#to be clear i've always known the numbers on my own fics but I've been making a point of not looking at them in relation to ANY OTHER NUMBE

[prince-liest]

Oh, fuck on a stick, I had about 30 seconds during which I thought I might be capable of reading other people's Hazbin fic, and so I sorted the radiostatic tag by kudos, and that's how I found out that tWO OF MY 666 FICS are on the ship's front page?!

Me: Oh, this fandom is so active even in my own little corner of it! How nice it is, that so many people take the time to leave comments!

"My own little corner": [located in the cross-section of a six-lane interstate, fucking apparently, and yet here I am wondering where all the traffic is coming from!]

[pepsiiwho]

Oh, you KNOW I was made for the hate wins ask game. Could I get uhhhhhhhhhhhh 1, 5, 6, 7 & 16, please? <3 I would ask you more, but I feel like that's excessive, and I need to get to work now. Okay, love u, bye, see you when I get home <333

sigh. Don't touch me.

I don't have a single fandom I'm known for or particularly attached to right now, so ill just jump around as i feel.

THE CHARACTER EVERYONE GETS WRONG

I am self appointed idiot who makes every character i get my grubby little hands on ooc. Because of this, I can't say for sure that any characterization I see of my faves is objectively WRONG because my own ideal version of them is surely not right. Now, having been an adult and saying all this I can say with the utmost confidence this award must go to Claude Von Riegan [FE3H] just by virtue of how he's probably one of the more popular characters i adore and as such gets the brunt of the bullshit.

I hate when people write him as this flirty, overly charming guy. Claude cannot flirt his way out of a clear bag and he is paranoid as shit. He isn't seducing your white prince and dragging him down to the dark (ha) side. He also doesn't strike me as someone who's deeply curious about other house's gossip because he actually cares. Claude stays in the know because not knowing is a blind-spot he can't allow himself to have. Screams. its whatever.

5. WORST DISCORD SERVER AND WHY

Worst discord I was ever in ... hard toss up between the ye-olden HQ discord servers or the one dmcl one I was in? Surprisingly, as far as I experienced it, both had very nice people in it on the whole. But the sad truth is too many cooks in the kitchen fucks up the simple soup-- which is to say, having so many other fans with different [WRONG] interpretations was annoying.

I can't deal with not having complete control or like, a general understanding with the people around me in fandom discussions so these servers were just, by their own nature, places I was never meant to be in. [Spits] What do you mean CLAUDE would wanna join the BL class. Go to hell.

6. WHICH SHIP FANS ARE THE MOST ANNOYING? WHY?

Short answer? sylvix. Long answer? Regardless of the fandom, the fans of the biggest most accepted ship [canon or otherwise] will always be the loudest and most annoying imo.

When you've never had to work for your food you get comfortable fast and complain more. Its a natural byproduct of being lucky enough to deeply enjoy the lowest common denominator. In most cases, regardless of fandom-- whatever reigns supreme brings the biggest headaches with it. But If this is still too general then... mmm.. people who ship objectively canon ships because their imaginations can be too small and they'll find rare-pairs odd, weird or even stupid to be into. Many a time I've had someone tell me "they've never even spoken tho.." as if that was a needed component of every ship. They're tiresome people with tiresome arguments. But it's whatever <- she is the most annoying bitch alive.

7. WHICH CHARACTER DID FANON RUIN FOR YOU?

This one is really interesting honestly. I'm usually pretty ambivalent about anyone that isn't in the blorbo pile or the poison pit.... but.... maybe Dedue or Ferdinand? Dedue because f3h fans racism and Ferdinand because he was always someone shipped with Hubert and little else. I think its sad, both ,men have so much going for them too. I'll put Tsukishima on this list as well because he was my number one and ruined by fandom. Actually no put like 90% of the HQ cast here actually hq Fandom sucks ass and ruins every cool guy. it's a bitch.

16. YOU CAN'T UNDERSTAND WHY SO MANY PEOPLE LIKE THIS THING

God. I'm such a hater.,... this could really go on forever... Okay, I swat at the hornets nest for this one. fics over 100k. 9 times out of ten, they're not good. Quantity/=/ Quality. Usually most of the word count is just used for shit you didn't even come to the story for. That's fine, I respect any writer who can even make that much of ANYTHING, but people who can read it (and more so ACTIVELY search for it) are odd to me.

I've been worrying on this for a few days and mellowed out since I started so nothing is tooo grating or bitchy here. Look guys I'm kind and sweet forever. Enjoy. Huzzah.

[hide-in-imagination]

Cruel Summer | Simbar Fic

-*Simón and Ámbar spent the summer in Cancún after the Roda Fest— That much is known. What no one knows is what happened during that summer.

This is a could've been. A glimpse into a moment lost in time.*-

------------------

New year, new multichapter! Hello, everyone. This is a project I've been working on for about three years now and I've finally decided to share it. It'll be four or five chapters, they're already drafted and halfway done, so I'll be posting this story along with Roads That Cross whenever I have the time. I'm hoping I can post all of it by the end of this year, 2023. Fingers crossed! Without further ado, I leave you with chapter 1. Hope you like it. — ☾

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1. Fever dream high in the quiet of the night…

The sea breeze was hitting Simón's face as he walked down the beach. The sun had set recently, turning the clear, turquoise color of the water in Cancún into a dark blue. It was probably time he returned home, he thought. But the salty scent, the softness of the sand under his feet; all of it was like a part of him and it made him feel whole.

He needed that feeling.

He had lost count of the number of times he had volunteered to take the dog out for a walk these past days just so he could breathe in the sea. It was nice, but it always ended the same way.

With a sigh, Simón rubbed the sand off his feet and put on the shoes he had been carrying in his hands. Staying here until late wasn't going to help. If it could, it would've done so by now.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts and gave one last long look at the waves, willing their sound to drown his thoughts. He was turning around to leave when he caught sight of something. No, not something— Someone.

The skip of his heart wasn't something he could help or control. It had followed him around all summer, every time she was even mentioned, every time some seller by the coast offered handcrafted jewelry made of the semi-precious stone.

Ámbar.

Seeing her was a rare occurrence these days, and so much worse than just having to deal with the memories in his mind. She was walking in his direction, her gaze down, focused on how the breaking waves skirted close to her sandals and then retreated, never touching. Much of her skin was bare, covered only by a bikini as black as the night sky and short denim shorts. Her blond hair was loose and fluttering wildly from the wind. Her hand reached up to move it out of her face, and Simón remembered when it was him who did that.

That was then. Now was now.

When she saw him, she stopped in her tracks, clearly as taken aback as him. They looked at each other for a moment, then she turned to face the sea, her back straight, chin high. Her whole posture sent the message to just ignore her and keep going on his way.

Simón wanted to do just that ever since the moment he caught a glimpse of her. After all, they had managed to avoid each other for weeks now— They could keep doing it. But something pushed him to come closer instead. Maybe the exact same part of him that wanted to flee.

When he stood next to her, she made no sign of sensing his presence. He watched her profile, her gaze stubbornly fixed on the horizon.

"You shouldn't be here alone this late."

His words were only met with stoic silence.

His eyes stared at her on their own accord. There was a lot of exposed skin he wasn't used to seeing; he tried to ignore that. What he could not ignore, however, were the goosebumps on her arms—And everywhere he looked, now that he was paying attention. Being in the tropic, Cancún was always warm, but in winter, at night, and right next to the sea breeze, the temperature was as low as it could be.

"You look cold," he told her, but got no response. "Do you want my hoodie?" He offered, bringing his hands to its open front to take it off.

"No," Ámbar spat.

It was the first word she had said to him in weeks.

Simón hesitated, seeing small shivers in her body. "But the wind is blowing strong and you're—"

"What the fuck do you care?"

Her snap made him startle. His chest hurt— A quick pain that just as quickly turned bitter. He shouldn't be surprised. This wasn't the Ámbar he'd spent afternoons skating and talking with. This wasn't the sweet person he thought he knew. And even if she was, even if any of it was real, it was all too wrapped up in lies and revenges and heartbreak for it to mean anything positive in his life.

God, what am I doing?

Simón clenched his jaw, smoothing his expression; he refused to keep looking like a fool. "You know what? You're right. Forget it."

He turned around, stomping through the sand in the direction of his house. He looked back after a moment, expecting to see her walking away as well, but she was still there, staring at the waves.

Who the hell cares. I try to be nice and she barks at me. Serves her right.

Simón kept walking. He could see some people far ahead walking along the beach too, apparently a family. He heard some loud voices and laughs to his right, coming from one of the shops on the sidewalk. It sounded like a group of guys, either drunk or getting there. He couldn't tell from this distance if they were locals or tourists.

He looked back again. Ámbar was still where he left her, except sitting on the sand now.

Her house is not that far, she can walk. Not a big deal.

He walked a little more. Stopped. Turned.

Ámbar was curled up in the sand, her legs up to her chin as she hugged them. Even from this far he could tell she was shaking.

Oh god freaking damn it.

-----------------------

One second Ámbar was looking at the waves touching the shore, and the next, she felt a material crash and drape over her right side, momentarily blinding her as some of it covered her face.

"You can throw it in the trash later if you hate it so much, but don't freeze to death."

By the time she pulled the fabric out of her eyes, confirming it was indeed Simón's pale yellow hoodie, he had already turned and was walking away to where he came from.

A fire, dark and feral, burned in Ámbar's chest. That was what he always did— Turn his back to her.

She crumpled the hoodie into a ball and threw it at him. It hit his back before falling to the sand.

"I don't want anything from you."

Simón turned around like a storm.

"Why are you being so damn difficult?" He exclaimed, picking up the spurned hoodie from the sand. "I'm trying to be nice here, even though I have no reason to be, and you still reject my help!"

Ámbar stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest, staring him down. A small, mirthless smile graced her lips. "Sorry, that's just how we people full of hate are. Nothing personal."

Simón felt a jab in his heart at hearing his words thrown back at him. Guilt, regret, sadness— All three hit him like a slap, but he squished the sensation. He was not the one who did things wrong. He was not the one who lied. He was not the one constantly looking for ways to hurt someone— Like she was doing right now, telling him this just to make him feel guilty, to make him feel even more miserable than he already was.

He rubbed a hand down his face.

"Just put it on, okay?" He asked her, extending her the hoodie.

"No. Leave me alone."

Simón took a deep breath.

"Ámbar, you're freezing, and you're barely wearing anything more than a swimsuit, at night, alone, in a foreign country," he stated pointedly, appealing to her good judgment. "The walk to your house is still many minutes long, and it doesn't look like you have any money on you or your phone to call a car— Which, by the way, is very irresponsible of you. Now, do you want to die of hypothermia just to prove a point, or are you going to take my hoodie and live to hate me another day?"

Ámbar looked at the hoodie for a moment. Then she turned her head toward the waves, her murmur barely audible over their sound.

"What if I rather freeze?"

Simón did a double take. She can't be serious.

"I'll put it on by force if I have to— Why are you being like this?!" He demanded, no longer able to contain his frustration.

"Why are you being like this?!" Ámbar volleyed back, bringing her fuming gaze back to him. "You don't care about me, you made it very clear that you hate me, so why are you insisting so much?"

"Maybe because I have a heart and I can't just see someone like this and do nothing?"

"I don't want your pity," she seethed.

Ámbar passed by him and began to walk towards the sidewalk. She had seen enough pity in the eyes of everyone in the last few days—

'We're sorry that Sharon lied to you like that.'

'Luna might be Sol, but you're still my granddaughter.'

—She didn't need any more of that; especially from him.

Deep down, she knew she was being unreasonable. That the mature thing to do would be to just accept the damn hoodie and carry on with her life. But she had this instinct— this need— to preserve the last shred of dignity she still had left. After the way the two of them had left things, Ámbar wanted him gone from her life, she wanted him as far from her as possible.

It wasn't that cold. She'd probably warm up if she jogged a little or something. She just had to get away from the sea breeze. From him. Very far from him until it didn't hurt anymore.

But no, of course he wouldn't give her that. She could hear his footsteps on the sand as he followed her, probably eager to deepen some wound, just as he had to go gloat in front of her after Luna won the Glass Skate.

And then people said she was the cruel one. That she was insensitive.

Fuck them and fuck him.

Simón tried to call out to Ámbar, but she kept walking away from him, acting as if she didn't hear him.

Just let her go, a part of him said. It's not your problem, you tried, if anything happens, it'll be her fault.

He couldn't. He couldn't let anything happen, he couldn't let her go.

"Ámbar, please! I—" Simón stopped and squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself inside. "It's not pity, I'm just... an idiot."

Some steps ahead, Ámbar stopped in her tracks, gathering she hadn't heard that right. She turned slowly and looked at him with a frown.

"What?"

Simón seemed reluctant to meet her gaze, reluctant to even speak further, but he let out a sigh and did.

"I'm stupid. I really, really am because, you lied to me, you broke my heart— By all means, I should hate you, but... I still care about you."

Ámbar was sure this time around that she had heard him wrong. He couldn't really mean that. But the way he averted his gaze, as if embarrassed, said otherwise.

She was stunned.

"So, as you can see, I'm the biggest idiot on this planet," he said dejectedly. "Now, can you please just put the hoodie on?"

Simón extended his hand with his eyes lowered. He wanted to save himself the humiliation of seeing the smugness on her face after what he had just confessed. He hated himself for it. He hated to give her that satisfaction, but he couldn't help the way he felt, and he had given up trying. Simón had spent all these days in Cancún trying not to think about her and it hadn't worked. So, he had just accepted the fact that he was pathetic and carried on with his life.

Honestly, the whole current situation was pathetic. Ámbar was the one with the problem and yet, somehow, he was the one begging her to let him help.

He could almost hate her for it. Except, as he had already established, he wasn't capable of it.

If she rejected his help this time too though, that was it, he wasn't going to insist anymore. He had at least some pride and self-love left. He could maybe call Miguel or something to send a car here so he could make sure Ámbar would be okay without getting involved any further. In fact, that was probably what he should've done from the beginning instead of walking back here and following her around. Why was he even—

She took it. Ámbar took the hoodie.

Simón looked up.

Ámbar slid her arms inside the hoodie, feeling his eyes on her. She pulled the zipper up to her chin and dug her frozen hands into the pockets.

The first thing she noticed was the warmth. Her body sighed as the fabric enveloped her, automatically feeling better. The second thing she noticed was that it smelled like Simón. It was quite obvious it would, he had been wearing it, but somehow, having his scent envelop her after so long of not smelling it at all was as big a shock to her system as the warmth against her cold body.

"Thank you," she said, sinking as much as possible under the soft cotton. It was the least she could say, and the only thing she felt comfortable saying.

Simón observed her. The hoodie looked big on Ámbar, the sleeves drowning her hands and the length falling down to her thighs. It was just long enough to cover the shorts she was wearing, making it look as if she had nothing underneath.

His treacherous heart jumped against his ribcage. He shouldn't be looking at her that way. Seeing her in his clothes shouldn't please him so much.

Simón gulped and nodded slowly. "You're welcome."

Ámbar crossed her arms to hug herself against the cold, and the movement drew his attention to her chest. He turned away quickly.

"Come on, I'll walk you to your house," he said, and if his voice sounded a tiny bit different, lower than a moment ago, he counted on the sea sounds to cover it.

Simón was aware that he had changed rather drastically his original plan of just handing her the hoodie and then lettling her walk back alone, aware that he was setting himself up for a big chunk of awkwardness because of it, but after taking one good look of Ámbar, there was no way he could leave her alone. The hoodie was a solution for one problem but there was another. If his mind had wandered seeing her like this, he knew others' would too, and there was no way in hell he was going to let Ámbar walk alone at night for some depraved man to harass her or worse— Simón would rather die.

(He might die, if he later found out that something like that happened and he let it.)

"I don't wanna go there."

Ámbar's voice snapped him out of his grim thoughts. Halting in his step, Simón spun around to find that, true to her word, Ámbar hadn't moved from her previous spot on the beach.

He frowned at her reluctance. "Why not?"

She averted her gaze. "I just don't."

That wasn't an answer, but Simón guessed he had no right to push, so he just went along with it.

"Do you have anywhere else to stay?"

Ámbar considered it. "Emilia could take me in."

Simón's face contorted in disbelief. "Emilia? Are you really that close to that girl now?"

"No, but I prefer her."

Why?

Simón wanted to ask but he suspected Ámbar wouldn't answer. He didn't like the idea of Ámbar hanging out with that girl. Didn't like it at all.

But that doesn't concern you. Not anymore.

"Well, where does she live?" He asked instead, swallowing his unease.

Ámbar seemed to think about it. "I'm not sure," she admitted reluctantly. "I think I'd recognize the general area if I saw it, but I have no idea where that is."

"Well, do you know her number? We can call her from my phone," he offered.

"I don't know it by memory, I need my phone."

"Okay, and where's your phone?"

"...At the house."

Simón let out an exasperated sigh. "Let's go to your house then."

He started walking again, just as he had one minute ago. Thankfully, Ámbar didn't protest this time and just followed along, walking slightly behind him.

"Why did you leave all your stuff there anyway?" Simón asked after a moment. It wasn't only dangerous but also didn't sound like her at all.

"I kinda left in a hurry and forgot to grab my things," Ámbar replied. "I wasn't supposed to walk that far either, I just lost track of time."

Their footsteps on the sand filled the silence that followed, along with some faraway voices of people in the city.

"Why didn't you go back to get your things?" Simón asked next. "Why do you still don't want to go back? It's your house."

"Summer house."

"Same thing."

Ámbar didn't say anything. She kept staring ahead, avoiding Simón's gaze, and for a long minute, they just walked like that, in silence. She clearly didn't want to answer his questions. She refused to open up to him at all.

Simón couldn't blame her; he felt the same way. It was totally understandable after everything that had happened between them. And he should've been okay with that. He should've been able to just leave it alone.

But...

Simón stopped in front of Ámbar and turned to face her, forcing her to a halt.

"Okay." He offered her his hand. "Truce."

Ámbar looked at him confusedly.

"What?"

"I said 'Truce'. I forget for the rest of our walk how you lied to me, and you forget for the rest of our walk how mad you are at me. Deal?"

Ámbar stared at him and his outstretched hand long and hard. The expression on her face showed what both of them knew— That they couldn't forget, not really. What had transpired between them had left a mark on both of them that wasn't easy to ignore. She looked at him with apprehension, seemingly trying to figure out his angle, what his objective was, what he wanted to gain from a deal like this.

Simón wished there were anything to be gained. He wished that this idea was in any way or form good for him, that he had been strong enough to convince himself to stay away.

But he was worried. Unrest in his chest, knot in his gut worried. Against all his better judgment and the bitter part of him that claimed whatever was going on with her served her right— His need to do something about it was stronger.

He had already let that petty part of him win once, when he went to see her in the dressing room after the Roda Fest. He thought he'd feel better after that. He didn't. He thought if he did the complete opposite of comforting her, his first instinct upon seeing her downcast, before he remembered why she deserved to feel that way, he'd finally be able to drown that urge once and for all. Yank it out of his chest like weeds.

He couldn't.

Ámbar, faced with this nonsensical offer, wanted to laugh scornfully at Simón's face. You want me to forget how you told me to go fuck myself? She wanted to bark. You want me to forget how I humiliated myself for you, begging for you to stay, and you didn't care at all?

But he looked honest. He really seemed willing to push everything aside for a moment and Ámbar didn't understand why. If I hurt him so much, why is he doing this?

The truth of the matter was, even after everything, she never did understand him. She thought she did, but that illusion broke as easily and as fast as that dressing room's mirror, back at the Roda Fest.

With this truce he was basically asking her to trust him again, even if only for a short time. Could she do that? She didn't really want to. Scratch that— She definitely didn't want to. Last time had ended in disaster.

But if it meant that, for just some minutes, for just one moment, he would trust her again...

You're not the only one who's an idiot, Simón.

Slowly, Ámbar raised her hand to his.

"Well, since I'll have to put up with you anyway..." She said with detachment. She gave his hand the shortest of shakes, not wanting the touch to linger for too long. It would just be another thing she'd miss later if she let herself have it again.

With the deal made, the two of them resumed their walk. Simón spoke again in a gentle tone.

"Okay. Now, tell me, what's wrong with that house?" He asked her. His eyes were inviting as he looked at Ámbar. It was almost how he used to look at her before, when they were friends and he consoled her.

Were we ever just friends though?

Ámbar pushed the memories away. Nothing was as before anymore. It would never be like that again. All she could do was answer honestly. At least he deserved that much.

"There's nothing wrong with the house itself, it's the people in it."

Simón stopped short.

"If you're just going to complain about Luna, let me tell you right now that I won't—"

Ámbar rolled her eyes. "It's not just that!"

Great, they had lasted five seconds without fighting. Why did she think it would be any different?

"Not just that?" Simón volleyed back with indignation. "What has Luna even done to you?"

Ámbar raised her brows at him. "Do you want me to make a list?"

Simón tossed his hands up and started to walk again. "Enlighten me."

Ámbar put a finger up as she fell into step beside him. "First, she invaded my house."

"That was not her decision, she had to move with her parents," he countered quickly.

She put up a second finger. "Then, she invaded my school."

"Again, not her decision."

"Then, she stole my boyfriend."

"That—" Simón closed his mouth before starting again. "Matteo was the one who went after her."

Ámbar glared at him. "I'm quite aware of that fact, thank you for reminding me."

Simón winced. He could imagine it hadn't been nice to watch her boyfriend going after another girl. Matteo wasn't even subtle in his interest in Luna.

"It doesn't erase the fact that if she hadn't arrived, Matteo wouldn't have done that," Ámbar continued.

"Well, if anything, it shows the kind of person Matteo is, not Luna," Simón argued. "She only started dating him when you two had broken up for good."

"Yeah, yeah, she's a saint." Ámbar rolled her eyes and counted more. "She also invaded my rink, stole my spot on the team, brainwashed everyone so they would love her, invaded my stage—"

"Luna has loved rollerskating for as long as I've known her," Simón said. "Of course she was going to go to the Jam & Roller— that place was like paradise for her. And she needed a place like that if she was going to be in a completely different country with completely different people. It's not easy to just jump on a plane and start your life anew in a new place you've never known before, surrounded by strangers. So excuse her if she started making friends and participating in stuff. It was her way to fit in and get along with everyone. Otherwise, she would've been alone."

The bite in his voice gave Ámbar pause. Somehow, throughout his speech, she got the impression that Simón had stopped talking about just Luna. The tightness in his jaw, his shoulders, the way his eyes had focused on the road ahead instead of meeting her gaze... Yeah, this wasn't just about Luna.

Suddenly, it occurred to Ámbar that Simón had been pretty much in the same situation as Luna those few years ago. He had arrived in a new country and stayed at her house (albeit secretly), had started frequenting the Jam & Roller and joined her skating team... The only difference was that he hadn't enrolled in her school.

But while Luna had her parents, Simón didn't have anyone when he first came to Buenos Aires. Except Luna. Luna who chose Matteo.

Why hadn't she realized any of this before?

Because he never showed he was anything but alright.

Sure, everyone could see the kicked puppy eyes he threw Luna's way, but besides that heartbreak, Simón was always all smiles and excited energy.

Just how lonely had he been?

Simón turned his gaze back to Ámbar. Many seconds had passed and she still hadn't screamed at him to stop defending Luna or something of the sort as he had expected her to do. In fact, she wasn't saying anything. Their eyes met for an instant but she looked away quickly, setting her gaze on her feet as she remained quiet.

"What, that's it? That was your list?" He couldn't help but taunt her. Maybe it was bitter of him, but he was just so tired of Ámbar's bad blood with Luna, especially because Luna had never done anything to deserve it. Excluding the Matteo thing, all of Ámbar's reasons to hate her were so damn superficial Simón felt like shaking her. It was unfair and ridiculous.

"Or what are you gonna tell me now? That Luna made Tamara leave?" He said with irony when the silence continued. "That she brought Juliana to the Roller? She made winter colder? Made split ends appear in your hair?"

"She made my godmother leave."

Simón's feet came slowly to a stop. All humor and annoyance drained from him as he turned to watch her.

"Ámbar..."

"I know," she said, looking away. "You don't have to tell me."

She knew what her godmother had done was wrong and probably illegal. She didn't need to be reminded of that whole mess. She spent every day trying to forget how Sharon had left the country with barely a goodbye to her.

"Do you know where she is?" Simón asked after a pause, his tone gentle. It was mostly out of curiosity really, and because he could sense this was an important topic for Ámbar, a painful one.

"No," Ámbar replied. "She hasn't contacted me since. And even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you," she said curtly, her eyes fiery as they met his. "You would probably just run to tell the Valentes and they would call the cops on her to get her behind bars."

Simón swallowed the pang he felt in his chest seeing the distrust in her eyes. The spark of anger and the cloud of sorrow that followed it.

So this is what we've come to.

"Ámbar, I don't think they would do that," he replied, focusing on them instead of him, even when what he really wanted to say was that he wouldn't do that to her. She probably wouldn't believe him.

"No?" Ámbar questioned, raising her brows with apparent incredulity. "And what do you suppose they'd do? Sit down to have a nice quiet dinner with her and reminisce about old times?"

"Of course not," Simón replied, glaring slightly at her tone of irony. "What she did was wrong; she tried to keep Luna from finding out who she is, from reuniting with her grandfather and getting what's rightfully hers. But she's still family," he said. "I don't think Mr. Alfredo wishes her harm. I think he even misses her."

Ámbar snorted and averted her gaze. "No one in that house misses her."

Maybe Simón had gotten to know Ámbar more than he thought he had. Maybe she was just easy to read if you really tried at it. Because right then, just looking at her posture, at her crossed arms and the expression on her face, it was easy for him to know what she wasn't saying.

"You miss her. Don't you?"

Ámbar flinched and turned further away from him, facing the waves instead.

"I'm mad at her," she declared, her voice sharp and filled with resentment. "She lied to me. She told me I was Sol Benson, made me believe that, and then when everything came crashing down, she just ran away. She abandoned me."

And yet you still miss her.

Simón could relate to that. Missing something, someone, even though you know it's not good for you.

"... Well, what else could she do?" He said. "Aside from facing the consequences of her actions, of course. It's not like she could've taken you with her if she was going to be on the run."

"I would've gone with her," Ámbar said immediately.

That was what she had wanted. She wanted to be away from here, from Buenos Aires, from everything. She wanted to leave her past behind and start anew with her godmother some place else where there would be no Lunas, no Valentes, no heartbreaks. She had spent all these days in Cancún thinking that it would've been better if Sharon had just taken her with her.

Simón didn't seem to agree though.

"Ámbar, that's crazy!" He said, positively looking at her as if she had lost her mind. "You don't know what she would've done to you. You said it yourself, she lied to you about who you are! And you don't know where she would've taken you. Your whole life is here. Your family's here, your friends are here—"

"Family?" She turned to him. "Friends? I have no one, Simón!" The cracks inside of her grew bigger as that sad truth came out, the one that'd been hunting her for weeks. "My godmother abandoned me. Alfredo doesn't even know I exist anymore, ever since he found out that Luna is the real Sol Benson, he totally forgot about me. The Valentes aren't my family, Luna definitely isn't my family nor do I want her to be, and everyone who used to be my friend turned their backs on me."

"Well, that one was your fault, if you hadn't burned down the rink—"

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!!!"

Simón flinched back, staring at her wide-eyed.

But Ámbar didn't care if she looked crazy, she didn't care if she scared him, she didn't care what he thought— She was done with everything.

"How many times do I have to say that until SOMEONE believes me?! No— You know what? Forget it. Whatever!" She threw her arms to the sky. "You wanna believe I'm an arsonist? Perfect, go ahead. You wanna believe I purposely burned down the only place in which I've ever felt like I'm worth something? Be my fucking guest. A ton of other shit that I did do and I admit, but of course everyone would hate me for the one thing I didn't mean to do! It's just my fucking luck."

"Ámba—"

"And I guess it's also my fault that I'm not Sol Benson," she continued. "I should've just been born out of Bernie and Lily, how silly of me to have been born out of some stupid teenage girl who never heard of what a freaking condom is and gave me up to Sharon because she didn't have a penny to raise me!" She advanced towards him, making Simón take a step back. "You don't wanna believe the fire was an accident? I WAS A FUCKING ACCIDENT! MY WHOLE FUCKING LIFE WAS A FUCKING ACCIDENT! IF THE WORLD GOT ITS WAY, I WOULDN'T EVEN HAVE BEEN BORN. HOW HAPPY EVERYONE WOULD'VE BEEN THEN, RIGHT?!"

She shoved against his shoulder and sprinted away, leaving Simón stunned. His mind was reeling, his heart pounding. He couldn't process everything she'd just said.

But his body reacted. He ran after Ámbar without thinking, because he didn't need to think it through— He just had to do one thing.

Catch her.

"Ámbar!"

He caught her arm, forcing her to a stop.

"Let me go," she said, trying to pull her arm free but he held on tightly to her wrist. Simón pulled her toward him and she started fighting, trying to break free with all her might. "I said let me go, Simón!"

He brought his other arm around her and pressed her firmly against his chest. "I'm not going to let you go."

Ámbar continued to struggle, trying to break away to no avail.

"Let me go!" She yelled in distress, smacking and pushing him with her free hand. "I hate you! I hate everyone! I hate-e—"

Her voice broke, and with it, so did her will to fight.

Ámbar burrowed her face on Simón's chest and her fingers clutched the material of his tank top. A loud wail tore out her throat, and she started to cry.

Simón let go of her wrist and wrapped both arms around her, holding her as her body shook with sobs and his skin got damp from her tears. Ámbar's arms slid around his sides and Simón felt her cling to him as strongly as she had tried to pull away before.

It was a cry filled with anguish; loud and desperate. Tears gathered in Simón's own eyes. Every little sound that came out of Ámbar's throat seemed to tear him apart.

"Shhh... Easy, bonita, easy," he murmured, caressing her back softly as his other hand cradled her head. "I don't ever want to hear you say anything like that again, okay? I don't want you to think it either. No one would be happier without you, Ámbar. Mr. Alfredo loves you like a grandchild, I know he does. He mentions you a lot. You're not there to hear it, but I have. He worries about you being out of the house so much."

A hard sob made Simón hold her tighter, wishing he could extinguish her pain with his arms.

"Delfi and Jazmín are angry right now but I'm sure they don't hate you. You've been friends for years, that doesn't go away one day to another. The rest of the guys are mad too but I'm sure they would forgive you if you apologized. Mónica and Miguel could be your family if you let them. Hell— even Luna wouldn't be happier without you, Ámbar. Who'd compete with her, huh? Who is a better skater than you, a better singer than you, to push her to be better? I know she annoys you, but I think she pushes you to be better too, doesn't she?"

Gradually, Ámbar's crying was easing down. Simón gently caressed her hair, beckoning the calm to come back. "I'm sure your mom loves you as well." He felt her tense up, but he kept going, knowing she needed to hear this. "That's why she gave you to Sharon. She wanted you to have a better life; a good one. I'm sure she doesn't regret having you. I mean, a girl as talented as you? Who could regret that?"

Ámbar let out a couple more sobs and then they receded, leaving just ragged breaths in their place, which shook her frame from time to time. Simón could feel her breath against his skin, warm as the tears she spilled, but they became fewer and fewer. Her hands slid down his back, and it was like they pulled the words out of his mouth before he could think whether he should say them.

"And I don't regret meeting you. I don't regret skating with you, singing with you, falling for you... even after everything that happened. So, please, don't say those things, Ámbar."

Finally, after what felt like a shredder to his very soul, Ámbar's crying ceased. Her chest rose and fell steadily against his own and no more tears fell from her eyes. They stayed like that for a moment longer— how long, Simón did not know, only that by the end of it both of their breathings seemed to have synchronized.

Slowly, Ámbar started pulling away from the embrace, and Simón felt the sudden, irrational urge to bring her back into his arms and keep her there forever, but he reigned it in, and let her go.

Ámbar swiped her hands across her cheeks and sniffed, wiping away the remnants of her crying as much as she could, but there was nothing she could do about her reddened eyes. Looking at her, Simón felt a need to protect so strong that it hurt.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked her softly, hoping that the shaking he felt inside didn't show in his voice. He had to be composed. For her.

Ámbar's eyes found Simón's shyly before shifting away. Not trusting her voice yet, she nodded.

She was embarrassed. She had never broken down like that in front of anyone. Hell— she had never broken down like that, period. She felt like she had cried for every misfortune in her life in one go. She wanted to berate herself for it, for letting herself break down, especially in front of someone, but she didn't have the energy for it. If she had been alone like all those times inside her bedroom, she probably would've been able to hold it in. But with Simón holding her, she just...

Ámbar checked him over discreetly, careful not to catch his gaze. There was a wet stain of tears, smeared makeup and maybe what else on his tank top that she had left there, and she was sure a lot of his skin had gotten wet from her crying too. It didn't seem to bother him, but then again, he was too nice to complain about it if it did. Even if it was her.

Simón's hands settled gently on her upper arms and rubbed a little up and down.

"Is it alright if we keep going?" He asked in that same soft voice he had used before. A part of her hated it, and the look on his face too; rebelled against the idea of him thinking her a fragile crystal thing. But the bigger, more honest part of herself wanted to reach out to that softness and wrap herself in it like a blanket. "I just think that the sooner you get inside your house, the better. I don't want you to get sick."

Again, she only nodded, not having the strength to say anything back anymore. Not having the guts to say she wanted to stay with him a little bit longer.

For a instant, it looked like Simón was going to grab her hand, but then he seemed to think better of it and dug both his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

She would've held his hand.

Ámbar felt embarrassed once more. She was so weak when it came to him.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, both to fend off the cold and also to try and keep in all the things that were swirling inside her. They walked like that for some time, just the sound of the waves touching the shore and some people walking down the street.

"I would recommend you stay in the house too," Simón told her, breaking the silence. "I know you were meaning to just grab your stuff and go to Emilia's, but I think it'd be better if you took a warm bath, got rid of all the sand... and ate something, because I don't know when was the last time you did." He watched her attentively, searching for any reaction to his words. "Maybe have dinner with everyone one of these days?" He suggested. "Like I said, Alfredo misses you."

Ámbar didn't answer or looked his way. She just kept walking ahead with her eyes fixed on the ground and her hands tucked under her crossed arms. Simón was at least glad that she didn't seem to be crying anymore, but she didn't look fine either. Given the circumstances though, he guessed it was too much to ask for her to be.

Simón considered trying to strike up more conversation but decided against it. Maybe silence was good. A lot of things had been said already— surely it was enough for one night. For many nights. Ámbar probably wanted to be left alone now, not pestered with questions or small talk. Maybe she wouldn't even want to see him again after this.

From her demeanor, he couldn't tell if she was just lost in thought or mad at him. She clearly hadn't wanted to cry, at least not in front of him, and he hadn't given her the option to leave alone, so he could understand if she was angry about that. Ámbar wasn't good at vulnerable. Maybe just the reminder of what happened would make her want to run and so she'd avoid him like the plague starting tomorrow. Simón would understand that too. But nothing would be able to stop him from worrying and wondering how she was. He didn't even know how he'd be able to fall asleep once he got home.

Finally, the wide entrance to the mansion could be seen ahead of them, the orange ceilings of the structure standing tall against the dark of the night, almost blending in together. Simón knew Ámbar didn't have her keys with her, but surely the doorman would let her in through the gate, so it was alright. Should he come in too? A part of him wanted to tuck her in himself, but he knew that was ridiculous. No, he'd just stay by the entrance until she got to the door and then—

"Simón?"

Simón turned at the sound of Ámbar's voice and found her standing some steps behind him. She must have stopped walking at some point without him noticing, lost in his thoughts as he was.

He didn't know what was it exactly that he saw in her gaze at that moment, only that it rooted him in place. Their shared look didn't last more than a couple of seconds— it couldn't have— because in an instant, Ámbar was running over to him, holding his face between her palms, and kissing him on the mouth.

Simón's eyes closed on instinct, but the rest of his body became paralyzed. His breath caught in his throat at the feel of Ámbar's lips on his, a little chapped from the sea breeze but still soft. She was kissing him firmly, with a taste of urgency or some deep-rooted need.

Whatever it was, he had to pull away. This was wrong. He had to pull away.

But when she started to part, he didn't let her. Each one of his senses rebelled against her retreat at once. His hands grabbed her waist and pressed her against him firmly, and he kissed her back hard, so full of desperation that it felt like a plea.

Don't go.

Simón didn't need to pull away, he didn't need to stop this— He needed her.

Please don't go.

Ámbar's lips moved against his with renewed confidence, rekindled fire. Her arms wrapped around his neck, bringing them even closer. Simón let out a sound, low and pleased, and allowed his hands relearn her. He had missed her hair, her shape, the slow slide of her lips, and the taste of her mouth. He missed the way they seemed to fit together perfectly, the warmth of her touch as her hands ran over his body, the way she seemed delicate but her hold was strong and sure, electrifying, just like her presence in any room.

Nothing else mattered right now or even registered in his brain. Nothing was important, not even breathing, only this. Just her tongue against his, her scent mixed with the salt of the sea, the feeling of her body between his arms, and the little gasps she took in before he smothered them out.

They had never kissed like this before. The few kisses they'd shared had been unhurried, soft, because they had all the time in the world.

They thought they had all the time in the world.

Now their kiss was ravenous, frantic, with both of them trying to consume the other. Ámbar's fingers tugged at his hair. Simón tried and failed to get enough of her mouth. He was gripping her so tightly he would wonder if it hurt if she hadn't been holding him just as hard. It was like they wanted to fuse into one so they'd never have to part again.

But the burn in their lungs was too strong for them to keep fighting it forever.

They broke apart just enough to draw in some air. They were both breathing hard and trembling from the aftershock of sensations. For a moment, that was all they did— Hold onto each other and try to keep their hearts inside their chests.

Simón opened his eyes and found Ámbar's— Beautiful, dilated, and yet, so very melancholic.

She moved, bringing a hand to the side of his face. Her thumb caressed his cheek.

"Thank you," she said, softly. She lowered her hand. "Goodbye."

Just like that, she parted from his arms and walked away, leaving nothing but air where she once stood.

It was the first time in the entire night that Simón felt cold.

He turned to watch her cross the gate and walk up to the front door of the mansion. It closed behind her. Ámbar didn't look back once.

Simón understood what that meant.

That kiss had been a farewell, one last goodbye, the closure they didn't get to have because of all the drama that surrounded their end.

Now their walk was over, and with it the truce they had put on, like one final performance before the curtain closed on what was once them.

There was no 'them' anymore.

(There hadn't been for a while.)

Standing there outside the mansion, Simón wondered why it hurt so much.  

--------------------

His keys rattled as he opened the door and walked inside his house. His mom, sitting at the living room table with a cup of tea in front of her, greeted him back.

"Didn't you have a hoodie?" She asked him.

Simón looked down at himself. Considering how things had left off, he doubted Ámbar would approach him again.

"I... must have left it somewhere."

"You lost it, you mean." Her mother shook her head, with that blend of exasperated fondness only mothers seemed to pull off so well. "You airhead. You're hopeless."

Flashbacks of the night ran through his mind. Simón went up to his room.

"...Yeah. I guess so."

…

..

.

--------------------

We can play the game 'How many references to songs and other things can I put in one chapter?' I don't know the answer but I think I outdid myself with this one.

[secretsofthemourning]

1: What is your favorite trope to write?

Enemies to lover, Porn without plot, Porn with plot, Crack treated Seriously, In Vino Veritas

2: What is your least favorite trope to write?

Crossovers of any kind, Hanahaki, Mpreg, Love Triangle

3: What is the main program you use for writing (google docs, the ao3 writing text box, etc.)

Microsoft Word, though I have been known to use Google Docs as well.

4: What is the main site you publish/write on?

I pretty much exclusively publish on AO3. I used to crosspost to AO3 and Fanfic.net, but I have not posted to FF.net in a number of years and don't know if I plan to again.

5: The fic you’re most proud of writing?

Making Love on the Edge of a Knife (Wednesday 2022)

6: The fic you’re least proud of writing?

That Was Then, This Is Dumb (Daria), it was too rushed and unedited. It could have been done better, but I wrote it so long ago, I have no interest in revisiting it.

7: Favorite ship to write?

Wednesday Addams x Xavier Thorpe (Wenvier) and Yuri Plisetsky x Otabek Altin (Otayuri) I have some Otayuri works that have been rotting in my WIPs folders.

8: Least favorite ship to write?

Jimmy Jr. Pesto x Tina Belcher (Tinnimy - I'm sorry!)

9: Biggest pet peeve while writing?

When I feel like my writing isn't concise enough and I struggle with corrections in the editing process or when I think something makes sense as I'm writing it and when I go back over it during editing I find myself wondering what the hell I was thinking.

10: Best/funniest comment you’ve ever gotten on a fic?

Funniest (to me, because I thrive on trolling and chaos) - a commenter once told me my story was perfect until they got to the part where the male character fingered themselves. They told me I should have been more specific with my tags.

11: Do you prefer writing angst, crack, or fluff?

Crack (treated seriously), though I feel I usually write angst without meaning to.

12: First ever fic written?

Here's to Belcher Growing Up (Bob's Burgers)

13: Latest fic written/latest WIP?

I'm working on an Otayuri fanfic for the Yuri On Ice fandom.

14: First fandom you ever wrote fanfiction for?

Bob's Burgers

15: Fandom you wrote the most fanfiction for?

It's currently an even split between the Wednesday (2022) fandom and Bob's Burgers fandom.

16: Do you prefer co-writing something or just working on it by yourself?

I'd love the opportunity to co-write with more fic writers, but I work on my own stuff. I have had a few collaborations in the Wednesday fandom that I've enjoyed.

17: Favorite AU to write?

I steer clear of AUs, but I did a Wednesday stalker AU writer project with a group of other writers and I loved how it turned out. My favorite fanfic I've ever written came to fruition as a result.

18: Most words/chapters ever written for one fic or oneshot?

Oneshot: 17,412 words - Making Love on the Edge of a Knife; Wednesday

Multichapter: 86,720 word, 15 Chapters - Here's to Belcher Growing Up; Bob's Burgers

19: Have you ever created an OC for a fic?

No. I try my hardest to use characters that already exist.

20: Hardest character to write/get the characterization correct for?

I have a very hard time writing Tina Belcher and feeling like I've captured the essence of her character. I also have a hard time writing Viktor Nikiforov from Yuri on Ice!!! and feeling like I've done him justice. There are a handful of others, but those two are my main ones.

This was fun and I've always wanted to do one of these so thank you to @small-tragedies for tagging me!

I want to tag a few others because I would like to see their responses:

@keepyourhornson-spyro @ozmathegreatand @halloweentowntwokalabarsrevenge @donutcats

1: What is your favorite trope to write?

2: What is your least favorite trope to write?

3: What is the main program you use for writing (google docs, the ao3 writing text box, etc.)

4: What is the main site you publish/write on?

5: The fic you’re most proud of writing?

6: The fic you’re least proud of writing?

7: Favorite ship to write?

8: Least favorite ship to write?

9: Biggest pet peeve while writing?

10: Best/funniest comment you’ve ever gotten on a fic?

11: Do you prefer writing angst, crack, or fluff?

12: First ever fic written?

13: Latest fic written/latest WIP?

14: First fandom you ever wrote fanfiction for?

15: Fandom you wrote the most fanfiction for?

16: Do you prefer co-writing something or just working on it by yourself?

17: Favorite AU to write?

18: Most words/chapters ever written for one fic or oneshot?

19: Have you ever created an OC for a fic?

20: Hardest character to write/get the characterization correct for?

I thought it would be fun to do this with others, and I’m very curious to see what everyone says, especially @twisting-echo 😏.

@babsvibes @twisting-echo @secretsofthemourning @waytoomanyhobbies @jimmypesto @sailoreuterpe @luckierbutjinxedmore

[elvisabutler]

caught in a trap 3/10

fandom: elvis ( 2022 )

relationship: elvis/living past 42, past priscilla/elvis, current priscilla and elvis loving each other too much always. brief mention of linda thompson/elvis. i did say that some parts of irl elvis were going to be in this fic.

word count: 2.7k on the dot.

rating: R, mostly because of quite a number of curses and the obligatory prescription drug use.

tw: drug use, the usual bullshit with elvis. use of the word alien to describe parker. as someone married to an immigrant and born of one, i know it's a derogatory term. potential implied endangerment of a child. that might be it?

author's note: it's been a long time, baby. no excuse, i kind of hate this part minus some really nice lines i wrote in it. it's also been rewritten about five times so i'm putting it out here before i rewrite it for a sixth. please enjoy and tell me if you do because i really enjoy interaction/comments.

"What in the hell?!" 

Elvis wakes with a start, trying to figure out who had shouted those words before his eyes settle on Jerry. The other man starts to rub at his eyes, startled awake by his friend's shout.

"You alright, EP?" He asks once he focuses his eyes and looks mildly more awake. 

No is the first response that comes to mind because it's the truth, but he knows that if he gives that answer they might actually have to talk about why he woke himself up by shouting. That was a conversation he had absolutely no intention of having with Jerry despite him being one of his best friends. Priscilla on the other hand, she might be the perfect one to listen to it but he needs to get her on a plane to do that. He has to give a better answer than just no.

"Tired." He answers, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "Weird dream, it's nothing." 

If Jerry finds that answer to be complete and utter bullshit he doesn't say anything despite his raised eyebrow and a slow sigh. "You sure? I don't think I've ever heard you scream like that- even after Priscilla left."

Elvis purses his lips, it's times like this that made him regret having friends that know him as well as Jerry and Joe and George do. They may not always be around each other, they may be living their own lives here and there but they can always see through his bullshit. Fuck, even Steve and Bones had him read just after that bit of time working on his special. It's half the reason he still keeps in touch just in case he wants another one of those specials. 

"Schilling, if you don't drop it I'll kick you out of this room." His tone is supposed to be menacing but it’s undercut by the slight tremor in his voice and the cough that follows. If anyone asks, he’ll blame it on the ice water bath they had given him to wake him up after passing out.

“I’ll drop it, but you have to answer my next question then.” He shrugs before muttering under his breath. “Acting like you can even kick a mouse out of the room.”

“I heard that and I’ll turn you into one just to do it.” His eyes narrow before he exhales and inhales heavily. “What is it?”

Jerry runs his hand through his hair almost like he’s trying to figure out the best way to word the question. Elvis knows it’s serious then, because him and Jerry have known each other for a long enough time that it shouldn’t matter how he asks the question. Elvis isn’t gonna care if it sounds insulting or if it’s something he doesn’t want to answer. He’ll just tell Jerry that and it’ll be done with. “You can spit it out, man, I’m not gonna-”

“Why the hell did you pass out? You know I’ve seen you on some stuff, man, but you don’t- we were talking in mid-sentence. Just-” He clears his throat and attempts to imitate his friend. “‘What’re ya talkin’ about Jerreh.’ and then you hit the floor, I couldn’t even catch you properly.”

He had been dreading this sort of question after all he hadn’t told anyone what he was trying to do because every time he did they tried to be helpful and damn if half the time it didn’t defeat the purpose of him trying to get clean without anyone’s help. Still, a deal was a deal and Jerry had dropped asking him why he screamed out in his sleep so it was the least he could do. Can’t have his mama haunting him for being rude now could he.

“I’m off my amphetamines.” He pauses. “I scared Lisa Marie the last time I had her when I took them. ‘Cilla- she told me if I didn’t try and quit those I might see her less. Dr. Nick doesn’t know. I’m cold turkey. Guess my body doesn’t like that idea.”

Jerry looks mildly proud for a moment, because there’s his friend taking steps to do what literally everyone has been telling him to do and yet- he’s still managing to go about it in a way that’s just slightly wrong. It’s probably for this fact and this fact alone that he lets out a hum of disapproval. “Does Linda know at least? I haven’t called her yet, by the way-”

Elvis’ response is quick and growled out in a way that startles Jerry with its fury. “No, and you’re not gonna call her. She doesn’t- I’m not bothering her with this, not right now. She- I’m trying to keep her away from this for a bit. She doesn’t- it’s not her problem to be dealing with right now. She deserves some time to herself, not worrying about my tired self.”

“I’m a little self-destructive.” He tells her one time and only one time. He told Priscilla that too and yet he thinks they all forget it. Hell he knows he’s told Jerry this too. Ann Margret that one time he was a little punch drunk and tired on set. He tells them this and yet everyone always seems to forget when it comes to this situation, if he wants to be self destructive he’ll do it. If he wants to take his pills that are prescribed in massive doses, he’s going to and nothing's gonna stop it but himself. If he wants to go onstage and maybe drink like his mama used to before firing his boss- well he would have done that had he been forced to go on stage last night but that wasn’t the point. He would destroy what he wanted that was his and that included himself.

“EP, she’s your girlfriend, come on, you can’t leave her-” Jerry starts before Elvis cuts him off again.

“Is she your girlfriend? Stay out of it, you know you’re one of my best friends, but I’m not kidding, you call her and I will fire you and take back the damn house.” Elvis practically snarls as he pulls himself up in the bed, trying to seem far more intimidating than he is right in that moment. Jerry can see through it and has to force himself not to roll his eyes. Elvis won’t take back the house because it was a damn gift but he really is serious if he’s trying to threaten it.

“Fine. I won’t but the second you’re feeling up to it you’re calling her, man. She’s gonna find out from the news anyway, we can’t hide out in the hospital forever.”

Elvis for his part does roll his eyes because he’s aware they can’t hide out forever but it’s not going to stop him from probably trying. He looks around the room for a moment before his eyes settle on a pitcher of water. “Get me some water, I feel like I got a whole plant of cotton in my damn mouth.”

Jerry obliges and hands it over before pouring his own glass. He stares at Elvis for a minute. “You remember what I was telling you last night? About the Colonel.”

Truth be told there’s a part of Elvis that wishes he could say no. That he doesn’t remember anything about what Jerry said in relation to the Colonel. He almost wishes he was still blissfully ignorant to why the Colonel turned down Japan and Germany and why it was go to the International, go on the grueling tour, maybe take the small vacation, then rinse and repeat ad nauseum but he remembers what Jerry had said before he passed out and what he had said after he had woke back up on the way to the hospital, as short as that distance was. The Colonel clipped his goddamn wings because he didn’t have any of his own, stuck him in this gilded cage for gambling debts and made it so hard for him to just slip away to Hawaii or Graceland to just recharge because if he did that then Kohn might just cut off his unlimited line of credit. Hell the last time he was in Hawaii it was to do that damn concert that they broadcast with the satellite. He lets out a soft exhale before his face scrunches up.

“You mean how I’m stuck at a hotel I hate at this point working day in and day out two damn shows a night, barely see my daughter, my ex-wife, or my girlfriend because I’m always here or in the Lisa Marie heading to a city? Because that goddamn vampire doesn’t have a passport? That he’s an illegal alien and that it’s probably the reason I got shipped off to Germany and-” He says that last part with a growl, pinching at the bridge of his nose trying to calm himself down. His head hurts. “Yeah Jerry, I remember. And I oughta shoot him between his eyes. Or in his fat gut, I’m not goddamn picky. I’ll apologize to his wife later.”

There went his temper. He was just so livid. All he feels like he can see is red. All he can feel is his pulse thump thump in his head and he just wants to get his revenge on this son of a bitch who’s helped make him who he is but has completely started to demolish him bit by bit. It’s exhausting just like everything right now. It's so goddamn exhausting and he doesn’t have the energy for it, he knew he shouldn’t have gone off the meds, there was a reason he was prescribed them. Now he’s so tired that- no, no he went off them because they make his temper worse and “baby girl daddy’s sorry, he didn’t mean to scare you, no daddy would never hurt you”. He doesn’t remember what he did, only that when he came to Lisa was crying and holding onto his legs for dear life. 

Jerry is at this point used to how Elvis acts. You don’t stay friends with the man as long as he has and not discover how he acts and how to deal with it. He lets him rant and rave and when it’s out of his system then he talks. “As much as I agree that he deserves that, I don’t have bail money and you don’t either. Since we’re not murdering him, EP, he’s- look I know you tried to fire him before, right when we were going to start this international tour, you remember back in 70?” He waits for the answering hum Elvis gives him. “And you took him back and we have this now. We have to actually fire him this time. No backing out, no backroom deals. Just straight firing him and then we’re free. You’re free. We can take the vacation and figure out from there. See if RCA wants to do a record right now, maybe get you to Japan since they are dying to see you man. You should see the fans-”

Elvis gets real quiet at the mention of his fans and Jerry realizes he might have said the wrong thing before Elvis just rubs at his eyes. “That was always the plan for me, not the plan for him. I’m gonna see them Jerry- that’s gotta be the first stop we do. Absolutely.” 

“You got it, you’re the one who’d set the schedule. I- I’ll take over for Parker. Since- and I mean no disrespect to your dad-” Elvis waves him off. 

“He could do better with my numbers, I know. He’s-” He starts before the door opens to reveal Colonel Parker- or more accurately it reveals his cane first then the man himself followed by his assistant. The only feelings Elvis can muster up are anger mixed with a healthy bit of dread. It’s one thing to go toe to toe with the man when he’s healthy. But when he’s in a hospital bed and the man can tower over him? Well, it’s a power imbalance that Elvis can’t stand. He ends up pulling himself up on the bed, trying to appear as big and as strong as possible. If his foot is trembling just a little under three blankets? Well that was his business wasn’t it?

“You blood sucking son of a bitch. You’ve got some nerve coming in here-” Elvis doesn’t even manage to get more than that out before the Colonel is waving his hand. 

“My boy, they wouldn’t let me see you last night but you’re looking so much better. Good enough to do your shows tonight. Maybe add a midday one so we don’t have to refund the last two shows.” The Colonel says without even pausing to honestly ask if Elvis was feeling better.

It’s not that Elvis had expected to be asked and at this point he honestly just felt as if he wanted the man out of the room- out of his life- out of every little place in history he had wormed his slimy little way into. Still, the fact that the colonel didn’t even think to ask makes Elvis simultaneously so angry he feels as if could launch himself out of bed and murder the man while so let down that he’s suddenly that little kid from Tupelo whose daddy wrote a bad check. You’re like a father to me. He had said once and wasn’t that just hilarious how both his fathers did something to hurt him and the family.

“Oh no, you’re refunding them and tonight’s shows.” Elvis smirks just a little before his voice lowers an octave. “Actually, no, I’m refunding them. Because you’re fired.”

The Colonel looks at Elvis and narrows his eyes. “You’re not- You’re not well. You’re talking nonsense, firing me.” He looks at Elvis for confirmation and finds none.”You. You are being serious.”

“As a heart attack.” A pause and Elvis chuckles. “Sorry, as serious as a hurt back.” 

The Colonel’s eyes widen as he looks between Jerry and Elvis and realizes that they’re serious. He had expected far more of a fight when it came to this- not that he had ever planned for Elvis to try and fire him after the incident with his back before The International but still, a Snowman must have contingency plans. He should tell Elvis more, should fight for his job, but- he knows what he must do next. It’ll take a few hours but he has a way to make Elvis reconsider his decision. “I see. In that case, when you’re better we’ll iron out the details, yes? Tomorrow, perhaps?”

Elvis is on edge at how the Colonel doesn’t seem to be fighting. It feels like a trick, another snow job but he’s desperate to be free and to be able to not have to worry about the shows every day. He’ll make sure everyone who’s been performing with him is set and maybe talk to the Sweet Inspirations about joining him specifically and not just because he thinks Lisa and Whitney could be good friends if him and Cissy could just get them in a room together. 

“Tomorrow.” He pauses and his lip curls up into a bit of a snarl. “Now get out of my room, you alien.”

The Colonel looks like he's going to say something before he stops and just takes his leave from the room. Elvis hears the door open immediately afterward and doesn't actually look up.

"Did I not tell you to leave? I'll get security in here, you-"

"Considering I just got here, baby, no." Priscilla's voice is light when she responds, her heels making the same sort of click that the Colonel's cane would. "You passed out before the show. Do I need to worry?"

Elvis looks at Priscilla long and hard before he motions to the chair next to Jerry. "If you got a minute, you can sit next to the idiot who called you- bastard- and I'll explain."

"For you? I'll make the time." She sits down and crosses her legs in her pantsuit. "So, talk."

[sarah-sandwich]

WIP Tag Game

Rules: post the most recent sentence you wrote for a WIP, then tag the number of people in the sentence. I'm ignoring the rules and doing what I want sorry 😬

Thank you @theoceanismyinkwell for tagging me!!! I feel like hardly anyone has been doing tag games lately so here's a friendly reminder that I love being tagged in stuff!!

That said, I ignored the spirit of this tag game and instead am sharing the entirety of what I wrote in my notes app this morning. I woke up with Harley on the brain and the phrase "put in the work" kept resonating with me and I was just like, that's Harley. Harley is the embodiment of put in the work.

So this is for my NASA AU. Idk that I'll use exactly this in the fic but it's definitely going to be in there somehow even if I pick it apart and sprinkle it throughout the fic. I might even make the title Put in the Work and open the fic with all of this except the stuff at the end about Peter. Or maybe I'll use all of it and then rewind back to before Harley meets Peter. Ohhhhhh that would be good. Oooooohuhuhuhu I might do that (★ ω ★)

Put in the work.

That's all Harley's ever done: Put in the work. When he wanted gas money for the long drives it took to clear his head, he put in the work and got a job. When Abbie complained of bullies in middle school he put in the work and scared the living daylights out of those kids. When he decided he was going to work for NASA rather than coast on Tony's standing offer to intern at SI, he put in the work and got the best grades in the school, he put in the work and did all of the extracurriculars that would look good on a college application and better on a job application.

When he found out his hookup was pregnant after experimenting with his sexuality with her, he put in the work and took the parenting classes, took her to her appointments, texted her daily, brought her whatever she was craving plus two things she wasn't. When their baby was born he put in the work and changed those dirty diapers and got up for those midnight feedings, 2 AM feedings, 5 AM dirty diapers that soaked the sheets.

When Maggie stayed out later and later, when she no longer sang their baby to sleep, when she stopped smiling--Harley put in the work and booked them a reservation at a nice restaurant, he held the door for her, he told her she was beautiful, he let her carry the conversation saying everything she couldn't with a wailing baby in the room, then after he paid the bill he told her, "It's okay if you don't want to be a mom. It's okay if you need to do something else for you. I've got this. I can put in the work to make sure Hazel always knows she's loved."

That was the last time he saw Maggie. She packed her things and left Rose Hill, knowing no one in that dusty little town would understand. They would look at her and judge her as an absent parent, neither knowing nor caring that Harley gave her the out, that he saw her struggle and her suffering and told her she didn't need to. They wouldn't understand that he did it for Hazel. No kid should ever have to grow up knowing their parent resents them. They just shouldn't.

After that, the work never stopped. Whether as a full-time parent, full-time college student, or full-time NASA engineer, there was always work and he was the first to step in and do it.

Peter flies in the face of all of that, of everything Harley has ever known. Harley doesn't have to work for Peter. He turns and Peter is just there. They can go weeks without seeing each other, both too absorbed in their work to note the passage of time, but when they come together it's like it's only been a day, an hour, a minute. Usually, it's Peter who reaches out first, who asks when they can see each other, who suggests what they can do where they can go--like Peter is putting in the work for Harley.

It's a novelty he can't wrap his head around. He's never been on this side of things before. Even with his mom, he was more aware of her needs than his own. Their finances were precarious and their survival hinged on her being able to work. So he put in the work and made life at home as easy as possible so she could keep going. He maintained the house, he cooked, he cleaned, he helped Abbie with her homework, he took ownership of the chickens and made sure the coop stayed clean, eggs collected, the chickens healthy and cared for.

Peter won't let Harley take care of him, not fully, not like he does everyone else. Every time Harley tries he turns it around on him. Harley cooks but then Peter makes him sit down and pick a movie while he washes up and packs away leftovers. Harley suggests they meet for coffee and Peter shows up on his stoop 20 minutes later with two travel cups. Harley tries to reschedule their plans to go to the aquarium because Hazel had a hard day and Peter asks if she'd rather watch Big Hero 6 or Anastasia and he'll be over in an hour with pizza.

It's overwhelming sometimes, how much Peter cares, but Harley wouldn't trade it for anything. It scares him how quickly Peter wormed into his life and his heart but he's in too deep to do anything about it now.

Tagging: anyone who wants to share! You can ramble about stuff like I did or you can share your last line like I was supposed to lol But tag me!! This is an open invite <3

[ashtcnirwin]

Your fic trends convo is so interesting and something I think about a lot too! I started actively reading 5SOS fic on tumblr in 2018 and it wasn't unusual to see fic notes get in the multi-thousands, it was wild. Those numbers definitely dwindled once Youngblood mania faded a bit but things were even still in the high hundreds entering the CALM era and by the time I started writing in mid 2020, my most popular fics topped out in the 200-300 note range and now my last few took months to limp across the 100 note benchmark. (And let's not get started on the like to reblog ratio, that's another convo entirely!) I think the pandemic has a lot to do with the recent fluctuations tbh. At first, it was great for the fic world, everyone was kind of treating quarantine like a prolonged sleepover, a lot more writers popped up and people were spreading their favorites around and while the band wasn't particularly active, that kind of gave writers the creative freedom to explore the topics/tropes/ideas they wanted since there wasn't one dominating trend everyone was latching onto (tour fics bc they're on tour, for example). I also noticed an uptick of OC fics and much longer length fics around this time too, like people felt comfortable taking time to experiment outside of their normal work and readers were less selective about what they read because there was so much time to rad. But as the pandemic dragged on and on, that enthusiasm faded for sure and people seemed to spend less time on Tumblr in general, even when the band (or a solo member) would finally serve content. So it'll definitely be interesting to see how big the uptick in traffic (fic and otherwise) gets, if the renewed interest is enough to combat that hard burnout we saw. Another point that's interesting is the difference in perspectives we're seeing with this convo. (And just to be clear, I actually started writing this before you answered that anon about self-insert fic so I'm not directly addressing them). As someone coming from the 2nd person POV/x reader/yn/self-insert world, from my experience, I've actually noted a decline in both readership and quantity of fics in this genre, at least in the 5SOS fandom. Basically all of the writers that were around when I started reading here, along with most of the ones that took me under their wing when I started writing have either moved on to other fandoms or left Tumblr entirely. I still see a lot of "imagine" style blurb accounts popping up here and there but for full one-shots/fics, my dash is filled with some OC but mostly slash these days. A lot of the slash posts I see getting reblogged are links to AO3 fics so I guess maybe that could be another difference in perspective since they're not housed on Tumblr? But I've scrolled thru a number of fic reblogs today and they've all been slash and that seems to be the trend for me. (People I didn't even know read fic are reblogging slash stories now, so something seems to have changed!) I don't follow our fandom as closely on AO3 but I've always considered that site to be predominately slash oriented (for any fandom tbh) but especially in the case of 5SOS. (I post very infrequently there but the Ash/Reader tag has such little traffic, page 1 literally contains 12 of my own stories, dating back to June 🥸) I've lowkey always wondered if the fluctuation in "reader insert" popularity has any correlation to whether or not members of the band are single or not tbh, like the fantasy element of a "yn" story is more potent or thrilling the more you can pretend you have a chance... It's just a personal hypothesis but I do find it interesting that for years Calum was known as "the available one" and also seemed to be the most popular in the x reader genre 🤷 But regardless of genre, I am very excited to see how this next era inspires people! Being a part of this fandom's writing community has enriched my life in so many ways and I'm hopeful that our little corner of the internet can continue to grow and thrive!

oh holy damn, crystal raising a bunch of solid points, as per usual

lots of different points to tackle here, alriiiight!

it makes a lot of sense that the youngblood era would drag in a solid handful of readers (and writers, for that matter) cos even tho i wasn't around at the time, i know that a lot of fans from what i like to refer to as The Old Days were still waiting around at that point, not to mentio that youngblood was a huuuuge splash of a comeback for them, like holy balls did they come back with that album

i've never really thought of the pandemic in that way, in that a lot of ppl treated it as a prolonged sleepover for a while, but that definitely makes sense, because for a long period of time, none of us had any idea what was gonna happen or how long shit was gonna last? all we knew was that we should stay home and that was it, so it makes sense that people would take that opportunity to make chances to and make moves to develop their writing in a way that they might not have if they world was in its normal homeostatic state.

that raised a question in my head tho, one i haven't considered before: should we consider the fact that the pandemic has slowly but surely made readers less prone to interact with fics because fics is something that's just there, ready for consumption, it's become so very much...something they/we are just used to being there? has the pandemic made us more apathetic to fics and to the people who produce them as time has worn on and life in the midst of a pandemic has become the new normal? because something that's been happening over the last few months for at least a select few of those of us who mainly post our fics on ao3, is that hits and kudos have remained the same while interaction (comments on ao3, asks and DMs on tumblr, etc) have declined significantly. i've had conversation about that with people over the last few days but the thought of the pandemic possibly being to "blame" hasn't even crossed my mind tbh

the fact that slash fics have "always" (as in, the last few years) predominantly been housed on ao3 while self-inserts have been for tumblr was pointed out to me earlier by @leesh and it's very, very true. different platforms, which makes it hard, maybe even impossible, to draw a ""real"" comparison. but slash fics on tumblr have never really been common, at least not for as long as i've been around in miscellaneous fic spaces; everything has been on ao3 or ff dot net or wattpad

i'm not at all qualified to say anything about whether or not availability plays a role in the popularity of self-insert fics, but it’s not hard to imagine that it could play a role!

[uponrightful]

I've been wanting to send this one in for a while. What was going through the Wolfpacks mind and how much did Wolffe hear?

“I’d heard about him a lot from your brothers, how angry he was and that they thought he could use someplace like here. Home. But I didn’t think that he would ever show up. And, after a couple times something happened. I don’t know who really even started it.” The girl took another steadying breath, before continuing on the now spilling thoughts and feelings she’d been bottling up for months now. Completely unaware of the three men’s attention being drawn out the window where a grey and blue painted trooper walked towards the front door.

“I think about him, all the time. I hear his voice when I wake up, and I constantly dream about him. It’s like I’m constantly in this fever dream where I’ve finally been given something that I can’t deny I want.” All of the confusion crashed down in a wave of crystal-clear realization. Audience of troopers aside, the girl hadn’t thought it all through so straight.

She was brought back to Rex, sitting there drinking his caf with a look of disappointment when she’d mentioned that there wasn’t anything she wanted out of life. Other than helping the troopers. It hadn’t been the first time he’d asked, and she hadn’t realized why until now. She had the ability to have what she wanted. Regulations didn’t affect her, and neither did anyone else who didn’t have her best interests at heart. Rex hadn’t meant love specifically, or anything of the like, but what she didn’t get was why it mattered. His constant reminders spoken to the fact that without knowing… she couldn’t possibly go about getting it. Whatever “it” is. The girl’s sudden epiphany was that she finally knew -for once in her life- that there was something she wanted more than anything.

And that was Wolffe.

Her awestruck reaction and frozen posture thawed to see not a single pair of eyes focused on her. Boost, Sinker and Comet were all watching high above her head into the kitchen at something positively damning. Behind her, the heavy sound of boots thumped against the floor echoing off the silent walls of the house. Her heart, already thrumming with personal-realization began working double-time as the steps got closer.

Commentary Track for Welcome Company

Copy 500 words -or more- of any of my fics and I’ll give my thoughts/rambles on what was going through my head -or the character’s- when I wrote it!

*Send one in here*

@taz-107 You and I have some of the best discussions on literally everything Clones, and I'm so happy you sent this one in! I kinda went all-in, because I know you don't mind my word vomit 😅

I love you dearly 🤍

***

Let's start with the Wolfpack shall we?

Comet and Sinker know Pup the best, obviously. They think she's sweet, and they've always had a sense of little-sister vibes from her. It's the way she always invites them in, and never let's them leave without being adamant that they come back again... Preferably leaving less time between visits. Her home is one that the Pack really doesn't get to spend much time in, but when they do get the chance it's like they never left. Habits are created very easily, so the same dinners are almost always on the menu and there's almost a bedtime ritual they both have which never goes abandoned. Comet and Sinker are men of habit, but they never miss out on Pup's willingness to oblige them basically anything they want.

For Boost, his normal happy-go-lucky (and troublemaker) attitude is absent. This is the first time he's meeting Pup, and like most troopers he's hesitant for a number of reasons. It's illegal what they're doing, and although this girl has been nothing but a god-send for his brothers, it's nerve-racking to be in an unusual situation like sitting in a living room and talking just for the enjoyment of it. In a matter of an evening though, he's already falling into that same trap of love and affection that everyone else does when they meet Pup. She's sweet, and overly worrisome about his boots not being comfortable. (Something Boost wasn't sure he'd ever thought about before.)

The Pack's decision to make a visit wasn't a difficult one to make. Each of them had seen the changes in Wolffe's personality, whether big or small, and right away they knew that it was because he'd finally went for his own visit. It wasn't until Chapter Five that they realize there's something more going on than just what Comet and Sinker are familiar with experiencing during their stays at Home. It's the way their Commander doesn't seem to respond to them quickly -like he's off somewhere else in his mind- and the many times they've caught him taking a nap during a mission, mumbling to himself with the occasional slip-up of her name crossing his lips. The entire Wolfpack -Plo Koon included- know that their Commander has it bad. And initially, they're a little bit confused as to why Pup would ever take a liking to someone as harsh as Wolffe.

Note: Until this point, no one has seen Wolffe interact with Pup, and I made this decision very carefully. It was crucial that Wolffe come to form some sense of habit and security with her before this moment happens. It's to better display the completely different way Wolffe acts as a Commander, versus when he's with Pup. Wolffe is extremely talented at prioritizing tasks, whatever they may be. Therefore, when he's a soldier that's the only thing he normally has the mental capacity for. But when he's with Pup, he takes that romantic role just as seriously as he would directing troops on the frontlines.

The Pack know Wolffe is the one coming in the door. They also realize that they'd incidentally forced Pup's hand, and now they had no way of stopping her from talking without making everything even more awkward than it's already becoming. With every second that passes between seeing him walk past the window, Pup just keeps talking and the collective hope of the 104th is that Wolffe's change in attitude isn't just a passing fancy for Pup, and that her proclamation of love is one that their brother will see as something significant. In the background of this apprehension for Wolffe's reaction, they're actually shocked to hear Pup admit what she does about Wolffe.

They've always known Wolffe to be a little on the stiff side of rules and decorum, and even the mention of him being the least bit romantic enough to capture her attention is just another blow to these men's (hopelessly misguided) ideas about their Commander. He's not the most gentle person, and Pup is nothing short of an angel... (That's literally Sinker's nickname for her.) They make for a strange pair, and there's a bit of all three of them that have the same worry that Rex does; Can she actually handle him?

Note: I've always thought of Wolffe as a tortured soul, that never deserved the copious punishments that was handed to him in his life. And in the fic, there was a huge motivation to really play up just how worried troopers get about their brothers who end up the way Wolffe is when we see him post-cybernetics. He's angry and vicious to an extent. Not that he was a really carefree guy to begin with, but it's such a contrast that all of the men who knew Wolffe closely can see a very scary change in the Commander once he's brought back for duty. (Fives and Rex's conversation in Chapter Five is where I tried to make that fear a little more palpable and realistic of what war has done to Wolffe through the eyes of men who've seen things similar...)

They hear her words, and they're all staring at Wolffe who's got the most impassive expression they've ever seen before. It's stiffer than when he's at a parade rest, and even his posture looks like it could fucking snap at any second. But the second Pup's pause of realization hits her, Wolffe suddenly decides to join them all. Every last one of the Pack are holding their breath for this; Literally none of them have any idea of what to expect. They're all making subconscious guesses, trying to read his movements, literally anything that might help try and relax this tension. But when Wolffe just sits himself down at Pup's feet; Stretching out his leg and visibly melting back against her chair...

It's utter shock.

Note: I chose Boost for the next POV because he fit the need perfectly. Not only does he know Wolffe extremely well, but he doesn't have this predetermined idea of what Pup is like. He knows on a surface level that she's very kind and a little shy. But I needed him for this moment because it's truly perception-bending to see Wolffe take such a submissive posture towards this girl. (Her admittance that she loves him aside.) Boost has never seen Wolffe carry himself like that, and I wanted you to see it through his eyes because that's Wolffe's constant personality. Pup is the only one who's seen Wolffe soft -so this isn't new to her- but for the Pack, this is unprecedented behavior.

Now for our sweet, sweet, Commander 🤍

Wolffe was very preoccupied with his conversation with Anakin from Chapter Six and the upset over being forced to come back so late in the evening. He wouldn't dare not return after promising that he would, but the idea of making her wait up so late didn't sit right with him in the slightest. Being so caught up in his own head, he doesn't notice the Wolfpack staring at him through the open window dressings, and he's completely unaware that they'd chosen to come and see her as well. (He tries not to worry himself too much about what they do on planet-leave, and this was just one of his weaker moments.) Not that Wolffe would ever admit to being constantly worried about his brother's getting into trouble, and him not being able to get them out of it.

But all of that changes the second he walks into the house and hears Pup talking. It's not what she's saying at first; But instead just hearing her voice is enough to make Wolffe pause and listen as he pulls his bucket off his head. She's so soft, but this time there's a different edge to it; And standing in the hallway is when Wolffe finally realizes that she's talking about him. It's a miracle he didn't drop his bucket in a loud clatter to the floor in that instant.

Pup is saying things that Wolffe couldn't have dreamt about even coming from her mouth. Admitting that he’s in her dreams like she constantly takes a place in his. Detailing just how surreal it is to have him around her, just like it feels in his own mind. Pup is speaking exactly what Wolffe has been feeling for months and it's all Wolffe can to do try and stay quiet, just so he doesn't miss another word. Every syllable is spoken like she read it right from his heart, and Wolffe is so speechless that he's on the verge of busting through the house to find her and really show her exactly what a fever-dream he could provide for her.

But the moment he sees his brothers, all staring at his shadowed figure in the kitchen he realizes that they knew he was listening, and that now there was no turning back. Wolffe is feeling really pressured at this moment. Not because he doesn't love Pup -because he really does- but it's hard to traverse the admission with his men watching him for a reaction. They know nothing about his relationship with Pup, and he's kept it that way for fear of someone thinking it was unprofessional, and attempting to do something about it that would not only risk himself and the other men who need her, but Pup herself for providing care and warmth to men who were considered GAR property. He doesn't suspect that his men would ever do something like that, but there's this sense of fear that makes Wolffe present himself so emotionlessly. That is, until he can collect his own emotions for hearing her, and try to play it off.

Note: Wolffe is very skittish. And that's all to do with the treatment he faced after his fight with Ventress. He thinks very lowly of himself personally, but has an unbreakable expectation that he do everything exactly as it should be done without failure. This makes him a wonderful leader, but god-awful at admitting he has feelings aside from diplomatic neutrality. He's struggling to do the right thing here, when there really isn't a textbook example of how to handle expressing the emotion of know the person you love, admitting to loving you back in front of a small crowd. Wolffe doesn't understand that anything he could've chosen to do would've been acceptable here. But in the end, Wolffe's diplomacy is what guided the plot. (Once again, I only write for the characters, I hardly ever get creative liberty when coming to the conclusion of what my non-OC characters do. Even then, my OC's are very diligent in reminding me that they have their own personalities and I can't just make them do anything.)

Wolffe chooses what feels comfortable to him in this moment. At this point, everyone -including Pup- is waiting for him. And when he walks into the living room, his first instinct is to go where he feels the safest. And that's with her. (It's important that he sits at her feet and I'll tell you why in a moment.) Wolffe wants to be with her as best he can in this moment. He still feels that emotional relief and warmth of hearing her say she had the same feelings for him, but the last thing he wants to do is put either of them on the spot in front of his brothers that are appearing very worried and utterly confused at the moment. So to tone down the tension he'd accidentally created, he just does what feels right; And that's to let Pup know he's happy to see her, and give the apology he'd been meaning to all along.

"Sorry m'late."

From there, his men -sharp as ever- realize that he has wants to do this one his own, and Comet takes the initiative to take conversation somewhere else for the time being. He's silently grateful for that, and although he never says anything to them about it, Wolffe is certain that they did so on his behalf and wouldn't expect a thank you for it.

The rest of the night is easy to get lost in. His boys -always needing to show off- take turns coming into themselves again, and decide that a competition of war-stories and funny -albeit stupid- stories are in order. It feels natural like this, and Wolffe hasn't ever felt so proud having all of his brothers and his precious lady all in the same room where they can just be normal for a little while. He's extremely attentive to Pup's attempts at touching him, and he has to bite back a smile when he feels her secretive touches against his back. She's doing it on purpose to avoid his brother's notice, but Wolffe realizes she's probably just as nervous to be outright about it as well. After all, he'd not made a single comment about what she'd said, but he was kriffing surprised that it didn't change her desire to be close to him.

Note: Wolffe sat on the floor for a reason. And it wasn't my decision in the slightest. The way the living room sits, Pup has the best view of the room. Her back is to a corner, and the couch and chair that Boost, Sinker, and Comet occupy and positioned to face in her direction. It's strategic -and instinctual- that Wolffe put himself at the center of attention. That is basically a requirement that he head his squad at all times, and naturally he doesn't distinguish this scenario apart from any other. It's simply the Commanding Officer in him. But to a -wonderfully complex- part of Wolffe's character, he's doing it because that puts Pup at his back where he knows she's safe. His brother's aren't harmful in the slightest, but Wolffe knows that should there be a threat, he'll see them coming, and they'd have to go through him to get to her first. Protecting Pup is one of Wolffe's greatest motives throughout the entire fic, and this was one moment I wanted to play that theme out silently. (I don't know if anyone really picked up on it.)

This choice to sit at her feet appears very submissive to the Pack, and to Pup for that matter. But really Wolffe is subconsciously staking claim and protective charge over Pup without even realizing that he's doing so. For example; he could've picked her up and sat down in the chair with her in his lap, he could've sat down next to one of his brothers instead, or even chose to stand somewhere. But all of those choices leave Pup undefended. Wolffe doesn't see that he's doing it, and neither does anyone else in a very direct way. But if you pay attention to the way I toned the scene, you'll notice that Wolffe doesn't ever lose control of the room. Focus and power is always on him even when no one thinks wiser. It's what makes Wolffe such a commander figure all of the time. He has a natural predisposition to hold command, so even when Wolffe isn't trying have dominance, it's always present in the subtle way he moves, speaks, and presents himself to those around him.

***

Thank you for sending this in my love ☺️ I hope it wasn't too long, and you covered everything well enough! If not, let me know what I missed and I'd be glad to fill in the blank spots!

Much Love, Rightful 🤍

[shezzaspeare]

Pilot/Episode 1: Patching Things Up With Pastiche & Fanfiction

Hi, hello, and the wait is finally over! My name is Blessie, and welcome to the first episode webisode log installation I've decided to call these things an episode for now because why not also let me know what do you actually call these things episode of The Science of Fanfiction, where we take a closer look into our beloved works of fanon because we've all got plenty of time to spare till Season 5. Before I continue, I would like to thank everyone who's liked and reblogged the last few posts before this one. It means a lot for a small and growing Tumblr user like me, and your support is something I cherish more than my modules. You guys rock!

Anyways, like with most things, we have to talk about the boring and bland stuff before we proceed with the fun stuff. For today, we are going to settle the difference between a couple of things: first being the confusion between pastiche and fanfiction; then the distinctions between tropes, clichés, and stereotypes, which we'll tackle the next time. It's important for us to establish their true meanings in order for us to really understand what fanfiction truly is, even if it's merely just a work done for the fandom. I know – it's boring, it's something that shouldn't be expounded that much, but I believe that all forms of writing (unless it's plagiarised) is a work of art — and fanfiction is not something we always talk about. I hope that by the end of this, you'll learn about what they really are as much as I did. Let's begin to talk about the—

[Image ID: A flashback of John (left) and Sherlock (right) finding an elephant (not in the screen) in a room in The Sign of Three. End ID]

. . . I did say that this GIF will always have to make an appearance here, didn't I?

So, just as with Sherlock Holmes, all other works of fiction have their own pastiches and fanfiction, and many more original works out there have taken inspiration from them to create their own books. Although they've gained popular attention, this will not be possible if they did not have taken inspiration from the materials their writers had at the time.

[Image ID: Various actors as Dracula. Jeremy Brett in 'Dracula' (1978) (upper left), Adam Sandler in a voice role for 'Hotel Transylvania' (2012) (upper right), Gary Oldman in 'Dracula' (1992) (lower left), and Bela Lugosi in 'Dracula' (1933) (lower right). End ID]

For instance, Bram Stoker's 'Dracula' (the second most adapted literary character, next to the consulting detective himself) has been portrayed on the screen over 200 times — from Gary Oldman to Adam Sandler — and has spawned off numerous books and pastiches of its own such as Stephen King's 'Salem's Lot'. Its cultural impact served as a basis of how we see vampires today, since some characteristics of the Count were made by Stoker himself. Stoker's creation is the brainchild of his predecessors and inspirations.

[Image ID: Vlad the Impaler (left) and a book cover of 'Carmilla' by J. Sheridan Le Fanu (right). End ID]

Other than the ongoing hysteria over dead back then and the existing vampire folklore, Stoker also took his inspirations from the published books on vampires he had at hand. He is said to have taken inspiration from Vlad the Impaler, a Romanian national hero known allegedly for having impalement as his favourite method of torture. He is also said to have been inspired by the J. Sheridan Le Fanu's 'Carmilla', a Gothic lesbian vampire novella that predates Dracula by 26 years. I could go on, but hey, we're going back to Sherlock Holmes now before I deviate any further. However, if you want to know about Dracula's literary origins, I suggest you watch Ted-ED's videos about the subject matter such as this one or this one.

Very much like Stoker, ACD didn't just conceive Holmes on his own. He took his own inspirations from what he had available at the time.

[Image ID: Dr Joseph Bell (left) and Edgar Allan Poe (right). End ID]

As we all know, ACD's biggest inspiration for Sherlock Holmes was one of his teachers at the Edinburgh University, Joseph Bell. He was famous for his powers of deduction, and he was also interested in forensic science — both characteristics which Holmes is greatly known for. He also drew inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe's sleuth, C. Auguste Dupin ('The Purloined Letter' & 'Murders in Rue Morgue'). As ACD himself has said at the 1909 Poe Centennial Dinner: "Where was the detective story until Poe breathed life into it?" Some other writers he took after are Wilkie Collins, Émile Gaboriau, and Oscar Wilde.

Now, what does this say about us Sherlockians/Holmesians (depending if you're the coloniser or the one that was colonised)? Basically, ACD laid the groundwork for us with Sherlock Holmes: his humble abode 221B that he shares with his flatmate Dr. John Watson, his adventures, memoirs, return, casebook, last vow, and all that. Now that we have this material at hand, we can now make our own versions, takes, or even original stories featuring the characters of the Canon. Our inspiration comes from ACD's Sherlock Holmes, and we now get the chance to make our very own stories/conspiracy theories about them.

As I have mentioned earlier, Sherlock Holmes is the most adapted literary character in history. He has been adapted in over 200 films, more than 750 radio adaptations, a ballet, 2 musicals; and he's become a mouse, a woman, a dog, even a bloody cucumber. On top of all that are numerous pastiches and fanfics, and finally, we have arrived at the main topic of our post!

Fanfiction and pastiche are often confused together since they have three common elements: they take after the original work, they usually use the characters in that original work, and more often than not do are they set in that same time frame/period or not long after that. The common misconception is that pastiche are printed fanfiction, which is only partly true. While pastiche is definitely fanfiction in some ways and vice versa, there are fanfictions out there that aren't necessarily classified as pastiche that have been published.

Let's get on with our definition of terms to clear up the confusion a little more. Pastiche, according to Literary Terms, is:

. . . a creative work that imitates another author or genre. It’s a way of paying respect, or honor, to great works of the past. Pastiche differs from parody in that pastiche isn’t making fun of the works it imitates – however, the tone of pastiche is often humorous.

A good example of a pastiche is Sophie Hannah's 'The Monogram Murders', which is her take from Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot.

[Image ID: A book cover of 'The Monogram Murders' by Sophie Hannah. End ID.]

Although this was a commission from Christie's estate, it's still considered as a pastiche as:

It's takes after Christie's writing style;

It is set in the early years of Poirot's career (1929), which is still within the time frame that the author wrote him in;

It features Poirot and;

It pays respect to Christie in a sense that it stays true to her (Christie) characters and way of storytelling.

Meanwhile, our good and slightly unreliable friend Wikipedia defines fanfiction as:

. . . is fictional writing written by fans, commonly of an existing work of fiction. The author uses copyrighted characters, settings, or other intellectual property from the original creator(s) as a basis for their writing. [It] ranges from a couple of sentences to an entire novel, and fans can both keep the creator's characters and settings and/or add their own. [ . . . ] [It] can be based on any fictional (and sometimes non-fictional) subject. Common bases for fanfiction include novels, movies, bands, and video games.

To avoid any copyright infringement issues if I ever use a popular fanfic in the fandom, we'll use my (unfinished and unpopular) Sherlock Wattpad fic, 'Play Pretend'. You can read it here.

[Image ID: The second self-made book cover of Blessie/shezzaspeare's 'Play Pretend'. End ID]

Why is it considered a fanfiction and not a pastiche?

It takes after an adaptation of Sherlock Holmes (BBC Sherlock) which is a TV show, not the ACD canon itself;

The author (in this case myself) uses her own writing style and does not take after the original story's style;

Although it is set well in modern-day London and after Season 4, it also features scenes decades before the actual fanfic is set and outside of London;

I added a considerable number of characters, i.e. siblings to canon characters;

I had my own take some of the canon characters' personality especially after the events of Sherrinford;

It is written by a fan – myself. It is a work of fan labour and;

It is only a work of fanon, and isn't likely going to be considered by the show as its writing style is different from the actual show.

To put it simply, you can have more freedom in a fanfiction as it does not necessarily restrict you to follow or take after the original stories. Alternate universes (AUs) such as Unilock and Teenlock are perfect examples of this thing.

So can a pastiche be classified as fanfiction? Yes.

Can a fanfiction be classified as pastiche? Not all the time.

What's the difference? While yes, they share the basics, pastiche is technically leans more onto the original work's fundamental elements whereas fanfiction is a broader range of works inspired by the original work but doesn't necessarily follow all or any of its fundamental elements.

In order for us to understand it more, I'll give another example.

[Image ID: The 'Enola Holmes' title card (upper left) and Henry Cavill as its Sherlock holmes (upper right). Underneath it is a a scene from the opening titles of BBC Sherlock (lower left) and Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock Holmes in A Scandal In Belgravia. (lower right) End ID]

Most of you are familiar with these 21st-century adaptations of Holmes: the 2020 adaptation of Nancy Springer's Enola Holmes books and BBC Sherlock, which needs no further explanation – but for those who don't know, it's basically Holmes and the gang if they were alive today. I specifically chose these two as they are the ones that I believe would get my points across best. Though both are considered as wonderful pastiches with a well-rounded cast and awesome visuals, if we break them down bit by bit, we'll see which one is more of a pastiche and which one is more of a fanfic. (Yes, I know they're both screen adaptations. However, as Enola Holmes was based on the books and BBC Sherlock's fanfiction has the show's scenes written out in most fanfics, hear me out.)

They share these characteristics of a pastiche:

They feature characters from the Canon (Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, and Lestrade);

They have additional characters added by the writers (Including but not limited to Molly Hooper, Eurus Holmes, and Philip Anderson for BBC Sherlock while Enola Holmes has Lord Tewkesbury, Eudoria Holmes, and Enola herself) and;

They pay respect to the original Canon as their stories are based on the cases (BBC Sherlock) or simply what was going on around them (Enola Holmes).

They also share these characteristics of a fanfic:

They are made by enthusiasts of Sherlock Holmes (Moffat has called himself and Mark Gatiss 'Sherlock Holmes geeks', while Nancy Springer's Enola Holmes books are not just one or two but six);

They follow a common trope (we'll discuss these tropes in the following episodes) that goes on in the fandom (Sherlock's Sister & Modern AU)

They are based on a fictional subject (Sherlock Holmes);

They used characters and story elements that are copyrighted by the author/author's estate (fun fact: prior to the production of Enola Holmes, the Conan Doyle Estate filed a lawsuit against Springer & Netflix over Sherlock's emotions since he was more 'sympathetic' than he was portrayed in the Canon – this was later dismissed by both parties) and;

Their writing styles don't necessarily follow ACD's.

Despite these similarities, there are very obvious differences between the two that separates them from being a pastiche and a fanfiction.

Enola Holmes embodies pastiche more as it doesn't stray far away from the original elements of the Canon. It's still set in Victorian England. While Springer added characters of her own and definitely twisted the Canon to suit her series, she didn't necessarily place them out of the social construct that was going on around the characters. It follows ACD's writing style more as Enola Holmes' setting still remains within the Canon's original setting.

Meanwhile, we can safely say that BBC Sherlock is a work of fanfiction. While it did give us The Abominable Bride, the main series focused on Holmes and Watson in 21st-century England, which is drastically different from Victorian England. There are phones, black cabs, and cellphones — things which ACD Sherlock Holmes doesn't have. It also diverted from the Canon in the characters themselves, which is mostly seen in the names: Henry Baskerville became Henry Knight, Charles Augustus Milverton became Charles Augustus Magnussen, the H in Dr Watson's name stood for Hamish and Sherlock's full name is actually William Sherlock Scott Holmes. They also changed the personalities of some Canon characters: Mary was actually an ex-assassin, Mrs Hudson was an exotic dancer who drove a kick-ass sports car, Irene Adler is a dominatrix, to name a few. Moffat and Gatiss created a world of their own featuring the characters of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, which is really what most of us fanfic writers do with Mofftiss' rendition of Holmes.

In conclusion: while pastiche and fanfiction could have been the same thing, they're actually not. There's more to them that just printed fanfiction or pastiche e-books, and we all should take some time to see and observe them in a closer perspective.

And that's it for our first episode! I hope you enjoyed it. It was a lot fun for me to write this, especially now that I'm only starting. I would also like to note that while intensive research has been done on this series, some parts of this comes from my own observation and opinion, which may vary from yours. I am very much open to criticism, as long as it is said in a polite and civil manner. I'm still young, and to be educated as I go is something that could really help me with this series.

Like and reblog this you like it. It helps out a lot. Be sure to follow me as well and the tags underneath if you want to see more of TSoF.

See you soon!

Blessie presents – The Science of Fanfiction: A Study In Sherlock (2021) • Next

Follow me! • My Carrd | My YouTube Channel

SOURCES • Pinterest, Google Images, Wikipedia, Literary Terms, Conan Doyle Estate, Definitions, The Sherlock Holmes Book, and Google

[miss-bibbles]

SO I read a lot of fanfiction...like more than is probably healthy for me, but it brings me a lot of joy so I'm gonna keep doing it. I recently finished Evolution is spelt with an R by de-sire and I was pretty obsessed with it, I just there are so many things I love about it. I loved the world-building and that it approached the wizarding war from a different perspective

My taste tends to vary pretty widely, I'll go from mature to general. If you haven't read operation toebeans by moonymoment you should because it's so adorable I'm obsessed with it.

I also read "Don't blame me, love made me crazy" by coupe_de_foudre recently and it was adorable. Flirty Jegulus gives me life!

ALSO Quite like Us is so cute and I am waiting with baited breath for the next chapter. I really want to see how the author is going to work with Sirius and Regulus' relationship. It's so clear they love each other but they are both a mess who don't really know how to have actual real conversations. I haven't read the other two you mentioned yet, I'm not a big wip person, I have to really be in the mood to get into one, I tend to read fics all in one sitting and I get anxiety sometimes when I don't know what happens immediately

Don't hate me but I'm 100% the person who purposefully spoils movies and things sometimes for myself because the waiting makes me anxious, so I follow Yaz on here and am pretty much up to date on what's happening in WYWM and I'm super excited to read it when they are finished with it, and I'll live happily knowing all the spoilers thus far

SO for my favorite Au's, I'm pretty partial to magic au's, I absolutely adore seeing how authors see the world and how they expand on it and all the magical theory they put behind it (I'm a huge nerd for magical theory). I enjoy a good modern au when I'm in the mood for it. I've been known to read a time travel fic every once in a while (back to magical theory, I find the theory behind it truly fascinating)

I'm getting ready to read "The things I did" by lolo-row which is a wolfstar fic that just finished. All I really know about it is that it's based after james/lily die and Remus realized the Sirius azkaban thing is fishy and he works to get him free and also works to get Harry away from his shitty relatives. I have high hope for it, so we will see.

What's your favorite fic you've read recently? What au's make you go high-key feral?

-Chaotic Fanfic Anon

i read fanfics a lot that everyone in the household is kind of concerned about me but i'm me and i'm always insane. but i had a humongous increase in my prescription after i started reading fanfics till very very very late in the dark, under the covers. so. probably not healthy

de-sire is such a great writer! they have so many amazing fics but i've yet to read the one you're referring to

i added tobeans and don't blame me to my tbr! thanks for the rec

yess quite like us is pretty adorable. i love it! i've read way too many wrong number AUs but i think there's only one for jegulus. i don't follow many wips too. at first i read everything under the tags but then i came to love a select few and i follow only them.

SAME i ruin everything by going and searching the events of a movie or a book online but i can't fucking help it. no one actually understands how my brain works. its a mystery that im going to pretend ik the answers to

wywm and yaz is a void that sucks everyone in whether or not you're reading the fic. please its just so funny and sweet how you followed them and then stuck around for updates and spoilers of a fic you haven't read and now love as your own

i got sick of sad, canon compliant magical au jegulus so i haven't picked up a magic au in a while. but i agree with being a nerd and freaking out over well developed magic systems in fantasy books. like omg its the most fun part to read and also to write if you're a writer

i've read two or three time travel fix its. there's one i beta-ed for which is Ouroboros. the others i don't recall.

my favorite recently read fic...omg i haven't started new fics in a while. eesh. but i did post a list of comfort fics so you can check that out

what AU makes me go feral. mmm. i love modern AUs bc there's so much potential for everything. i hope this makes sense but i really love how writers translate a certain event from canon to the modern AU and change it - like werewolf remus has a chronic condition instead. little things like that.

enemies to friends to lovers makes me go *incoherent shrieking* which is why i've started writing my own romeo juliet business rivals AU for jegulus bc if gods provide me no content then i will take my destiny in my own hands

[meetmeatthecoda]

Lately, I've found myself drawn to stories ( and I mean drawn to as in envisioning those stories in my head, thinking them through to the very last detail, not reading, let alone writing them down, because I've long since accepted that they will never turn out quite the same on the paper ) where Red is the one who'd been seriously hurt and, therefore, rendered unconscious for an indefinite amount of time and worried Liz is the one who doesn't leave his side, hoping and praying and pleading that he would wake up. Probably, something that has to do with how unfair it is that we've seen Red keep vigil by hurt!Lizzy's side – playing music for her, holding her hand, reading to her etc. – a number of times and yet, over the course of 8 seasons, never have ever been allowed the pleasure of seeing Liz do the same for him ( not even when he was shot – because she left to retrieve the Fulcrum and couldn't come back until the fight was over – or when he was poisoned – because she'd been waiting to be cleared to see him and he ran away the moment he wasn't actively dying, because that's Red for you all ), even though she loves and cares about him as much as he loves and cares about her.

I mean, just imagine the possibilities!

Liz pacing around the waiting area of Red's mobile hospital while he's in surgery, unable to think about anything else other than how he looked – battered and broken and barely alive – when they've found him and how his head rested in her lap ( she could almost convince herself that he was merely dozing, if he wasn't so deathly pale and still and there wasn't so much blood on his clothes and her clothes and her hands and the backseat of the car ) and his hand was limp in her death grip as they rushed him to his doctors and she whispered words of reassurance and encouragement to him even though she knew he couldn't hear her and how she had to fight the instinct to curl around her lover and snarl at anyone who would come close because she can't let him be hurt further as the medics took him away from her, exchanging observations and orders that didn't sound particularly reassuring. She's also acutely aware of the fact that Red is fighting for his life – there, just a few feet away from her – and, though he's the strongest man she's ever known, he may not win, and so she makes a promise to the empty air in front of her that she will kill him herself if he dares to give up on her and Agnes like that now, when they've just reached the good, right place in their relationship, just confesses their feelings to each other. At some point, Dembe most certainly pulls Liz in for a hug, letting her cry in his shoulder, doing his best to comfort her ( even though there's nothing that can bring her more comfort than Red's hug, when he – alive and whole – wraps his arms protectively around her and holds her close and lets her hide from the whole world in his arms, his chest, his shoulder and neck – wherever she prefers to burrow her face at the time – and the memory itself makes her cry harder, because there's a possibility that he will never hug her like that again ), even though he's just as worried and scared as she is, and Mr Kaplan helps Liz clean up, washing away Red's blood from her hands and producing seemingly out of the thin air fresh clothes for her to change into.

Red, of course, pulls through the surgery, beating all odds, and Liz's heart floods with relief at the good news before sinking when the doctor explains to her and Dembe and Mr Kaplan the extent of Red's injuries and that it's impossible to say when – or even if – he wakes up.

And so the waiting game begins. Liz doesn't leave Red's side, holding his hand, stroking his knuckles with her thumb and never letting go, constantly talking to him and reading to him and even asking Dembe to bring the record player and some records from the Bethesda apartment to play to him, hoping that it would elicit some kind of response from him. Yet, as they days go by, there's not a single, smallest sign that he's aware of anything that's going on around him, that he's still there somewhere and is trying to find his way back to her, to them – he doesn't stir, doesn't so much as flutter his eyelashes, and Liz grows more desperate with each passing day, even though the doctor assures her that Red's slowly but surely improving ( but she can't see it with her own eyes, and if she can't see it, she's less likely to believe it, the more time passes with him just lying there, undisturbed by the loud, chaotic world around him ).

And then there's Agnes... While Liz keeps vigil at Red's bedside, the babysitting duties are split equally between Aram and Samar, Charlene and Cooper, Ressler and Audrey and Dembe and Mr Kaplan. Yet more often than not whoever picks little Agnes up from school and / or her ballet classes brings her over to the safe-house where Liz and Red are. She doesn't seem to be as unnerved by Red's state as her mommy is, climbing on his bed each time she visits ( after giving her mommy the biggest hug, of course ) and leaning in close to him, examining his face thoughtfully before half-asking, half-stating "He's still tired, mommy?". And Liz usually replies with a hoarse "Yes, baby" because she doesn't trust herself not to get choked up if she tries to answer more eloquently. Agnes simply nods then, satisfied with the explanation why he hasn't woken up yet, and settles against Red's side – mindful of his injuries and the spider web of wires and tubes connecting him to all sorts of monitors and machines – and either naps ( especially, on ballet classes days ) or tells her mommy and Red ( she talks to him just like Liz does much too easily – promising him to show him the new moves she's learnt when he wakes up etc. – as if she's already done that before or seen anyone else do that... unbeknownst to Liz, she did both – when Liz herself was in a coma, Agnes both saw Red talk to her mommy and was encouraged by him to talk to her, too, because it may help her mommy sleep easier and maybe she'll get better sooner and finally wake up ) about her day or does her homework or draws ( more often than not, she draws either cards for Red to read when he wakes up or just things she wants him to see ). And when the time comes for her to leave, she always kisses Red on the cheek, wishing him "sweet dreams" and to get better soon, and then gives her mommy, who tries so very hard not to tear up but fails miserably, a hug and a kiss, too, and tells her frequently that she shouldn't cry because Red is just too tired, just like she – Liz – once was, and that he just needs to sleep a bit more.

And when the door behind Agnes closes and Liz is sure her daughter won't see / hear her, she breaks down hard, in big, ugly sobs, because her little girl shouldn't be acting so naturally in this kind of situation and because she wishes so hard that Red just woke up, because she can't do this, any of this, without him.

In the end, once his body has healed itself enough and he regained enough of his strength, Red, of course, does wake up. It's a slow process, and Liz thinks she might either faint or go mad from the overwhelming feelings that are swirling inside of her when Red moves for the first time in what seems to her like forever – squeezing her hand feather-lightly – and when he leans slightly, unconsciously into her touch when she strokes his cheek – out of habit, without even expecting any sort of reaction from him and being pleasantly surprised – and when he opens his eyes for the first time – it's a brief occurrence, with his eyes slipping shut tiredly again after just a few moments, and he's still pretty much out of it, apparently, not even noticing her presence by his side, but for Liz it's a major event – and when he finally, finally looks directly at her – alive and conscious and alert – and calls her "Lizzy". He's still weak and his voice sounds terrible and Liz knows she shouldn't let all of her pent-up feelings – the fear and despair and frustration and love and relief and exhaustion – out on him like that – he's just woken up, after all – but she can't hold back the tears nor the jumbled mess of "thank you"s and "I love you"s and " "I've missed you"s and "I'm so so happy you're back" and "I was so worried" and "Don't ever scare me like that again" that spills from her lips as she leans in to kiss him lightly and give him the gentlest of hugs...

(Since I'm not a ficwriter and, therefore, have no intentions of using this pile of ideas/images/feelings myself, I wouldn't mind at all if you or any other writer drew inspiration from this rambling of mine)

Ahhhhh 😭😭😭 Are you sure you're not a fic writer, anon?? Cause this reads like some quality hurt/comfort to me!! 🥲🥲 Honestly, this is a lovely scenario to imagine & it gives me a slightly bitter sense of satisfaction to think of Liz suffering through just a fraction of the time Red spent by her side while she was in her coma... especially if it's the catalyst for fEeLiNgS to emerge tee hee bc, you're RIGHT, we were woefully deprived of those situations in the show & I'll never not be sad about it tbh. More specifically, things I love the most about this in no particular order: Liz having to "fight the instinct to curl around her lover & snarl" *swoon*, Liz swearing she will kill him herself if he dies LMAO, Dembe hugging her for comfort & Mr. Kaplan helping her get cleaned up 🥺🥺🥺, Liz playing records for Red yasss, AGNES & everyone taking turns babysitting her while she misses her Daddy desperately but deals with the situation with a maturity & grace beyond her years in an effort to help her grieving Mommy through it cool cool mkay mkay, Liz only breaking down once Agnes leaves OWWW, anddddd Liz being a blubbering mess when Red finally wakes up & calls her "Lizzie" & they kiss *whispers* it's fine, i'm fine 🙃 IN CONCLUSION, I love this anon, thank you for sharing this lovely little AU with me!! 🥰 And much, much love to you, of course, my friend!! ❤️

[angel-deux-writes]

Hi Angel! I've been a big fan of yours since HCM, and so I wanted to express my concern for your wellbeing. There was that big break when you took a month or so to finish HCM before posting it in quick succession, in order to not have to deal with the comments. Now, from what you've been writing in the notes to Dorne Rights, it looks like you are experiencing something similar. The selfish fan in me wants you to keep writing and keep posting, but the basic human in me is more worried that (1/2)

you are unhappy. Nothing is worth making yourself unhappy over, particularly not something that’s meant to give you pleasure. A favourite author of mine back in the days of my Spike/Angel obsession had a disclaimer on her stories telling readers to please not leave feedback of any kind, not even constructive criticism, on her fics because she finds them unhelpful. Her comment section was full of chats about various topics in that fandom, rather than her own fiction. Might help. (2/2)

Hello! I really appreciate this message, because you’re right: fanfic writing isn’t good for me.

(lol putting this beneath the cut because it’s way too long)

It’s actually my experience in this fandom that has made me realize that writing in general probably isn’t good for me, but unfortunately I feel a drive to it and can’t seem to stop myself from thinking I’ll one day get published, so that’s a bit of a downer. The truth is that I’m naturally disposed toward thinking that I’m shit, my words are shit, and every thought I’ve ever had is unoriginal and poorly written. It’s always been like that, from the time I wrote my first attempt at fiction at 7 years old to now at 31. It takes a lot for me to share my writing with people. I started writing fic at 14, basically as soon as I discovered that I wasn’t the only person composing stories about Han and Leia in their free time. I’m sure that my fics were horrendous. I give myself a hard time now, but 14 year old me probably deserved it even more. But there were sweet people on the internet who encouraged me (and lied to me) and told me that my stories were good, and that made a huge difference. 

(that and my freshman year english teacher, who was very very cute and earnest and young and made me feel like I could actually be a writer.)

I’ve never been a part of a fandom before. Discourse and meta and long discussions about canon events have never interested me. I’ve said that before, and it remains true! I consume what canon there is, and sometimes I like it, and sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I’m so dissatisfied with it that I need to write something, and so I do. I don’t think I’ve ever written fic for something that I found entirely satisfactory. The extension of my being part of an actual fandom in the past was probably reblogging a few gifsets and recommending it to friends. I’ve just never had that sort of communal experience. This, the J/B fandom, was my first time really getting into it. It’s the first time I’ve ever made friends online that weren’t just frequent commenters on long multichapter fics! It has been exciting and I’m grateful for it! It’s just also probably not good for me. 

It’s just, like, every time I post something, I’m fighting a very loud and very desperate voice in my head that’s saying “you’re shit and you shouldn’t bother”. It’s why I’m so good at writing first drafts of novels but so, so bad at getting past the second. It’s why I usually post fics only until I’ve worked out my frustrations: one or two fics per fandom and then ghosting away forever. It’s very hard to defy that voice and post something anyway, and this fandom experience has taught me that no matter HOW many stories I post, I’m ALWAYS going to have to fight that voice. And it’s gotten actively stronger. “You’re not what this fandom wants” “You’re not good at this” “Everyone’s just being nice” “You’ve overstayed your welcome”. Paying attention, often by accident, to the discourse and the metas only makes it worse, because my brain automatically turns to “well YOU don’t write them like that. That means you’re wrong”. I can tell myself as many times as I want that I myself like many different interpretations of J/B! My brain goes “yeah, but you’re just an idiot who doesn’t know any better. There’s a right way, and you’re not doing it”. 

THIS IS ALL SO DRAMATIC! But it’s just the truth! Every time I post something, it’s against my nature. NO ONE outside of fandom reads my writing! I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve allowed my close friends and family to read things. So while it may seem like, idk, like I should just be able to get over it, negative comments, or even SLIGHTLY critical comments, really hit me hard. For all the positive feedback I get (and I really AM super grateful for it, and it means the world to me), those few critical voices seem louder because they’re agreeing with what I have already known about myself. And so it feels almost like a victory, but a shitty one. “Ha! I was right this whole time! I AM a shit writer, and I’ve for some reason tricked those other people into thinking I’m good!” 

For a long time (much longer than I’ve ever written for any other fandom, obviously), I was able to shove it to the side. The J/B fandom HAS been super good to me, and they HAVE been wonderful about giving me feedback and making me feel welcome and included. But those negative voices are just SO LOUD to me, even though I know logically that they shouldn’t be. 

It would be easy to point to a specific problem and say that my issues will be fixed if only I can address that. I do it CONSTANTLY. Maybe if I stopped tagging other relationships. Maybe if I stopped tagging other characters. Maybe if I tagged my works super specifically. Maybe if I made author’s notes about how I’m a shit writer and people shouldn’t expect things from me. Maybe if I just wrote “THIS STORY IS WRITTEN ALREADY AND IM JUST EDITING AS I GO! PLEASE DONT SUGGEST THINGS!” I just feel like, increasingly, I want fewer and fewer eyes on my fics. It’s the opposite of the problem I thought I would have. But my confidence took a huge hit with HCM, and then I was finally feeling good enough to post Dorne Rights. It was probably a mistake! 

idk, maybe it’s just all the shit that’s going on in the world + in my personal life. Maybe it’s just time. Maybe I’m just running out of inspiration. But the positive voices aren’t loud enough to drown out my own negative self-voice this time, and so I’ve been trying to figure out how to handle it. Part of me wants to delete Dorne Rights with the intention of reworking it and maybe posting it again down the line with fewer tags and a lot more reminders that people can write their own stories if they don’t like mine. Part of me wants to just do a HCM and post it all at once so that I can leave the finished product up (even if I now think the entire thing is garbage). Part of me wants to stop writing fic entirely, at least until the next time I watch something with an ending so bad it fucks me up. I think my solution will probably be a massive step back from fandom for a little while. I’ve been feeling a drive to work on my original stuff, and I should probably lean into that. I would like to still write and post J/B, once I find the inspiration, but I’m tired of feeling like this is a job. I think I got so deeply sunk into this attitude of “I NEED to write and post constantly because these people want me to, and they actually like what I write!!” that I stopped writing things because I wanted to write them and started writing them because I wanted to write things for other people, to make other people happy, and so that they could tell me that I’m not a shit writer at all.

I should make it clear that I do intend to write my JB fic swap thing FOR SURE. I will drag that story out of myself no matter what. But in general it’s probably just healthier for me to not spend so much time On Here especially, and on fic in general.

[littlemessyjessi]

“Papa Wolf”: Part 2: Benicio del Toro: SugarDaddy Wolf x PS Reader

Benicio del Toro Fic/Imagine.

---------------------------

Saturday came quicker than I would've liked and as I sat there on my bed staring in my closet... I cursed myself for it.

Still wrapped in a towel after saturating my entire body in whipped body butter ... I glowered at my clothes.

What was I supposed to wear?

I don't know why I was fretting so much.

I'd done this before but something about this was different.

No.  No it wasn't.

Don't go down that alley.

He's just another older guy looking to spend his time and money.

I needed to stop looking at him like the unreasonably attractive creature he was and start looking at him like a paycheck.

Eventually, I decided on something simple yet sexy.

Form fitting enough to show off my curves but not so much as to reveal myself to be the true whore I am.

A black dress and leggings with matching boots and a coat.

A moonstone crystal necklace thrown on at the last second before I ordered my Uber.

I was just finishing my makeup when I got the alert that my ride was less than a minute away so I got it together and was stepping out the door when the car pulled up.

I made quick work of getting settled and getting on route.

Thankfully I didn't have an overly chatty driver and she blissfully just turned the music on and let me stare out the window.

When we arrived at the resteraunt I paid her and headed for the front.

Benicio had told me to tell them I had a reservation for Sanchez and that they'd bring me right through.

I felt so weird as I followed the waitress  through but eventually she lead me all the way to the back of the establishment and up a set of stairs to a balcony like dining area.

A smaller and nicer area that did, admittedly, have a stunning view.

I made about two steps before my eyes settled on him and I damn near lost the ability to function.

The light illuminated his features and he looked like heaven wrapped in a bow.

He seemed to notice the intrusion and glanced over at the waitress and I as we neared.

His lips pulled up into a smile as he stood to greet me.

"Hello, sweetheart." He said and my eyes just about rolled back into my head right there.

Damn him.

He leaned down to kiss my cheek before pulling out my chair for me and then settling down himself.

"What could I get you to drink?" asked the waitress.

"Water, please." I said.

"Do you know what you'd like to order or should I give you two a moment?" she asked glancing between the two of us before her eyes settled on me.

I shrugged and glanced at him, "I don't know.  What's good? I've never been before."

She settled a hand on my shoulder, "I could always give you a moment to look the menu over and come back.  It'll be no problem."

"I'll have my usual." he said to the waitress before producing a menu to me and pointing something out.  "This is excellent if you like that kind of thing."

"Sounds good." I said and off she went though not before casting a smile my way.

I lifted an eyebrow at the situation but let it go.

Benicio chuckled and my eyes snapped to his.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing." he said. "I just should've known you'd charm the waitress."

"It wasn't my intention." I shrugged. "However, if I results in excellent service and hot food...I'm not really complaining."

He grinned at my comment and reached out to take my hand.

"I'm really happy we could do this." he said. "Which reminds me."

He stopped to dig in his jacket pocket for a moment before producing a small black box and sliding it across the table.

"For your time." he said with a small smile. "I hope you like it."

I opened the little box up to find a rather stunning little necklace.

A beautiful silver number with some sort of crystal in the shape of a leaf.

I didn't want to say diamond but considering the situation...it likely was.

"Would you?" I asked holding it out to him and he smiled before coming to stand behind me.

I watched as his hands came into view before his fingers lightly dusted my collarbone as he fastened it into place.

"How does it look?" I asked as he took his seat again.

"Almost as lovely as you." he said, his hazel eyes boring right through me.

"Thank you." I said. "I love it."

We chatted idly about random unimportant things for a bit while we waited for our food.

Soon enough it came and we ate in 'comfortable' silence.

Comfortable for him probably.

For me, I felt like my heart was in my throat.

I had to tell myself.

Get it together, girl.  This is just business.   You have done this before.

One glance at him showed me that he was a little nervous as well and for whatever reason...I just relaxed.

"So, tell me about your day." I said with an easy smile.  "Anything interesting?"

I didn't notice before that his shoulders were holding the tension until I could visibly see it fall off him.

An easy sort of smile laced his lips as he said, "Finally meeting with you has been the highlight of it."

I turned on the charm, complete with a little smile and a head tilt.

"Aww.  That's so sweet." I said sweetly.

"What about you?" He asked curiously.

"This meal right here." I answered truthfully and punctuated it with another delicious bite of bread to my mouth.

I made it a point to let my lips linger a second longer on the tip of my finger.

When his eyes followed the movement and stared at my lips just a bit too long... I knew I had him.

At least on the physical part anyway.

For whatever reason, it gave me the confidence and reassurance to do whatever I needed to do.

I turned up the charm and soon enough his face was alight with laughter and he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

Not long after, a couple of hours had passed and I knew what I had to do.

Close it off and leave him wanting more.

No sense in giving my time away before we arranged an agreement.

"This has been so fun. Thank you for such a lovely date." I said. "However, I think it's time for me to go."  

Dissappointment was clear on his face and he spoke up, "Oh, really?  We could always go for a little shopping trip."

I hid my smirk and replaced it with a smile.

I had him.

I knew it.  

He knew it.

Anyone who looked at us knew it.

"As tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to pass for now." I said.

Rule number one with Sugar Daddies.

You're time is valuable and there is no reason to give them the impression that it's free.

Shopping trip or not, your time is money and without a pre-determined agreement... you're basically giving it away.

You're priceless- remember that.

"Alright." he said with a little smile.  "As long as it's just for now."

I gave him my most charming smile and kissed his cheek when we stood from the table.

He paid the ticket and tipped generously before slipping a few bills into my hand.

"For your cab fair." he said.  "For now and for earlier."

I smiled at him softly and pecked his cheek again, "Thank you."

"And you know, something a little extra." he smirked. "Get yourself something nice and I can't wait until I see  you again."

With that, he kissed my cheek and I left him with the scent of me lingering.

Leave on a good note and get the hell out of there.

As I stepped inside my ride, I grinned to myself.

"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked.

I glanced up and then down at the money in my hand.

He'd given me way more than cab fair and hey- a bitch has bills.

"Farmer's market." I said.

Hey, a bitch had to eat.

With a small smile to myself, I began internally laugh at my own insecurities.

If I couldn't do anything else in life...I could pull a hustle.

---------------------------

Hello, darlings! Welcome to the second installment of the Papa Wolf series! I hope you are enjoying it! It's very interesting to write! I would love to hear your feedback and I wish you all a lovely day!

Love,

@frankie2902

@pleasantdreamqueen   @becrazy–beyou

@littledeadrottinghood @blackirisposts

@therealmrshale @woodworthti666 @thegreatirene@fanfictionandjunk

@angelus320

@alanlizzingtonshore@buriednurbckyrd@disneymarina @tubbypeachwriting

@sullybot @georgiagrl1990 @whenallsaidanddone

@mischiefnevermanaged94 @inumorph

@congurl

@centerhabit

@bubblymusiclover13

@qtmeryr

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@tnupsweetpie

@alisoncdariel

@hannahloveslife

@wormyboi

@blackirisposts

@maggyme13

@amethyst09

@ibenkastberg

@fanfics1717 @mrscasnovak

@thickemadame @babygirl-barnes

@theladyofmasks @aengsty

@kalliravenne​

Love, Kenny

[iffyswriting]

Gang-Related 1

Pairing: Ann-Marie x Black!OC

Genre: Romance and Angst.

Summary: Journey Nelson is in need of money, quick and fast. She's enlisted by her friend to become a dealer for one of the most fearful Gangs in their city. She meets the leader, Ann-Marie and sooner than later they begin a romance that is doomed to burn up in flames.

Note: I might as well start dropping some of my lesbian fics over here. I'm finding it difficult finding black gay fics 🥺. If y'all have any, don't be shy- DM it too me!

"Hurry the fuck up, Journey!" Tika yelled to me breathlessly, her feet slapping against the pavement just as fast as mine.

I looked both ways before crossing the street, more sweat gathering on my hands. My heart drummed in my chest the darkness surrounding me furthering the anxiety I felt.

2 months ago I'd never be out this late but things had changed and I had changed. I was desperate and when you're desperate you become a person you've never known before.

We came up to a building shrouded in darkness, slipping into its shadows. Under the umbrella, Tika knocked on the door three times, grabbing my arm to making me stand back. We waited for what seemed like longer than a few minutes when a slot under the door opened and Tika slipped something to the other side.

It opened seconds later and a girl glared at both Tika and I as we came in. A small number of girls covered the entire area leaning on furniture. Some were counting money, others were packaging- all were talking but it came to a stop when I stepped into the room.

I puffed out my chest to seem a little tougher under their scrutinizing gaze but I still felt like I was posing. Pretending to be hard when I was really easily breakable.

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Someone new."

"You got cleared for that?" The girl with green hair questioned, leaning on her hip.

"You about to get cleared for an ass-whooping, if you keep asking questions. "Tika gritted through her teeth. "Where's Ann?"

"Where she always is- in the back."

"Thank you." Their eyes had yet to leave me, burning holes into my back as we walked down the long hall. I started to feel more restless, the closer we got to the back and I couldn't control the twitching in my body.

Knocking on a new door, Tika glanced my way sucking her teeth at the sight of my shaking hands.

"You need to get your nerves together. You can't look nervous in front of this girl- you'll look like a pussy."

"I can't help it." I said wiggling my fingers."My body shakes on its own."

"What are you scared for anyway?" Chewing on my bottom lip, I felt embarrassed to say.

"What if she doesn't like me?"

"That's what the hell you're worried about!?"

"She has to like me- if I'm gonna work for her, she has to think of me in a positive light. That's how a good, boss-employee relationship works."

"Fuck Journey," She rubbed the space between her eyes." I forget how you are sometimes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Before she could answer the door opened and a single person moved out of the way showcasing who we needed to see. The Ann-Marie, sat on a table counting her stacks, the hard-earned money she worked for.

You could consider her enigma- her male counterparts taking her as a joke when it came to selling and handling a kingdom. Nothing was funny about how she moved, however, and she proved herself to more ruthless than expected.

Ann-Marie isn't a terrifying name but she makes it scary. She brings dread just by a mere mention and that's power a single person holds. Power that surrounds her crew and everything else she does.

Tika asked me why I was so afraid- the reputation before me proceeded all things especially fear.

"Tika Ray!"Ann gave a fake warm welcome, her eyes bouncing onto me as an intruder."I see you bringing visitors unannounced now."

"I'm bringing you, workers."

"I didn't ask for that." Her mouth was drawn into a frown, prepared to dig into Tika.

"We always could use the help." She attempted before a scoff was heard.

"So, you think we're struggling by ourselves?" Ann asked accusingly, Tika's foot beginning to jump.

"No, I just think-"

"You think about everything else but never think to ask." She pointed at her head, her nails shaped like claws. "Never think to check-in with the person actually in charge."

"Ann-"

"I don't wanna address this in-front of company."She said paying me attention. "Let me hear from her why she's here." Tika started to talk again but Ann raised her hand, cutting her off.

"I wasn't speaking to you, I was speaking to her."

Ann was so intimidating, even with how tiny she was she still had an aura that made her feel bigger, taller, maybe even stronger. She hopped down from the table she sat on and walked up to me, staring straight into my eyes. Her eye contact was scary and made me feel inferior but like I was the only thing in the room.

"Why you here, baby?" Her tone became soft, truly catching me off guard.

"Tika told me you could give me work." I gulped down air before continuing."Easy and quick money."

"That's all you want? Just to pull weight?"

"Yes." I said confidently, hoping Ann couldn't see through my front.

"You don't look built for it, honestly." She clasped her hands together, standing straighter. "But none of us are when we start out."

"I can prove that I'm useful. I run really fast and I've always been good at math." I listed off, looking more awkward than qualified. Ann actually gave me a smile, a ghost of a laugh coming from her throat.

"You don't gotta treat this like an interview, baby." Swiping her tongue over her bottom lip."If Tika trusts you, then I have to trust her word." She gave Tika a slick smirk, Tika keeping her face neutral and her stance calm.

"I'm gonna try you out on a test run and if you do well- we'll continue to talk."

"I don't think you'll be a disappointment."

"Thank you so much for giving me a chance." I gushed, a bit of relief flushing out of me.

"Don't mention it." Ann looked at me longer- suddenly she took ahold of my chin making my heart speed up tenfold. Bringing my face closer to her's, She examined each of my features, her eyebrows scrunching together in deep thought.

"You are so pretty."She mumbled, her eyelids lowered.

"Thank you."

"I'll get out your space since I'm making you uncomfortable." Ann laughed good-naturedly but that didn't make the tension I felt leave my system.

"You aren't."

"Your body language says different." Her hand dropped to her side, and it felt as if our eyes finally broke away from one another. Ann started to talk to another girl as Tika threw her arm over my shoulder giving me a hopeful smile.

Within the crew, there was a huge sense of loyalty. Looking at everyone, I knew I wanted to belong here. I knew if I joined them that I would never be hungry or alone. I knew I would belong to an actual family.

Glancing at Ann, the one person I had to impress- a new feeling sprung up inside of me. Determination. I had to ace my test run, and prove myself and consequently not embarrass Tika.

[lunar-jimin]

only proper and right things only good things, looking out of the well

Pairing: Hoseok x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: fluff, mild smut, idiots to lovers

Length: 1.3k

Warnings: dry humping, cumming in pants, that’s it I think

a/n: this is my second fic for @ficswithluv​‘s Bulletproof Bingo. I hope you enjoy.

bingo m.list | bingo card | m.list

It had been years since Hoseok had last stepped into your father's diner. When you had last seen him, he had been a scruffy teen laughing with his gaggle of friends. The Hoseok that sat before you was an entirely different creature. His suit alone must have cost several thousand dollars. His body had filled out, and he must have grown an inch or two.

You had heard stories about what happened to him. He and his friends were part of a street gang that had terrorized the local businesses. But never your father's diner, they never dared to touch your father's diner. Perhaps because your father had a soft spot for them, always knocking a dollar or two of the prices. After graduating high school (barely), most of the boys had moved out of town to pursue bigger and better things, Hoseok included. Together, they formed one of the largest business conglomerates in the country: Bangtan.

Bangtan had a mixed reputation. Many praised it for the incredible charity work it did, while others suspected it of having a shady background. You never minded the rumors. Who were you, a small town girl still waitressing at her father's restaurant, to judge the men who actually made something out of their lives. It didn't help that you had carried a flame for Hoseok since high school.

"Heya Hobi, what can I getcha today?"

His lips spread into a grin at the sound of his old nickname.

"Now that's a name I haven't heard for a while," he chuckled, "I'll take a burger, no tomato, and a sprite to go with it, love."

"Alrighty then."

You tucked your pencil behind your ear, before turning away to deliver the order to your dad. Before you could leave, Hoseok's hand wrapped around your wrist.

"Wha-," you swirled around.

"When do you get off?"

"Umm, eight."

"I'll pick you up then," he smirked, releasing your wrist.

You didn't question him, just turned back around before he could see you blush. You were only mildly confused as to why Hoseok wanted to spend time with you of all people. Sure, sometimes your friend groups would mix as teenagers, but he hadn't ever paid any special attention to you. You could count the number of conversations you've had together on one hand.

You tried to push your thoughts to the back of your mind while you finished your shift. Despite your efforts, you spent the rest of your workday distracted, and it was a wonder you hadn't messed up anyone's order. Hoseok didn't say a word to again, except when paying. Eight' o'clock rolled around faster than you expected, and before you knew it, you were hanging up your apron.

You hadn't brought a jacket with you, so you shivered as you stepped out into the chilly early autumn air. Lucky for you, it was only moments before Hoseok pulled up in front of the diner in a shiny silver sports car. You slipped inside without a moment's hesitation. If it were any other person, you might have questioned getting in their car after not seeing them for seven years, but this was Hoseok, and maybe you still liked him a teensy bit. A teensy, weensy bit.

Hoseok smiled at you as you made yourself comfortable in his passenger seat.

"Might I ask where you're taking me?"

"Oh, but that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it."

You rolled your eyes.

"Well, seeing as I'm blindly trusting you with my life right now, maybe a surprise isn't called for. I'm already risking my existence being in this car with you."

"Now how's that?"

He hadn't taken his eyes off the road.

"Well, I haven't seen you in seven years, and now I'm in your car with no idea of where we are going, and you haven't said so much as hello to me. You might be taking me off to kill me for all I know."

He chuckled at that.

"Why would I kill such a pretty doll, like yourself? Besides, I thought we were friends and friends trust each other."

You raised your eyebrows.

"Friends, huh? Hoseok, I haven't heard so much as a peep out of you in all the time you've been gone. And even when you were here, I don't know if I would call us friends."

He shook his head.

"Well, I thought we were."

You spent the rest of the car ride in silence with only the low hum of his music to keep you company. You tried not to worry as you left the limits of the town and made your way into the surrounding countryside. When you pulled up to a private airport fifteen miles out of the way of civilization, you had to hide your surprise.

"Hoseok, what are we doing here?"

"We're gonna take a trip."

"Wha-? Where? For how long? Why? I can't; I have work tomorrow."

The word flooded out of your mouth as you noticed the lone private jet on the dark runway.

"I figured I had to make our first date memorable. And don't worry, I already cleared it with your father. Besides, I had to get your passport somehow."

He smiled.

"First date...wait, what?"

"Oh come on, you have to have known that I've had the biggest crush on you since the beginning of time."

You started at him blankly, disbelief flooding your brain.

"I had no idea," you whisper.

You looked across at him and had to will yourself not to shrink under the heat of his gaze.

"Yeah, well, I have. I know it's sudden and that I haven't been around, but I've been waiting because I was dealing with shit I didn't want you to get wrapped up in, 'cause you're it for me, and if something happened to you, I could never forgive myself. But now it's all good, and I really just want you. But I get it if you don't want to come with."

You shook your head.

"Oh, you idiot," you mumbled, before leaning across the armrest to place your lips on his.

He sat still for a second, before reciprocating your action. His lips were soft against yours, moving gently as though he was scared he would break you. His warm hand slipped up to cup your cheek. Happiness spread throughout your entire body as dopamine and oxytocin flooded your brain.

You felt like you had been kissing for an eternity when his arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you into his lap. His arousal was immediately apparent, and your hips ground down onto his bulge on their own accord. His tongue slipped into your mouth as arousal pooled in your panties. You were grateful that you had worn a skirt today, seeing as it was one less layer between you in him. A moan escaped you when your clit hooked on his tip.

You were sure you were ruining his pants, but you couldn't find yourself caring. It had been so long since someone had made you feel this good, and it was Hoseok no less. It only took you minutes to find your release, cum soaking through your panties and his pants. Drained of all your energy, you collapsed on top of him, heavy pants escaping both your mouths.

When you gathered enough strength, you sat up to find him looking at you with a soft gaze.

"Do you want me to hel-"

You went to reach for his zipper, but his hand caught yours, blush apparent even in the darkness.

"I-uh-I-"

You glance down at his pants to find his own stain had joined yours on his crotch.

"That's hot," you giggled.

He looked a bit relieved.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I'll go with you."

His face stretched into a huge smile before he pulled you in for another kiss.

"Alright, then. Let's go."

When you woke up the next morning, you were greeted with an aerial view of Baja and the cutest man you had ever seen.

[a-problematic-writer]

Hello again! I gotta tell you, I reeeaaaally loved the Harpvor fic that you did for my request! I really love your writing style! Anyway, sorry for bothering you again but, could you write something for Ivor during episode 7 when he, Jesse and Petra are in Harper's lab please? I've always wondered how someone would write his POV of that portion of the episode. Thanks a bunch! (oh god I made this so long I'm so sorry)

Ivor has been through his fair share of horrid situations, has seen his fair share of horrors. Despite all that, this was one of the worse situations he’d gotten himself into. His mind was a whirlwind of clumped together thoughts and worries. He worried for Petra and Jesse who had found a strain on their relationship. He was worried for Lukas who had been taken by PAMA and was currently under the computers control.

And he was worried for Harper. 

On a base level, he connected with her and her situation, but on another level he knew she was their only way out of here. And she had been stolen. They needed to get her back, by any means. It would seem those means would be destroying PAMA once and for all. Jesse was prepared to play the part of hero and save this town and Lukas.

Ivor was terrified for everyone involved.

He let out an elongated sigh and began to run his index finger over the spines of the books. They were worn, no doubt read countless times by Harper herself. The dim light coming from the glowstone light fixtures nearby allowed him to see there was no rhyme or reason to her organization of the books. Though, the ones on the higher shelf seemed far more worn then the ones toward the bottom.

He wondered how many nights the woman had sat here, studying, trying to figure out where she’d went wrong with PAMA. It made his heart squeeze.

“So,” Ivor looked over his shoulder in time to see Jesse approach with a clap of his hands. “What’d ya think of Harper’s lab?”

Ivor turned fully to Jesse and pursed his lip. “I’m highly impressed,” he bowed his head eyes skirting over to the painting not far away. “although that painting does make me kinda sad,” a sudden wave of grief seemed to strike Ivor. “look how happy they used to look together.”

Jesse frowned and crossed his arms, nodding the slightest bit then his eyes trained behind Ivor and his brow raised as his arms dropped at his sides. Ivor turned as Jesse made his way toward the book that sat open on the desk.

“Huh, I guess she read to keep busy,” he said running his finger over the page the book was open on, features tightening in confusion a moment later. “there’s so much techno-babble and numbers in here…” he turned the book once, twice, and then replaced it back to how it was. “I can barely tell if I’m holding it right side up or not.”

Ivor couldn’t help the bemused smile as Jesse continued to try and read the book. It reminded him of himself trying to make sense of Ellegaard’s late night notes while test running her various machines. He was always surprised that no matter how late she stayed up, how sleep deprived she was, she always had clean handwriting.

After another few moments of distress taking Jesse’s face he finally scoffed and picked the book up closing and turning it so he could read the title. “The Redstone Heart by…” his voice halted and eyes widened. “Soren?!”

Ivor felt something cold was over him his eyes widening as he took an involuntary step towards Jesse to confirm. It read clear as day. Ivor’s throat tightened.

“Whoa, another one!” Jesse put the book down back on the pages it’d been open to. “Either that name is a coincidence or… wow!”

Jesse turned to Ivor then as if he might ask him about it but then his wonder seemed to falter and he turned away and Ivor heard his footsteps head in a different direction. Ivor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, pressing his hands into the top of the desk as he leaned into it.

He’d known Soren had had secrets, things the man had never wanted to talk about. In Ivor’s youth, he had thought it had just been a past that was hard to confide in someone with. Slowly, Ivor had begun to see it was more than that, but he never questioned Soren’s integrity. None of them did. Not until it was too late.

Would things have been better had he done so? Ivor doubted that. But it was questions like that that kept him up at night. Made him wonder what he could have done to change the past. They were dangerous thoughts. One’s that led nowhere. Ivor moved the book over to himself. thumbing through the pages skimming quickly. And found distress swelling.

How much had he not known about his own best friend?