#this made my night infinitely better anon thank you so much for asking about it im kissing your forehead as we speak

[lost-in-fandoms]

I know maybe you're not in the mood right now but any thoughts about Tarzan!Max? I'd accept thoughts about any of your pics because everything is amazing tbh but there's something about Tarzan!Max discovering a new world through Daniel and discovering how amazing is to fall in love.

Does Daniel take him to his farm? I think Max in Daniel's farm would be hilarious, amazed by everything and finding a family in Daniel's family too.

babe i am always down to talk about my boy in all and any situations! sorry this took a while, i took a little nap and then couldn't think about anything but!!!

(the first thing I thought was like..how do you get a whole person through customs. obviously max doesn't have a passport or any form of id so would they have to go through a sort of immigration procedure? but he's not emigrating from anywhere???? i guess i'll leave that problem to them sdfbdjhbf)

I love the idea of Daniel taking Max to his farm.

I'm imagining like. The jungle is Max's home right? But I imagine he's a little less in contact with his monkey pack. He likes to wander around and he has his own little hidey holes and his own places to sleep. So when he imprints on Daniel, he sees Daniel's "pack" as his new family. (and I am now thinking about Max trying to "groom" Daniel or Josh or whoever, gently raking his fingers through their hair and fiddling with their clothes and cleaning dirt smudges away after licking his thumb).

So when Daniel asks if Max wants to go with them, both because he can't imagine leaving another human being in the jungle and because he can't imagine leaving Max behind, Max goes. And in whatever way they manage to do it, Daniel brings him to his farm.

He understands that Max will probably never be ready to live in a city or close to a lot of people, he needs to be close to nature, and even if the nature in Daniel's farm is different from the jungle, it's still better than most options.

I imagine at first Max will struggle to adapt. He is used to have a lot of space to roam, to have trees to swing from, a whole different climate, a whole different diet. and now Daniel asks he wears at least underwear and a tshirt most of the time, he has to eat different foods, it rains so much less? where is the rain? how is he supposed to be clean if there is no river?

Daniel has to really help him through a lot. it helps that Max is learning to communicate more and more every day, but sometimes they bump into a new roadblock that they weren't expecting, and Daniel is reminded about how different Max's life has been so far. (would love to explore an overstimulated-by-electronic-noises max when i have more energy maybe. or a deeply-sad-because-where-is-my-jungle max)

But I think Max also really enjoys learning new things. He is delighted by some of the simplest things, which makes Daniel look at life in a different way too. How did he never realise how amazing forks and knives are? why does he think so little about how incredible it is to be able to make ice in his own freezer? the wonders of a ceiling fan???

I can picture Max spending long minutes just staring at things. Clocks, the washing machine, the fan, the turned off television, the kitchen sink tap. turning lights on and off. flushing the toilet over and over. And I can also picture him taking apart stuff and then (try to) put it back together, like the toaster (was never the same), the blender (was left with several pieces on the counter), the tv remote (tried to eat the buttons).

Max being terrified of Daniel's phone and then, when he gets used to it, absolutely fascinated by it. Asking so many questions about everything that Daniel doesn't know the answer to and forcing him to look them up because Max will simply not stop asking until he has a satisfying answer.

On the other hand, Max taking care of the vegetable garden and the animals. Being so incredible at it that it becomes mainly his job. They're different from the animals he's used to, but he is amazed by the chickens and loves them so much. Sometimes he likes to just sit with them and pet them softly. He becomes best friends with the donkey and the alpacas. maybe Daniel gets him bunnies and at first he's worried Max will kill them when he's hungry, but Max is so so gentle with them and loves them all so much.

And in all this, Max loves Daniel. He does his best to make Daniel food, gives him little "gifts" (eggs from the chickens, tomatoes from the garden, a clean sweater straight from the drier, a glass of water with clinking ice), curls up around him at night because he always refuses to sleep in his own bed. He's very protective of Daniel and gets upset when Daniel needs to leave the farm for errands or other things.

And Daniel shifts from I am very fond of this weird jungle boy to I would very much love to sleep in your arms for the rest of my life with a side of oh my god when is this beefy jungle guy gonna rail me. He sees how gentle and sweet and smart Max is, how quickly he learns about things and adapt to this new life, how interested he is about everything, how he takes care of Daniel, the farm, the animals, and can't help but fall in love with it all.

And the first time Daniel kisses Max at the farm, they're on the couch, Max watching something on the tv, almost without blinking, and Daniel watching Max. He calls his name and when Max turns (because Daniel will always be more important than anything else, even if the guy in the tv is cooking beef and Max is kind of hungry) Daniel kisses him. Max stays still for a bit and then when Daniel pulls back Max licks his cheek in response. It's not perfect, but Daniel can teach him. and Max always learns.

[shibaraki]

gosh i am so sleepy but hi monty im that anon who sent u a phat ask about fill my little world + reading that lil midoriya thing and it making my day infinitely better. that is so specific but it is quite alright if u dont remember what ask i mean!!

anyway, i just finished life is the tillage and wow. i didnt know how to word it until recently but im a very romantic and intimate person and i love showing my love to others in whatever way i can and ive never thought that i could resonate with a writing style so much until i found ur fics?? like... ur so good at writing love its unreal. all kinds of love and it makes me feel so warm and astonished (especially because im very picky with what fics i read JDKSJCKS)

everything from ur lil drabbles to ur long fics makes me so excited because i know im going to end up with a heart three times bigger (a la grinch) than before i read through all ur most recent posts. i need to u know that u have helped me get back into my writing groove these last few months and that whenever i think of intimacy i think of things like sharing food and opening up to new and old people and learning to love urself a little more and ur writing has played a big part in it. thank u very much

ok mimir time. i go sleep, have a good day (or night)!! <3

- (can i be called... mimir anon...)

hello my sweet of course I remember !!!! I recall that phat ask made me shed a PHAT TEAR and I gotta say I was on facetime to a friend while I read this so he had the best seats in the house when I started blubbering like a baby. this means so so much to me in so many ways I wish I could verbalise them!!! I’ve said this before I’m sure but… I feel things very very intensely. all the time. I’m so acutely aware of every thing that it exhausts me. at the same time I wouldn’t ever change that about myself. fic really became a tool for me to explore those thoughts and feelings and love myself. I grew up being misunderstood so I’m a chronic over explainer and I had this insatiable need to unpack those parts of myself. I am incredibly honoured for that to have played a part in your return to writing again, and that my silly little stories have helped shape how you see intimacy and love. I hope you sleep well, and thank you for sharing your wonderful thoughts with me 🫶🏻

[huggingkoalas]

haha I don't consider myself a writer but sometimes I write and post silly things ;) but thank you! Maybe I'm a lover of words, it's just wonderful how it can care a tremendous weight of meaning but sometimes it's just as empty as a jar of hopes.

You're in a right path, one step at a time and keep it going. It would be so nice if you start therapy, it helps a lot, but I got your situation. Just don't be so hard on yourself in this phase, you're healing and learning from the ashes. All the situations and people weren't kind with you, that's why you're the person who needs to be to yourself. Be kind with the small steps you take.

I liked the darknight hero title haha I'm gonna keep that. Give me an emoji for my anonymity.

(I hope you slept well your few hours and rest a little)

that’s great! i had a feeling you were a writer, for some reason i got the “writer” vibe from you, y’know?

also, sometimes i forget that tumblr is a blog. i’m still, well, pretty new to to tumblr, and always thought tumblr = only for writing. i should post more silly stuff... eventhough half of my “for you” is just sapphic sex...? i need more interesting things tumblr, come on :(

exactly! the reason i started to write in the first place is because i wanted to evoke feelings on the reader when they read my work. honestly, who doesn’t love a good read? yeah, it’s cool how just a phrase of words can hold so much weight, and bring out such sadness, happiness or fustration. it’s absolutely beautiful.

“just as empty as a jar of hope”...damn, another good phrase from you, anon. SOMEONE WRITE THAT PHRASE DOWN NOW

thank you, i know healing takes time, and i’m trying to be kind to myself :) i’ve had a few conversations with a few of my friends, and they definitely made me feel better too. it’s amazing how hearing some simple words can help you feel infinitely better.

yeah, i hope to be able to go to therapy soon. i’ve suffered a lot of emotional trauma back when i was a child, and it’s made me suffer a lot in my love life. gotta love having “avoidant attachment”, haha. i’d love to go to therapy just to be able to... work on my avoidant attachment. it’s something i’ve always struggled with and i hate how it’s affected a lot of my friendships and relationships as an adult. :(

i just need to be patient to myself. i’m currently going through a rough patch now, but i know everything will get better. i just need to sift through my emotions and work them out.

i especially need some time to myself after being back in a pretty intense friendship this year. i had a friend. we were always more than friends but less than lovers, y’know? and losing someone that i put my full trust on, and then falling apart a few months later really took a toll on me. it’s hard for me to go back to the “me” before them, especially since i forgot who i was before them. from getting good morning messages from them everytime i woke up to just... empty notifications. it was hard, and i felt alone.

i mean, you really are like a hero to me. and considering i get an ask from you when it’s late at night for me, i think “darknight hero” fits well :) plus its a pretty goddamn cool title. also, my first emoji anon, yippee! i’m so happy ajnwgjawjnga <33 and hmm... how about the 🧸 emoji? i think it fit’s you pretty well, you’re just like an emotional support teddy bear <33

thanks again for this ask and listening to my ramble of thoughts, holy shit. and yes, i did get some great sleep! knocked out pretty much after i answered the asks i received lmao :P

[skellebonez]

Because I'm sure this is going to be inevitable, how about some angst for the Chaos Trio (Mei, Jin and Yin)? With 61 and 52

Oh I have been looking forward to Chaos Trio angst since you sent me this, anon. Despite how they act in show... I think Jin and Yin are not exactly harmless. Especially if you mess with people they start to consider family.

The Cursed AU and the Chaos Trio in it come from @winterpower98!

Warning: blood and head injuries, enemy demons limbs (not detailed).

That is not a good hiding spot./I am a really bad actor.

Things had been going pretty well, all things considered. Jin and Yin had no problem getting Mei to join them in a little bit of... let's say "competitive insurance" as it were. They had to make sure they were secured in their own little tech related ventures, and after some financial setbacks they needed extra fallback. They’d planned the whole thing out with her help, more than 2 steps and everything! She was good at that.

The problem was that someone got a lucky hit.

They would have made it out with no problems, if they all hadn't decided going on Mei's motorcycle as a group (which, now that Yin thought about it, was probably incredibly dangerous and illegal with 3 of them on it... not that they cared about legality for themselves but somehow when it came to Mei that suddenly made them concerned). But nope. 1 bike. 3 people.

One lucky shot to the rear tire.

The three of them went flying, Mei landing very impressively on her feet whole Jin and Yin bounced on a bush and thanked anyone listening that demons were sturdier than humans. They didn't thank anyone for the pieces of bike that came flying at them all, and they were certain that they heard a piece make contact with something hard, maybe the nearby light pole, but couldn't be sure.

By the time they looked up they just knew they had a group of very angry demons that were pissed they stole and then wiped their code for... something, didn't matter to the twins what it was. They just wanted their competition out of the way. For solely selfish reasons. Nothing else. Not like they wanted it to see what it was and maybe figure out a counter attack so that certain overpowered people with monkey motifs would have an easier time in the future.

Not a chance.

As they fought off the attacking demons they insisted to themselves they didn't care that much.

"That is not a good hiding spot!" Jin yelled across the battlefield as Yin ducked behind crates. "Just chuck it for now and beat em with the blunt end of something else!"

"Just give me 2 seconds, I can fix it!" Yin yelled back, trying his best to reassemble a part of his sword hilt that had broken off.

"Come on, these guys ain't so tough!" Mei laughed out, easily dodging projectiles and backsliding and slicing and dicing as she went. No one was actually killed, but they were lucky because the only reason for that was the young woman wasn't exactly out for blood. They'd be feeling every single hit well into morning though! She was doing much better than the two of them. "Grab a pipe or something! Wish I had MK's magic building power though, I'd rather not be here all-YIN!"

The younger twin looked up from where he had been crouched, eyes widening as he saw the form of a much larger demon hulking over him and ready to batter him with a club.

Things had been going well. All things considered. Then someone got a second lucky hit.

Right as Mei dove in to push the younger silver twin out of the way.

For a second the fighting stopped. There was just the sound of wood hitting hard plastic and fiberglass as the club was sliced in half by her sword and the lopped off half continued it's trajectory and slammed into Mei's head to lead to her crumbling on top of Yin. Jin stood on too of a pile of crates, watching as a line of red seeped through a crack in her visor and stained the white of her suit.

And then his entire vision was red as he lunged at the demon and sliced, sending his arm flying in the opposite direction.

The demon screamed, holding the stump that was his arm from the elbow down, backing away as quickly as he could. "W-what the hell!?"

"Mei," Yin said softly, carefully clicking the emergency release button to make her helmet digitize away. Her eyes were closed, blood dripping from a slice running along her scalp... but as far as he could tell it was from part of the helmet being cracked and cutting her. She was most likely knocked out from the impact, breathing odd but steady in her unconscious state. "You... we're going to get you to the hospital."

His tone hardened as he carefully laid her on the ground, standing tall as he grabbed his broken weapon and a nearby piece of broken steel.

"You. Are going. To pay for that," Yin said coldly, stance no longer lose and half playful as it had been the whole battle. His stood tall, eyes wide and cold and the demons surrounding them felt a chill run down their spines.

Jin stood in front of him, blood from the other demon splattered across his face and chest in a stark contrast to his orange visage.

This... this wasn't the pair of Gold and Silver Demons they had heard about before. They were known for not taking almost anything seriously, making bad deals and pacts and weird blood oaths they wasted on bizarre favors. They were known for being good at tach but not much else, most demons in the area knew vaguely of their history with the Monkey King but even that ended in failure. Their plans were half baked, goofy, and lately they'd heard they'd gotten roped in with the Monkey King's successor and renewed flame of the Six-Eared Macaque.

The two standing before them did not look like the demons they'd heard about.

Mei hadn't wanted to seriously hurt anyone. The demons heard her yelling as much on the battlefield. But now Mei was hurt.

And the twins did.

It happened fast. They wanted to get it over with quickly. Mei had also not wanted to kill anyone at the very least the twins could do was keep up their promise from earlier in the day to avoid that. And they did.

That didn't mean there weren't lost limbs. Hands and arms. A leg or two. More than a couple eyes were lost. Someone lost an ear. Another a tail and horn.

Injuries they could recover from meant as warnings.

All it took was 3 minutes and the entire storage area they crashed in was a mix of grey and brown and red. Demons holding their injuries or running off.

The one who had attacked Yin and hurt Mei stood in awe and fear, looking down at the smaller twins who has decimated an entire group so fast.

"I-how!?" He yelled, backing up slowly. "This isn't possible, you're not this strong!"

"Who told you that?" Yin asked slowly, tilting his head and watching as the demon realized... he'd never heard they couldn't fight. "We don't fight like this because we don't want to. Never meant we can't."

"Why?"

"We are really bad actors," Jin said, wiping the blood off his weapon on an unconscious demon's shirt. "Why bother trying to hold back when we can just hide it by not trying?" He turned to the demon, glowering coldly as he watched his brother pick Mei up carefully. "Tell anyone who asks nothing. We'd like to keep it that way. Unless you want a round two where someone else doesn't hold us back."

And then they were gone.

~

"What in the actual hell happened?" Macaque asked in an even tone. Practiced even. A dangerous even.

"Well-" "You see boss-" "we kinda-" "-there was-"

Jin and Yin tried to think of a reasonable excuse, faltering as everything they thought of sounded worse and worse in their heads.

The two sat in Mei's hospital room, towels draped around their shoulders. They’d been smart enough to stash Mei's bike somewhere safe and wash off in the ocean before coming to the hospital, less covered in demon blood meant less scared humans when they rushed in with Mei in tow, and it was easy to make the nurses believe them.

Simple bike accident, friend hurt, help please.

With Macaque staring them down with his patented death glower, shadows growing and warping around the room in response to him, it was infinitely harder.

Of course Mei's emergency contact was MK. Of course MK could call Macaque before her parents (who were apparently on their way back from some kind of dragon family business trip when they learned). Of course Macaque would show up almost immediately and begin asking questions.

"It was my fault," Mei chimed in, voice slightly off from having awoken with a nasty concussion. "I thought it'd be fun to go on a joy ride late at night, I've done it before without issues! But, uh... I've never had two passengers before... and we hit something. Don't be mad at them?"

Macaque looked like he believed Mei as much as he believed Tang would lose interest in the Monkey King and switch his field of study to obscure methods of basket weaving. Which is to say: he didn’t. But he sighed, giving Mei a small smile as the shadows returned to normal.

"Ok," he said softly, tone much more gentle with the dragon descendant as he reached out to brush loose hair out of her face. "I won't be mad at them. I'll be very disappointed-" his tone hardened for a second at those words as he turned to the twins with a glower again. "-but I won't be mad. Do you need anything?"

"Maybe a candy bar from the vending machines outside?" Mei asked with a smile.

"Sure," Macaque laughed and shook his head, moving to the corner of the room. "I'll be right back."

He sunk into the shadows, a cool trick that the twins would always be impressed by, and they breathed a sigh of relief at knowing they were alone. For now.

"You didn't have to do that," Jin said, frowning at Mei in concern. Maybe it was just because he was now the eldest in the room, but some kind of protective feel pulled at him.

"I know," Mei said with a tired laugh, laying back into her pillow. "But you guys are like... my bros. I gotta stand up for my bros."

And that made both Jin and Yin pause. They looked at each other, eyes widening as they both came to a realization that was probably a very long time coming at that point.

"Yeah..." Yin said, a soft smile forming on his face. "We'd do the same for you... you know, if you didn't take that hit for me you probably would have kicked everyone's ass way better than us! We barely got out by the skin of our teeth!" A full truth and a blatant lie, but he hoped Mei wouldn't pick up on that second part.

"You know it, boi!" She didn't.

It was odd for him in particular. Yin had never really thought of himself as an older brother before.

First time for everything.

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: Embarrassing and Undignified

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: Caleb doesn’t smile much. It’s something he rather likes about the man, that he prefers to save his pleasure for that which is truly worth it - but there’s nothing else he can call the expression that briefly narrows those blue eyes. “Reacting like that in front of a friendly tiefling?” he says - teasing, almost, and Essek feels his stomach flip. “I am not so sure.”

Essek's time in the hot tub goes a little awry.

Wordcount: 3.3k

A/N: Fill for this anon prompt! (i’m so sorry for taking 2+ months to write this... i love Essek so much and he needs more tk content)

---

Essek is no stranger to being - unusual. He often welcomes it, really. Achieving a status such as his for the better part of a century comes with its fair share of eccentricities, his floating among them, and at this point hovering just above the rest of the Dynasty has become something of a favored routine.

And yet, it seems, the Nein have him beaten at every turn.

He had meant to take his leave directly after dinner, unsure of his place among Yasha’s solemn questions of loneliness and Beauregard’s transparent attempts to pry information from him and Jester’s threat to invoke a Zone of Truth for idle gossip -

(and the slight jealousy, he admits, if only to himself, of seeing Caleb, ambitious and focused and loved, among them - )

But. Lonely and friendless he is, as has been quite thoroughly pointed out to him through the evening, and he’s intrigued enough by the rarity of this hot tub to clamber up awkwardly onto the enclosing stone wall and dangle his feet into the water while his hosts bustle around and shuck off various pieces of clothing.

Caleb sits next to him, rolling his own pant legs crisply to the knee and lowering his feet in. “What do you think?”

He looks over - thank the Light, Caleb’s still wearing his shirt. “It’s - nice,” he says. He drags his toe through a slow stream of bubbles rising from what he assumes must be the hottest parts of the depths. “Unfamiliar, but quite impressive that you’ve constructed it on your own.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “The hot tub, or -” He traces a small circle with his index finger, encompassing himself and his companions. “- all of this?”

Decades of court experience well up unbidden on his tongue. “The compliment extends to you either way,” he offers smoothly.

Caleb squints at him, but before he can say anything more the rest of the Nein are joining them with pleased exclamations and a thoroughly distracting amount of splashing. Essek watches, bemused, as Jester flops in belly-first before even unbuckling the last clasp of her outergarments - she wrestles them off, finally, crumpling the dripping green cloak into a ball and flinging it away, and he winces on behalf of the fine Kryn fabric.

She looks around, eyes lighting on him, and her hands fly to her round cheeks with an excited gasp. “Essek! Your legs!”

Startled, he looks down - they seem quite normal, with his boots off and his neatly pressed trousers folded at the knee, if a little more purple than anyone else’s present. “I would prefer to keep my clothes dry, yes.”

She leans in, eyes wide. “Are they re-al?”

Light be with him - she’s hardly said anything, but he struggles not to flush under the scrutiny. “Ah, yes? Why should they not be?”

Just then, something brushes lightly over the sole of his foot - he startles, and -

His seat is well made, certainly, but not enough to stand up to the Nein’s shenanigans; as he recoils, his center of gravity shifts right off the narrow ledge and he’s tumbling backwards before he can do more than blink.

Light, if this is how he dies -

He flails for a solution - it’s been years, at least, since he’s done something so pedestrian as fall, and there are spells for this, certainly, but what he’s prepared for today is more showy fare, in case the Nein asked for a demonstration, why can’t he think -

A hand closes roughly around his bicep, then another around the opposite shoulder, and then he’s dangling from Caleb’s grip with his back nearly parallel to the floor - he reaches out too, panicked, and crumples the front of Caleb’s shirt in a death grip.

“Good reflexes,” he says, breathless. Blood pounds in his ears. Caleb stares down at him, blue eyes wide and jaw tight -

“Ooh, now kiss!” Jester hoots.

The rest of the Nein burst into laughter behind them. Caleb goes bright red and hurriedly turns away, looking over his shoulder. “One of you jokers come here and help me, please,” he chides, strained, “I am not the muscle of this group.”

The tension in Caleb’s face becomes infinitely more explicable - finally capable of rational thought, Essek flicks his fingers and casts a weight-lightening cantrip just as another strong hand latches onto his knee and bodily tows him upright. Yasha nods at him, chest completely bare, and wades back to her corner as Veth pops up from nowhere with her long ears twitching maniacally. “I’m SO sorry,” she screeches, insistent far beyond the point of sincerity. “I brushed against your feet COMPLETELY ON ACCIDENT.”

“VERY ACCIDENTAL,” Jester agrees loudly. Next to her, Fjord winces.

Veth’s voice softens, then, as she pats him gingerly on the leg. “I didn’t think you would do that - are you okay?”

“It’s all right,” he says weakly. Her ears droop in what seems to be genuine relief - it is pointless to care, perhaps, but he feels better for having reassured her.

He sucks in a solid breath for what feels like the first time in minutes and turns to Caleb to thank him. There’s still a guarding hand resting warmly against his back - and worse still, he realizes belatedly that his own hand is still fisted in the buttons of Caleb’s shirt.

He snatches it hastily away, ears burning. “Ah, my apologies. I shall pay closer attention to gravity, for the rest of the night.”

Caleb doesn’t smile much. It’s something he rather likes about the man, that he prefers to save his pleasure for that which is truly worth it - but there’s nothing else he can call the expression that briefly narrows those blue eyes. “Reacting like that in front of a friendly tiefling?” he says - teasing, almost, and Essek feels his stomach flip. “I am not so sure.”

A friendly -

Surprised, he glances over at Jester and finds her wearing a smug expression that might not be out of place on Da’leth himself, if significantly sweeter. “E-ssek,” she wheedles, wide-eyed with delight, drawing every syllable to its maximum extent. “Are your feet like, super ticklish?”

Essek blinks - ticklish? But he hasn’t - really, he can’t remember the last time he might have known. As a child, perhaps, when Verin used to tempt him into playing by tackling him straight off his feet and -

Oh. Oh, dear.

At least that particular piece of evidence is decades out of date - a poor excuse to discard it, but he’s willing to compromise in the face of Jester’s ever-sharpening grin and the traitorously pleased squirm in the pit of his own stomach. “What? No, of course not, I was merely surprised-”

“You can be surprised and ticklish,” Jester corrects, skipping forward with a splash. Essek shirks back into Caleb’s hand, millimeters from tumbling off the ledge again, and she giggles. “And I’m pret-ty sure that you’re both.”

The hot tub, for all of its excellent qualities, is unfortunately not large enough to keep her at bay for longer than that. She reaches out as he’s still deciding which direction would be the best to flee in and scoops his ankle up in a grip like steel. “Ah-” he sputters. “I - Jester, wait-”

She drags a fingernail up the arch of his foot.

It feels like one of the few times while developing a lightning-based spell that he’d electrocuted himself - but the feeling doesn’t stop, shooting up his leg and tickling at his lungs too to make them shiver, and it’s silly, and he just -

He panics, jerks back against Caleb’s hand again, and in a moment of brash stupidity the animal instinct of his brain decides that the only safe place to hide is Caleb himself. He buries his face in Caleb’s side and grabs him around the waist just in time to shriek as Jester repeats the same lazy route up and down the sole of his foot, pausing only to scratch tingling patterns into his heel. “Tickle, tickle! Aw, guys, he’s so ticklish, look at how much he’s laughing!”

The fabric of Caleb’s shirt isn’t much of a barrier to Jester’s teasing - or to his own ticklish laughter, embarrassingly high-pitched and loud in a way that makes his whole face heat with shame - but at least they can’t see him blush.

Caleb jumps a little as Essek latches onto him, but his hand stays put, stabilizing, and starts to rub gentle circles on his back as Essek dissolves into cackling at another spidering assault on his arch. “Jester, please be gentle,” he says, amused. “I am not sure that is a good idea.”

Essek’s not sure how he feels either. It’s terribly embarrassing, and undignified, and if this was happening in front of any other being in the Dynasty he would have to learn some sort of memory erasure spell, but - the Nein have never cared for his layers upon layers of decorum anyway, have they, always prying for indignation and confusion and warmth that he’s not certain he even possesses.

Caught between Jester and Caleb and a vat of hot water, with the rest of the Nein making relatively amused noises behind him, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt warmer.

Jester just laughs. “I’m barely doing anything!” she teases, shaking Essek’s leg lightly. “He’s just so sensitive - oh, Essek, is it ‘cause you never walk anywhere? Is that why your feet are so soft and tickly?”

He’s giddy, even with the sudden reprieve, giggling too hard to speak. “I - ha - I dohon’t - ehe-”

“Of course it is,” Beauregard says smugly from a distance that seems far too close, “waving all those secrets and magic over our heads and he’s hoisted on his own fuckin’ petard-”

“What’s that?” Caduceus asks. Essek vaguely remembers the term to describe some sort of bomb, but Jester chooses that moment to send her mischievous fingers exploring under his fucking toes and it tickles like absolute hell. He shrieks even louder than before, if such a thing were possible, and makes a solid attempt to burrow his way straight into Caleb’s ribcage as his entire leg jolts in involuntary protest. No amount of desperate attempts to flex or curl his foot make the sensation any more bearable - it’s like the sucking feeling of a Teleport spell, like everything inside him is unmoored and floating in a sea of mirth and the only way he can get any of it out is to scream.

His cheeks hurt and he realizes, suddenly, that he’s beaming.

Jester cackles. “Come get his other foot, Beau,” she urges, easing off to just pinch his big toe between two fingers and wiggle it. “He totally loves it, he’s not even kicking-”

“Uh-huh,” Beauregard says, and there’s another splash. “Maybe I will.”

Caleb’s still rubbing his back - he stops, briefly, and from his huddled position Essek feels that Beauregard has jostled his other side on her way past. “His feet might be worse than yours,” she murmurs. He can hear the grin in her voice. “Better hope Jes doesn’t remember and go after you next.”

“Don’t remind her,” Caleb says, strangled. It’s remarkably friendly for Beauregard, though, and Essek is once again caught up in the paradox of this little group - merciless but fiercely protective, reluctant but trusting. It’s hard to be regretful - or wistful, maybe, one of those feelings that twinges in his chest every time he thinks of the Nein nowadays - with Jester tickling her way up the back of his bare calf and cooing over the way it makes him wriggle. But his heart, a traitor to the last, manages. There are so many secrets between them still.

Beauregard seizes his other ankle, hauling it up from the water, and he realizes for one terrible moment that if they were to, say, force him out of hiding and keep tickling, he might be inclined to spill some of them. “Scoot over, Jes,” Beauregard says, and there’s a squeak that, for once in the evening, doesn’t come from him. She chuckles. “Good thing he’s not trying to tickle you back, huh?”

He expects Jester to sputter and redirect her, as he would, but she sounds entirely unconcerned at the prospect. “Oh, Beau, do you want to have a tickle fight? We totally could, after this-”

“No,” she says, not entirely drowning out the little panicked noise that Caleb makes. “Not the kind of wrestling I want to do when half of us aren’t wearing shirts, if you know what I mean-”

“Beau!” Jester shrieks, giggling. Fjord groans loudly from the other side of the hot tub, and Essek, still squirming, is very sure that he’s blushing enough for it to show on the back of his neck, under his high collar. “Who do you want to wrestle with? Is it Yasha-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, moving on.” Beauregard interrupts hastily. There’s a popping noise that takes a second for Essek to place as her cracking her knuckles. “Hey, Essek - you think you’d trade another favor to get us to stop?”

Essek flails for something resembling a complete sentence as Jester’s fingers curl teasingly behind one of his knees. “Nngh - heh-”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She squeezes the back of his other knee, barks out a laugh as he jumps. “Jes, stop messing around, let’s get his feet.”

That makes him kick, but at this point his entire lower half is restrained - all he can do is take one last breath before fingertips are scribbling over both his soles and he’s cackling so forcefully that his laughter peaks into agonized wheezing with each fresh gulp of air. “Hhh - ha - ahahaaaa, hA -”

Caleb shifts a little, bending until one of the strands that always hang stubbornly loose from where he ties his hair back brushes the tip of Essek’s burning ear. Essek shivers. “You can tell them to stop, you know,” he murmurs.

Essek’s almost entirely sure that he’s crying into Caleb’s shirt, tears leaking from squeezed-shut eyes as Beauregard and Jester torment his feet, but Caleb seems - fond, oddly - as he starts to rub his back again. “They’re not trying to be cruel - I believe they’re just excited that you’ve. Ah. Lowered yourself to our level, perhaps.”

And what level is that, Essek wants to ask, suddenly conjuring a mental image of Caleb in the same throes of helpless laughter. But he’s barely capable of that, as he’s currently dying, so he just tightens his grip on Caleb and shakes his head. He can barely even register Jester and Beauregard’s teasing anymore - he doesn’t think he can speak right now without embarrassing himself even more if he tried.

“Fuck, alright,” Fjord says abruptly from somewhere miles away, “I think he’s actually crying now, the Dynasty is going to have our heads if we break him.”

“He wouldn’t let them, he’s our friend,” Jester trills, but she does stop tickling, ghosting a hand up over his heaving shoulders to pat him gently on the head. “His ears are really purple though, like magenta purple, I think he’s blushing.”

For some reason - perhaps because he can finally think - it strikes him, fighting through the warm and pleasantly tingling haze of being touched and gentled back into himself, that as much as the casual label of friend pleases him he cannot afford this kind of vulnerability.

“Or suffocating,” Beauregard says a moment later, dropping his foot unceremoniously back into the water. “Thelyss? You alive in there?”

And, a beat later, when he doesn’t reply - “Are you just, like, smelling Caleb now?”

“Gross,” Veth squawks. “Get him off, get him off!”

Caleb smells quite pleasant, actually, but that’s not the point - his self-awareness is slowly trickling back in as he remembers who and where he is, and what he’s done to the Nein, and now they’ve broken him and he would rather die than look any of them in the eye for the next year.

Caleb pats his back. “Come on, friend, chin up.”

And he’s right, Essek can’t afford to cling to this veneer of comfort any longer - but to his immediate and eternal shame, he whines and nuzzles further into Caleb’s ribs. Just a moment to gather his wits, maybe, and he’ll be able to Misty Step to the front door and don his mantle-

“No? Alright, then - I’ll go to work too, if I have to.”

The hand on his back lifts away and walks itself on two prodding fingers neatly up under Essek’s arm, gently wriggling into the hollow until he can’t bear to keep his arms up any longer. “Nnn, hnn! - eheh, thahat’s - enough, please-”

It’s. It’s not, is the problem - he tries to stir up anger, distaste, but there’s only fear. He would deal with this indignity again, suffer it gladly, even, just to have them speak to him kindly. It’s new, and terrifying, and he needs to think it over alone with a generous glass of wine in his tower.

He shrinks back in on himself, still snickering at the tickling under his arms, and Caleb takes the opportunity to grab him neatly by the shoulders and sit him back up - Essek catches a glimpse of his blue eyes shining with rare merriment and promptly swivels to look away from all of them. No one stops him as he rolls his pant legs down and shoves his feet into his boots, heedless of the damp. He can feel their curious gazes prickle on the back of his neck - shifting into an unconscious competence that’s carried him through many anxieties before, he’s already floating off the ground before he can remind himself otherwise. “I’m going to go now,” he says, rushed, still too terrified to turn his head. “Thank you, I -”

“Essek, wait!” Jester says, confused, and Beau scoffs, and he’s not going to think about how he can recognize their voices without even seeing them, he’s not -

Yasha’s voice, at last, breaks through the hubbub, and it’s only in deference to their conversation before dinner that he pauses to listen.

“Hey,” she says, quiet and certain enough to shake him. “You said that you’re lonely, right?”

The noise fades away. He inches down to the ground with it. “Recently, yes,” he replies, just above a whisper, fighting to keep his voice steady with the enormity of this, this feeling -

“I didn’t say so before,” she continues, perfectly calm, “but it’s a little scary, right? To not be so lonely, anymore.”

Essek says nothing - he knows, without the mantle, that they can all see the slight tremble of his shoulders.

“Go away, then,” she says confidently, and then, hastily, “oh, no, that’s not right -”

“Yasha,” Jester squeaks, horrified, and Essek, to his own surprise, laughs. More of a chuckle, really, but. That’s a relief, after all this.

He can place her roughly in the rightmost corner of the hot tub, turns just enough to catch her heterochromatic gaze in his periphery. Her mouth drops slightly open before she gathers herself. “I just, I meant -” She inhales nervously. “I used to leave all the time, to go do - things - and come back when I was ready. You can do that too, if you want, we won’t mind, as long as you come back. And the tickling - we’re all ticklish, you don’t have to feel bad about it - ah, maybe someone else should say something.”

Caduceus pats her shoulder. “Nah, that was pretty good.”

Essek agrees, despite his better judgment. He rolls his shoulders, forcing them loose. “No, no, that’s - helpful,” he assures, and then, taking a deep breath and praying that his cheeks have cooled, he turns to look at them all. “I am to show you my abode tomorrow, yes?”

Caleb looks extraordinarily stressed. “Ah, you don’t have to, if you would rather-”

Beau punches him in the shoulder harshly enough to make him wince. “Yes.”

“Yes, and breakfast pastries!” Jester cheers, clapping her hands together - he’ll have to talk to his staff tonight.

“Until tomorrow, then,” he says, and spares only a brief smile before casting Misty Step to take him to the door and then again to the street.

He’s not quite ready to lose all his dignity, yet.

[tarysande]

Original anon here. Thank you (and the other anons) so much for your encouraging responses. I hope I didn't worsen your own depression with such a heavy ask out of the blue. If I did, I'm sorry. I just felt so full of despair and you always give such thoughtful answers. Thank you for responding with such kindness. I'm going to keep taking it one day at a time. :)

I'm really, really glad to hear this. And I'm glad you reached out to me--to someone--when you were in despair. I'm so relieved I could help in some small way.

It may sound a bit counterintuitive, but far from making my depression worse, writing my response last night made me feel a lot better. I admit, when I got your ask, part of my brain was like "...Siri, is that you? I told you to stop reading my mind."

I'm coming out of a rough couple of weeks (months ... covid-years???)--you know the kind where there's no single devastating event but the slow build-up of sadness sediment (sadiment) has somehow turned to emotional quicksand and you're mostly buried before you even realize it? That kind. And because I (like so many other depressed people) don't want to burden others with my sadness, I tend to withdraw. Withdrawing is ... basically one of the most harmful things we do to ourselves. Because really, sometimes just the act of saying, "Actually, I'm NOT fine," to another human being is enough to break the insidious grip of a depression that insists you're all alone, a burden, unlovable, a failure, etc. etc. etc. (lies, lies, damned lies, those assertions).

The thing is, I genuinely care about other people. I wouldn't wish depression on anyone. My empathy for others in the same boat is vast. And if I think anything I could do or say might help, I don't hesitate. It's infinitely easier for me to be kind to others who are suffering than it is to be kind to myself when I'm in the quicksand. But the magical thing about kindness and hope is that I can't encourage others without recognizing that I deserve a little of that kindness and hope, too.

So, in responding to your ask yesterday, I reminded myself of all the stuff I love and believe in and am looking forward to, and it helped me shake off some of the quicksand and take a few steps toward sturdier ground. One day at a time, right? <3

[sonderthroughthestreets]

122.

Hi!! Thank you to everyone to who sent me 122 @alwaysin-myhead @franboos (according to you 112 = 122 shshdjkjk ly) and anon!! 🥺💕

This one is kind of sad (yes I gave you all fluff it’s time for the sadness to hit skdjjd) but I promise it’s super soft 🥺🥺🥺 they love each other a lot!

122. “Just relax, I’ll wash your hair”

Dialogue Prompts!

Under the heavy covers of sorrow, chilled and frozen, Sander heard the voices muffle. They carried all the way up the stairs just outside his room and maybe it was easier if he pretended he couldn’t hear them, or if he just closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. Maybe if he closed his eyes hard enough he could fall back asleep. But he heard them all the same.

“He’s been like this for a while now. More than normal. I’ve tried to help him get out, but the usual things haven’t worked,” he heard his mother say.

The voice that spoke next shook him to the core. The one that he loved so much.

“I see,” and Sander squeezed his eyes harder. He didn’t want him to see him like this. “Does he want company right now, though?”

Sander dug his face into the pillow. Any day, any other day, he’d be overcome with such bridled joy to see the face he’d memorized like the back of his hand, drew a million times and etched it into the paper, but today, today he couldn’t handle it. Didn’t have the energy.

“Probably not, but I’m pretty sure you’re the only one he can stand right now,” his mother told him.

“I don’t know, I texted him and left him a voice message, and he hasn’t checked either. Which is understandable, but...”

Sander felt like folding into himself now. He wanted to fold and fold like an origami paper, infinitely fold until he disappeared, until he just ceased to exist. It was a horrible thought that crossed his mind, but he wished he didn’t live in this world where he knew his mother and his father, his friends or classmates, where he didn’t know...

If he could take back all the moments with all the people in his life, the good and the bad, he wouldn’t feel like they were too much and he wouldn’t have to deal with it all. Because right now, it was all far too much to deal with. He was tired. Extremely tired. He just wanted to fold and lose himself in unconsciousness.

“You can always try, Robbe. He loves you so much,” his mother’s voice still came through the crack underneath his door.

Then, he heard a muffled breath as footsteps lightly treaded away and the knob creaked as it turned and the door slowly, finally, opened.

He felt him sit on the edge of the bed and the silence was strangely comforting to him. He could maybe go back to sleep like this. He could just drift into his unconsciousness and stay there for days, maybe forever. He could-

“Sander,” he heard him. “How are you feeling?”

He didn’t mean for this question to irritate him, he really didn’t. But it annoyed him because he could see just exactly how he was feeling. And if he had enough energy he’d tell him. He’d tell him he was tired and that he felt heavy. That his limbs felt a heaviness and his brain felt a fuzziness and all he wanted was to just lay there and not do anything.

“I mean that’s a stupid question,” he heard him laugh bitterly and nervously. “But I had to start with something.”

He felt him shift even closer to him and Sander all of a sudden felt very insecure. Because whether he wanted to admit it or not, he’d been in bed for about a month now and all he’d done is sleep and sleep and barely keep his eyes open as his mother fed him soup and bread, crumbs and stains littered across his bedsheets. He hadn’t gotten out for a shower or to change his clothes, either. He’d sweat through the night under the covers, from nightmares or dreams he couldn’t really remember, the residual body odour lingering in the air. He could smell it himself as he lay there for days. But he couldn’t have been bothered to move or do anything about it. He stayed still as he felt the weight of his hand on his shoulder.

“I love you. And I’m gonna love you whether you’re the wonderful, bright and fun, lighthearted and funny Sander I know or you’re the Sander that can’t get out of bed and needs time to let all this pass.”

Sander wasn’t questioning his love until now. Because all of a sudden it felt like he was being dramatic and maybe this was nothing and he was just tired and lazy and he didn’t deserve someone loving him when he’s like this. Maybe he didn’t deserve anything at all.

“That was my voice message by the way. I was just telling you that I loved you. And that we said we’d take this minute by minute and that hasn’t changed.”

Sander listened to him breathe for a few moments. Waited for him to leave him in solitude. But when he felt the weight on the bed lighten, the warmth of his hand gone, he wanted to call out for him, scream his name pained and broken, ‘don’t leave’. His mouth felt heavy too, his tongue stuck on his palate, his jaw unwilling to move. But he mustered up all the energy he could to speak his name, his voice raspy and deep and cracked from being unused.

“Robbe,” he said.

“I’m here,” he replied. “I’m not going anywhere, just closing the door,” he clarified as he quietly shut it. Then, he came to sit next to him again. “What do you want to do this minute?”

He wanted...

He just wanted Robbe.

And Robbe seemed to sense that.

And so it went like that, them going minute my minute.

In this minute, Sander would try to keep his eyes open. He saw Robbe dressed in his dark sweatshirt and jeans.

In this minute, Sander would try to sit up.

In this minute, Sander would try to turn and let his feet touch the cool ground, soothing him almost like a balm. Sometimes it takes him more than a minute.

“I could get some fresh clothes for you,” Robbe said. “You can just change into them if you don’t wanna take a shower.”

Sander slowly nodded, the knot in his throat hard to swallow. Even harder when he knew Robbe was looking at him with warm, patient eyes. He felt him take his hand and kiss it before getting up to open his closet and fish out a grey t-shirt and new sweatpants. Sander gripped the edge of the bed, looking to the side with his jaw clenching.

He couldn’t believe Robbe was the only person that could get him out of this. That he had to come over here and get him out of this. To think that he was forced to come and be some sort of caretaker when his own mother couldn’t even get him out of bed.

But when Robbe had come over with the clothes and his fingers gripped the hem of his shirt taking it off, he felt his limbs give in to it all. He collapsed under his comforting touch, the intimate way he removed his shirt, looping his arm out through one armhole and then the other. Sander weakly took hold of Robbe’s wrist when he went to grab the clean shirt.

“Think I want that shower,” he mumbled.

Robbe nodded, leaving the fabric.

“Do you think a bath would be better?”

“Maybe,” Sander shrugged.

So, he trudged over to the bathroom while Robbe searched for a towel and carried over his clothes for him. Sander let the water run and leaned against the counter, listening to Robbe walking around outside in his room. He wasn’t sure what he was doing exactly but his mind almost felt too numb to pay attention.

Once he was in the water, he still felt a sense of emptiness, like he still couldn’t feel the warmth of it. Not without Robbe. So, he called for him. And Robbe quickly came in, surveying the sight in front of him.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sander said softly. “Just...stay with me for a bit.”

So, he did.

Sander let his fingers trail the water, slowly moving his index finger to and fro. Then he sighed a heavy sigh, pulling his legs up to his chest, his chin resting on his knees. The silence was both reassuring and upsetting. Because Sander didn’t have the energy to really talk but he didn’t want it to be like this.

“Talk to me, Robin,” he whispered.

Robbe just crossed his arms as he leaned on the counter now, letting out a chuckling breath.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m not as good as you with talking.”

But he’d left his post at the counter and made his way over to sit on the edge of the bathtub. He ran his fingers through his wet and matted hair, bleached ends but dark roots diverging out.

“Just relax,” Robbe whispered, his voice a caress. “I’ll wash your hair.”

And Sander let him. Let him get the shampoo bottle, the fruity scent tingling his nose, albeit a little harshly, and let him lather up his hair. Robbe was careful not to get the suds in his ear, but gravity wasn’t particularly interested in letting all the soap stay out. So, he took a bit of water and gently cleansed Sander’s ear. Then he grabbed the shower-head and let the water softly trickle onto his head, washing all the shampoo off.

Sander had never felt such relaxation, his soul feeling a satisfying solace as Robbe’s fingernails scraped his scalp. He was so concentrated in the task at hand, careful and attentive. It made Sander’s heart want to burst, his eyes on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely audible.

“For what?”

“For the fact that you have to come here and take care of me. For me just shutting myself away from everyone, including you. For me bothering you.”

Robbe looked at him like there were many things wrong with those sentences, his eyes glistening in the hazy natural light coming from the window. It tinted the whole bathroom blue, fitting for how Sander felt.

“I don’t have to do anything, Sander,” Robbe said, his voice echoing through the walls. He brushed his wetted hair from his eyes, the water dripping and sliding down his nose and his parted lips. “I’m here because I want to be. And because I love you,” his hand traced his cheeks, thumb brushing over the bone. Sander instantly leaned into his touch.

“I love you,” he whispered back. “So, much,” his voice trembled.

Robbe gained closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, to which Sander deepened breathing him in. Their lips let loose as their foreheads touched, eyes closed.

Sander was starting to feel something like himself again. He wasn’t all the way, but he was getting there, some semblance of rejuvenation. He was grateful to have Robbe help him and to take this minute by minute like he’d said, patient and non-judgmental.

But most of all he was grateful that he was here. Just like he said. That in this universe...

He was staying with him.

[sylvies-chen]

Brettsey please “so not to be rude or anything but i’ve been coming to this cemetery at this time on this day every week for fucking years and i’ve always been alone up until now seriously what the hell” au

Ok anon I REALLY have to apologize because this request has been sitting in my inbox for probably a month or two now but I didn’t get the inspo to finish this until last night. That being said, I got this into a short little oneshot so I hope you enjoy!!

Tags: alternate universe, grief, mourning, light emotional hurt/comfort, meet cute

Word count: 2922

183 days.

It’s been 183 days since Sylvie last visited Julie. 183 days thinking about how things should have been different. How Julie was supposed to survive, how her and Scott and Amelia were supposed to be a family. How Sylvie was supposed to reconnect with her, to finally know the woman who had given Sylvie her own life’s blood.

She was supposed to have more time.

Instead, Sylvie ends up feeling like more of a stranger to Julie than ever. The last time she visited was the funeral, and that hadn’t done much for her in terms of closure. If anything, it made her feel more out of place. Random strangers came up to her, asking how she knew Julie. Sylvie can still remember the confused looks on their face as she’d told them Julie was her birth mother who had given her up at sixteen years old, and the awkward condolences that came stuttering out of their mouths afterwards. She’d felt too guilty eventually, and left early. Who the hell was she anyway, to be tainting everyone’s view of her birth mother at her own funeral?

She hasn’t been to visit Julie’s grave ever since. All Sylvie had done was stay with parents for a few days to clear her head. A few days turned into a few weeks, and then a few months. Today marks month six of her stay there. Her parents had told her they’d be happy to have her. They hadn’t been receptive to the idea of Sylvie meeting Julie in the first place, so they were more than willing to help her through the loss. The only condition was that she had to go to therapy and work through her grief, which Sylvie happily agreed to. But last week, her therapist suggested she visit Julie’s grave to get ‘true closure’, whatever that means. It’s a strange idea to Sylvie but nothing else seems to be working. Her boss had assured her that Fowlerton was much too peaceful (the polite way of calling the town boring, and rightfully so) and it would do just fine without its favourite paramedic for a few days. So, reluctantly, she accepted.

That’s why Sylvie’s now halfway through an hour-long drive to Chicago, all the way back to the cemetery. She buys hydrangeas at a tiny flower shop she passes by when she first enters Chicago territory. They’re Julie’s favourite. They were Julie’s favourite

Her fingers anxiously tap at the wheel when she finally pulls into the cemetery. It’s a dreary Sunday, grey clouds hovering in the sky bringing the prominent threat of rain. The graveyard is empty when she gets there, from the looks of it, except for one single person. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a man around her age sitting on a bench near a grave, his eyes observing her curiously from over his shoulder. He’s not someone she knows-- she doesn’t really know many people here in Chicago after all-- but she ignores his lingering eyes. Shades of grey stick out against the field of green and wilted flowers are scattered across other tombstones. It feels like a ghost town, for lack of a better term. It’s gloomy and it looks like no one’s visited this place in a while. Even for a cemetery, the sight is a depressing one.

Sylvie slams her car door shut and takes a deep breath. Relax, she thinks. Just a quick drop by to see her, place the flowers, and then leave. You can get through this.

She makes a beeline towards Julie’s grave, less than 100 feet away, and stops dead in her tracks when she gets there. Her feet feel heavy in her pink rain boots, sticking out like a sore thumb against her black coat as she observes the tombstone.

Julie Walters

Loving wife and daughter

1973 - 2019

Sylvie doesn’t know how to feel reading those words. A whole life, one she only scratched the surface of, reduced to a mere four words and eight numbers. It’s underwhelming, and she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Julie’s entire being wasn’t etched onto stone or insulted that they could summarize her in so few words.

Maybe it’s for the best. What else would they put on there anyway: that she was a flawed human who left behind a child who she wasn’t ready to have, only to die before she could see her second daughter years later when she was finally ready for one? When she was finally ready to reconcile with her first born? Yeah, it was definitely for the best.

She places the bouquet of hydrangeas on the wet grass next to the tombstone and stands back. Man, this is harder than she thought. The words are there, racing in her head, but they don’t come out. Every time she wants to say something, it gets caught in the back of her throat.

Sylvie’s trying to pick from a list of infinite questions and countless ways to begin when she feels a chill on the back of her neck. At that moment, a voice comes from behind her. “Hi, are y--”

“Ah!” Sylvie shrieks, the voice startling her. She nearly jumps out of her skin as she turns around in shock, only to see a guy standing in front of her. It’s the same guy, she realizes, that had been staring at her earlier. Now, up close, she guesses that he can’t be all that much older that she is. He has blonde hair that’s short at the back and longer at the front, his eyes a soft shade of blue-green. His jacket and boots are a little worn but other than that, he looks completely normal. Except for the fact that he’s the only other person in this whole cemetery, and he just came up to her from behind without making a sound.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he assures her, his hands up in surrender.

“Oh, uh, it’s okay.” Sylvie lets out a big breath, shaking off the nerves from the jumpscare.

“Not to be rude or anything, but I just-- I’m usually the only one here,” he explains awkwardly.

“Are you a groundskeeper or something? I can leave if you guys need me to.”

“No no,” he laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “I work in construction, actually. But I’ve uh.. I’ve been coming here the same time, every Sunday for years now to visit my dad. Nobody’s ever here when I am, so I figured you must be new.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offers. So okay, he’s not such a creep after all. Actually, he’s kind of sweet. “He must have been a really great dad, for you to be visiting him every week after all these years.”

“He… had his moments,” the man explains delicately. “Honestly, he wasn’t the most affectionate guy. I guess I just don’t want to end up like him. Jaded and cruel.”

Sylvie nods understandingly, because she gets it. Her parents are loving and supportive, but she’s had some exes that have put her through the ringer. Her first real love, Harrison, had been manipulative and heartless. She’s always hoped that these awful guys wouldn’t change her for the worse either.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying all of this. I’ll get out of your hair,” he offers. “But uh, here. Take this.” The guy holds out a single rose, which Sylvie accepts.

Her eyebrows narrow in confusion at the gesture. “A rose?”

“Yeah, well, my dad has been getting a dozen roses a week from my family since I was 17, he won’t turn over in his grave if he gets 11 just this one time. I’m sure whoever you’re grieving could use it a lot more than he could.”

Sylvie’s confused expression softens into gratitude, a faint smile pulling at her lips. This guy, whoever he is, didn’t have to do this for her. It’s a sweet gesture. He really does seem nice. No catches, no mind games, just simple and kind. She hasn’t met a guy like that in a while, at least not one her age. “That’s actually really sweet, thank you.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Sylvie, by the way,” she introduces herself awkwardly. Everything about this situation is awkward, frankly. But she extends her free hand anyway. “Sylvie Brett.”

“Matt Casey. I wish it were under nicer circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you.” His smile is wide as he takes her hand and shakes it. It’s confusing, but it makes Sylvie smile all the same.

“You seem awfully cheerful for someone who’s in a graveyard,” she observes.

“Like I said: I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m sort of all talked out now,” Matt explains with a shrug.

“Right,” she nods. “I wish I could relate. Normally I’m the one who’s cheerful and talkative, but it’s hard with this sort of thing. Everything I want to say just doesn’t seem to come out. Sometimes, I think if I start talking…”

“You’ll never stop?” He guesses.

“Yeah.” How did he know?

“Well I can tell you from experience that you definitely do stop talking at one point. I got all talked out two years ago. I looked around one day and realized I was talking about types of screwdrivers to my dad’s grave with no one else around. Eventually, you’ll run out of topics like I did. And then new ones will come, and you’ll talk some more, and then you get quiet again and then you just… stop talking.”

“I hope so. I’m a big talker-- I mean seriously, I never shut up-- but I just… I don’t know where to start with this one,” she explains.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who are you visiting?”

“Julie Walters.” She points to the tombstone in front of them. “My birth mother.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Sylvie’s heard those six little words before. She had to stomach every single insincere, fake utterance of sympathy when she was at the funeral. But for some reason, the way Matt says it to her makes her think he really means it. She’s not used to people meaning it when they offer their condolences. It’s strange. Then again, this whole interaction is strange. “It’s okay,” she brushes it off.

“It’s not. At least, it doesn’t have to be,” he soothes. Something about his voice is so horrifyingly comforting. It’s calm and low, and it feels like warm tea and honey in her ears. It’s enough to make her want to burst into tears right then and there .

Sylvie takes a deep breath and then, before she can stop herself, breaks the silence to ramble. “I love my parents, you know? They raised me, they fed me, they’re responsible for the person I’ve become. But I’d always wondered where I came from, why my birth parents gave me up for adoption. And when Julie sought me out, I panicked at first. I wasn’t ready to give up that fantasy in my head of who she was, to have all my questions answered. But now I’m standing here, visiting her grave for the first time in the six months since her funeral by recommendation of my stupid grief counselor, and I… I just can’t stop thinking of all the questions I was too scared to ask. And man, it sucks.”

Matt stands there and nods understandingly, his gaze unwavering even as she turns her eyes towards Julie’s tombstone.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, wiping tears from her cheek. “We just met, and I’m rambling, and--”

“No no, it’s good for you,” he assures her. “ And I don’t mind it, I-- I like hearing you talk.”

“Oh.” Sylvie looks around, unsure of what to say. This Matt Casey guy, whoever he is, hasn’t run for the hills by now which is strange to say the least. But weirdly, it’s comforting.

“You’re right, you know,” he continues, switching the subject. “It sucks. Life… life sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” she agrees, letting out a small laugh. This makes Matt laugh a little, which makes Sylvie laugh even more, until they’re both smiling and giggling in a cemetery like a bunch of blushing lunatics. It’s quite possibly the weirdest thing Sylvie’s ever experienced and yet somehow, it’s exactly what she needed. A bright light in the vast sea of darkness.

“You’re smiling again, that’s a good sign.”

“It is,” she agrees. “Am I crazy for that? I mean, I’m smiling and laughing in a graveyard with somebody I just met. Isn’t that weird?”

“A little,” he admits with a shy laugh. “But you’re not crazy. Sometimes people need a little bit of weirdness in their lives.”

“I guess stranger things have happened,” Sylvie shrugs playfully.

“Yeah.” He flashes her another smile before turning his attention towards Julie’s grave and facing it with her. Sylvie stares at the marked stone. She fondly remembers the few memories she had with Julie, and the countless ones they never got around to. It’s unfortunate, really, but it feels more manageable with someone there. Even if it’s someone she barely knows. Matt stands with her for a moment, the peace and quiet taking over. It’s nice. Sylvie’s never had silence be so comforting; it’s always made her anxious and uncomfortable up until now. Matt sure is a puzzling guy in that sense. She sneaks a peek at him through the corner of her eye, this guy who’s supporting her even though they just met. He’s lost someone too, he could be going back to his father’s tombstone. Instead, he’s staying there with her. Sylvie decides at that moment that Matt Casey is an unfailingly kind, weirdly solid guy. And, admittedly, a little attractive. Ok, a lot attractive.

“Hey, and don’t worry,” she adds after a few minutes of silence, “about being like your father. We aren’t our parents. And you seem… good. That’s all you can ask for I guess, is to be one of the good ones.”

“Thanks,” he nods, his eyes filled with a bit of confusion and a bit of something else Sylvie can’t quite place. Wonder, almost.

Sylvie turns back to Julie’s grave, tracing over the words with her eyes. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so scary. Sylvie’s still sad, and wounds take time to scar over, but it doesn’t feel like she’s bleeding out anymore. She sighs, and she can sense the weight on her shoulders blowing away into the wind.

Unfortunately, when the sorrow blows away with the wind, it brings in the rain.

“Oh god,” Matt groans, wincing while looking up just on time to catch a raindrop in his eye. He squints and turns to Sylvie, who’s standing there laughing. “I didn’t see this in the weather forecast for today.”

“Me neither,” she giggles. “Today’s full of unexpected things, I guess.”

“It is.” He gives her a shy smile, nodding in agreement.

“Do you mind the rain?” She asks, looking up at the gloomy sky with a smile on her face.

“No,” he replies gently.

“Me neither.”

They stand there, hoods pulled away from their heads, letting the rain wash over them. There’s no shelter in sight anyway. They talk for a while about Chicago, about their lives, their friends, things that make them happy. But then they fall into a comfortable silence, smiling peacefully in the rain. Sylvie only moves a few times to brush raindrops off of the bouquet of flowers she’d placed at Julie’s grave. She looks at it, the name and the date etched in stone, and she doesn’t feel sick anymore. No questions unanswered, no bitterness. Her loss feels manageable.

She’s okay. More than okay.

“Hey, this might sound a little crazy, and I know we just met,” Matt starts after a while, “but would you want to… go get dinner or something?”

“What, like a date?” She snorts at her own joke, the idea being very nice in theory but impossible. It’s seriously impossible that this guy is actually asking her out, right?

“Er, yeah,” he nods. “Like a date.”

Oh. Okay, so he was asking her out. This is unfamiliar territory for Sylvie. She’s been asked out before, of course, by the small-town idiots in Fowlerton. But by an admittedly very good-looking stranger, under these circumstances no less? It’s a bit of a bizarre situation. That’s the crux of it, though. Matt Casey, whoever he is under all these sweet, charming layers, doesn’t feel like a stranger. Somehow, through one chance encounter, it feels like catching up with an old friend.

When she considers the facts, she’s had fun today. Every interaction they’ve had has come with such ease, and from a place of goodness and light. Yeah, maybe it’ll go absolutely nowhere. But one date in a public place won’t hurt her. She’s in Chicago for the rest of the weekend anyway. If anything, going out with someone like Matt Casey would do her a lot of good. And she hadn’t realized it until now but god, she really really wants to. So she does.

“I’d like that,” she finally replies while brushing rain off of her coat.

“Yeah?” He asks to make sure, his face lighting up with hope and slight excitement. Sylvie finds it adorable.

“Yeah,” she assures him.

He nods and grins excitedly as he leans in closer, and Sylvie feels the happiest she’s felt in a long time when he finally replies. “Me too.”

[bettsfic]

betts, i'm having trouble with letting myself "write badly" (and with coming up with ideas, but mostly the former). how do you do it, how do you teach yourself?

first of all, major props to you for trying the shitty first draft. this past semester it was the #1 thing i wanted my students to take from the class. for those who do not yet know the power of the SFD, i have made a very helpful visual aid:

let’s say you read anne lamott’s “shitty first drafts” (and you absolutely must read anne lamott’s “shitty first drafts”), and you come out of it believing in the three draft method: 

down draft: get it down

up draft: clean it up

dental draft: check every tooth

but you think, potentially, the better your down draft is, the better your up draft will be, and the easier your dental draft will be. perhaps you think, the shittier your first draft, the shittier your final draft, or maybe, the more you’ll have to revise.

NAY. 

i’d like you to turn your attention to my gorgeous and professional graphic which took me a whole 30 seconds to make. i’ve drawn two spectrums which indicate the quality of writing, from :( (awful) to :) (most excellent) based on your own definitions of good/bad writing.

let’s say the top line represents a writer who has written a very decent first draft. the absolute best they can do. they’ve put their all into it. they revise it once and it’s a little bit better. they revise it again, but at this point it’s mostly fixing a typo here and there. they have checked every tooth. but it’s still not great.

the bottom line represents a writer who projectile vomited onto a piece of paper (metaphorically) and then cried for an hour (literally). their first draft is written partially in wingdings for reasons they don’t know. they forgot the word for “wrist” so they wrote “hand ankle.” objectively speaking in the grand history of the universe, according to god, it is in the top 1% of worst things ever written.

then this writer cleans it up a bit. now, it’s about where it would be if the writer had tried to write a clean first draft. it’s something they might be willing to show an extremely tactful friend, or someone with very low standards.

and now, magic happens. they revise again, and the draft is infinitely better than what they knew they could write. i don’t know why this happens! but it does. it’s happened to me. it’s happened to every student who has had the terrible fortune of stepping into my classroom. i promise you it works. 

writing badly is not just about getting your ideas down in a somewhat messy way. it’s about writing intentionally badly. it’s about aiming for the absolute worst of what you’re capable of. to write badly means to identify and define what you think is good writing, because you’re aiming for the opposite. maybe you hate stories that have run-on sentences, or which seem to lack self-awareness. that means your first draft is going to be FULL of run-ons and have no idea what it’s trying to be. but run-ons can be tidied up to create beautiful prose. and mindless nonsense that relies on tropes and cliches can be organized and added upon to be meaningful. but you need to get it down before you even know what the thing you’re writing is. we write as the process of thought, not the product of it. 

which brings me to my next point: *commentator voice* 

THE UNKNOWN

i’ve written before on the interaction between fear, the unknown, and writer’s block. one day i’ll write a big fancy craft essay on it that i’ll try lamely to publish, but for now i’ll be very blunt: 

all writer’s block is fear. all fear is the unknown. to resolve fear, you must make something known. to make something known, you enact a procedure.

this is true of almost everything in life. everything you hesitate to do, everything you procrastinate or put off. every bad attitude you have. it’s all the unknown. if you open yourself to the process of knowing, everything in life becomes less scary. 

how do surgeons perform life-saving surgeries? how do pilots keep a plane from crashing? how did i go to work as a bank teller in a bad part of town, day after day, knowing i would eventually get robbed? we have procedures. if this happens, you do this, this, and this. 

as mary ruefle puts it in her essay “on fear” -- what is the poet’s procedure?

this is, of course, a rhetorical question, but i’ve taught this essay many times, and read it many more, and i am obsessed with the idea of a writer’s procedure. combined with donald barthleme’s essay “not-knowing” which is also about the making things known, we have a foundation for which to understand the process of knowing.

so what is the process?

i have my own process which might work for you, which i adapt from project to project, but you’ll have to make your own. and when you do, you have to trust it. writing badly is easier when you know, like me, you have at least 8 more drafts to do no matter what. no matter how good i think it is, i will do every step of the procedure, every time. i have faith in my process. there is no point where an element of the story is so unknown to me that i am afraid to continue. i know that by the end of the process, i have done my best work, and there’s not much more i can do without the help of the people who have accepted it to be published.

recently i’ve decided i want to start drawing. it’s a daunting endeavor -- i used to draw a lot when i was a teenager, but like many of us, certain creative interests we had when we were younger get shoved to the side for one reason or another. for me, i never got the hang of shading, and i couldn’t handle ruining my lovely line drawings with my hideous attempts at making things look three-dimensional. 

now, i’ve tasked myself with picking it up again, but i’m afraid. i ask myself why i’m afraid. it’s because i don’t know anything about drawing anymore. i don’t know what to draw. i don’t know where to draw. i don’t know what to use to draw. i don’t know when to draw. 

but now, just by acknowledging what i don’t know, i have a list of things i need to make known, one small thing at a time.

what to draw: i take a picture of a fruit basket. i follow some mandala artists on instagram. i look at art blogs. i make a list in google keep/drive of things i want to draw. i keep my mind open to inspiration as it arrives.

where and what to use to draw: i need tools. i’m interested in watercolors, ink drawings, and calligraphy. i go to amazon and i pick out a couple things -- a watercolor notebook, crayola watercolors, micron and brush pens. it’s about $20. enough to get me started at least.

when to draw: i schedule two hours three nights a week to draw. i download the harry potter audiobooks to encourage me to do it. 

when it comes time to draw, the only unknown thing is where to place the first line. there is no risk in it, no fear -- i do it with pencil. it can be erased. there is no way to be wrong. once the first line is down, i move to the next and the next, making the drawing known one line at a time. 

the first step in the process of knowing is naming what you don’t know.

so my advice to you is this: make a list of questions you have for your narrative. if they’re too broad, break them up. make them tiny. then ask yourself, not what are the answers, but “how do i make these things known to me?” 

the response is usually “i don’t fucking know” followed potentially by “well i’ll have to try doing this thing that i know is wrong.” it might be wrong, but it’s known. and so you have to write it down, then trust that it will eventually be right.

thanks for the great question, anon. more on this at the start of the new year, but soon i’ll be launching a ko-fi gold! if you’re interested in getting one-on-one feedback for your writing or would like to buy me a coffee, feel free to follow me on ko-fi!

and here’s my writing advice tag.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Dating Beverly Marsh Would Include...

Requested: [I'm sorry I can't remember who requested this or if this was an anon, I'm sorry!] Hey, could I request some headcanons about dating Beverly? (Also if you could add in the reader having homophobic parents 💕)

Warnings: obviously there will be homophobia, [at the end so people can skip if they need to read safely 😊] specifically from the readers parents so please feel free to skip if need be. And remember my blog is a safe space 💕 oh yeah theres also plenty of grammar/spelling errors i'm sure

A//n: This was WAY longer than I anticipated. I just kept coming up with more stuff and holy crap I love writing Bev x readers???? Please request more Bev Edit: this was in my drafts forever and again as much as i have been trying to get requests out in order, it's been pretty tough but at least this way stuff gets out sooner so here ya go.

Okay

First of all..

Y'all make the CUTEST COUPLE, OKAY?!

Like no joke

You know that cliche about girls stealing their boyfriends hoodies/clothes??

Well that goes for both of you and you both are always swapping clothes cause you both love each other's sense of style

Plus, ya know, it's got that great boyfriend girlfriend smell

It's cheesy and played out, but it's honestly so wholesome, and again, you guys each have an interest in each others senses of styles

If you're bigger than her, and her clothes don't necessarily fit you, pfffttt no big deal, she had a million blankets that smelled like her and then you two got together and now she can only find like,, two. But that doesn't mean she doesn't love stealing your clothes!! They're baggier on her but oH MY GOODNESS DOES SHE LOVE THAT. She just loves being able to completely immerse herself in your stuff. Especially when she isn't feeling safe in her own home and you aren't around, the best thing for her is to wrap herself in her your stuff and be comforted by you. Uggh, its hella sweet

But let's start from the beginning...

Both of you knew about each other from school

You definitely heard the many rumors about "Beaver-ly Marsh"

Not that you participated, but you were always overhearing rumors from gossiping girls and bragging boys in your class

Your school wasn't huge but it wasn't small either

But it was kill or be be killed, and rumors spread like the damn plague

It was inevitable

And it was just a matter of time before you overheard the several rumors of the "slut" who did it with every guy in school.

You'd roll you're eyes at the word and the ridiculous insinuations, knowing the massively overplayed game of telephone that ruled your school was not necessary the most credible source of information

And you were positive there were rumors about you, I mean, it really wasn't possible to go to that school without a rumor going around

Everyone had one

Anyways, you never paid much attention to them, but then you met her...

And oh no.

Immediately, it was:

You already never paid much mind to the rumors, but when you got to know each other??

Nuh uh.

No way

Not Beverly

No no no no, no

She was way too sweet, and shy, and beautiful, and awesome, and funny, annnd oh no the damn butterflies were back and shit she made you feel things

And you??

Bevery had no clue she was into girls until you came along...

You were her gay awakening and her being so used to all those nasty things people said about her and all those boys??

Even though it wasn't true, any of it, she still always expected that eventually one day she'd get her first boyfriend, to love and cuddle with and everything normal

Again, then you came along and her heart was all like

BOOM BOOM BEECH

You both danced around each other a lot. Seeing as you were two precious little gay beans that lived in a conservative town in the 80s, it wasn't exactly the most accepting environment and you guys didn't know if the other was into girls at all

On both sides it was "does she like me or is she just really laid back and friendly???"

It took way too long to figure out you were both into each other

If I'm being completely honest here, y'all were like the female reddie

Two girls who became best friends and always bickered like crazy to hide your feelings

The way you two found out you had feelings for one another was bumpy and awkward but silly and cute nonetheless

It came off in a passing comment that just slipped out

The two of you were having a sleepover like you did every Friday night you were available

and you two were laying on her bedroom floor talking about anything and everything staring at the ceiling

Her radio was playing in the background and the two of you were surrounded by various snacks you had been munching on all throughout the night and the conversation drifted to gossip about your peers at school

It went a little something like this:

Y: "Did you see so and so today??"

B: "Yes!!"

Y: *laughing* "Yeah, what the hell was that?"

B: I have no idea what goes on in her head...

B: but I guess I gotta give her some credit, she's always super confident and I'm like, 90% sure that's what makes her the most desirable girl in the 8th grade"

Y: "I guess that makes sense"

B: "I do wish I had her confidence. Maybe I'd have better luck romantically"

Y: "Oh please, like you need that. You're infinitely more attractive than her"

B: "What?"

Y: *panicked* "What?"

B: *slowly sits up with smug ass smirk on her lips* are you saying you find me... attractive?"

Y: ..."what?" *sweating*

B: *still smirking* "Wait,"

Y: "WhAT?"

B: *stILL smirking* "do you-?"

Y: *full on gay panic* "No!"

B: *smirking and blushing*

B: *lays back down* "well, I think you're pretty attractive yourself, if it's any consolation"

She's still so nervous though so it comes out in a whisper

She's 99 percent certain you just accidentally revealed your crush to her but her heart was p o u n d i n g anyway

What if it just came out wrong and that's why you panicked???

Had she just revealed her crush to you by mistake???

But no

You both were a blushing mess and it did not go unnoticed by either one of you

You're hands kinda accidently brushed and you both just had a heart attack on the spot

But the connection you two had that night

You both just... knew

You guys kinda just... happened

After that you both were aware you liked each other

But it was kind of unspoken

At first

It's not like you guys never talked about it, but you two definitely became more touchy and flirty

Holding hands when no one was looking

Shortly before you guys happened and before that night, she had introduced you to losers and they just totally accepted you as one of their own

You got along especially well with Richie (wonder why)

But Bev wasn't too happy about this particular fact...

Especially after you two got together

She wasn't necessarily jealous, especially cause she already had a sneaking suspicion about his feelings for another loser, but because he took up a lot of her time with you

But then, to her chagrin, Richie found out about you two

the eight of you were hanging out in the clubhouse, and Ben had to make some adjustments so him and the others left momentarily to help him get the resources

Except you, and Bev

You two volunteered to hold down the fort [literally]

aaaaaaand you two wanted to have a few minutes alone together too,

Nothing scandalous or anything like that, but you two didn't get be close around the losers

Then Richie returned way earlier than expected [turns out he was doing more harm than good and they sent him back]

He was just outside the entrance and he overheard you two

"I wish we could tell them,"

"I know. And it's not that I don't think they'll accept us, it's-" *sigh* "I'm just not ready... I'm sorry"

"Don't be. It's okay, we can tell them when we're both good and ready."

"Thank you, Y/n."

Richie just kinda stood there thinking about what he just heard

I mean, it made sense, you guys were really close, but then again, that's just how he thought all girls were

But everything else kinda made more sense the more he thought about it

And, it honestly reminded him of him and Eddie

More specifically, how he felt about his best friend

Now naturally this was a very emotional moment, but Richie Tozier being Richie Tozier wasn't about to waltz in there and give some sappy speech about he accepts you guys and he's here for you no matter what

No, no, no

He laid down on the forest floor, sticking his head in the clubhouse scaring the shit out of you two and said

"You guys should really be more quiet, Ben may be a suspiciously good overnight kid architect sensation but he has yet to soundproof this baby"

He then stuck his arm inside the clubhouse, patting the ceiling, shaking a couple spiders loose from his his hand in disgust

"Richie...!"

You two jumped apart and you about nearly shit your pants

"Relax, I'm not gonna tell anyone,"

You both were startled as hell and absolutely disgruntled but the two of you looked at each other, simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief

He got up and joined you two in the clubhouse, and began lounging in his usual spot in the hammock, arms behind his head

"So, this means you two are both into girls, huh?"

Once again, you looked at one another and back at him, nodding shyly

He plastered on the most mischievous smirk you had ever seen and nodded his head, his huge eyes squinting slightly from behind his glasses

"niceee"

This of course was followed by simultaneous eye rolls, Bev even threw her gum wrapper at him but you laughed

It was a relieved laugh

Here you were, exposed and unintentionally outed to Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier and sure enough his reaction was "nICE"

It was honestly a relief and kinda hilarious

You guys just kinda broke out into laughter

It was nice moment

***TRIGGER WARNING FOR [PARENTAL] HOMOPHOBIA BELOW***

And for a while, everything was great. That was, until your parents began to take note just how much time you were spending with Bev

They kept an eye on it at first

Then they started asking questions

You knew this day would come one way or another

Hell, you grew up with them after all, you knew what they thought about people like you and it broke your heart

It terrified you

And it's exactly what you heard every night when you tried to fall asleep, their voices speaking to you clear as day; how disgusted they were. They weren't really there of course and it wasn't until you became a loser that you found out what that voice was...

The point is, your deepest fear was being realized so you did what you could do

Lie

And it seemed to work. Briefly

Your mother had come in to check on you two for the fifth time - usually she checked on you two four times since their suspicions - and found you two snuggled up on top of your sleeping bags

Your mother screamed, scaring the crap out of you guys and you jumped apart

Your mother was thrown into hysterics and went to fetch your father, wailing like a damn baby

Needless to say that night was a long one for everyone

And as if things couldn't get any worse, just days later you found out that Beverly had been taken by It

Immediately, every doubt, every fear, every inkling of shame your parents and your community had drilled into you was forgotten and all that mattered was getting her back

You and your friends literally went through hell to get her back

Needless to say it was a terrifying ordeal but you all had each other's backs and everyone came out okay

When you left Neibolt, you and Beverly were hand in hand

You couldn't give a flying fck about it, you just fought a shape-shifting demon clown you could face your small minded parents

And more importantly you knew even if your parents didn't support you, you had other people who did that and that was enough

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Hope you enjoyed, sorry it's so long and again this is out of order of who requested it so I'm sorry to those of you who had stuff in before this, but I've just been stuck for too long and I needed to get things moving again. Anyways, I hoped you guys like this and again, omg I love writing Beverly!!! I would not be offended if you guys asked for more Bev fics/hc when I open up requests again

[ellelearns]

Hey, How you're well. Was wondering if you could give some advice to someone to suffers with anxiety when they do academic work. Thanks

Hello, I’m doing great. Thank you for asking. :) And, of course, I can give you advice about being anxious while studying! I’ve made a similar post about studying with depression that I think you’d find useful. You can find it here. 

And without further ado, here’s: 

STUDYING WITH ANXIETY 101

Figure out what time of day is YOUR best time of day for studying. Everyone’s different. Some people study better in the morning while others prefer studying in midday or at night. So, experiment and figure out around what time you have the best state of mind. 

Ask yourself why you’re feeling anxious. Are you afraid of failure? If so, remember that even if you don’t achieve your goals, you’ll always be able to get back up. Failure is not infinite and it doesn’t define you. Focus on the potential gains  – not the potential losses. Do you think that your schoolwork is too difficult? If so, remember to regard a difficult task as a challenge – and not a threat. With the right mindset, work ethic and maybe even a little help, you can successfully complete all the assignments that your teacher gives you. Does your anxiousness feel excessive? Do you feel this way all the time? If so, it might be time to get some help. Talk to a loved one or a professional. Don’t ever be afraid to seek help for excessive anxiety that is affecting your day to day life. 

Be prepared. Nothing helps my anxiousness more than being properly prepared. Try to attend all your classes. If you don’t understand something, ask your teacher. If you don’t feel comfortable enough asking it in front of the class, do so after the period ends. Never leave class without help if you’re unsure about something. 

Get help. Like I’ve said before, get professional help if you’re anxiety is interfering with your regular activities. This is not normal. But getting help isn’t just speaking with professional. If you’re able to afford it, get a tutor if you really think that you’re struggling in a class. Or, maybe even ask a friend if you two can study together. Doing better in school while soothe your anxiousness. 

Use relaxation techniques. There are plenty out there. You could do breathing exercises, meditation, drink tea, anything really. Relaxation methods aren’t one size fits all. If you ever feel like your academic work is getting too much for you, take a break and relax. You deserve it. 

Hope these helped, anon and whoever else that needed to read this. 

RESSOURCES

-Relaxation techniques -how to deal with failure -How to study effectively

[bxcksdoll]

Loss

Parings: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: ENDGAME SPOILERS!! After a certain someone special to Peter dies, Y/N comforts him.

Request from anon: So um... I’m brazillian and I watched endgame YESTERDAY, and I was just heartbroken after seeing Peter so sad, so... may I request a fluffy one in which the reader comforts Peter? Thank you so much!!

Warnings: endgame spoilers, sadness, mentions of death

A/N: oh my god I’m so sorry, anon, this has been in my ask for about a month but I’ve finally found the time to write it :) sorry that it’s really short. Also 2 fics posted in one night?? Who am I :0

A melancholy atmosphere surrounded the earth on this day. A day of mourning and grief was held in honour of the Earth’s best defender: Tony Stark. The funeral was mostly quiet, disbelief encircled the guests at the funeral. Disbelief that the courageous man was gone.

Through the service, you stayed by Steve and Thor, comforting them. No one would ever get over Tony Stark’s death; he was a hero in the eyes of the Earth and everyone owed their lives to him.

As the service ended, everyone made their way inside to have some food and to celebrate Tony’s incredible life. You wandered around the house Tony had lived in with his family, for five years. You still couldn’t get your head around the fact that you had been dead for five whole years, while Tony made a family, had a daughter.

Tony was the one to recruit you and bring you in to the Avenger’s family; you were only a high school kid but Tony tracked you down and knew about your powers. He helped you and saw potential in you - for him, you were infinitely grateful. Tony was always like a father to you and you’d miss him for the rest of your life.

Moving into each room, you admired the ornaments and photographs around the bookshelves and tables. Just then, a quiet sound could be heard from the next door room. Sobbing. At least, you thought it was. It seemed to be coming from the study on the opposite side of the room. Walking, quietly, over to the door, you pushed it open to find Peter Parker crouched over with his head in his hands.

“Peter?” you asked. Peter’s head shot up, quickly wiping away his tears.

“Y-Y/N, h-hi,” he stuttered.

“I’m sorry, Peter, I shouldn’t have interrupted...” you began to leave the room again but he stopped you.

“No, no, no. It’s alright...I’d like some company, anyway,” he smiled, sadly.

You nodded your head and closed the door behind you. Crouching down beside him you reassured him, “I’m here for you, Pete, if you need anything. You know that, right? You can always talk to me.”

“T-thank you, Y/N. I appreciate that,” he nodded. “I just-I can’t-” he took a pause, wiping his eyes again. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I just got back and I...I barely got to see him.”

“I know,” you placed your hand on his shoulder, rubbing comforting circles. “But he saved everyone, that’s what matters. And I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life crying over him. He’d want you to make the most of your life. He loved you, Peter.”

Tears continued to fall down Peter’s cheeks. “Y-Yeah, your right. He was a great man. I loved him too.”

“Me too,” your eyes began to gloss over.

“Thank you, Y/N, you’ve made me feel a little better,” Peter smiled, cheering up a bit.

“You’re welcome, Pete-” Unexpectedly, Peter threw his arms around you, securing you into a tight embrace. You rubbed his back, comfortingly, as he stroked your hair and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

Your heart fluttered at his gesture as you continued to comfort each other, celebrating the life of Anthony Edward Stark.

Tag list: @xmarveled ~if you wanna be added to the tag list just ask :)))

[ygospamproduction]

(1/4) 1000% overanalyzing this, but the one moment that forever bothers me more than anything else and which led me to have problems with the ending is Yuugi, the night right before the ceremonial duel, settling on not talking with Atem like he actually yearns to, and going on to construct his deck instead.

(2/4) Like, I don’t agree at all with the recent fandom narrative that was aggressively pushed about Atem absolutely wanting to stay (which doesn’t mean he absolutely wanted to leave), and that moment was only one hella tiny fibre in a bigger thread of (imo) mischaracterization, but I feel like Takahashi depicting the boys truly talking it out, fears and doubts and all, would have made the ending way less ‘stone-cold’.(¾) Ofc they prob did have a heartfelt conversation during that one month, but result’s still the same - we aren’t shown any of it. And Yuugi’s monologue and burst of ‘maturity’ sucks all the more because I feel like it kinda frames his actions during the Otogi arc fire as weakness when those seemed more like a desperate act to save someone he loved and who, he probably realized then, he knew nothing about because that person had no identity separate from his.(4/4) Then there’s another part of my brain that thinks it was Kaz’s own harsh way to say goodbye to that one body of work he’ll perhaps forever have regrets about, because he couldn’t accomplish what he wanted with it in so many ways so… fair blow I guess?? (infinite kudos to him for pushing Yuugi and the gang’s presence in Dsod though) Oki, thanks for reading through all that rambling and for your reply if you do, your blog’s my absolute fav!

————————

…First off, anon, lovely play, I’m extremely tickled to have such fandom enthusiasm in my ask box– yes, discontented enthusiasm, but as I say to people who complain about ygo ending complaints: The truest sign of dislike is disinterest. If people are ranting, that is itself a form of love. It shows investment in wanting it to be better rather than just throwing it away.

But, apologies, that was a bit meta about your message rather than about it. I digress–

I will say we’re going to have some straight-off awkwardness discussing this since I a) think there were reasons Atem would be happy to move on, but it was overall a necessity rather than a desire– like a cloud with silver linings, and b) Yuugi not talking to him. I’ve always been able to accept that part of it fairly easy due to my read on his character– and Atem’s, as we don’t see him attempting any discussion either, he had just as much opportunity. And then there’s my read of the overall situation, that this is a necessity they’re all walking through, so. 

…Actually, it’s overall an awkward situation to discuss the ending and how it was handled, because we just don’t know if it was plot-wise and tone-wise what Takahashi wanted. Was it? We lean very hard in the fandom on how his health and stress affected things, but it’s honestly very hard to say where and how it did so, or if it did so at all. Perhaps more time and freedom and less stress would have changed the end. Perhaps not. It’s unknowable, and I would honestly never ask him now because it’s been 15 years and he has a lot of understandable reasons to not answer with the forthrightness I’d really like. And even the plot of DSoD didn’t really highlight anything, because you have Yuugi backing the ending of ‘you have to accept he’s gone and leave him be’, only to have Atem ACTUALLY COME BACK for a second and end Kaiba’s story with him invading the afterlife and meeting Atem, and it’s all portrayed really positively… What’s actually happening there?? Was Takahashi underlining the ‘accept Atem wanted to go/is gone’, or tossing that claim out the window, or trying to say, ‘You know what? you’re all expecting way too many hard-line messages behind this story.’ Because, that’s fair. We as readers like to look for points behind stories, but oftentimes a story is a posed question, not the answer? Maybe Takahashi himself was putting out there that the different takes are valid? 

I don’t know. It’s hard to read and really, I don’t think that’s really Takahashi’s priority? Which is good, it’s very polarizing to make a stark ‘NO, this is the only way to read this’ message behind a work. Allow for people to takeaway what they will, be satisfied or outraged as they will. It’s all valid.

…ANYWAYS, I think I digressed again.

But, with this in mind, I will say I did read Yuugi (and Atem) as not speaking properly that night because the series just leans very hard into dueling speaking for people, for better or worse. How you choose to interpret that outside of the narrative of DUEL MONSTERS CONTROLS ALL is… up for debate. I fear this part of the ending is just a victim to the genre.

And Yuugi’s entire role FROM after the Otogi arc has basically been having to deny what he acted on within the Otogi arc, but that’s… I’ve never read that as a show of a lack of maturity in the Otogi arc, no matter what the ending says. The series might reflect it that way, but I saw it more as he acted on his own heart’s wants in the Otogi arc, while he acted on  Atem’s wants in the later arcs and the ending– or, what he SAW as Atem’s wants. Or just what he acknowledged needed to happen for Atem, we’re in deep interpretation land again. But either way, I would scoff at anyone who says it’s more mature to act on other’s behalf vs your own. It can be selfish and immature, yes, but that depends entirely on the context, and acting on behalf of himself in the Otogi arc does not equal selfish or immature. He just had no counterpoint want. And I think he’d take the exact same actions at the end of the series IF he didn’t think his wants were against those of someone he cared for?

…I am going to cut off here. I am not particularly satisfied with all of this straight up, BUT I am coming to the end of my writing opportunity. So, if you have further thoughts or a point response, feel free to message again.

This has been a text wall.

[flying-elliska]

salut ellie! someone once asked you about your writing and you recommended falling in love with language and finding ways of writing you love. i was wondering, what books and/or writing styles are you in love with? it's just so interesting to know what somehow had an impact on the way you're writing bc i honestly adore your style

wow do you remember that ? that is such a flattering question oh my god. well, i’m still working on it. some of my favorites are (i’m very eclectic lmao) : 

- His Dark Materials (it’s a fantasy book series ‘for kids’ but it’s actually insanely deep and philosophic) is pretty much the first book series that made me fall in love with stories, and made me want to write. I think I found it when I was 10, and it completely shaped me. It’s so ambitious and clever, it never talks down to the reader, brings up those amazing worlds and philosophical concepts and is still accessible to kids. Most of all it is so committed to atmosphere, to making it vivid, to really make you go through what the characters are. I’m thinking of it and I can remember exactly certain passages in an almost sensory way : the witch Serafina Pekkala describing what it feels like to feel the Aurora Borealis on her bare skin as she is flying through the arctic. The polar bear Iorek giving Lyra frozen moss to help bandage his wounds after a battle. The grilled poppy heads that the Jordan College scholars at Oxford eat during a meeting. The little Gallivespians on their dragonflies and the way the sun reflects off their poisonous spurs. That’s how you make a story stick ; that’s how you can put in deep stuff without ever making it boring. I am so excited they’re making a tv series because that shit deserves some recognition. And I mean the whole plot about the importance of stories, free will, the horror of religious fundamentalism....always relevant. Philip Pullman’s stuff is great in general, I love his Sally Lockhart series, which is more adult and adventure focused, and is a great deal of fun. And of course, the sequel to HDM he’s been putting out recently. 

- I spent a lot of my teen years reading either crime novels or historical novels. (When I think of some of the stuff I read when I was 13 I’m like oh my god what were my parents doing lmao some of that was really horrible.) And I think it gave me a good feeling for suspense and setting, and how important tension is. One of my all time faves is Andrea Japp. She is a French writer who does mostly crime, involving complex/monstrous woman characters and a very sensory, poetic approach to language, often involving food, plants and poisons. My favorite by her is the “Season of the Beast”/Agnès de Souarcy chronicles, which is a crime series set in medieval times, with a cool independent lady at its core, crimes in a monastery, and this very gloomy end of times vibe that I love. I also read a lot of Scandi Noir stuff, I love the kind of ...laconic approach to life. And again : vibe. Vibe is so important. And Sherlock Holmes stories. I love the Mary Russell series that take place in that universe and are basically a big Mary Sue self insert guilty pleasure but are just. So much fun. 

- I like poetry a lot - not stuff that is too wordy, but something short, sharp and vivid. i think reading poetry is essential to feeding your inner ‘metaphor culture’. I love Mary Oliver. Rimbaud, too, that I read at 17 and rocked my world. One of my underrated faves is  Hồ Xuân Hương, a Vietnamese poet from the 18th century who was adept at using nature metaphors to hide both erotic stuff, irreverent jokes, and political criticism, and correspond with all the great scholars of her time under a pseudonym. Badass.  Recently I bought ‘Soft Science’ by Franny Choi, which is about cyborgs, having a female body, emotions and politics and it’s absolutely brilliant. 

- I love reading fairy tales, too. Currently reading (i always read a lot of books at once lol) Angela Carter’s Book of Fairy Tales, basically fairy tales for grown ups, collected from folklore all over the world, with an amazing kind of gruesome humor and wisdom. Norse mythology is also so damn funny. That one bit with Thor dressing up as a bride or Loki’s shenanigans...amazing. And I like fantasy, I find it very soothing to read for some reason, my fave has to be Robin Hobb and her Realm of the Elderlings series. And Terry Pratchett, especially the series with Death or the Witches. Just brilliant. Neil Gaiman too. 

- I tend to be very impatient when it comes to literary fiction, I find a lot of it is self-indulgent, dreary. I’m a genre reader through and through, I need to be amazed. I loved ‘the Elegance of the Hedgehog’ by Muriel Barbery though. Some stuff by Amélie Nothomb, Virginie Despentes occasionally (they’re French writers with a very dark, wry approach to life, tho the first is more polished acid and the second very punk rock). And ‘Special Topics in Calamity Physics’ by Marisha Pessl is pretentious as hell but a lot of fun, if you like dark academia. Salman Rushdie has a way with language that is amazing. 

- I read a lot of non-fiction. At the moment : the Cabaret of Plants (about the symbolic/socio historical meaning of plants and how they shaped history) by Richard Mabey and ‘Feminist Fight Club’ by Jessica Bennett. One I absolutely love is ‘the Botany of Desire’ by Michael Pollan in which he traces the history of four plant species (apple, potato, cannabis, tulip) and how they impacted us as much as we impacted them. I was obsessed with plants for most of my life as you can see lol (my mother is a herbalist and I wanted to become a botanist for quite a while.). Also philosophy/anthropology in little bits. I love Tim Ingold. Things about witches. Anything by Rebecca Solnit is incredible. 

- I’ve been reading a lot of YA recently, because it’s fun and quick and keeps me reading, and has a lot of good female characters. Big fave recently : Jane Unlimited by Kristin Cashore. It’s about a young bisexual woman who’s grieving and comes to this weird house full of doors, each of which leads to a different path in life, and we follow her through each choice she can potentially make, each of one becomes a different genre of story : creepy ghost story, spy story, sci-fi, cute romance, etc. It’s so innovative and it’s a story that is also bisexual culture at its core. Also I absolutely love love love love love (etc forever) the Raven Cycle series by Maggie Stiefvater. What she does with language is just so cool, because she stays simple and efficient but uses her metaphors in such a fulgurant, vivid way. Some of her lines are just. bam! genius. #goals. Also Ronan Lynch is probably THE character that helped me the most with my coming out. He’s one of my forever faves.  Of course Harry Potter, lmao, I was of the generation that pretty much grew up with him, the last book came out when I was 17. JK Rowling really should just stop rn. But I learned so much from those, about the importance of making your story feel like home, and having a clear emotional journey. And Harry is such a sarcastic little shit, I love him. And I love a Series of Unfortunate Events too, the darkly funny tone of it, the celebration of knowledge and resilience. 

- I think in terms of the classics (I had to read in school lmao), I do like Victor Hugo a lot even though some of his stuff just doesn’t fucking stop. I also like Balzac and his Comédie Humaine, he’s very observant, mean and funny when it comes to people (even though it’s depressing.) Colette is my grandma’s fave writer and she is a rockstar, I love her (also hella bi culture). Jane Austen is great, I read Pride and Prejudice in one night straight, I was so hooked. Love Jane Eyre too. I read On the Road by Jack Kerouac while hopped up on opioid pain killers and that’s probably the only way to appreciate it, but it did mark me.  

- But to be completely fucking candid, I probably read the most fanfic nowadays still. Esp since I got to college, I need to unwind when I read, and having characters you already know can be so comforting. Now, of course, there’s a lot of fanfic that is just fluff (nothing wrong with that) but I honestly really believe in the literary value of fanfic. Because some of that shit simply just really slaps and is well written. But also as a genre on its own : you just simply don’t get so much emotional nuance, and depth in most other things. Because these are characters we already know and the writers are not afraid to be self-indulgent and plot is secondary, we see shades of things that we never see anywhere else, we see relationships developping in the small things and wow that shit is breathtaking, bro, sometimes. The art of infinite variation on a theme. Even though a lot of fic writers could use a bit of stricter editing, and do stuff a bit too many unnecessary details in here, so does Victor Hugo soooooooo....

lol i could go on forever. i love book soooo much. uni kinda killed my reading appetite, I used to read several books a week when I was in middle school. hope i can get back there (although maybe not as much bc i have a life now lol.) but thinking about everything i have yet to read makes me sooooo happy. I want to get more into sci-fi, English lit classics. Basically I like stuff that’s witty, dark, political, hedonistic, with dry humor, but a warm heart. Stories that celebrate knowledge, curiosity and human weirdness. And that gets to the point. When I get bored by a book, I put it down, because I just don’t have the time. I also hate writers where you can tell that they think they’re better than other people. Misanthropy is boring. Thank you for this question anon I had a blast

[stargazing-enby]

For the fanfic asks (it's a lot sorry 😅): F ; G ; I ; K ; O ; P ; Q ; R ; S ; T ; U ; X ; Y ; Z

Hahaha oh god, this is a perfect excuse for me to procrastinate! Thanks!

F: share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you’ve written and say why you’re proud of it.

Oh my god, did you know dialogues are my favourite part of my own fics? I have so many dialogues that I love. Right now I’m obsessed with some of my wireless dialogues. But that’s supposed to be anon, so… here’s one that I particularly adore instead. It’s from my fic Reaching Out:

*

“So…”

“So,” Draco agreed. “Why were you crying?”

“I don’t think I’m done crying yet,” Potter muttered. Draco just raised his eyebrows at him, which made Potter scowl and look away. “Okay, okay. It’s just…it’s not important.”

Draco had seen Potter’s dead body lying at the Dark Lord’s feet, and yet, somehow, Potter looked more vulnerable at that moment that he had at the time.

Maybe it was because it was Draco. There had always been something between them, after all. Something shrewd and irresistible; something dangerous and crude that stripped them of their walls and exposed their deepest fears and urges.

And now he was imagining Potter stripping himself naked. Thanks for the analogy, brain, he thought grumpily as he felt his cheeks heat up. “It must have been important if it made you cry like that,” he said, in an attempt to prevent Potter from noticing.

“But it wasn’t,” Potter insisted. “Nothing happened. It’s all in my head. I keep thinking–no, these thoughts keep popping up in my head and I… I don’t want to hear them anymore.”

“What do they say?” Draco asked.

“That… that I’m unimportant. That I might just as well disappear, because it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Ah, thought Draco. That was certainly something he could relate to.

“Potter, we’re all unimportant. Every single one of us is no more than the product of an infinite series of coincidences. But you, unlike the majority of us, have already made a change in this world. Maybe… maybe that’s why you feel like there’s nothing linking you to it anymore.”

Potter shivered and curled his legs against his chest to hide his face. And Draco did the least sensible thing there was to do. He searched blindly for Potter’s hand and held on to it.

*

It’s not that amazing, but I was really inspired when I wrote it, and I really think Harry would feel like this after the war - that’s why I love it XD

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write scenes out of order?

I write short one-shots from start to finish (except when I base them off a random scene that popped up in my head and I jotted down in my phone notes). But with longer fics?? Oh boi. I’m that writer that has planned out 6 different scenes even before they’ve started actually writing. My idea dumpster docs are full of completed scenes that won’t take place in another 20k XD

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Draco. And. Harry. Cuddling. Please. And. Thank you.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

Probably half the plot for my unwritten unpublished wip, La Profecía. And also my horrorfest fic, which I recommend not reading, tbh XD

O: How do you begin a story - with the plot, or the characters?

I mostly write fic, so… the characters are always the same. But for my original stuff, it depends. Sometimes I write stuff based on my girlfriend’s drawings, in which case it’s the character that sets off the story. Most times I just start my stories off of feelings, and the characters sort of form themselves out of thin air. I’m known for mostly ignoring plots and concentrating on feelings XD

P: Are you what Geroge R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story fold as you go?)

I think I’m right in between. I plan scenes ahead (as I already said) and I do like to plan out what’s gonna happen during long fics, but for drabbles and half the scenes in my long fics I just let my fingers loose and allow them to do whatever they want to do. Sometimes I don’t even know what the heck I’m writing.

Q: How do you feel about collaborations?

They’re rad! I’m participating on this collab fic by @rose-grangerweasleyisbae , @jeldenil , @quicksilvermaid , @smittenwithdaydreams and I and it’s so much fun! Also, I love round-robins and the Drarryland owlery exchange :D

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

 @fleetofshippyships , P.C Cast (author of the House of Night saga) and… idk who else, tbh XD

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Eighth! Year!

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

MPreg XD I can’t think of anything else. Wait, yeah - shipping Snape XD I just… no thanks, not for me

U: Share three of your favourite fic writers and why you love them so much

Just three?!?!!?!?

Okay, unf.

@fleetofshippyships . She’s amazing. She got me into Drarry because I found a fic of hers by chance and I’M SO HAPPY THAT HAPPENED. I just love her fics so much I’ve gotten into other ships and fandoms just so I could keep reading her stuff. I read her stuff when I go to bed and have the best sleep. I’ve created fanarts for her fics. I just love her style, her character interpretations, her angst, her smut - and her, too XD yeah, Zoe, you read that right, I love you!!

@tepre . Listen, randomly offering to cheerlead this beautiful person with her fic was like, the best decision I’ve made in a while. Her way of writing is the most original, funny, witty thing I’ve ever seen - it just makes you laugh, and then cry, and then shake - it’s just so unexpected, unheard of, perfect. And her Draco????? I will sell my soul for her Draco. And for her. She’s such a nice person. Seriously. I just want to meet her and hug her like, yesterday. jfdisdsfnds. 

@rose-grangerweasleyisbae . There’s something about her stories that calls me. I just can’t get over Drarry working through their mental health problems, and Drarry being hella queer and gender non conforming, and Drarry dealing with depression, PTSD, anxiety… and cuddles. And Donna writes all of that. U N F. I fall in love with every single stuff of hers I read. ;-;

If I could hug any of these amazing people I would be happy forever. Also, I deeply admire them ;-;

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

Draco and Harry. I’m a bitch like that. But I always give them their happy ending, without exception.

Also, about 75% of my OCs end up dead or losing the person they love.

Y: A character you want to protect.

Draco and Harry. Again. Oh, and also Sirius. They deserved better.

Z: Major character death- do you ever write/read it? Is there any character whose death you can’t tolerate?

I write about how Sirius’s death affects Harry frequently, and I also kill many of my OCs and have killed Alice Longbottom in my horrorfest fic (linked above). BUT. I don’t read MCD. I’m not strong enough. And I cannot tolerate Harry or Draco’s death. At all.

Oof, that was long!!! Thank you for the ask XD And sorry everyone who got tagged and had to surf through this whole thing!

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Saltwater

Anonymous asked:

I love motion sick peter so much! I need more fics of it. Anyway maybe tony rewards all the avengers on a cruise on one of his boats (cause we know he has them) for a much needed break and peter is all excited but he then finds out he gets seasick and he’s all pukey n stuff and everyone is trying their best to help out! Thankss 

That was my first prompt - thank you so much, anon! I struggled a little with balancing so many characters in one scene, but I really hope you like the result. Emeto, a drunk Bruce Banner, hopefully something to make you smile. Also, 76 followers and counting!

“You´re telling me that this is a Stark Industries vessel and we can´t get back to the shore?” Bruce asked confusedly.

“Of course we can get back to the shore”, Tony replied, a hint of offendedness in his voice, “we could probably survive a trip through outer space in this baby. But if we go back now, it´s not gonna be a pleasant ride, ´s all I´m saying.”

“And you didn´t think of checking the weather forecast before taking us out into the middle of nowhere?” Clint sounded irritated.

“Thank you for your trust - yes, I did that, but please excuse that I didn´t know that thunderstorms and rough winds would be upgraded to hurricane within a few hours.”

“Then what´s the use of all your robots and AIs if they can´t even predict the weather?”

“Gosh, what´s your problem? Sorry for taking you on a free luxury cruise worth several thousands of dollars!”

“Kids, calm down.” Natasha interfered from where she was seated on the railing, completely undisturbed by the fact that the Atlantic was sloshing around just a few dozen feet below her. “You´re sounding like a bunch of five-year olds.”

“We stay here for the night, away from the disturbances, and get back first thing in the morning. I don´t see how that´s a problem.“ Tony stated.

He turned to Peter, who had been listening to the discussion silently, a bit unsure of whether he should be laughing or feeling intimidated. “Kid, you okay with that?”

There really wasn´t any need for asking. The smallest store room on Tony´s cruise ship was larger than Peter´s and May´s whole apartment, the equipment similar to that of a five-star hotel, plus labs and technical facilities anyone with a remote interest in IT could only dream of. Peter had boarded the ship hours ago and still had explored barely half of it yet. 

He mirrored Tony´s expectant smile. “Yes, Mr. Stark, I´d love to stay for the night!”

———-

A few hours later Peter was sure that this was the most stupid thing he had ever said. He was slumped over the toilet, his head nearly hanging into the bowl, retching for the hundredth time this night, while his stomach was trying to reject what had been expelled long ago. He´d always thought that motion sickness was still a better deal than the flu or a stomach bug, but tonight had proved him wrong. He was sure that he´d never felt this downright miserable. He was infinitely tired, yet unable to sleep, his body was shaking uncontrollably, and he just felt sick all over.

Peter managed to hoist himself upright on the sink and swallow a few sips of water, praying that they would stay down this time. He knew that he needed more than that, though, electrolytes preferably. He had skipped lunch at home, anticipating an extravagant meal during the cruise, but at dinner time the constant up and down caused by the faraway storm had already made him queasy enough for his appetite to vanish, and he´d barely finished his plate.

He felt terribly lightheaded when he made for the common kitchen, torn in between wishing someone would be there to take care of him - Tony being the obvious choice in May´s absence - and wanting it to be empty, just to be spared the embarrassment.

His hopes of avoiding publicity vanished into thin air when he entered the kitchen. Not only was it not empty, but literally everyone was there. Despite feeling terrible, he couldn´t help but grin at the scene that unfolded in front of his eyes.

Bruce was leaning against a wall, looking completely drunk, while Clint was framing his outline with dart arrows like a market artist. Natasha was sitting on a table, a row of empty glasses lined up in front of her, but still appearing completely sober and watching the scene with a raised eyebrow. Tony, in the meantime, was clapping at every dart Clint hit into the wall, cheering and apparently having the time of his life.

Peter hated the thought of interrupting, and he was about to turn on his heels and head back to his quarter, but the ship gave a sudden lurch and sent his head spinning, making him dizzy enough to grab the doorway for balance. Tony, who must have caught the movement from his eye, turned around and greeted him jovially.

“Spiderboy, what´s up?”, he shouted a few decibel louder than necessary, “thought you went to sleep early?”

“Uhmmm….” Peter didn´t know what to say, and it didn´t help that he had to use all his concentration for staying on his feet and swallowing back the saliva that was flooding his mouth again and again. 

Something must have given him away, because Tony´s attitude turned sober within a second, and he took a few quick steps towards Peter. “What´s going on, kiddo?”

“I´m -” he´d meant to say something, but another wave hit the boat and nausea overwhelmed him, sending his stomach contents up his throat. He pushed past Tony and stumbled to the sink, where the few sips of water came back up together with horribly tasting bile.

“Kid? Are you okay?” Peter could here panic creeping into his mentor´s voice.

”Yeah,” he choked before gagging again. “Just….seasick?”

Vomiting didn´t help. If anything, the nausea increased even further. He was so humiliated and shaky when he was done that he simply put his head down onto the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to block out the people around him. Someone was talking, but he couldn´t really care to listen. All he wanted was his aunt, his bed, and a solid, non-moving ground below his feet.

“Okay, okay.” Someone took him by the shoulders, led him towards the sofa. Peter opened his eyes a bit, recognizing Clint´s leather jacket. The change of position made him gag again, bile running out of the corner of his mouth and dripping onto his t-shirt.

“Alright, Peter. It´s alright.” The archer reassured, producing a tissue and wiping Peter´s face, although he seemed to pale a little bit himself. “How long has this been going on?”

“…a few hours, maybe?“ It wasn´t supposed to be a question, but Peter seemed to have lost track of time, he was honestly feeling like he had spent weeks, not just half a day on open sea.

“Well, that explains why you´re dehydrated. You know there´s medicine to prevent this kind of thing? You could have just said something.” Clint´s brow furrowed.

“I…I´ve never been on a boat, actually. Not on open sea, at least. And never in a storm.”

“No need to get defensive, kid.” Tony´s face appeared from somewhere.

“Doctor, a little help here?” he added, bending over Peter and taking his wrist to feel his pulse.

Bruce made a few steps towards them, swaying on his feet, and took in Peter´s appearance, his face contorting into a drunken grin.

“He´s green!” he laughed. “He´s green all over his face!”

“Yep, thanks for your valuable professional opinion.” Tony snorted.

“Well, that´s kind of your fault.” Natasha remarked. “You´re the one who started playing drinking games.”

“Yeah, go ahead, make everything my fault. Gravity, the earth going around the sun, what else is on me?”

“Shut up, Stark. You know what I mean.” She gave him a look.

“Fine, then make yourself useful and get the doctor to his room to sober up. And take Legolas with you, I don´t need two pukey kids to look after.”

He ignored Clint´s protest and turned back to Peter, who was sitting with his head between his hands, swallowing bitter saliva, trying to minimize his movements as not to go into another round of heaving. “Well. Wow. Guess you don´t like to hear that, but we need to get some fluids into you.”

He disappeared for a moment and returned with a bottle of Gatorade.

“Just a few sips, kid.”

Peter tried his best not to gag when he felt the liquid running down his throat. Everything was spinning around him, and he was glad for Tony´s supporting hand on his arm. He took another sip.

“That´s the spirit, boy.” Tony said, putting the bottle down. “Now, let´s try and get you comfortable.”

He brought a pillow and a blanket, and Peter lay down slowly, trying to ignore the constant up and down of the couch below him. Tony placed an empty trash can next to him on the ground.

“The storm should be over in a few hours, then I’ll drop you landlubber back to the shore.“ he smirked. Peter nodded weakly, not trusting himself to open his mouth without throwing up again.

Tony sat down across from him at the table, pulled out a tablet and started to work on something involving a dizzying amount of equations, but Peter could see his eyes glancing across to him every so often.

He curled into a ball, trying to jostle his stomach as less as possible.Time seemed to pass slowly. He could hear Nat return at some point of time, talking to Tony in a low voice, but Peter was too exhausted to listen. Everything turned into a humming noise in the background of his mind, and he finally drifted off to sleep.

———-

Peter woke up to the smell of slightly burnt toast. He opened his eyes. His head was pounding, and he was feeling slightly woozy, but his stomach had calmed down significantly. The smell of food, enough to make him sick just hours ago, was now reassuringly appealing.

He sat up slowly, taking in the scene around him. Clint was in the kitchen, apparently making breakfast and talking to Bruce, who stood at the counter, cradling a cup of tea and looking decidedly hungover. Nat was balancing on the low bookshelf in the corner of the room, a sly grin playing around her lips. Something made Peter feel like she had been sitting in the same position the whole night, watching them quietly like a cat on a window silk, but maybe this was just the impression she wanted him to have.

Tony was lying half across the table, draped over several tablets of various sizes, facing Peter, fast asleep. His usually elegantly styled hair was a complete mess, and the shadows and wrinkles around his eyes were more visible now that he was sleeping.

Peter tried to get up quietly, but he was still uncoordinated and ended up tripping over the trash can. Tony startled awake, eyes darting quickly across the room. “What….?” he asked, then his look fell on Peter, giving him a once-over, and he smiled a little.

“Ahh, Spider-Man is back from the sick and miserable. Nice to see you up and in a non-barfing state,” he teased, sitting upright and rubbing his eyes. “Friday, ETA?”

“One hour and 17 minutes, Sir.”

“Home, sweet home.” he said, stretching and then massaging his neck with a frown. “And back to work. Although, to be honest, I feel like I´ll need another cruise trip soon to recover from a holiday with the Avengers.”