each other, not in the slightest, or they hate each other, in a way that's perfectly logical for anyone who were to find themselves in a similar situation.

In this one, they've known each other since they were four years old and naively idealistic.

This is them over the years, against the odds.

a giant sign: @areiton

“Think you can get him to open the weapons division up again?” his CO asks, his voice hungry and Rhodey laughs because this--

“No. Tony hung up his weapons.”

“That’s not what the suit says,” his CO objects, and Rhodey shrugs.

Tony has always had rules, rules he expects the entire world to live by.

And then there was Rhodey, slipping under them.

my heart is driftwood, floating down your coast: @nethandrake

Tonight, there’s a stranger in his backseat. That’s not unusual.

He’s also sad. That’s not unusual either.

What is unusual is that the stranger is silent.

(One night, a stranger enters Steve's taxi. Nothing is the same again.)

Just A Cold: @/delighted 

There’s a new text waiting for him. It’s from Steve of course, and it’s vaguely threatening as most messages from Steve are these days. Still Danny ignores it, and now he’s really playing with fire. Maybe it’ll burn the cold out of him.

Or, Danny’s sick, and Steve can’t stay away. The usual comfort fluff. With a little cameo from a gently meddling Grace.

An Unexpected Guide: @/Rachel500

Danny Williams has hidden his Guide status to keep being a detective, but his time of hiding is up when he unexpectedly finds his Sentinel, Steve McGarrett in the midst of a tragedy.

March

Why don’t we (Collide the spaces that divide us): @five-wow

When they finally catch sight of each other again through the milling crowds, they’re both a little worse for wear. Danny’s left side is covered in glitter and every time he brushes a hand over his hair, more blue and purple confetti rains down. Steve is- Well, Steve is randomly shirtless, which is all things considered not excessively remarkable, but he’s also covered in smudges of colorful paint and has a very nicely printed bloodred lipstick kiss mark on his cheek.

“What did you do?” Danny asks, because it looks like Steve had a lot more fun than he did.

Or: Steve and Danny accidentally end up in the middle of something entirely new.

A Little Unsteady: @finduilasclln 

Written for the Tumblr prompt meme : "Hey! I was gonna eat that!"

Tony lashes out at Bucky for eating his dessert. Only, it really isn't about the dessert.

a national treasure: @starklysteve

Steve isn't looking for an apple and Tony decides his passion is to inspire young souls. -x- OR: the AU where Tony is a Youtuber and Steve is Captain America and somehow they still save the world together.

April

cycle through: @ambivalentmarvel

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Stark disappeared from his family home a month after the tragic deaths of his parents, Howard and Maria Stark, leaving a billion-dollar tech conglomerate without an heir and the world wondering what happened.

Twenty-three years ago, HYDRA gained another super soldier.

Ten years ago, Peter Parker’s parents died in what is ruled as a home invasion gone wrong but he knows was murder, plain and simple, because he spoke to the killer.

And in the present, Project Insight fails, and the Iron Soldier pays the price.

FOREVER-LOVE YOU-I: @/Eudoxia

Tony Stark is twenty-one when he loses his voice. It shouldn't matter, but in a world where the first words your Soulmate says to you are marked on your skin, it can be pretty damn annoying.

Especially for Tony's soulmate.

--

Companion piece to my fic Thumb, Index, and Pinky Extended. This is Steve's POV, with a few extra scenes, as a treat.

(Edit: Sorry if you guys get multiple notifications for this. I just realized (about two hours after posting it) that I fucked up the grammar in the title and I HAD to fix it. YOLO, I guess.)

come build a home out of me: @maguna-stxrk

Steve clears his throat.

“What if I went with you?” he asks nonchalantly, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

Tony blinks a few times, looking at Steve, his mouth ajar. “As a— As my date?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods, feeling a little breathless.

“You don’t mind?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t. In fact, you can just tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’m sure they’ll back off, wouldn’t they?”

What.

“I— Huh?” Tony stares at him, brown eyes blown wide open.

What. What. What.

“Huh? Uh, I mean— You know, that way people will see that you have definitely moved on. Monica will see that you have moved on. Right?” Steve smiles, hoping that it masks his inner panic, because what?

Steve Rogers, what have you done?

i don’t have a choice (but i’d still choose you): @nethandrake

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

Anthony Edward Stark.

(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)

ua haʻalele ʻoe iaʻu (a ua hoʻomālamalama ʻoe iaʻu): @just-fandomthings

"The truth is, I was shot in the chest and nearly died, and not even three days after I was released from the hospital, you up and left-- and of those two, I'm not sure which one hurt me worse!"

(Coda to 10x22 because come on, we all need a better ending than the one given to us.)

Title loosely translates to: "You left me in the dark (you lit me up)" -- inspired by the brilliant song "Say You Won't Let Go" by James Arthur

May

A Piece Of The Past: @hddnone

It had been so many years since Bucky had gone undercover in the Stark family's mob, he thought he'd gotten away clean.

Then Tony Stark slid into the seat across from him at his breakfast diner, and Bucky's boss has a new case for him.

the privilege of loving you: @starklysteve

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

It’s a desperate plea, half-shouted and half-whispered, Steve’s voice cracking at the end. Tony stops in his tracks, halfway to the stairs. He doesn’t dare to turn back, and he really doesn’t want to fight, or to leave, to spend the last month of his life away from his husband and their son. But Steve can’t know, can he?

-x-

Or: Tony has palladium poisoning, but he doesn't tell Steve and Peter

your pillow feels so soft now (but still you must advance): @firebrands

When Bruce is 13, he decides to go to boarding school. It's an opportunity for him to learn about other people, and how to interact with them.

Bruce has the misfortune of meeting Tony Stark upon his arrival in Roxbury. Bruce is moving into his room, and Tony opens the door of his room to watch. He looks a bit younger than Bruce, hair wild and eyes bright. Bruce has never seen a boy like him before—handsome and confident.

Bruce doesn’t like it.

IMPORTANT: This fic has them meeting at 14, then progresses slowly until they’re 17. Includes underage drinking and kissing.

This is set before Bruce becomes Batman and Tony becomes Iron Man and I have no explanation as to how or why they just DO Canonically, Bruce is 17 when he finishes school and goes around the world to train, so we're sticking with that

The Real MVP: @sword-and-stars (part of a series)

[“I have saved this Tuesday!” Sokka announces, rattling the bag upon reentry.

Zuko doesn’t even look up from his phone as he deadpans, “It’s Thursday.”

Okay, so Sokka is still having trouble getting his days right without checking. At least he’s gone back to sleeping at night! Going to bed at night is way easier when you have a cute, cuddly boyfriend who starts falling asleep around eleven o’clock. It also helps that he and Zuko are on solid gold butt-touching terms.

It’s been a while since Sokka has been on butt-touching terms with someone and it’s amazing.]

Or,

Sokka knows a guy, gets laid, and introduces Zuko to the merits of an afternoon delight.

When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it): @riotwritesthings

There’s a tiny safe house, with one tiny window and one tiny couch.

And one tiny little bed.

June

Nice Fingers: @anthonyed

A single compliment given by Tony stirs Bucky restless until he caves in and asks him out on a date.

With Steve’s help of course (whether he likes it or not).

The Darkest Touch: @starkrogerrs

This is the story of how Steve finds that it has been ordained that he is to marry a monster he cannot resist aka the God of Love himself, Tony.

It's Cupid x Psyche retold, but with thrice the amount of porn.

The Night Shift:  @weethreequarter

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

Wind Beneath My Wings: @iam93percentstardust

Sam first meets Tony Stark in 2005 when he joins the EXO-7 Falcon program.

In jest: @/apathyinreverie

“No, babe,” Danny shakes his head with a grin. “If the apocalypse were to go down while I’m elsewhere for some godforsaken reason, then you stay put and I’m coming to wherever you are.” His grin widens. “And I expect you to have cleared any aliens or zombies or whatever else might be messing with us off the island and to have set up a nice, comfortable military dictatorship for us to rule over by the time I get back.”

It’s a joke.

Of course it’s a joke.

Until it isn’t.

(A the-day-after-tomorrow-style apocalypse AU, where the world decides to end right when Danny is visiting one of the other islands with Grace. Because, of course, it does.)

[theelliottsmiths]

Peter T. strikes me as the sort of person who would enable things like Till’s candle stunts and then get offended over Till the End.

I can’t even really put my finger on it, but idk, there are just people that get fascinated by extreme things but then can’t cope with the reality of it, idk. It’s how he’s a diehard metalhead but then in interviews and other things sometimes comes across as pretty conservative. I also think musically he’s a bit of a one trick pony, which isn’t bad, but a little boring over time. I think Till likes development more than he lets on when he’s all like “I’m a simple man, I don’t like change.” In all the Rammstein making ofs he always seems quite excited about them trying new musical directions (as opposed to exemple Paul, who always doubts.) It’s most noticeable on LIFAD, but really I think it’s always been there. Plus he likes to push himself lyrically, he clearly said so when he first worked with Peter and had english as a new playground. I don’t really think Peter is that kind of artist.

I really like Peter, but I can’t help but feel like they ended up with resentment (no communication over the DVD release?!), and I think maybe Till just doesn’t have the patience and self sacrifice in him he has for Rammstein, because having that sort of loyalty to one project seems quite enough.

I also got the feeling that Peter really didn’t like the way writing for theater worked in particular, and that Skills in Pills was more his thing. M&F objectively was the way better album but it was mostly due to Till and his lyrics and his vision, it’s quite clear he put so much heart into all of it (which he would, seeing as he seemed to do it mainly for his daughter.) I don’t know, I think ultimately they really grew apart in what they wanted for the project. It would have been nice if they could stay friends but seeing how personal music can be, that’s a tall order for most people. That’s the thing that makes Rammstein so special in the first place and I can totally see how experiencing the alternative and how it actually goes for most projects gave Till some perspective on “the wife”.

Sorry for ranting into your ask, I felt like spewing my opinion I guess.

Yeah I've gotten vibes from him I'd describe as voyeuristic but either apathetic or out of his depth: It's a gruesome curiosity but he can't necessarily handle what comes with it once the immediate thing is over. There's a kind of romanticisation in metal culture around self injury and other dangerous activities (see: remember all the murder stuff that happened?) that doesn't seem to account for the actual human aspects. People into that kind of thing, at least from what I've observed from people I've met and heard tale of, will be in some ways cool with the behaviour that is Extreme and Exciting but have a harder time with the crying and emotions and othersuch consequences. I'm sure this isn't universal, it's just A Thing I've seen.

If I'm honest the actual music of Lindemann and Pain kind of bores me. It's squeaky like when you chew halloumi and sounds like it's in a box and I don't know if it's because it's often just him writing it or what but be does seem more comfortable than is maybe useful there. Till and Rammstein as a whole are capable of and embrace (even reluctantly) new ideas and general growth. Tills skillset has changed and blossomed as he's aged and worked on it and he does, yes, seem excited by trying new things. That was the point of Lindemann, having increased freedom to explore things Rammstein didn't want to explore as a whole. Even if that freedom did largely mean getting silly and gross at first, it's all just experimentation and pushing boundaries. Skills and Pills is a teenager in album form and f&m is in its twenties. Hopefully that makes sense.

I could so easily see them having an argument because their creative elements became totally mismatched as Till evolved and Peter just kind of... Didn't. Not to mention he didn't at all seem excited by or invested in the art that Till has been building into his work lately. Maybe it got too intense: this is Till were taking about. Not a half measures kind of man.

It did, in hindsight, seem a little suspicious that f&m was in German, since Peter doesn't speak it. The beginning of the end? A hint that maybe Peter was just willing and musically available but not necessarily passionate about it? In interviews they mentioned Till having to even just talk Peter into writing ballads when they started which, idk, it seems representative of a larger mismatch.

For the record because it actually comes up a lot re: Till and sometimes Flake, there's a difference between change and Change. They've said before that Till gets really upset and stressed when they change their setlist or lyrics—even if he agrees with the changes because that's not the point—and he's more comfortable sticking to what he knows but that doesn't mean he doesn't get bored. He's a very curious man who likes learning new things and when you don't have the pressure of the unknown of change its a completely different experience. That and you can know something is for the best whilst still grumbling about it, just like when my GP changed their answer message pathway to objectively make more sense so I simply hung up and whinged for a few days before calling back and preferring it. Nobody is immune to cognitive dissonance and the creative drive is way stronger in him than pretty much anything else, often to his detriment. The guy says he hates loud noise and people and yet continues to do this for a living. I have no doubt he hates change so very much.

So uh yeah. You don't need to apologise, it's interesting and I'm glad you sent it.

[actuallybarb]

The Aftermath ~ Part 4

Summary: y/n gets a card from happy hogan and vomits on the side of the road after telling off brad in the middle of an airport

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, mysterio is the worst, trauma, it’s marvel what did you expect

Word Count: 1741

A/N: i know it’s reader insert but i’m emotionally attached to y/n... so, me

                                                         //////////

Let me tell you, getting lava to come out of the bottom of the Thames was pretty much the worst experience I’ve ever had in my life. And I thought Italy was bad.

Beck had a drone on standby, waiting to shoot me should I suddenly decide I’d rather die than destroy London.

I started destroying London.

It wasn’t easy. Beck told me I had to use all four elements to make it convincing, and it took all of my concentration. Listen, I’m damn good. I can make buildings crumble, I can make airplanes stop shaking in mid air, I know what the hell I’m doing. But all four elements at once? Let’s just say I’ll have a migraine for days.

I positioned myself at the very top of the monster so I could see what I was doing. I tried to do as much damage with as few casualties as possible, but I had to perform—Beck was watching.

I was waiting for Mysterio to come out and save the day, as planned, but then a red and blue blur dropped from the sky.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I smiled, a full-blown smile. Beck had announced at the top of his lungs that he had killed Spider-Man. I didn’t take it well. I mean, what do you expect? I’d known Peter for a full year of school, and I was actually starting to call him a friend (to myself, of course, I’d let him admit that first) and then Beck just had to go ahead and drop that bomb on me.

Peter dove into the water and —

Oh shit he thinks this is a projection.

I hollowed out the middle of my monster and pulled him all the way up to my makeshift platform. Then his jaw dropped when he saw me.

“Y/N!”

I punched him in the shoulder. “I thought you were dead!”

“You’re working with Mysterio?”

“No, fuck him, he’s forcing me to do this.” I knocked some people off of the sidewalk and into the Thames. “He said he’d kill my family if I didn’t do what he said.”

Peter was gaping at me. “You’re the Avatar!”

I groaned. “Peter! You’re missing the point! I’m being forced to destroy London until you can kick Mysterio’s ass.”

He sobered up quickly. In complete honesty, he looked like shit. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheek was scrapped, and he was standing heavily to one side. Shit, just like I said. “Where is he?”

I thrust my chin toward Tower Bridge as I let my sludgy fist come down on a coffee shop. So much wasted espresso.

I had been at it for an hour, maybe two, when Peter shot some webs into the air without swinging from them. I took that as my cue to cool it, and I let the lava sink back to the Earth’s core. The Thames happily returned to normal, and I deposited myself on the uneven cobblestones by the Tower of London. The moment I touched down MJ ran past me with a weapon in hand, straight for the bridge. Odd.

“Was - was that monster thing... you?” Flash’s camera was pointed at me. I wanted to take his phone and chuck it straight into the filthy water, but all I did was look at him tiredly.

“We’re all just full of secrets, aren’t we Eugene?”

“You okay, kid?” A man with a goatee was with Ned and Betty and he looked vaguely familiar.

“Dead on my feet,” I admitted.

He nodded. “Let’s get back to your class.”

I would’ve fallen flat on my face if Flash hadn’t stepped forward and wrapped an arm around me. “Thanks,” I mumbled as I wrapped my own arm around his shoulders. “Where did everyone think I went?”

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, “Harrington said he got an email from your mom saying you weren’t feeling well, so you were gonna stay behind in Prague with some family then fly home. Everyone else was really skeptical, especially ‘cause Peter used the same excuse, but it’s not like we could do anything.” We slowly made our way back to the rest of the class. “Good luck explaining to Harrington how you’re back.”

“Think he’ll believe the truth?”

Flash’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What’s the truth?”

“I was kidnapped by Mysterio and he made me turn into an Elemental so he could become the new Tony Stark.”

I wish I could’ve told him I was making it up. I wish I could’ve made myself believe I was making it up. But I wasn’t. Reality really is shit.

Flash just chuckled half heartedly. “No. But that doesn’t mean he won’t let you go back with us anyway.”

We rejoined the class eventually, Peter still missing, but MJ quickly joined my other side and whispered in my ear, “I just kissed Peter.”

My eyes widened and I whispered back, “Holy shit that’s awesome,” but my heart wasn’t in it.

They’re really cute, and obviously happy. But I was starting to get attached to him. And now he couldn’t be mine. Not that he was to begin with, but a small part of me was hopeful.

“Y/N! You’re back!” Harrington’s exclamation could be heard over all of the class, so they all turned their heads to look at me. Joy.

“Yeah, turns out my connecting flight was the same as yours. Crazy how that works out, right?”

“Well, we’re glad to have you here. Okay, let’s all get back to the airport, we still have a flight to catch.”

The rest of them started migrating, but I stuck back. I don’t have a ticket. I can’t get on a plane without a ticket.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” It was the same familiar guy from before.

“I- I don’t have a ticket. M- Mysterio was the one who got me here, and I never thought so far as a way home, and-“ I was on the verge of tears, and before I could object, his arms were wrapped around me and he was patting my back softly.

“Hey, you’ll be okay. I-“

But he was interrupted by none other than Spider-Man himself.

“Happy, hey- Y/N?”

Before I could really stop myself I launched myself into Peter’s arms and hugged him tightly. “God, he told me you were dead.”

His arms eventually reciprocated the level of tightness I was giving out. “It wasn’t a fun time for me, either.”

I let go eventually, mostly because I was starting to lose the feeling in my arms. I couldn’t even really say anything without tears getting in the way so I just stood there, awkwardly, sniffling.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” It was the guy, Happy, that suggested it. “Tickets, then showers, then clothes, then sleep. Both of you.”

“I could sleep for a lifetime,” I mumbled.

I don’t remember much else. I ended up between Flash and Brad, which wasn’t too bad considering Flash has comfy shoulders and the more I slept the longer I could ignore Brad. I kind of figured it was inevitable, Brad stopping me to finally have a talk, but I was hoping to avoid it.

“Why do you hate me, Y/N? I’ve tried to be nice to you, and all you’ve ever done in return is throw it back in my face.”

“Can we not do this right now, Brad? Or ever, for that matter?”

“No.” He grabbed my arm as I tried walking away. “I deserve an answer.”

I was exhausted. I was pissed. My mind was not in a good state. And I may have felt how real Brad was, but that didn’t stop my skin from crawling when his hand grabbed me.

I wrenched my arm out of his grasp. “I don’t owe you shit. Just because you deserve an explanation doesn’t mean I have to give you one.”

“You’re a first rate bitch, you know that?”

“And he finally drops the nice guy facade.” I probably shouldn’t have gotten so close to him, but I was not in the best state, mentally. Despite that little voice in the back of my head, I took a step closer and nearly bumped chests with him. “You’ve been trying to keep up this act so they can accept you, but you’re doing a real shit job at hiding the fact that you believe you’re just a scared twelve year old to these people. You’ve been letting their opinions about you control your life and it’s exhausting.”

“Like you’re any better.”

I took a step back and a deep breath. “If I let their opinions of me control my life I would’ve been dead a long time ago.” I shrugged. “I know what I am to them, and there’s nothing to change it. But that doesn’t mean I have to seek their approval. They’ve already made their decision about who I am - I have my whole life to make mine.” I shoved past him and finally made it out of the airport, just in time to see Peter give MJ a small peck before going to his aunt. Another punch to the gut. Reality: 1, Y/N: 0.

“Y/N! Sweetheart! We were so worried.” My parents, bless their souls, ran up to me and wrapped me in their arms. I would’ve burst into tears right there if Happy didn’t make eye contact with me and hand me a business card behind their backs. He lifted his hand to his ear and mouthed, ‘call me,’ to which I nodded simply for lack of a better response. “Let’s get you home,” they insisted. I was ushered into the car and driven straight home, but I didn’t hear a word they said.

My own parents don’t know what I can do. I could’ve died and they would never know I had abilities.

Holy shit.

I could have died.

“Stop the car.”

Dad looked back in concern. “Y/N, are you okay?” Of course I wasn’t okay, I was asking you to stop the car in the middle of the freeway.

“Dad, stop the car, I’m gonna be sick.”

He pulled over and I jumped out and emptied the trashy airplane food from my system. How could it be legal to serve that to people?

“Y/N?” Mom put a hand on my back and I almost lost it again. “Let’s get home and we’ll talk. Okay?”

Wow, did we have a lot to talk about.

tags: @eridanuswave​ @vampirestrawberries​

[blackbutterfliescal]

Love Like War

A Muke One Shot

Pairing: Michael Clifford x Luke Hemmings, Calum Hood & Luke Hemmings

Word count: 5K (on the dot!)

Rating: Mature for implied sexual situations

Content: college AU, enemies to lovers, friends with benefits, a little bit of angst but I promise it’s a happy ending, swearing, implied sexual situations, nothing explicit just very vague, I mean they’re friends with benefits so I gotta at least reference it 

A/N: This is part of the club’s fic exchange for the holiday season. Thank you to @allsassnoclass​ for hosting this!!! I’m a little late, but nothing else is new. This is for the WONDERFUL @glitterblazercalum who gave me everything to work with. I hope you enjoy it, love, because I’ve had a blast writing it. And huge thank you to @spicycal for always being the biggest cheerleader 💞

✨ Masterlist ✨

Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from my taglist 🌺

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Feedback is always appreciated! 😊

———

There was one constant truth in Luke’s life: everyone leaves - moves on, finds someone new, forgets him. Luke had just hoped that what he had with Calum was different. They’d known each other for so long that he found himself letting go of the fear that Calum would leave too. But here he was, alone, in their shared room for the sixth night in a row.

Luke was well aware of how it felt to be left behind. He told himself that he should know how to handle it by now. But this time was different. For as long as he could remember, Calum had always been the one to help put him back together - through family deaths, through his older brothers leaving for school, through lost loves and failed friendships. So how was he meant to process being left behind when Calum was the one leaving?

As he lays in bed, arms wrapped around his middle and knees pulled toward his chest, he feels tears sting at his eyes. Before Luke can completely give into the anxiety constricting itself around his chest, the lock on the dorm door clicks and Calum shuffles in. It’s late and Luke should have been asleep hours ago but he’d worked himself into a panicked frenzy, meaning sleep would be hard to come by if it happened at all. As Calum toes his shoes off at the door, Luke swipes at his eyes and attempts to clear the panic in his throat that’s making it hard to breathe. Calum starts at the unexpected sound.

“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to wake you. Lost track of time with Michael.” With Michael. Again. Calum seems to spend all his spare time with Michael now and Luke can’t trust himself to offer more than a hum in response.

When they moved several hundred miles away from home for school, they’d decided to live together. Everyone said to branch out and make new friends, that living together can be difficult, but they both hoped a familiar face would help with the inevitable homesick feeling. Calum had been Luke’s biggest comfort over the last decade, his only friend, though Calum had always had other friendships as well. No matter how many other friendships he had though, Luke had always been his number one. And he’d never felt the worry of Calum finding someone he liked better. Until now.

They’ve only been at school for a few weeks but they’ve already settled into an easy routine, buzzing around each other before their classes in the mornings, homework at the library in the afternoons, and always (always) dinner together in the dining hall. But since Calum had met Michael in one of his classes, they seemed to just click, leaving Luke on his own and positive that he knows what comes next.

As Calum quickly puts away his belongings and slips into something more comfortable to sleep in, he hears Luke sniffle as he turns to face away from him in his bed across the room. He knows Luke like the back of his hand and is immediately filled with worry. He stops for a second, staring at Luke as if he’ll be able to see what’s nagging at him. But it’s the wee hours of a Saturday morning and he’ll have time to ask him about it when he’s not fighting to keep his eyes open.

When Calum’s eyes flutter open the next morning, it takes him a minute to register that Luke isn’t in the bed across the room. He checks his phone for the time and any missed messages from Luke, waiting for a little while and hoping to hear him milling around the bathroom, but there’s no texts and the room is silent. He tries his best to ignore the worry in the back of his mind as he gets himself ready for the day, but he can’t ignore that Luke has disappeared before they could go to the dining hall for Saturday morning pancakes.

On his way out the door, Calum shoots Luke a text to let him know that he can find him in their normal breakfast spot. As the lock on their door clicks in place, he hears a phone ding at the other end of the hallway where the study lounge is. Calum slowly turns on his heels and makes his way to the far end of their hall. As he gets closer, he can hear Good Charlotte playing softly and Luke’s familiar voice humming along.

“Hey. There you are. I didn’t know where you’d gone off to.” Calum’s voice is soft, still a little raspy with sleep. Concern quickly takes over his face as he meets Luke’s eyes and sees how tired and red-rimmed they are. Luke grumbles as he reaches over to turn off his music, avoiding Calum’s gaze.

“Woah, woah. Hey, what’s going on? What happened?” Calum asks. Luke hates the pity that’s evident in Calum’s voice.

“It’s nothing, really. Go ahead. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere else to be.” Calum balks at the sour tone Luke’s giving him as he makes his way to sit next to the blonde boy.

“Nope. If you think I’m leaving you here with that attitude, you must not know me. C’mon, what’s up?” Calum pushes, trying to meet Luke’s eyes as he joins him on the couch.

Luke rolls his eyes at Calum, thinking he should have chosen someone a little less persistent for a best friend. Calum keeps his eyes fixed on Luke as he waits for a response.

“Just go! Go hang out with Michael. He’s who you wanna hang out with anyway.”

“Luke.” It comes out more chiding than Calum intends it so he tries again, softer this time. “Luke, hey, come on.” Luke finally turns to Calum and he can see everything Luke’s been struggling with pooled in his baby blues. The worry and panic and self-doubt are threatening to spill out across Luke’s cheeks. Guilt hits Calum like a freight train and he reaches out to place a hand on Luke’s knee.

“Oh my god, Luke.” There’s even more pity in Calum’s voice now and Luke just wants to walk away, to not hear it anymore but Calum continues, oblivious to Luke’s frustration. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You’re my best friend and that’s not going to change after a few weeks of meeting someone new.”

“Well it doesn’t seem that way. This is the most I’ve seen or talked to you in the last week! You’re always with Michael.” The biting tone in Luke’s voice is hollow and Calum knows it’s only because he’s scared of being left behind.

“I’m sorry.” Calum means it. He knows Luke and he knows exactly why he’s panicked. He’s not sure what else he can say so he just lets his apology hang in the air until Luke nods his head, accepting it. Calum stays still for another beat, just to make sure that Luke’s not going to break apart into a million tiny pieces. When it seems safe, he stands from the couch and offers Luke his hand. “Why don’t we go get our pancakes, hmm? And then I’ll text Michael to see if he wants to hang out this afternoon, all three of us.”

Luke doesn’t want to hang out with his replacement, but it seems like Michael’s not going anywhere and he really doesn’t want to lose Calum. So he agrees. But he’s not going to like Michael. He’s not.

———

Luke still didn’t like Michael, but after two and a half years as an unlikely trio, they’d discovered they had more in common than either of them were willing to admit. Michael wasn’t particularly fond of Luke either, sensing that the other boy didn’t really want him around at all. They learned to tolerate each other around Calum but all bets were off when they found themselves alone together.

The problem was that neither of them could remember why they hated each other anymore. Sure, Luke had been insecure at first, but he’d gotten past that eventually as he figured out Calum was true to his promise. Calum hadn’t left him, hadn’t replaced him with Michael. Calum and Luke still lived together, and though they’d become more independent over their time in college, they still stuck pretty close. Luke appreciated that some things remained sacred between the two of them, like Saturday morning pancakes at the dining hall.

Luke swiped up the last sticky bite of blueberries from his plate as Calum began to speak around a large mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes.

“So do you have any plans today?” It comes out muffled but Luke’s fluent in Calum by now.

“I should work on my final project for my English lit class, but I’ll probably spend most of the day procrastinating it. What’s up?”

“Michael’s having some kind of party tonight and asked if we could come over to help him set up.”

“Doesn’t he know it’s finals week?”

“That’s exactly why he’s having a party. Everyone’s looking for an excuse to forget about homework for a little while,” Calum laughs softly.

Luke would actually rather spend his day pouring over his finals than with Michael but he finds himself agreeing to tag along anyway.

When they arrive at Michael’s, they find him in the kitchen, or at least what seems to be the kitchen. It could also be a nuclear disaster zone by the state of it. Luke finds himself unsure how one person manages to make that much of a mess but he decides not to push it when he takes in Michael’s flustered appearance.

“Thank god you’re here. I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know where I got the idea to host a party or why I decided to torture myself making all this food.” Michael uses the back of his hand to push his fringe out of his eyes, managing to smear the sauce from the crockpot meatballs all over his forehead. Luke can’t help the amusement on his face at Michael’s state.

Calum encourages him to go take a shower and pull himself together as he and Luke begin to move about the kitchen, cleaning up dishes and plating the food that’s already been assembled. When Michael returns, his hair is damp and a towel is barely hanging around his hips. He’s got a shirt in each hand as he playfully holds them each up to his torso in turn, looking for a second opinion. Luke offers his two cents, hoping with everything in him that Michael doesn’t notice the blush painted across his cheeks at the unexpected lack of clothing. Luke quickly returns to the task at hand, willing Michael back to his room to get dressed.

Michael returns, fully clothed, and Luke breathes a sigh of relief. He’s unsure of what’s come over him, but he’s absolutely sure it was a fluke. Probably just the stress of finals looming over him that’s got him off his rocker. He’d spent years silently hating Michael, resenting him for stealing time with his best friend. Is one shirtless moment really all it took to scramble Luke’s head?

“Hey, uh, Cal. Can you help me grab the supplies and decorations from the other room? They’re in the top of my closet and I don’t wanna pull them down on my head.” Michael laughs at himself. It’s a silly thing to ask, but they all know Michael would find a way to hurt himself trying to get the box of cups and plates down.

“I’m not any taller than you, Mike. And I’ve kind of got my hands full,” Calum says, gesturing to the sink full of dishes that he’s working on.

Without thinking, Luke pipes up, offering to help. He’s just as clumsy as Michael, but he is just the slightest bit taller and he hopes that will be his saving grace. He follows Michael down the hall and into his bedroom. It’s tidier than Luke would have expected given Michael’s typical chaotic nature.

He doesn’t have much chance to look around though, as Michael points out a box in the top of his closet that needs to come down. It’s a stretch to reach the handles on it, even for Luke, and it seems to get stuck on something beside it. Michael slides into the doorframe beside Luke, trying to free the box from whatever it’s caught on. There’s not exactly enough room for both sets of wide shoulders to be digging around.

“I’ve got it,” Luke strains as he tries to wiggle the box out without dropping it on Michael’s head. Though he could definitely be tempted.

“Just be careful. Don’t pull -”

“I can get it, just move.” Luke wiggles the box again and it breaks loose, sending both of them crashing to the floor as plasticware scatters around them.

“Why are you so stubborn? Why do you have to be like this?” Michael groans frustratedly from the floor.

“Me?!” Luke asks incredulously . “I told you I had it! Why didn’t you just let me do it?”

As they sit upright, they find themselves closer than they’ve ever been, noses nearly touching. Luke’s breath hitches in the back of his throat at the proximity to Michael. Had his eyes always had those little flecks of yellow sitting in amongst the green?

Without warning, Michael crashes his lips onto Luke’s. It’s intense, searing even. Luke thinks he could be swallowed up by the sun and his body would be less on fire than it is right now, kissing Michael. 

Suddenly Luke’s racing mind catches up and he pulls away from Michael in a hurry. “Oh. I don’t- I mean, I’m not - Uhhh. Sorry.” Luke barely stutters out as he clamors to his feet, not sparing a glance at Michael’s bewildered expression. He makes a hasty exit from the room, leaving Michael to sort out the supplies they’d gone after in the first place. Calum gives Luke a questioning look when he reenters the kitchen but Luke just shrugs it off; the only explanation he offers is that Michael still managed to be a klutz and drop everything.

Several awkward hours later, Michael’s place has been cleaned spotless, there’s more food than strictly necessary, and Michael’s friends are starting to trickle in the front door. Everyone seems relieved to get finals off their mind, even if it’s just going to be for a few hours.

Luke and Michael have been avoiding each other as much as possible, which is now made easier as more people continue to show up. Luke recognizes a few people from around campus and makes a few rounds to make small talk. After Luke’s said hello to everyone he knows, he excuses himself down the hall to find the bathroom. As he rounds the corner in a hurry, his shoulder slams square into Michael’s. They both wince and then stand awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what exactly they are now.

When Luke showed up today, it was clear that they only tolerated each other for Calum’s benefit. But now? Michael had kissed Luke and he couldn’t take that back, as much as he wanted to. Luke’s frantic exit let Michael know that they were clearly not on the same page, but he wasn’t sure exactly where it left them.

Before the bizarre staring contest could stretch on any further, Luke bends down to place his lips on Michael’s shoulder with a mumbled apology. He meets Michael’s gaze briefly as he stands straight again, appreciative that the little yellow flecks in his green eyes were still present. He hurries off toward the bathroom, worried that the longer he stared at Michael, the more he’d find reasons to keep staring. Luke had only meant to show Michael that they were okay. That he hadn’t scared Luke by kissing him.

Well, that’s not entirely true. It did scare him, but not because he didn’t want it.

———

It’s been three months. Three months since the kiss that burned Luke from the inside out. Three months since Michael pulled Luke into his bedroom after everyone else had left that stupid party during finals week.

“Nothing like years of unbridled hatred to make for the best sex you’ve ever had,” Michael breathes against Luke’s neck as they both tug at the others shirt. The last of his friends just left and by some stroke of luck, Luke had agreed to stay. For an hour. For the night. He wasn’t sure, but all that mattered is that Luke stayed.

“What makes you think you’re gonna be the best sex I’ve ever had?” Michael doesn’t abandon his work leaving marks on Luke’s fair skin, keeping him as close as possible, but he can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Michael’s smile matches Luke’s as he pulls back to meet his deep blue eyes. The line between passion in lust and passion in hatred begins to blur as their lips meet in a violent crash, leaving a wake of clothes behind them on their way to Michael’s bed.

They agreed then that it was just a casual thing. There was no need to tell anyone else. It was about stress relief during finals. It was about really, really good sex. But it was never more than that. Michael and Luke both knew that they’d kill each other in a proper relationship. Luke also knew that Michael was the best sex he’d ever had, but he’d never admit that to Michael. Michael knew it too. Whatever they had burned too intense to last, but it was too much to ignore.

They’d hoped that the month of holiday break after the semester ended would cool things off.

When they returned to campus in January though, they’d fallen right back into it without a second thought, burning just as bright. This time though, they’d had to set some rules to make sure it didn’t become anything more. They were still sure that a relationship would ruin whatever it was that they had and neither of them wanted to risk it. It would only mean mutually assured destruction.

“Okay, so rule number one. If we’re going to keep this as a good thing, it’s strictly physical. No feelings. No mushy gushy nonsense. We’re not going on dates and we’re definitely not boyfriends.”

“Friends with benefits?” Luke offers from where he lays with his head on Michael’s chest, reveling in his post-coital bliss.

“Hm, but you have to be friends first. Pain in the arse with benefits?” This earns Michael a laugh from Luke.

“It doesn’t really have the same ring to it, does it?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Michael quips with his pierced eyebrow raised. Luke raises his hand from Michael’s stomach in a show of surrender.

“Okay, what else?” Luke prompts.

“Still no telling Cal. Or anyone for that matter.” Luke has no problem agreeing to that one. He doesn’t want to have to explain himself.

“What about kissing? No kissing on the lips. Pretty Woman rules.” Michael rolls his eyes at Luke but he has to admit that Julia Roberts had a point.

“Okay, no kissing on the lips. It only leads to mushy gushy feelings and that’s against rule number one.”

“Right.” Luke agrees quietly. “So that’s it then. Three rules. We can keep those, no problem.”

“Wait. Rule number four, no sleeping over. Cuddling is fine but I don’t want to give Calum a reason to be suspicious when you’re gone all night,” Michael says, lightly poking at the side of Luke’s rib cage.

“Got it. Four rules.” Luke lifts his head to place a soft kiss to Michael’s chest where his cheek had been resting before detaching himself from Michael and clamoring off the bed to slide back into his clothes.

Michael remembers the rules clear as day. He reminds himself of them often, careful not to push them in any way that would ruin what he had with Luke. It was good. It worked. So why did Michael want more?

It’s been over a month that they’ve been back at school, easily falling into a rhythm that stuck to the rules they set during the first week on campus. Michael’s even starting to look forward to his dates with Luke. Well, not dates. He won’t call them dates, at least not to Luke. But any other term feels harsh and he thinks that Luke deserves everything soft and lovely in the world. Michael wants to be the one to give Luke all of that and more.

He’s not sure when his feelings changed for Luke. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever really hated Luke in the first place. But Luke had been so adamant about not liking Michael that it was easier to just throw that right back at him. And now here he is, waking from a post-sex nap on a cold afternoon in early March, running his fingers through the prettiest blond curls he’s ever seen, limbs inextricably tangled with the other man in his bed. Luke can never manage to stay awake long after they pull their bodies apart. He can’t help that he’s drawn right back into Michael, sleepy face finding a home just above Michael’s racing heart. He’s learned by now that listening to Michael’s heartbeat steady itself out again will lull him to sleep, but he can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Not as long as Michael lets him. They weren’t breaking any of their own rules. And if they were, who was going to fault them?

As the grey light filtering in through the window grows dimmer, Michael begins to muse to himself, voice barely above a whisper.

“What am I going to do with you?” 

His hands continue to loop through the ringlets splayed artfully across his skin while soft snores escape Luke’s lips.

“This doesn’t last forever, right? At least not this way. Do you want more too? Want to kiss me again? To know if it still burns red hot? Want to hold hands while we walk down the street?” 

His tone is wistful, longing for more than what he knows is realistic. Michael brings his other hand up to trace patterns on the back of Luke’s where it rests around Michael’s middle.

“Do you want to meet my family? Bring me home to meet yours? Do you want to give Calum the biggest smile while calling me your boyfriend?”

Michael takes a second to pull himself out of the daydream fantasy that’s easy to get lost in like this. While Luke’s still here. Still his. Before he feels the need to leave because of that stupid rule Michael had created.

“How does this end? Are we supposed to just move on, never talk about it? How am I supposed to pretend I’m not falling in love with you every single day?”

He lets out the smallest breath of a laugh.

“Rule number one, Michael. Idiot.”

“Don’t say that.” Luke’s voice is firm but still soft from sleep and it gives Michael a start. The slight rumble of Michael’s voice in his chest had stirred Luke from his nap. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” Luke leaves a long pause, but Michael can’t get his brain to move fast enough to respond. Luke lifts his head, cheek flushed pink to match the warm spot on Michael’s skin. He pulls his hand up under his chin so it’s not digging into Michael as he faces him. Luke’s eyes are still a little hazy, but Michael can see the sincerity in them. Maybe something else he can’t quite place. “You don’t have to say you love me. No one means it anyway. Everyone just says it but then they leave. What good is love if it’s always leaving?”

Michael feels his heart shatter. Suddenly it’s all clear and crashing around him. The hint of pain behind Luke’s eyes. The reason he was so wary of Calum becoming friends with Michael. The way he’s so guarded with him. Luke can see the shift on Michael’s face. He’s seen this look too many times and he’s never equipped to handle the pity. He immediately begins his retreat from Michael’s bed, from the look on Michael’s face.

Before Luke can completely free himself of Michael’s sheets, his hand wraps around Luke’s wrist and pulls him back toward the bed. Michael’s other hand lands carefully on Luke’s cheek as he pulls their lips together, letting loose of every ounce of the feelings that he’s been withholding. Screw Pretty Woman rules. Julia Roberts didn’t stick to them either.

When he pulls away breathless, Luke is even more unsure of where to go from here. He’s familiar with pity. He’s familiar with leaving. But Calum is the only one who’s always stayed. What was he meant to do now? He screws his eyes shut even tighter, hoping he can make it all make sense somehow.

“Luke,” Michael pleads, breath fanning across Luke’s face. “Luke, look at me. Have I ever lied to you?” Luke slowly blinks his eyes open to find Michael dizzyingly close and his breath catches in his throat. Michael begins to speak again. His voice is calm and he’s mindful of the words he chooses. 

“Hey. I’m not going anywhere. I mean it. Have you ever known me to lie to you? Even when we…..didn’t get along.”

Luke takes a few shallow breaths, still reeling, and searches Michael’s eyes. He’s not really sure what love looks like, but he knows lying and leaving and doesn’t find either in Michael.

“Listen, okay? If fighting tells a person’s true nature, then no one knows me better than you. We’ve been at this for years. Do I look like I’m pulling your chain right now? You know me. And this is all of me. This is how I feel about you. I love you, Luke.”

Luke takes a long pause. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Michael knows that “okay” is what Luke can offer right now. He doesn’t even care if Luke didn’t say he loved him back. At least not in so many words. Michael is miles ahead of where he ever thought he’d be and “okay” is enough. He pulls Luke in for a softer, sweeter kiss than anything they’d ever shared before. He can still feel the tension and the worry etched into Luke’s face as he pulls back and places another soft kiss over the lines across his forehead.

They settle back into the mattress, content to just be Luke and Michael for now. Neither of them were sure what they were now. There were no rules for this part, but they would figure it out the only way they could - together. 

———

As the weeks stretch on, Luke finds himself at Michael’s more often than not. He and Michael continue to take it slow as they navigate uncharted waters. It’s becoming more and more difficult to keep it from Calum, though. Luke wants to stay the night with Michael. He wants to stay every night with Michael. He thinks about how strange life is.

One afternoon, the three of them are playing video games at Michael’s and Luke is suspiciously good. He was never this good before they came to school and they only ever play at Michael’s house. When the round ends with Luke besting Calum for the third time, Calum notices the lingering glance he gives to Michael.

“Okay, wait a goddamn minute,” Calum speaks up, pausing the screen and letting the controller fall gently to his side. “Since when are you so good at FIFA, Luke? You almost never beat me!”

“Hey!” Luke protests. “I can beat you! I just did - three times!”

“Whatever, but you were never this good before. What’s going on here? And since when do you two sit that close?”

Luke scoots away from Michael, as if that’s going to help his case now.

“What does it matter? I still beat you both,” Michael pipes up from the other side of Luke with a smug look on his face as Luke smacks his arm.

“I don’t care about the game, man! Tell me what’s going on here?” Calum persists.

Luke and Michael exchange another knowing glance.

“That! Right there! What was that?”

Luke’s eyes don’t leave Michael’s, despite Calum’s frustrated tone. Michael gives Luke a soft smile, one that he only reserves for him, and a knowing nod. Luke swallows hard as he turns back to face Calum.

“Uh, well. We’re, uh…” Luke fumbles. Michael reaches out to lace his fingers through Luke’s and Luke takes a steadying breath. “We’re, kinda, sort of dating, I guess.”

Michael can’t help the laugh that springs from him at Luke’s awkward mumbling and Calum’s thoroughly confused expression as he shifts his gaze between the two of them.

“Kinda, sort of dating, you guess?” Calum questions. Luke just nods affirmatively, offering a smile as he hits Michael’s leg with their combined hands.

“How long has this been going on? When were you planning to tell me?” Calum spirals. “What the fuck? How did this even start? How have you not killed each other yet?”

Luke and Michael just laugh at Calum’s disbelief. Luke presses a kiss to Michael’s cheek as they go pink under his lips, as if that’ll help Calum make sense of everything.

“Oi! One question at a time, mate,” Michael finally puts an end to Calum’s rapid fire inquisition.

“Are you messing with me? Because if you’re joking, I’ll kill you both.”

The three of them collapse into a fit of laughter and then Calum proceeds to spend the rest of the afternoon trying, and failing, to beat them at FIFA. He settles for just beating Luke.

Things aren’t perfect, but looking between Calum and Michael, Luke decides that moments like this are what love is made up of.

———

taglist: @easierlftv @haikucal @mashlums @youngblood199456 @calumbroutledge @alltimesos @another-lonely-heart @castaway-cashton @bloodyoathcal @vapor5sos @myloverboyash @justhereforcalum @karajaynetoday @spicycal @devilatmydoor​

[randomoranges]

the first half of this is like haha oupsee and the second half is like But Also

Dress Shirt

Étienne mindlessly tugs on the sleeve of his sweater, as his second group of the day trickles in. It’s Edward’s class and he’s always privately amused when he has his boyfriend’s group. They don’t know, obviously, but he does and the knowledge amuses him.

 He’s busy giving out instructions when one of the students’ comes up to him and says, “Hen, M Étienne, vous avez le même chandail que M Édouard?!”

 He pauses, mid sentence and looks down to the shirt he’s wearing underneath the sweater and feels a split second of anxiety.

 It is, indeed, Edward’s shirt. Kids can be so – observant when they want to.

 There’s a perfectly good reason for the shirt.

 Kind of.

 Not one he’s about to share with the kids, who’ve now noticed that their art teacher has the same shirt as their teacher and who are making a Big Deal out of it.

 Last afternoon, like every other afternoon, at the end of the school day, Edward had set out to drive him home, like he does nearly every afternoon and as he’s been doing for the past year and a half. However, halfway through the ride, after their discussion on what they were each making for supper, Étienne had made a comment about how much better Edward’s supper sounded, and his boyfriend had asked him if he wanted to stay for supper.

 Étienne had said yes, obviously, and supper had turned into watching some television together, which had turned into making-out on the sofa, which had led Edward to pull Étienne to his bedroom, which had turned into more fooling around, which had culminated in Étienne spending the night on a weekday night.

 It had been a really good night, though. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex on a school night.

 Therefore, seeing as he hadn’t been prepared to spend the night and seeing as they’d gone to bed past their normal bedtime and had rushed in the morning, Étienne hadn’t really thought anything when he’d asked Edward if he could borrow a shirt for the day. He’d picked his favourite one, Edward had driven them to school, and all the while Étienne had thought that maybe he should leave a change of clothes at Edward’s – in case this happened again. He’d like for it to happen again. Especially the impromptu version.

 “Ah oui?” He plays dumb. Thankfully, the shirt is a simple button down in powder blue. “J’imagine qu’on a du l’acheter au même magasin. C’est drôle, hein?” He laughs and the students giggle as well, before he ushers them to their seats so that they can start the lesson.

 No one else brings it up and the rest of the period goes off without further incidents.

 There’s half an hour left before lunch, when he happens to see the light blinking on his cell phone, alerting him of a message. His third group is busy working on their projects, and so, even though he’s not supposed to, he checks his phone and sees that Edward has sent him a text. Curious, he opens it up, wondering what it says.

 “Can we do lunch?”

 They hadn’t discussed eating together, but Étienne is never one to say no, unless he legitimately can’t.

 “Sure : )”

 He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer and goes back to his lesson.

 Edward shows up to the art room ten minutes after lunch started, after he’s brought his own kids to the cafeteria, and knocks on the door as he always does. Étienne looks up from the paint pucks he’s been setting up and grins, before he motions him in. He walks over to the door and makes sure to lock it behind Edward, before he pecks his boyfriend’s cheek in greeting.

 “Nice shirt,” Edward offers and Étienne lets out a semi-embarrassed laugh.

 “I guess you heard?”

 “It’s all the kids were talking about.”

 There’s a point of seriousness to Edward’s voice and Étienne wonders if maybe his boyfriend is bothered by this. If he hasn’t had a change of heart.

 “I’m sorry if I made things weird – I promise I didn’t tell them anything – just that we must have gotten it at the same store.”

 They both take a seat on the couch at the back of the room and Edward lets himself slump over with a deep sigh.

 “No – it’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. I played along as well and it’s fine, but – is it stupid that I got scared for a moment? That they’d figure it out and react?”

 Étienne blinks, confused for only a second and then it hits him. What it could mean. What it could look like. What it could lead to.

 “It’s not stupid,” Étienne says after a moment, a quiet little admission of defeat. “This is still school. People like us have been fired for less.”

 It’s a sobering fact to remember. It leaves a chill in the room that even the coziest of sweaters can’t whisk away.

 “I don’t know – maybe it would be easier if there was a precedent. Some queer kid in the school. Queer parents. Something that would let us know it’s okay,” Sure, the union has an ally branch – but for the kids. There’s never really anything mentioned for staff. Even when he tried to look, he’s found nothing.

 Edward picks up, “Yet, in all my years here, I’ve never heard of a student having queer parents. Or even mentioning a queer family member or friend. I mean, I get we’re in elementary. Kids coming out happens more frequently in high school, but still. It would help. Would ease the tension and the anxiety.”

 He remembers hearing stories growing up. He remembers the fear he had felt, even then, without knowing. The sleepless nights afterwards. Wondering, always, how would it impact him, even though this was a new millennium. It’s always easier to say that one is tolerant, another to apply it when faced with the facts. Would the school accept two queer teachers? Would the parents turn on them? Would the school ask them to leave, politely, before they caused more damage? Because parents would talk? Would they even?

 Étienne reaches out and gives his knee a squeeze. “I hate that I get what you mean,” He sighs out and spares him a glance, “And that we have to choose – between being ourselves or going back into some proverbial closet. Potentially losing a job and causing a scene, or keeping our heads down and passing by.”

 “Yeah...” He’s relieved Étienne gets it. He would, obviously, but he’s relieved regardless. If anything, at least, he’s not alone. He’s not going back home to some other boyfriend who doesn’t have to worry about this one issue and who won’t understand. He’s been there before.

 “I know it’s not ideal, but I’m not – I don’t think I’m ready. To be out. Here.” He casts a worried glance around the room and then to Étienne, afraid his boyfriend will get annoyed. They’ve only been dating for a few short months and he knows he should have brought this up over summer, but – he’d forgotten. “I know you’re more – out than me. In your style and way of dressing... and I know it’s asking a lot.”

 “Hey, no, I get it – I really do.” Étienne says and tugs at Edward’s body until his boyfriend is leaning on him, using his chest as a pillow, “The school institution in itself is still a very conservative place full of archaic rules. I’m fine with playing it safe and testing the waters. Not rocking the boat and all. I might be the art teacher and get away with some things, but believe it or not there are still things I keep to myself as well.”

 They’ve spoken some about this over the summer, once they’d started dating. Of certain things they both enjoy doing that wouldn’t be accepted by the school’s dress code. Certain hobbies that might be frowned upon by more conservative minded people. It’s exhausting, really and they both hate it. Yet, even if they decided to take up arms to fight the stigma, it would take a lot of time and they’re both uncertain they have the drive in them for it.

 “Sometimes, I wish I had a different job. One where I could – dress the way I wanted and just be me. No one would question it.” Edward admits, his head on Étienne’s shoulder where it’s nice and safe. “I mean, I know that there are issues everywhere and that even if I worked at a bank a client could decide not to touch money I handled because I’m gay, or something, but I feel that there’s an extra layer in a school. Because of the kids.”

 He’s heard stories – on the news, online, of parents accusing teachers – hell, even more open-minded straight teachers of turning their kids “gay” because of class discussions or certain books they’d make their kids read or some other stupid thing. He knows they live in a pretty tolerant and open-minded city, but it doesn’t mean everyone is on board and there’s no way of knowing which parents would be on their side and which ones would want them out. Unfortunately, there is no survey that’s sent out at the start of the year along with photo authorisations.

 “I hate that I always have to fucking lie and pretend.” Edward concludes with another frustrated sigh.

 “Me too,” Étienne adds.

 They fall quiet for a moment, lost in their own thoughts, imagining what their lives could be like if there wasn’t this constant stress, simmering in the back of their minds, dictating their every move – watching and waiting for them to tumble and fall.

 “I don’t know if it makes things easier or harder that we work in the same place and that we’re together, but I know I’m glad I’m not alone – that if anything, we can at least get support from one another and maybe, hopefully, with time, we’ll find out who the allies are.”

 Edward looks at him and scrubs a hand over his face, before he offers him the smallest of smiles. It’s not much, but Étienne will take it.

 “I guess you’re right,” He pauses and then looks over to Étienne, “Okay, but what were the actual odds that in a job composed mostly of women, the only two male teachers would not only be queer but end up together?” He huffs a laugh and Étienne grins, joining him.

 “Probably very little, but I don’t regret it.”

 He means it, truly. He’d obviously enjoyed being friends with Edward, but he likes where their relationship has been going and he hopes that – even if it’s a little unconventional, that they’ll manage to overcome whatever hardships and insecurities will come their way.

 “Me neither.” They might have to make concessions because of their work, but Edward has vowed to himself, years ago, that he wouldn’t stop himself from being happy and living his life because of what others might think of him. He might not be willing to go to battle over every issue, but he’ll find ways to make this work. They both will.

 “For the record, you can keep the shirt – it looks really good on you.”

 Étienne laughs, this time for real, and it’s closer to his usual carefree laugh, before he playfully hits Edward on the shoulder.

 FIN

[acousticcheeze]

Here's my 100 questions for my OC thing!

My OC is Laureli, a 6'2 Altmer trying to make his way in Skyrim

1. What do they smell like?

Whatever alchemy ingredient he’s been working with, really. Lavender is what he smells like most often, though.

2. What is their voice like?

A smooth-ish medium pitch Altmer voice that has elements of calm and irritation.

3. What is their biggest motivator?

Helping others through his alchemy. He wants to improve medicine for Skyrim, as well as all of Tamriel.

4. What is their most embarrassing memory?

He had a whole scientific presentation one year that ended up being completely wrong. He got humiliated in front of everyone.

5. How do they deal with/react to pain?

Winces at it, curses, and then gets to treating the problem.

6. What do they like to wear?

Functional clothes that keep him warm and allow him to carry alchemy ingredients in his pockets.

7. Which of their relationships have impacted them most positively?

The relationships with some of the people he’s helped over the years. It gave him a sense of purpose and fulfillment knowing that he could help people, save people.

8. What’s the weirdest thing they’ve ever eaten?

He’s an alchemist...in Skyrim...I’m pretty sure there are a few contenders… (giants toe, large/small antlers, ectoplasm, the list goes on)

9. Describe the way that they sleep.

Normal side sleeper. Prefers to sleep on his left side.

10. What is their favorite food/kind of food?

Horker stew. It’s actually way better than he thought it would be.

11. What do they feel most insecure about?

If what he’s doing is good enough. He has big problems with perfectionism that still persist with him even after leaving Summerset.

12. How do they like to dress?

Robes with an alchemy enchantment and a hood.

13. How do they react to feelings of guilt?

He tries to shake them off, but has panic attacks and whatnot sometimes as a result of them.

14. How do they react to/deal with betrayal?

Is completely shattered by it. He’s dealt with this so many times before, though, so he keeps his cards close to his chest.

15. What is their greatest achievement?

Creating potions that help much more than the average cure disease potion would, as well as all sorts of other concoctions. Also, he’s created a sort of disinfectant and is working on a hand sanitizer.

16. What are they like when they’ve gotten too little sleep?

Cranky, cranky, cranky.

17. What are they like when they’re drunk?

Drunk? Oh no no no no Laureli does not drink (and even if he did he’d be out real quick)

18. What kind of music do they enjoy?

He isn’t really into music, but he enjoys the songs the bard plays at the Bannered Mare.

19. Are they right or left handed?

Right, but is practicing with his left hand too in case something happens to his right.

20. Fears?

Death and failure, mostly.

21. Favorite kind of weather?

As the sun rises and there’s dew all over the grass, the light reflecting through each drop.

22. Favorite color?

The color of eyes. Or, more specifically, the hundreds of little pinpricks of different colors inside of eyes, It’s really quite fascinating.

23. Do they collect anything?

OH YEAH. So many different alchemy ingredients and random stuff to be used in his next works-

24. Do they prefer either hot or cold weather more?

Cold, which is good since he lives in Skyrim.

25. What is their eye color?

Chartreuse (like most Altmer)

26. What is their race/ethnicity?

Altmer

27. Hair color?

White

28. Are they happy where they are currently?

Yup. Breezehome is small, but manageable, and Whiterun is a decent hold to live in.

29. Are they a morning person?

Yes. He gets tired around 9 and can’t stay up past 12.

30. Sunrise or sunset?

Sunrise.

31. Are they more messy or more organized?

Very organized. Again, he’s a perfectionist.

32. Pet peeves?

People touching his things as well as people inserting themselves into his business.

33. Do they own any objects of significant personal importance?

An amulet of Talos a Nord gave him. He hadn’t gotten the chance to learn much about Talos at home, and he found it very interesting talking to the local Nords about their beliefs. That amulet reminds him of his first day in Skyrim, the first day of his new life.

34. Least favorite food?

Taffy treats, or anything with that sort of texture and stickiness that can get stuck to his teeth very easily.

35. Least favorite color?

Very pale green. It looks gross.

36. Least favorite smell?

Death. (Yes, death has a smell)

37. When was the last time they cried?

Recently.

38. Were they with anybody the last time they cried?

No. Oh Auri-el, no no no no. He cries alone and he makes sure of it.

39. Tell us about one of the times they got injured?

Was in a fire when he was younger, he has a burn going up the inner leg on his right leg.

40. Do they have any scars?

Only mental ones. (and the burn scar on his leg)

41. Do they struggle with any mental health issues?

Perfectionism, past abuse, self hate, among others.

42. Do they have any bad habits?

Picking at his nails. He knows it makes them hurt and get bloody, but sometimes he just can’t help it.

43. Why might someone dislike them?

He can be very rude if he’s working, but to be fair, it is really annoying to be bothered in the middle of your work.

44. Why might someone love them?

Who wouldn’t love an overworked science boye? But in all seriousness, if he loves someone, he will be very caring towards them and is also just great listener. Tries not to care any more though because of personal trauma.

45. Do they believe in ghosts?

Yup. He’s heard of people’s encounters with them. Honestly, you’d be stupid to not believe in them.

46. Is there anyone they would trust with their lives?

At this point? No. Farkas later down the line? Yes.

47. Are they romantically interested in anyone?

Farkas, but we ain’t talking about that yet~

48. Are they dating/married to anyone?

No

49. Do they like surprises?

No. Please do not surprise this poor man he will stagger back and crash into everything.

50. When is their birthday?

9th of Hearthfire (September 9th)

51. How do they usually celebrate their birthday?

He takes a few seconds to acknowledge it and then gets on with his work.

52. Do they have any family?

Yup! A Mom, a Dad, a younger sister, and a male cousin that lives nearby (he’s in the Thalmor and the whole family has very Pro-Thalmor views)

53. Are they close to their family?

HAH- no~

54. What is their MBTI type?

INTJ (Damn this list for making me look up stereotypes for this. Honestly I hate the MBTI system so much-)

55. What is their zodiac sign?

Virgo

56. What Hogwarts House would they be in?

Ravenclaw

57. What D&D alignment are they?

If lawful chaotic good was a thing then yes

58. Do they ever have nightmares? If so, what about?

Yes, but they are often so tangled up that it’s hard to get any real meaning from them.

59. What are their views on death?

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’ll be fine-” Hopes that he’ll be fine but is really scared about it.

60. What is something that they’re sure to laugh at?

Bad science puns. He will stifle a chuckle before telling you how bad your joke was.

61. When bored, how do they pass time?

This man does not get bored. He will always find something alchemy related to study or look into.

62. Do they enjoy being outside?

Yes. Laureli loves the Skyrim weather (for the most part. Places like Dawnstar and Winterhold suck)

63. Do they have an accent?

Yes. He has the typical Altmer accent.

64. Upon seeing a slice of chocolate cake, what is their first reaction?

“Why is this here? This isn’t mine.”

65. If they knew they were going to die, what would they do/say

He would probably take too long deciding and die before he could do/say anything.

66. How do they feel about sex?

Sex repulsed asexual.

67. What is their sexuality?

GAY

68. Do they become squeamish at the sight of blood?

Nope.

69. Is there anything that they find really gross?

He’s seen so much it would take a lot to surprise him here.

70. Which TV Trope(s) best describes them?

Grumpy scientist with no people skills.

71. Do they enjoy helping people?

Yes, definitely

72. Are they allergic to anything?

Not really. (Lucky)

73. Do they have a pet?

No

74. Are they quick to anger? What are they like when they loose their temper?

Nope, unless you press his buttons. His anger is pretty much “What in the name of Auri-el is wrong with you?! Don’t touch my equipment!!”

75. How patient are they?

Very...until you hit his limit. Then he gets passive aggressive.

76. Are they good at cooking?

Not really. He can be good at it, he just chose not to learn in favor of working on his projects. Can make enough to live on, though.

77. Favorite insult? Do they insult people often?

He doesn't have a favorite insult (he rarely insults people).

78. How do they act when they’re particularly happy?

Talking fast, pacing, flappy hands.

79. What do they do when they learn about other people’s fears?

Try to avoid bringing those fears up around them and avoiding making fun of them. If their fear is nearby, he will either tell them or take care of it. (which is good because Farkas is scared of spiders)

80. Are they trustworthy?

Yes, but you have to be a very certain kind of person to work with him.

81. Do they try to hide their emotions? Are they good at it?

Sometimes, especially romantic feelings. Romantic attraction? Nope, not possible- (It totally is; he’s in denial)

82. Do they exercise regularly?

With all of the walking he does around various holds, yes.

83. Are they comfortable with the way they look?

Yes. He’s a perfectionist with many things, but has learned to let go a bit more when it comes to his appearance. He still will take ages to get ready, though.

84. What are some physical features that they find attractive on people?

Tattoos, braids, basically everything you’d see on a typical Nord. It’s so different from his home and he’s completely enamored.

85. What kind of personalities do they find attractive?

Himbo nord men. Sweet morons basically.

86. Do they like sweet foods?

Not really. Sweet foods do have their place, but he isn’t wanting to get any cavities, so he tries to limit his sugar. (Especially since Altmer live 200-300 years aprox)

87. What is their age?

52 (~20s for an Altmer)

88. Are they tall or short or somewhere in between?

Tall, but about average for an Altmer

89. Do they wear glasses or contacts?

No, but if he did he would have half-moon spectacles.

90. Do they consider themselves attractive?

Not really. He doesn’t really think anyone is attractive. (Well, except for Nord himbos, but he doesn’t know that until he meets Farkas)

91. What is their sense of humor like?

Practically nonexistent, but when there is humor it’s mostly dry and sardonic.

92. What mood are they most often in?

That sort of focused work mode you get in when you’re really concentrating, as well as somewhat-sociable-but-still-kind-of-tired-and-grumpy

93. What kinds of things anger them?

People messing up his equipment. Oh sweet Auri-el, if you touch his things he will explode. Also, he hates the racism that the Thalmor promote. (He hates racism in general, but he hates the Thalmor’s views the most).

94. Outlook on life?

“It sucks, but I do find quite a bit fascinating and I’ll help where I can.”

95. What kind of things make them sad/depressed?

His perfectionism, how lonely he knows he is, and more.

96. What is their greatest weakness?

Again, his perfectionism, as well as having his work dictate more in his life than he should.

97. What is the greatest strength?

His brain. He remembers small details extremely well, and is practically an encyclopedia when it comes to alchemy.

98. Something that they regret?

How awful he used to be to everyone back home. He got a lot of pushback on his dreams and who he was, so he lashed out. Even though there wasn’t much he could do there, he still regrets hiring his family and wants to try at a relationship again with them (lol good luck).

99. Biggest accomplishment?

How is this different from “Greatest Achievement”?

100. Create your own! (Why is his alchemy so different from the norm?)

Because he’s trying to do something much more along the lines of modern medicine as opposed to just potions.

101. (Bonus!) Why is he in Skyrim?

Because it’s rather lacking in the medicine department compared to the other provinces, so he decided his talents would be best used there. Obviously, his family protested, but he went anyways.

[minimitchell]

benmitchellweek day 3 - “So none of it was real? You didn’t mean any of it?”  (ao3 link)

.

��So none of it was real? You didn’t mean any of it?”

“Course not. I only said it to push you away, to protect you. I, I love you. With every fibre of my being.”

“Cut!”

Ben lets his hand fall away from Callum’s face, letting out a long sigh. It’s the sixth take they’re on and even he can tell that the scene is bad. And for once, he has to admit that it’s not just down to the ridiculously cheesy script but to him and his co-star.

Ben wasn’t averse to his new love interest being a man; he’s always played his character as very open-minded anyway and it’s definitely paying off in terms of promotion. The general public and the fans online are ecstatic about the representation and it’s proving to be a huge factor in drawing in audiences for the third and last part of the trilogy he’s starring in.

He’s loath to admit though, that a lot of that draw comes from the casting announcement of one Callum Highway.

Callum Highway, who apparently has quite some experience as a theatre actor and has built up a decent-sized following from being on some TV show - that’s according to Ben’s agent at least. Callum Highway, who’s supposed to play his love interest now. Only, the chemistry between them just isn’t there. Or rather, there is chemistry, it just really isn’t a romantic one.

It’s quite the opposite in fact.

Things had been fine at the screen test; they had gotten along great and there had been this unspoken draw between them. Their director Matt had been ecstatic and had casted Callum almost on the spot. But ever since they started filming things have taken a turn for the worse; they’re snapping at each other constantly, making snide remarks and only pretending to like each other for the press outings.

It’s even worse that Ben feels like absolute shit whenever he gives Callum a rude response and sees the flash of hurt in his eyes. He doesn’t even know how or why it started but the fact that he feels so bad about it all and has to think about it, and him, constantly just adds to his frustration.

Their director stands up from his chair behind the screens, ripping off his headset and rubbing his hands over his eyes.

“Alright, that’s it for the day. We’ll try this scene again tomorrow. You two better use tonight to practice. I want that scene perfect tomorrow and I want to actually feel like you two are madly in love with each other. Understand?”

They both murmur an affirmative, not brave enough to look their director in the eyes but instead glaring daggers at each other.

-----

It’s how they find themselves in Callum’s trailer later that night, going through the script again and again, trying and failing to get this scene right.

“You could at least try to make it seem like your character wants to be there with mine, you know.”

Callum throws his copy of the script on the little table beside them, running his hands over his face in frustration. It’s not working out any better than it did this afternoon; they’re still wooden and lacking any believable chemistry, and it’s setting both of their nerves on edge. They only have a couple of hours to get it right and Ben really doesn’t want to be the reason this movie is getting delayed.

“I can only work with what I’m given, alright.”

When Ben looks up from his own script, he sees Callum’s mouth dropping open, eyebrows knitting together. It was the wrong thing to say - again - that much is clear from the way Callum’s face morphs into anger, and Ben regrets it immediately. Him and his big mouth and penchant for lashing out at everyone around him.

“God, you’re so fucking full off yourself, aren’t you. You know, I was proper excited about working with you because you always seem so funny and charming in your interviews but it’s all just acting, isn’t it. You’re really just jealous and insecure.”

It’s the first time Callum has ever raised his voice or been outright rude to him and to be honest, Ben doesn’t like this. They hit a little too close to home; his words. His first instinct is to fight back, spit back words full of venom at Callum as well, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to hurt Callum; he never did.

It seems like Callum was also expecting him to give a retort back, because when Ben simply falls silent and looks at the ground, he immediately steps forward to apologize. Ben thinks he really is something else because he definitely deserved Callum going off on him and him saying sorry now just confirms that he’s a much better person than Ben could ever be.

“Ben, I’m so sorry.”

Ben tries to clear his throat and go back to business, but for some reason there’s a lump in his windpipe he can’t seem to swallow back down.

“Let’s just do the scene.”

“Hang on. I feel bad ab-”

“Let’s just do the damn scene, Callum, yeah. Let’s get this over with so we can finish this stupid movie.”

He’s getting louder now, his voice sounding more desperate than he intended to. This doesn’t happen to him, he doesn’t lose his cool over a guy, his co-star, who’s probably not even into guys. But his heart keeps screaming at him to reach out and touch Callum, to just fall into his arms and not care about the rest of the world.

But it’s not that easy. Callum just made it clear what he thinks of Ben and that he messed everything up beyond the point of fixing. And Ben does what he’s always done, what he’s come to know since he was a child, he pushes people away before they can detect any vulnerability and use it to their advantage. It doesn’t matter that Callum doesn’t seem like the type of guy to do that, his self-preservation is screaming at him to do it.

“Is it really that much of a chore for you to play with me? What did I ever do to you, Ben?”

It’s what breaks the dam. What makes everything Ben’s tried so hard to keep hidden and locked away since they’ve begun filming bubble over and break out of him.

“You know what? It is! It is a chore to see your stupid, pretty face every day, to hear your voice everywhere I go, to not get you out of my damn head. You’re always there, Callum, and I hate it. And even when you’re not there, I can’t stop thinking about you. So let’s just finish this movie so I can get over you.”

He regrets saying anything the second the words leave his mouth, watching Callum’s mouth drop open in astonishment. There’s complete silence between them, the eerie quiet of the otherwise abandoned movie set providing no background distraction, and all Ben can do is wait it out and deal with the fallout. The only silver lining is that the movie is almost done, so if Callum is about to reject him and throw him out of his trailer he at least only has a few more days and some press events to get through before he can start to repress this whole situation.

He doesn’t get thrown out. What ultimately happens is something entirely different. Callum moves forward, face hard and determined, both of his hands coming up to take Ben’s face securely in them, tilting his head up. Ben is trying to keep up with the situation but all of a sudden there are soft lips pressing against his - Callum’s lips. 

No camera or crew or script to be found.

Ben’s kissing back instinctively, threading his fingers into the soft material of Callum’s hoodie. There are some desperate noises escaping his throat without his say but Callum answers one of them with a groan on his own so Ben feels less bad about them, slipping his tongue into Callum’s welcoming mouth.

When they eventually part again, their foreheads stay close against each other, small smiles on both of their faces.

“I wasn’t sure you liked men.”, Ben confesses quietly, trying to justify why he’s let this simmer until it eventually spewed out of him.

“I immediately said yes to this project. Because of you. I just wanted to get to know you.”

“We’re idiots, aren’t we. At least I am. I’m sorry.”

Callum seals their lips back together, one hand curling into Ben’s hair and the other running down his chest until it finds Ben’s, tangling their fingers together.

“Guess we don’t have to worry about chemistry anymore.”

[lovelyirony]

“Did you just hit me? With a pillow? Oh. It’s on now.” for Sam and Bucky aka the weiner club

Sam has seen some questions floating around on the internet about the worst thing that came out of World War II. He has a lot of answers. 

But he thinks he has the final answer as to the worst thing that came out of World War II: 

James Buchanan Barnes. 

What a dumbass. 

For one thing, absolutely wrecked his credit score when he ripped his steering wheel right out of his car. It was a new car too, just gotten and Sam had gotten a fancy car-freshener, not one of the trees that was labeled Black Ice. You know, the scent that every guy-in-his-twenties had. No, he was getting fancy in life. Upgrading, as it were. 

And then this absolute goddamn travesty of a human being with a metal arm that was more indestructible than that one spoon that keeps getting stuck in the garbage disposal and somehow makes it out. 

Steve brings him back. And now Bucky--which is a very stupid name--is currently stealing all of Sam’s fancy oatmeal and he knows he’s doing it. 

Bucky is having a lot of fun at Sam’s expense, and Sam can’t say shit about it because Bucky goes “oh boo I’m a traumatized war veteran who had to go to Russia for like fifty years. Let me eat your oatmeal you stupid bitch” and Sam has to let him. 

So Sam decides that he will just refuse to ever interact with Bucky on any level except Enemy. 

Sharon tells him he’s being a tad dramatic. 

“That oatmeal cost me seven dollars every week and he fucking eats it.” 

“Not all of it,” Sharon says. “He’s not bad, he’s just messing with you. Steve is still treating him like he’s one of those glass figurines that Bruce collects.” 

“Bruce collects glass figurines? What?” 

“Yeah. I think he finds them in thrift shops and just collects them. I can’t decide if it’s an intimidation tactic for the Hulk or for Tony.” 

“Tony is scared of glass figurines?” 

“He’s scared of breaking stuff. Don’t ask, it involves Pepper.” 

“Oh. I think it’s weird that you know him on such a personal level.” 

“Why?” 

“I was literally just telling you the last time I went grocery shopping and you told me, and I quote, ‘stop telling me all this personal shit I have limited memory storage in my brain’.” 

“It’s because I do. I don’t give a shit about your grocery purchases unless any of it is for me.” 

“Very self-centered.” 

“Quite. But give Bucky a little leeway.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

- 

Bucky absolutely knows what he is doing. He really and truly does. He’s been texting Maria Hill about the whole thing, who finds it absolutely hilarious. 

In fact, everyone knows what he’s doing. Except for Steve, which makes it even funnier. 

Steve is under the impression that Bucky has no idea that that was Sam’s oatmeal, or Sam’s favorite coffee cup. 

He most definitely knows it. But Sam has funny reactions, and in all honesty, a lot of it isn’t that big a deal. 

And then Sam wacks him with a pillow. 

“You hit me. With a pillow.” Sam wacks him again. 

“Oh, it’s on now.” 

The Pillow Wars commence. 

There are three rules: 

1.) No headshots. Those are mean and stupid and bad. 

2.) You cannot use any of the pillows that Tony or Pepper bought. Both are incredibly enamored with their own interior design and decoration choices, and will not be messed with. It took Bucky only once to learn this. He was threatened to be launched out by an arm, and it wasn’t gonna be his left. 

3.) Steve and Bruce cannot know

This is mainly for humor purpose. Steve--maybe--would be fine with it. Bruce knows too much about how brains work and how maybe Bucky gets hit with a pillow and Something Bad happens. 

So begins the Secret War. 

Sam ditches an official interview to sneak on a plane and absolutely wreck Bucky with pillows. 

Bucky stealth attacks from ceilings. 

The most entertaining is when other people are in the room and the AI Friday informs of “Dr. Banner’s” or “Captain Rogers’s” imminent arrival. 

“Hey Steve-o,” Bucky says, just casually draping his arm over Sam’s shoulders. (And potentially maybe holding him quite tightly so as to not have him escape. He’s made the mistake before.) “What’s going on in the world with you?” 

“Nat and I are going to practice parkour,” Steve says. “You guys have gotten...closer?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, grinning. “Best buds, us two. Peas in a pod.” 

“Or more,” Steve teases. “I’m right, right? The hugs, the way that Sam was on top of you earlier, Buck...my two friends dating?” 

They freeze. 

They can’t tell him no, because then Steve is going to know that they’ve been fighting. 

“Yes,” Bucky answers. “Sam asked me out a couple weeks ago. We’ve been trying to take it slow, but you know how modern men are. Too quick for their own damn good.” 

Sam wants to fucking murder him. 

Because this? Exactly what he wanted to avoid. 

“I hate you.” 

“Love you too. Baby.” 

“Oh, ‘baby’? That’s the one you’re going with? Listen you fucking asshole--” 

“Nope! Sorry!” 

- 

This leads to dating. And even more lying. 

Because Sam has to keep it up and pretend like he’s been sharing his oatmeal. They have to go out on actual dates because Steve “checks in” on his runs that he takes (he takes multiple because he’s insane) and they have to be in love. 

It is disgusting. 

Bucky has had to use hard-earned money to get Sam stupid shit like flowers and “just thinking of you” gifts and a birthday present. He had to spend money on a nice shirt and a cute plant that Sam will like. 

This is what changes things, by the way. 

Bucky was not supposed to be thinking about how Sam has been wanting a peppermint plant for a while, but he won’t fucking shut up about it and he won’t stop telling Bucky about all the cute pots that he wants to put it in and Bucky was not supposed to go to the nursery and go get it. 

But he did. Because Sam wouldn’t shut up and Bucky wasn’t gonna be a basic bitchy boyfriend and get him flowers and a dinner. That is for losers. Which Bucky most certainly is not. 

Sam is surprised that Bucky is listening. 

And then they realize that it’s not exactly that they’re mad that they’re dating. In fact, Sam kind of likes having a special someone to go to breakfast with, even if Bucky kind of hates the diner he keeps choosing. 

(To be fair their muffins are dry but also to be fair Bucky will simply not order an omelette, which is their best option.) 

Maybe Bucky likes remembering fun little facts about Sam, like how he hates red petunias because his old neighbor always had them everywhere, or how he secretly thought that Captain America was literally just a media project meant to consider how well propaganda worked on the American people. 

(If Bucky hadn’t remembered that Steve was literally just That Stupid, he probably would’ve agreed with that theory.) 

So now they have Stupid Feelings. This Sucks. 

Also? Sharon is laughing at Sam, because she’s a terrible gay best friend. 

“You’re gay too, so that makes us just friends. Cancels all that shit out. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re stupid and didn’t recognize that you liked him. It literally took Steve assuming you were a couple to get this whole thing rolling.” 

“Wait, so you knew? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Sam I’m sorry you have to hear it from me, but I had a hell of a lot more faith in you than I should have. Is that a sin? That should be a sin.” 

“I will literally write you out of my will just watch me.” 

“Who else is going to take your ugly paintings, Sam? Who? Steve? He went to art school for a year. He knows quality.” 

“I hate you.” 

“Yeah, just like you hate Bucky,” Sharon says, laughing. “Have fun with that, by the way. Hope you confess your feelings soon!” 

- 

Sam is not having fun with this. No, not at all. 

It’s mostly because Bucky is still stealing his oatmeal and they’re in Public and he can’t confess his feelings. It’s just not convenient. Also Bucky is having a lot of conversation with a certain guy that Tony knows in one way or another, and they’ve hit it off. 

Steve is looking at Bucky. 

“Huh, he seems to like that guy a lot, they’ve been talking for a while. You know him, Sam?” 

“No,” Sam says. “But I’m sure everything is fine.” 

(Well everything is probably fine on Bucky’s end. Sam is trying Very Hard to not be jealous at all. People talk all the time. He’s talking to Steve right now. It doesn’t mean he’s going to do anything to Steve.) 

(It’s not working, if you wanted clarification. The whole “I’m not actually jealous” thought.) 

- 

He hits Bucky with another pillow. 

“What the hell?” Bucky mutters, flicking on the light. 

“Come to bed, asshole.” 

“I hate you,” Bucky grumbles, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket. “Let me get into my pajamas first before you start a pillow war.” 

“Surprised you came home at all. Thought you and that guy were getting awfully cozy.” 

“Ain’t my type,” Bucky answers, “and his wife wasn’t my type either.” 

“Then who is?” 

Bucky looks at him. 

“You seriously wanna know?” 

“If you’ll answer, yeah.” 

“Sam, my type is someone who is an absolute asshole who I hate a lot.” 

Sam blinks. 

“You wanna know what my type is, Barnes?” 

“Who?” 

“Someone who keeps stealing my fucking oatmeal.” 

Bucky stops and pauses. Then starts shaking with laughter. 

“We really are the worst, aren’t we?” 

“In a sense, yeah. We have an early breakfast tomorrow with Maria and Pepper, by the way. So come to bed.” 

“Yes, dear.” 

Doesn’t matter if it’s said sarcastically. Sam still likes it. 

- 

There’s a part to this story you should know: 

Steve’s absolutely not stupid about this certain situation. He knew Bucky was a little shit who kept stealing oatmeal. He also knew that Sam liked him, even if he didn’t recognize it himself. 

By him insinuating that he thought they were dating, he knew they would never crush his dreams. He’s secretly a manipulative genius like that. 

(It also helps that Maria owes him about a thousand dollars or five favors, give or take a couple.) 

[malmuses]

Hello Mal, how are you doing? I hope things have gotten better for you on the real life side of things. I'm going through some rough times too, so at least the company is good! I wanted to start by saying that your fics have single handedly gotten me through the most turbulent transition period of my life. I'm almost completely finished with your works on AO3 and your storytelling... *many many many chef kisses*. You are easily one of my favorite writers. I love your writing style, ...1/2

...2/2 your characterization, and how well thought out each story is. Each fic is like a decadent treat for my brain. I was curious, as a fellow writer, what your writing process is like. I've tried a few different methods but was wondering what works best for you! I hope the rest of your 2020 is full of peace and love. Also, I apologize in advance for the spam of comments you are about to receive on AO3. I finally have enough spoons for it!

I’m pasting these into one so I can put the answer in one place! (Tumblr is so awkward sometimes.) Sorry to hear you’ve been going through rough times too! There’s a lot of it going around this year, so I think we have plenty of company. In fact, I think the whole world just needs to lower its expectations and standards this year. Woke up? There’s the first gold star of the day. It's only up from here. I’m so glad that you’ve been enjoying my stories and so flattered that you say they’ve helped you so much...*insert feelings gif* I always tell myself when I write something: It’s okay if not everyone likes it. It’s okay if some people hate it. Nothing is for everyone. I just want one person to *love it*. Then I’m totally at peace. Now, if that person is just me? If I’m the only one that loves it? That’s also cool. Each story comes from a different place. My long-winded point, though, was that you basically just validated the existence of my entire catalog of fics so far, so thank you xD Your question about my writing process though - I’m happy to answer. But of course, first, I have to insert the usual disclaimer that as with most creative endeavors, there is no ‘right’ way to do it. I’m sure you know that, but sometimes I think people underestimate the depth of that truth. Each person has their own unique way of doing things. The struggle is sometimes finding the particular way, or combination of ways, that work for you. There’s definitely no harm in sharing what works for me though, in case anyone else can take anything from it. I’m someone who writes multiple things at once. Some people can’t do this or don’t want to, which I totally understand. For me, this is how I (mostly) avoid any kind of writers' block. If I’m stuck somewhere, I switch projects for a day or two. I do usually still have one main project I’m working on, but I usually have at least three others, often at various stages of the writing process. This keeps me in more of a flow state so I keep going with things, and allows me to write every day. It’s a habit. Now, I’m not saying breaks are bad, and everyone should write every day. I just find that for me, breaks should be deliberate. They should be true, chosen breaks, not because I just...drifted into one.

As you can probably tell from all that, I’m very much a planner and outliner. I outline...a lot. I’d be happy to talk more about my particular outlining process on Tumblr someday if anyone wanted. But, basically, I start with a general idea, then break it down into different story beats, so I can see if there’s something missing or too much of one thing. Then I fill in the gaps, then start breaking each overall ‘part’ of the plot into scenes, etc. Chapters come last. In terms of numbers (I get asked this one a lot), it does not matter how long your chapters are. What matters is that the chapter length feels right for the pacing of the fic, in my opinion, and I really think that is something that just comes with practice and knowing your own writing. Shitty advice maybe, but just the truth as I see it. A lot of it comes down to practice and finding what works for you.

Once I have an outline, I generally write linearly. Some people can jump around a lot. That’s a bit of a last resort for me if I’m stuck on something, or alternately if a scene steams into my head fully formed I will write it...with the understanding that I will probably have to change chunks of it when I reach it. It’s just the way it goes.

Now, when I say I outline in detail (there are literal spreadsheets)  that doesn’t mean that I magically only write exactly what’s in the outline and I stick to it. An outline can be a guide, not a rule. Sometimes stories take you places, and generally, I find it's better to listen to what the story wants. If my story starts going somewhere else or introduces something I don’t expect, I often revisit my outline and think, “Okay, how can I work in this new thing so that it follows the plotlines and arcs I already have? Am I adding to what I have or just distracting from it?” Most often those answers are obvious to me, but sometimes it’s good to ask someone else. A friend, a trusted beta. (I could talk a whole lot about betas and how that works for me, too, in addition to outlining).

I pretty much zero draft my fics. By that, I mean that I will start writing, and I won’t go back and do very much editing until the end. I will, each writing session, go back and read what I wrote the day before. Get into the zone. And sure, I’ll fix something if it jumps out at me - but that isn’t the purpose at that point, and most things won’t jump out, because it's too fresh. My brain knows what I meant, so it autocorrects for me. 

Leading into editing, it’s a two-step process for me. Once my zero draft is finished, I go back to the beginning and go through. This is where most of my developmental editing happens. (Another thing that probably needs more detail...different types of editing.) Once I’ve done that (usually during that pass, I’ve added words) I then put the fic aside. For as long as possible. At least a month, if I can swing that. (Bang deadlines sometimes cause issues if it's a fic for a bang, but I try). 

Once that time has passed, I can come back to it with fresh eyes. I’ll see the mistakes much more easily, then. This is where more intensive line edits happen, where SPAG happens, where I insert anything I made note of during my first pass if I needed to foreshadow anything more, that kind of thing. 

For a WIP, I do these edits chapter by chapter as it posts. For a Bang fic, obvious I have to do it all in one go. Due to the way I write, if you see me start posting a fic -- that fic is already finished, or in rarer instances (for work that was more time-sensitive) partway through the second draft or so. Oneshots are a little different (and I’ve had some oneshots that turned into chaptered fics of their own accord) in that they are just shorter and less intensive and often only have one main plot thread, so they’re a lot easier to do. I can get one drafted, edited and posted within a few days usually, depending on length.

How much do I write? Depends on the day. I have a high-stress finance job, two kids, and write a mixture of original fiction and fanfic stuff. So sometimes it's more than others. Bad day? Maybe 1,000 words. Good, average day? 3-6k. High pressure? Well, last year's DCBB I wrote in just under three days. It was 25k at that point. I have no tips for speed beyond learning to type fast, LOL!

Okay. I’ve probably bored you, and anyone else who had to scroll past all this, to tears. This is way too long. But even so, more specific questions, I’m happy to answer.

Good luck! Best advice? Just write. Write. Write. "Write a million words, then throw them away” is a changeable quote attributed to several authors but all it comes down to is...practice. Find your own vice and way of doing it. In a million words time, you will be a different writer than you are now, guaranteed.

Mal <3