#writing this response really was me just going wow I have written A Lot

[venomgender]

required reading .

[genericpuff]

wait wait wait, regarding that Minthe post, you're telling me that Rachel literally wrote the character as having BPD.....and portrayed her as an abusive mean piece of shit??? WOW. fucking WOW. sorry for being so angry, but even if she "retconned" that - it's still so god damn disrespective. as someone who has BPD it hurts so much to see my mental illness villanised :(

ugh I'm so sorry pal. and I don't blame you for being angry about it, like I don't even have BPD and I'M fucking pissed LOL like I can understand why Rachel might have wanted to backtrack from that knowing fully well that Minthe's story wasn't gonna have a happy ending, but writing her with BPD in the first place and then BACKTRACKING from it as soon as she likely got heat for it (or just realized it wasn't a good look) isn't much better because it means now all she's done is written the stigmatized negative effects of BPD into her character without showing the more positive outlooks of healing and managing. Maybe that was doomed to happen considering Minthe is someone who doesn't get a happy ending in the myths, but it begs the question of why she'd write her with BPD to begin with because in hindsight it really does seem like she just wanted to use it as a way to make her "evil".

But like, when you read the actual episode, you can SEE the potential there for character growth, you can SEE that she's aware of her actions - but doesn't understand why she's "like that" which is a VERY common feeling among people with undiagnosed mental illnesses - but it was never meant to be.

Like jfc not only is it HEAVILY IMPLIED, but again, the episode is literally called "Splitting". And we see exactly that with Minthe, who can't seem to rationalize with herself that she messed up.

But... that leads me to another point that I failed to mention in that first ask response: she DIDN'T mess up. Like, yes, she messed up by escalating it to the point of slapping Hades, but it wasn't her fault that she didn't make it to her date with Hades. Whose fault was it?

Continuously throughout the first season we see Thetis being an awful influence who manipulates and gaslights Minthe. They're "friends", but it's clear Thetis does not have Minthe's best interests in mind. In this very scene we see Thetis manipulate Minthe and even attempt to get her so drunk that she won't be able to show up to her date. And then of course when that plan works and Minthe freaks out, Thetis spins it around on Minthe in a very passive-aggressive way.

But of course, the narrative has to find a way to turn this whole thing on Minthe being the bad guy. Hence we get the slap which shifts the focus entirely away from what led up to it back onto Hades who has, in a lot of ways, put her in a situation that she can't control. And of course, being in those kinds of situations does not help with mental health.

Like, sorry, I'm really going off here now, but... the slap happens in Episode 76.

When is it finally addressed again? Episode 103.

It took Rachel nearly THIRTY EPISODES to finally bring it back to Minthe, and in that time the reader has spent SEVERAL EPISODES reading about how sad and lonely Hades is, and about how cute and lovey he is with Persephone. The reader has not had ANY time to reflect on Minthe's circumstances, because it completely pivots away from her to focus on H x P as a sort of distraction from the fact that Minthe is a victim in her own right.

And when it DOES return to Minthe in 103, we get this harrowing reminder that her entire life is dependent on Hades-

And once again, here comes Thetis to the "rescue", reinforcing the negative feedback loop that Minthe is trapped in where she's put in unhealthy situations. She drags her to a bar and the whole time Minthe is not having fun because she's understandably still reeling from what happened.

Now we DO get some character development here, where Minthe realizes exactly what I've just finished explaining, that Thetis isn't her friend, that she'd rather not have Thetis as a friend than continue being talked down to and manipulated.

But then, as we know, because Rachel still needs Minthe to be the "bad guy", the breakup between Hades and Minthe winds up being all about Persephone from a POV that attempts to villainize Minthe for being "jealous" (rather than focusing on how shitty Hades actually is for having an emotional affair with Persephone to begin with) and then Minthe goes right back to hanging out with Thetis anyways for the sake of having the "evil other girl" who wants to "ruin" H x P's relationship.

It's not until Season 3 that we finally see Minthe tell Thetis to fuck off for good, but by then it's too little too late, and Minthe has lost an entire character arc. Rachel tries to go "see! Minthe's life is so much better now that she's taking care of children!" but that's an entirely different solution to a problem Minthe never had. She never got treatment for her BPD. She just got away from H x P which, while is a good thing, isn't actually analyzed as such. It's treated more as a "good thing" for H x P and the readers, because now they don't have to be subjected to Minthe's evil scheming anymore, something something "the evil is defeated". And don't even get me started on this comic's problem with constantly resolving female characters' story arcs through motherhood.

It bums me out so fucking much. Minthe deserved so much better. She's one of the many characters in LO who make it so painfully ironic when they're done dirty, because despite Rachel's attempts to write a "feminist retelling" that focuses on "moving on from trauma", she's inadvertently done more damage to feminism and the stigmas around mental health and trauma through her assassination of grounded and realistic and relatable characters like Minthe and Demeter who are shown ZERO empathy or understanding for their actions (unless it can be done so by making Persephone and Hades into the heroes). It happens so often throughout the comic it almost feels like how the comic markets itself as a "progressive feminist retelling" is some sick joke that I'm just not getting.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + three

authors note: wow! omg, thank you all so much for the kind words of support for this story! it really does mean a lot to me, cause i know the content is pretty heavy.

also, if anyone has read the acotar series, i imagine the dynamic between roman and the twins to be a bit similar to the bat boys. and yes, we'll def see more of the twins moving forward.

in addition, if you want to be tagged, you have to explicitly ask as such. the last thing i want to do is tag someone i thought wanted to be tagged and didn't, and they end up triggered. :(

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: language, violence against women, trauma responses (nightmares/night terrors), hints at suicidal thoughts, references to traumatic past

song inspo: 'looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

words: 9k

Roman doesn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning, and he’s out the house again before the sun is even up.

Solana knows all of this because she doesn’t sleep that night.

It’s not for lack of trying. She spends nearly two hours twisting and turning before finally accepting that sleep isn’t in the cards for her. She instead finds herself sitting on the floor of her bathroom, door locked, writing away in her journal. No letter to mom this time, just pure word vomit, all of her thoughts and feelings about everything that’s transpired. 

There’s as many tears as there are words, and like always post–writing, she feels a tad bit better. The best and only release she ever has is in her written word, all of the things she could never say aloud, melted from her head and sealed into paper.

When she’s done writing, Solana opts to read a book in her Kindle Library. Doing so makes her realize that she still doesn’t have her stuff from back home. It’s not that she has a lot, but the items she was told to pack just for the first few nights will only last just that—for a few days.

But, Solana doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask Roman about that. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea to ask him for anything, not after she’s clearly and understandably upset him. She’ll just….she’ll just have to make do until it's noticed she's essentially living out of a suitcase. 

And Solana has a thought, an idea, that getting up early to fix him breakfast could be a good thing, something to tame his anger toward her. It’s the least that she can do.

But one look around Roman’s massive kitchen indicates he’s every bit the stereotypical bachelor. There’s only a couple of ingredients, not enough of anything to make an actual meal. There’s also a lot of “meal prep” meals, which makes sense. She can imagine he’s insanely strict with his diet and fitness. One can’t look like Roman Reigns without an intense amount of focus and dedication.

It makes her wonder just what kind of dietary restrictions and preferences she’ll have to learn about him to make meals that he can actually consume. Another question she needs to ask but doesn’t know how or when considering he already has very little to no interest in having anything to do with her.

It’s another thing she knows she’ll have to figure out but tries her best to focus on anything else besides the fact that she’s now married to a man who can’t stand her, the same man her family wants her to somehow assassinate.

Yes…..other things is a much better seat filler.

Solana briefly wonders how she’s going to get to work considering her car is still back at her dad’s house, but just when she’s considering calling an Uber, she’s met in the living room of Roman’s massive estate by none other than his right hand man and cousin.

Solo Sikoa 

All he says is, “ready?” And she realizes that this is how she’s to get to work, that he is to escort her. Him and another set of large men, guards as she realizes. A separate set of guards, not the ones who roam and patrol Roman’s mansion. 

Being around so many men….it’s a different kind of experience. Leaning more on the side of uncomfortable than anything. 

But, she’s at least a bit more at ease when Solo only opens the door to the back of the SUV and doesn’t join in, instead sitting in the passenger seat.

She's grateful for that.

Solo is almost the same exact person as his cousin. Large, strong, stoic and scary as hell. The only difference is that she’s not sure Solo is capable of sentences that include more than 1 to 3 words.

It’s obvious he’s not thrilled about being assigned as her personal guard, and she can’t blame him. There can’t be anything exciting about watching her boring life and making sure nothing happens to her during said boring life.

But Solana can’t deny there’s a small part of her that feels a small sense of comfort at having someone to look out for her. Even if she partially questions his loyalty to said job. Something happening to her wouldn’t do anything to anybody. At all. 

She’d just….cease to exist.

And lately….that hasn’t seemed like the worst thing ever. 

But, it’s when she arrives at work, goes into her office to start to prepare for the work day only to find her brother already waiting that that comfort is obliterated.

“Sis.” Wes' smile is tight and inauthentic, his eyes darting between her and Solo. “Sorry to scare you. I was just hoping we could talk.”

Talk….

Wes never wants to talk to her, not unless it’s him berating and screaming while he beats the shit out of her. 

“Alone.” He gives Solo a faux sympathetic expression. “Family things….you understand, I’m sure.”

Solana doesn’t know if Solo understands or he doesn’t, but she does know that Wes' kind and friendly tone is all smoke and mirrors. She knows he’s pissed that he didn’t catch her off-guard, didn’t catch her alone, that he couldn’t corner her like he always does.

And for a second, Solana believes she’s safe, knows that Solo won’t let Wes lay a hand on her. It’s….it’s his job to keep her safe, right?

But just as that hope is present, it’s extinguished by the reality she knows is inescapable. Solo won’t be with her 24/7. She won’t be protected forever. She’ll eventually be around both Wes and her father alone. And the price she’ll have to pay for denying him in this moment….

It’s not worth it. 

Roman’s words to her father about not touching her are nice in theory, but she knows better. Xavier Miller does what he wants, regardless of what’s said and by who.

“O–of course,” Solana mumbles, fingers dancing at the side of her pants. She turns to Solo. “Please….give us a few minutes.”

For the first time since she’s met him, Solo actually shows some type of emotion. It still stems from anger, maybe a branch of irritation, but it's still something different. “Tribal Chief said I’m supposed to watch you, so that’s what I do.”

She swallows. This is going to require a level of assertiveness that’s almost foreign if not non-existent. “I–I understand, but….Wes is my brother. He—” It’s almost impossible for her to even get the words out. “He would never hurt me.”

Solana almost immediately wants to vomit. That’s all this man has ever done. 

At least since the murder of their mother. 

Solo is struggling but wavering, she can see as much, so she continues. “It’s okay,” she assures, even mustering up a small smile. “Please….just a couple minutes. I won’t—I won’t say anything to Roman.”

Solo still looks torn but eventually agrees, leaving her alone with one of two men who hate her most on this earth. 

The door is barely closed when Wes has her pinned against the wall, hand slapped over her mouth, a knife pressed to the base of her throat.

“You stupid bitch, don’t think for one second that being married to Reigns changes shit,” he snarls. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. He just doesn’t like people messing with his possessions.”

Solana knows all of this, knows that anything Roman may do that seems to be for her benefit is just him asserting his dominance. She doesn’t need to be reminded of this. 

“Wes, you’re hurting me.” She suddenly feels so stupid saying that, telling him what he already knows. Of course, he is. That’s the whole point. Still, she stupidly believes she can plead to whatever humanity is left in him. If any. “P–please.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, shoving her head against the wall. Solana winces quietly, mindful of Solo who stands outside the door because of her. Because she told him to, because she welcomed this violence onto herself.

“Reigns told dad you won’t be available for a couple weeks, so I suggest you start doing what you need to do to change that. We need to be able to communicate with you.”

This startles her. Why would Roman say that? Did Roman say that? Wes is a master manipulator, and she doesn’t put it past him to be playing mind games.

“I—I don’t know what you want me to do.” And it’s true. Solana has no idea what to do in any of this, how she’s supposed to kill a man who’s more or less impossible to kill, how she’s supposed to win his favor when it’s obvious she already annoys him. It’s all so confusing and overwhelming.

“Did you fuck him last night?”

It’s a question she hoped no one would ask, didn’t believe would be asked because there’s no one who would care enough except for Roman himself.

And while Solana knows being dishonest with her brother won’t turn out well, in this moment, she doesn’t know how he’ll respond if she tells the truth.

So, she lies. She lies to live to see another day, for what reason, she doesn't know. It’s not as if any other day will provide her some sense of solace or security. But, it’s just what she does. 

“Y–yes.”

Wes looks understandably pleased. “Good.” She gaps in fear when he drags his knife against her skin, gently trailing it across, just light enough to avoid drawing blood. “That’s all you’ve ever been good for us for anyway.”

A frown falls upon her face. What….what does that mean?

“Just keep contact open, you understand?” No, she doesn’t, but she has no choice but to pretend that she does. Nodding, Wes shoves her into the wall one more time at an angle that causes her shoulder to take the impact. Wincing, she holds onto it as he releases her and walks out the door. “Don’t fuck this up, Solana.”

Easier said than done. Much easier said than done. 

It’s when he leaves her alone that the tears pool in her eyes. But, it’s when Solo walks in, studying her that she sniffles and wipes at her eyes. “I–I’m fine.”

She’s not.

She’s far from fine. 

————

The day ends up slightly, maybe even moderately, improving. It’s to be slightly expected though as it’s Monday, the day that Solana runs her reading club with the younger kids. It’s always a highlight to see their bright, smiling faces, answering all of their fifty million questions.

It’s a break from a very bleak reality that is her life, immersing herself in their world of pretend and minimal worries.

Sometimes, she finds herself a bit jealous. Jealous that they still have their innocence, that their view of the world hasn’t been painted in red and blood like hers.

But, it’s when Solana is in the back taking her break, journaling, that that improvement takes a deep dive. Because a single knock on the door is followed by the large intimidating frame of her husband entering her space. 

Naturally, her stomach knots. She hasn’t seen Roman since last night, since he helped and scolded her in the same brief timespan. She understands it though and doesn't entirely disagree with what he said.

She’s far from the perfect picture of mental stability. 

Swallowing, Solana stands up and opens her mouth to address him when his eyes go from her face to her wrist. Following his line of vision, she sees why. There’s a blueish/greenish obvious bruise starting to form, beyond that initial point of formation really. It's just a straight up, fully developed bruise.

Roman slowly walks over to her and reaches for her arm. Solana naturally tenses. He hesitates for a second but still takes her wrist, lifting it so that it's at her eye level but still close enough for him to assess. 

She closes her eyes and acts quickly to think of an excuse. “I—umm—”

“Who?”

His voice is quieter than she anticipated and as much as she wishes she doesn't know what he means, Solana knows exactly what he’s asking. She just doesn’t answer. 

“I’m only going to ask you this one time and one time only.” His brown eyes are burning into her as he perfectly enunciates each word. “Who fucking touched you?”

Solana winces at his tone but eventually answers. “Wes....”

Roman drops her hand, and Solana brings her arms to her chest, head dropped. 

He’s pissed. 

That seems to be the only emotion he experiences around her, because of her.

His nostrils are flared as he demands. “Where was Solo?” 

Making him wait for a response is clearly something that sets him off even more, so Solana does her best to answer in a timely manner. “I—I asked him to leave. Wes….Wes didn’t want him in the room.”

“Of course, he fucking didn’t. Why would you—” Roman pinches his nose. A day. It’s been less than 48 hours, only a day in, and this marriage shit already has him fucking stressed out. Being married to this damn girl is like having a fucking child to look after. “From now on, I don’t give a fuck what your idiot brother and poor excuse of a father tell you, you’re not to be alone with them.” Roman’s command is a lot easier said than done. Denying her father or brother has never done her any favors. Solana isn’t sure how to verbalize this to the man in front of her who’s already six different shades of annoyed. “I thought I made that clear to them at the wedding, but obviously, they need a reminder.”

Solana feels every bit the scolded child, murmuring a quiet, “I’m sorry…”

Roman looks at her, and for a slither of a second, maybe even less than that, he feels bad for her. Feels bad because it’s clearly not her fault that she’s so fucked up. With a dad and brother like Xavier and Wes, what chance did she have?

He then briefly wonders about her mother, wonders what the dynamic was like there. But that’s a short lived trail because his mind then goes to his own mother. 

And Roman can’t have that, can’t go down that road for a variety of reasons, reasons that may not be that different from Solana’s. 

“Send me your work schedule.” Redirection is always a good strategy. That and fucking. Obviously, only one is an option for the woman in front of him. 

Panic builds in Solana’s stomach. Why does he want that? Her mind starts to race, arriving at only negative conclusions. Does he want her to quit? That thought kills her. 

Working at the library is the highlight, the only highlight, of her days. She doesn’t know what she would do without that outlet. 

“It won’t get in the way of my duties to you.” Solana typically isn’t the one to advocate for herself. Ever. But this….she can’t lose this, and it scares her to think of what mental decline could happen if she does. Nothing good. That’s for certain. “I—I can get up early and–and make your breakfast and meal prep lunch. A–and I’ll make sure your dinner is ready too by the time you come home—”

Rubbing his temple, exasperated, Roman asks, “what are you talking about?”

She’s not above begging. In a pleading tone, she begs, “please don’t make me quit my job.”

Roman isn’t quite sure what to make of the fact that the most words he’s heard leave Solana’s mouth are practically her begging to keep her job. He can understand it though. He would bet that her only time away from her family was when she was at work. “You can work as little or as much as you want. I don’t care about that.”

His words create instant relief. “Oh–I’m sorry, I thought—”

Roman runs his hand over his face. “You don’t have to apologize for everything.”

“Sor—” Solana drops her head as he exhales. Loudly. It’s not even noon, and he’s already over and done with this damn day.

“What time do you get off today?”

Solana licks her lips, answering. “Three.”

“I’ll meet you then.”

He can see she wants to ask but has decided against it, most likely recognizing his irritation. “We need to get your stuff from that house.” 

And in the midst of her anxiety in this conversation, she finds a glimmer of hope. She’s thankful that this isn’t something she had to initiate to ask him about.  

Something tells her Roman doesn’t like being questioned a lot.

Or at all.

“O–okay.” Is the answer she finally settles on, not wanting to say too much, vowing, “I’ll make sure I’m done by 3pm sharp.”

On one hand, Roman enjoys and respects punctuality, but something tells him Solana’s is based more on fear than anything. “Whenever is fine.”

Nodding and pushing her hair behind her ear, Solana watches Roman walk over to the door, preparing to leave when he asks, “is your brother right handed or left handed?”

His question takes her off guard, and she doesn’t quite know why he’s asking this in the first place. “W-what?”

Roman clearly doesn’t like repeating himself, because his tone takes on an edge. “Is he right handed or left handed?”

Solana swallows. She’s made him mad. Again. “R–right.”

Without another question, he leaves. And once the door shuts, he snaps at Solo, demanding, “why the fuck did you leave her alone with him? I told you to watch her!”

Roman knows his cousin well enough to know that Solo is doing a brilliant job masking his embarrassment at his failure. “She said—”

“I don’t care what she says. You don’t answer to her. You answer to me. Understood?”

Solo keeps his head high, acknowledging, “yes, my Tribal Chief.” Roman wastes no time in exiting the library and entering the SUV waiting for him, slamming the door shut. He pulls out his phone, selecting one of his most recent contacts, hitting dial. 

Jey answers on the third ring, but he’s immediately yelling to someone else, “slam my door one more fucking time, Nicki, and see what happens!” Roman’s jaw clenches, another new source of irritation being presented to him. “Ayo, Uce, now’s not a good time—”

“I don’t care.” Roman’s hot headed cousin and his equally hot headed wife arguing is nothing special. The fight. They fuck. They make up. And do it all over again. It’s not pressing news or even news at all at this point. “The Miller boy. Send him a message. A clear message.”

“I’ve got—”

“Did you hear what I just said?” There must be something in the air or the water, because Roman having to repeat himself is fucking asinine. He speaks once, and everyone should jump immediately. The fact that that isn’t happening is only pissing him off more. “And his right hand…make sure it’s broken.”

Jey sighs on the other end of the phone. “Aight. Me and Jimmy will have it done by the end of the day.”

Roman ends the phone call before his cousin can feed him any more excuses. Head tilted back against the headrest, he tries to settle himself. This day so far has been nothing but inconvenience after inconvenience. 

There’s nothing that pisses him off more than having to repeat himself, having conversations extend longer than they should, and that’s all this day has been thus far. He’s had to over explain and reiterate himself more than Roman feels necessary. 

And the day isn’t even halfway over. 

He needs an outlet.

Roman switches apps, finding one of his more recent contacts and sending out a message. 

Roman: Come over tonight. 

As expected, her reply comes almost right away. 

Samantha: Lol. That didn’t take long.

Samantha: See you then.

————

Solana always struggles with a level of anxiety when entering the home she grew up in. For a myriad of reasons. Most, if not all, being completely valid. Nothing good has ever happened for her in that place. And more often than not, she’d barely be in the house for more than a couple of minutes before she was either being berated or beaten.

Usually both.

But this…..this is different. A lot different, because she’s not walking into hell alone, she’s walking along (behind) Bloodline guards and the 6’3, pure muscled leader of said Bloodline. 

Roman Reigns.

Who also happens to be her husband.

Playing around with the wedding ring on her finger, Solana tries again to remind herself that this is real, that she’s married, that she’s married to Roman Reigns of all people. 

The reality definitely hasn’t set in.

Roman is about to knock on the door again when it swings open. Solana naturally steps back, something Roman takes notice of.

Xavier looks pissed, his fiery gaze landing on her first, but just as quickly as it was present, it's gone, settling into an almost pleasant smile. Directed at Roman, of course.

“Tribal Chief,” he greets. Solana’s gaze is on the ground now, focused on her painted toes instead of the man before her who she’s certain would be unleashing hell on her if not for the multitude of much larger, much stronger men surrounding her. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“I don’t care,” Roman interrupts, voice reeking of indifference. “She needs to go get her stuff.”

“Oh.” Solana can only imagine the difficulty her father is having in not throwing a fit. “Well, we can arrange for it to be delivered—”

“No.”

She means more to think it than to say it, but that intention falls short, because she definitely says it aloud.

And most of her regrets it, but there’s a small slither that doesn’t.

Solana knows her father. She knows him very well. 

Roman has done nothing but piss him off from the very beginning of this whole ordeal, pushing and pushing him. And Solana has always been the object of her father’s anger, but Roman seems intent on making sure that doesn’t happen. 

That means he’ll have to get creative with his punishments.

If he can’t hurt her, he’ll go after the things she loves. 

The few items in that home that she holds near and dear, items that belonged to her mother.

She knows he would dispose of them all so that all that would be retrieved by the movers would be clothes.

And the thought of the only things she has of her mother being discarded like trash makes her sick to her stomach.

She can’t give him that opportunity. 

Looking up, she’s met with two sets of eyes on her. One indicating irritation and the other, curiosity. Swallowing, she stutters, “I’m sorry. I—”

“No.” Roman’s interruption is stark and to the point. “We’re already here. She gets it now.”

“But—”

“Move.”

Xavier’s jaw ticks, but he does as such, stepping to the side. Roman looks back at Solana, motioning for her to walk in. 

Instantly, she’s going to the key holder. She has to make sure she gets her mother’s stuff before anything. But, the key to the attic, the key that’s sat in the same spot since she was a girl, is suddenly missing.

Her stomach drops. 

Without hesitation, she turns to her dad, asking, “wh—where’s the key to the attic?”

Solana knows before he even says anything that she’s not going to like his answer. She just doesn't realize just how much she’s not going to like his answer.

“Oh, I put it in your old room on the dresser.” Solana’s chest is immediately tight, her stomach dropping. Xavier gives that sly smile and little shrug. “Figured there’d be some things you’d want to grab as well.”

It’s hard for Solana to not start crying right then and there, standing between her father and her husband. Two men who dislike her for very different reasons. 

And maybe dislike isn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling her father has toward her. Because one has to have an inhuman level of vitriol toward another individual to put her in the situation he just did.

That room….Solana hasn’t been in that room in years and planned to never enter it again for as long as she lived. And he knows that. Knows that there’s nothing in there she wants. Knows that she’d rather walk on burning coal barefoot than enter that space of horrific memories and unspeakable horrors. 

“I–I—”

“Is something wrong?”

Roman, watching this whole exchange closely, is instantly annoyed. It’s obvious something is wrong, there’s some story with this old room of hers, because she looks just as terrified as she did last night. And something about this pisses him off all over again, because this man is still trying to defy his orders, still trying to find ways to inflict his torture without lifting a finger. 

“Where’s the room?” 

Solana doesn't expect that question to leave Roman’s mouth, but it instantly brings on another layer of dread. He doesn’t know why she can’t go in that room, and he can never know, but that not knowing is probably going to result in him pushing her to hurry up so they can get the hell out of here.

But, that doesn’t happen. He steps towards her dad and repeats in a calm voice. “Show me.” It’s then she realizes that he’s asking so he can retrieve this key for her.

And that confuses the mess out of her because why? He doesn't have to, doesn’t need to. It doesn’t benefit him in the slightest. 

So why?

But for Roman, it’s simple. He’ll take any opportunity presented to piss off this son of a bitch, and undermining every attempt Miller takes to mess with Solana presents an opportunity for Roman to assert his dominance. 

And it’s obvious by the pure terror that crosses Solana’s face that, for whatever reason, she has zero desire or even ability to enter this room. It does cross him a bit strange that she would have such a reaction to her childhood bedroom, something that typically holds special memories for people.

Until he enters said room. 

Immediately, there’s a darkness about the aura, something heavy and unsettling that he can’t necessarily describe but most definitely feels. It’s a stark contrast to the design and decoration, lots of pink and girly shit, a couple of stuffed animals sitting on the top of the dresser. It’s on the dresser he notices a shattered picture frame that in picking up he sees a photo of a young woman, dark curly hair, beautiful, light eyes and a breathtaking smile. There’s something about her that reminds him of Solana. Her mother. This has to be her mother.

For reasons Roman doesn’t quite understand, there’s something suddenly uncomfortable by looking at this photo, a ghost, someone from the past. A person cruelly and violently ripped away from her family.

It….it hits too close to him.

Laying the broken photo frame down, Roman continues to assess the room and suddenly notices scratches on the door and the wall that holds the door. But, they’re not scratches that come from furniture being moved or kids being rough, they’re clearly nail marks. As if someone was dragged and the scratches a testament of their fight against whatever attack they were facing.

Snatching the key off the dresser, he then redirects his attention to the poorly cleaned splashes of dried blood on the carpet near the bed. He’s suddenly frowning of sorts. 

There’s a story here. A story that paints a dark, grim picture. One that makes Roman slightly curious about just what the hell this girl has really been through in this hellhole?

Not wanting to stay in that creepy ass room any longer than necessary, he walks back out into the living room and ignores Miller’s obvious irritation to reach Solana the key.

Accepting it, she offers the first smile he’s probably seen on her since their first meeting. “Thank you.” Her voice is the usual mixture of soft and quiet but also….grateful. She’s probably the only person in history to ever be so happy at being given something as simple as a key. But Roman isn’t stupid. He recognizes the deeper meaning. 

Nodding, he motions for a few of his men to follow her as she heads for wherever the attic door is located. 

That leaves Roman alone with his least favorite person in the world.

“She can’t take everything, you know.” Xavier shares. He reminds, “she has a brother. My son and I deserve to have something of my late wife to—”

“I don’t care.” And he doesn’t. He honestly, truly doesn’t. “She can take whatever she wants.”

“I understand that she’s your wife, but she was my daughter long before she became your wife. And you’re standing in my house.” Xavier doesn’t skip a beat to contend. “I think you should also remember that, Tribal Chief.”

To be fair, Roman would like to think he’s done a half decent job all day managing his temper. He’s yet to maim or kill anyone which is commendable for him, in and of itself. But something about Xavier pisses him the fuck off to the point where he doesn’t give a damn about controlling his temper. 

And that’s exactly what happens. 

In a matter of seconds, Roman has Xavier by the throat, pinned against the wall, squeezing so tightly he can practically feel the man's bones pressing against his fingertips. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Xavier’s eyes are nearly bugging out of his head as he helplessly grasps at Roman's grip, which only makes the Tribal Chief squeeze harder. “Don’t ever fucking forget who runs this. I run it all!” As much as Roman enjoys playing the long game with this bastard, there’s only so much he can put up with. Miller needs to know Roman is not his daughter, but he damn sure will dictate that any interactions with said daughter go through him. “You see Solana when I say you can see her. You talk to her when I say you can talk to her.” Intensifying his grip, Roman notices the color draining from Xavier’s face. And it’s probably the best thing he’s seen all day. “You live because I allow it. You’re still fucking breathing because I will it.” Recognizing Miller is at the door of unconsciousness, he finally lets the man go, enjoying the sight of him coughing violently, nearly laying on the floor. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that shit.”

Xavier, wisely, doesn't say much after that. And neither does Roman, who simply makes sure his men help Solana gather all she needs, which isn’t that much outside of clothes. He starts to ask her about her car, but something tells him it’s under Xavier’s name, which is why he decides against it.

He’ll just get her another one. 

Roman doesn’t want her to have shit to do with this family, largely because he doesn’t want shit to do with this family.

And he knows what the first step toward initiating that separation will be.

—--------

The Warehouse has always been Roman’s escape.

17,000 square feet of escape, completely revamped and redone by him in his early twenties. It’s a massive compound that serves as both a place to train and compete. The former of which being why he’s present and needing to speak to the one person who he has in charge of all the day to day workings of the Warehouse. 

But, that’s all she’s interested in outside of competing herself and only training those with some fire to them.

It’s why he’s not surprised when Nia takes one look at him, then Solana, and with a snort and roll of her eyes, simply says, “no.”

Roman isn’t an idiot. He knew his cousin would immediately decline, would know what he wanted to ask before it could even leave his mouth.

If only he cared about her objection. 

“Wait here,” he mutters to Solana who only nods, hugging the jacket around her body. Solo remains nearly inches away from her. She looks so out of place, a small part of him can’t blame Nia for declining.

Nia continues to walk the balcony, eyes clearly checking in on the various sets of people training. Roman does as well, just not nearly with the same amount of focus and attention. That’s what he has Nia for.

His blood cousin and close friend since they were kids, there’s few people in this world that Roman trusts, and Nia is grouped in that category. She’s a worthy member of the bloodline and a hell of a person to have alongside you in a fight. 

It’s why she's the perfect person for this task.

“Nia.”

“I said no, Roman.” She turns to him, smirking, taunting him in a way only she and his close family can. "You know, that word that you hate?”

It actually makes him chuckle, a speckle of amusement in a day full of anything but. “If you know I hate it, why are you saying it?”

“Because unlike the rest of the world, I’m not your bitch.”

It’s partially true. Nia has never been one to shy away from being completely and, often, ruthlessly honest with her cousin. It’s something Roman sometimes appreciates, enjoying the occasional challenge and differing perspective.

This isn’t one of those times though. 

He again reiterates. “She needs to be trained.” 

It’s abundantly clear that Solana has no backbone, and he can’t entirely fault her for that because it’s also clear that she’s never really had the chance to develop one. But, that’s no longer the case, because while he can deal with the stammering and quietness, her fragility has to go. 

She has to learn to stand up for herself.

She needs to learn how to fight back.

Nia turns around with a sarcastic chuckle. “You really think that girl can be trained? I saw her at the wedding. She looked terrified the entire time. You breathe too hard in her direction, and she’ll probably have a fucking panic attack.” Roman is briefly taken back to last night. Nia hasn’t the slightest clue how true her words are. “She’s not built for this life.”

Roman doesn’t entirely disagree. If there was ever a person who’d do well and significantly better in something cookie cutter, white picket fence type shit, it’s Solana. But she’s here now, this is her life, so they need to make the best of it. She needs to learn how to survive in this life. and he expresses as such. “Regardless, she needs to learn to defend herself to some extent.”

Nia shrugs, leaning back against the railing and crossing her arms. “So teach her.”

“I don’t have the time. Or the patience.” It’s almost entirely true. There are already so many hats that Roman has to wear. Adding on another one that includes teaching a traumatized young woman how to fight is not an option. Even more, something tells him that Solana would do better training with a woman. She seems most skittish around men.

Nia scoffs, pointing to herself. “And you think I do?”

“Nia….” As much as he enjoys sparring with his cousin from time to time, his patience has grown thin. His tone darkens. “I’m not asking you.”

While tempted to continue to push back, Nia isn’t a stupid woman. She can recognize when Roman is about to lose his cool. “Fucking hell….” With a heavy sigh and shrug of defeat, she accepts. “Fine. I’ll do it, but don’t expect me to like her.”

“I never expect you to like anyone.” He chuckles, adding. “And Nia…..take it easy on her at first.”

Nia curses, instantly accusing, “You think coddling her will help?”

“I know being too rough with her won’t.”

A hard exterior is built from experience and tolerance. Roman fully believes that. However, something tells him his new wife has had enough experiences that anything more could push her closer to breaking point. So approaching it almost gingerly would probably wield the best outcome. 

Nia is, justifiably, vexed. “Whatever. I don’t have time for your weak ass wife. I’ll have Naomi teach her the basics, and once she learns how to actually throw a punch without crying, I’ll take over her training.” 

Roman has no issue with this. Solana seemed to be fine around Naomi at the wedding, so it might actually be a good match. “Fine. Just keep me updated with her progress.” Roman adds, starting to walk away.

“Do I have a choice?”

Instantly, he answers. “Nope.”

Nia’s laughter behind him brings a small smile to his face. 

Rejoining the group, he finds Solana looking just as nervous as he left her. “Let’s go.”

He turns and so does Solo, Roman deciding he’ll talk with Solana about starting training back at the house. But, her small voice calling his name, the first time he’s heard her say as such draws his attention.

Turning around, he asks, “yeah?”

She swallows and starts that damn stammering. It’s hard for him to not snap at her to just get it out. He hates that beating around the bush bullshit. “Umm, can we—uhh, stop somewhere?” Roman does his best to hide his irritation. Where the fuck does she need to go? “I just—-I noticed you don’t have a lot of ingredients at the house, and—and I need some things so I can cook.”

Initially, Roman’s first reaction is to tell her no, that she doesn’t need to cook. He doesn’t need her to cook for him. He does just fine on his own, but that’s the thing that makes him pause. He’s not on his own anymore. She needs to eat too.

So, he agrees, “fine.”

“Ayo, uce!”

Jesus Christ.

Roman needs a vacation. A week long vacation, because the way the past 24hrs has drained him more than anything he’s experienced in the past year is criminal.

The twins jog over, exchanging what is an undeniably awkward acknowledgement to Solana. And he doesn't blame them. She’s so damn docile that they probably don't know how to interact with her.

“Let us catch that ride with you.”

Roman shuts his eyes. “Why?”

Jimmy is the one to answer. “You wanted us to debrief you on that thing from earlier, remember?”

Roman realizes they’re referring to the message he had them send Solana’s brother, which he does want to hear about but not necessarily now.

“She needs to stop at the store before we head back to the house,” Roman informs, hoping the twins will just take a car back to the house to meet him their to debrief.

But that’s too much like right, because they end up in the same SUV as him and Solana, seated in the back, while he sits in the middle with her. And it’s not missed upon him how she’s practically tucked in the corner of the SUV, notebook out as she writes away while his idiotic cousins go on and on in the back about whatever.

The old lady from the library wasn’t kidding. This damn girl is always writing. 

When they arrive at the grocery store, Roman reaches for his wallet, sliding out his black card and handing it to her. “Here. Use this.” 

Roman hadn’t thought about this until just now, thought about the need to make his money available to her. He makes a mental note to have his accountant add Solana to all of his accounts and have cards mailed out with her name. In the meantime, she’ll have to deal with using his.

“Thank you.” She accepts the card, quickly asking, “what’s my limit?”

“What limit?”

Her cheeks redden as she explains. “Like….like how much I can spend?"

“There is none,” he answers with a shrug. “Just get what you need.”

Jey suddenly leans forward, tapping Roman on the shoulder. “Ayo, Big Dog, lemme run this by you.”

“No.”

Of course, the word goes in one ear and out the other. “So, I’m trying to explain to her that it’s not what she thinks. I don’t even care about that bitch, but she’s not trying to hear me. Going on and go about how I ain’t shit, I don’t treat her right—you know, the usual—-and so finally, I just snap on her ass cause who the fuck you think you talking to—”

Jimmy agrees. “She acting like you ain’t got no options.”

Jey sucks his teeth, “man, that’s what I’m saying. Like, I ain’t gotta put up with that shit!”

“Hell naw!”

The idea of grocery shopping doesn’t appeal to Roman in the slightest, but neither does listening to his dumbass cousin complain about his marriage problems to his equally dumbass brother. So, it’s the lesser of two evils, really. 

“Fuck it,” he mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt, and opening the door. Solo and Solana’s eyes fall on him as they’d yet to enter the store. “I’ll go with her.”

Solana looks expectedly surprised as Solo simply nods and gets back in the passenger seat.

“I’ll make it quick.”

Roman says nothing, walking alongside her, still providing enough distance to not make her uncomfortable. 

As long as the twins are harping on and on about stupid shit, she can take as long as she wants.

Once in the store, Solana pushing the cart, Roman realizes she was writing down a grocery list that she uses to track the needed items as they peruse what feels like endless aisles. Granted, he hasn’t been inside an actual grocery store in probably close to two decades, if not longer, so maybe this is normal for a grocery store. 

It’s when they reach the produce section that she seems a bit stumped, chewing on her bottom lip, clearly perplexed.

He starts to ask her what’s wrong, but she walks over to one of the workers and takes him slightly by surprise when she starts speaking in a different language. Spanish, he eventually settles on. It’s also the first time he thinks he’s ever seen her smile. Outside of when he gave her the key And laugh. That one is definitely a first. Both small and quiet, but still, a first. She seems to know or at least be familiar with the worker who digs around the produce and reaches over a packaged bag of whatever produce it is. 

It’s when she returns to place the produce in the basket, continuing to walk, that he asks, “you speak Spanish?”

She looks up at him, but not for too long, as if doing so is forbidden, explaining. “My—my mom taught me. She was originally from Mexico.”

Roman figured as such from the picture he saw in her room that Solana’s mom was Hispanic or had some type of Central American ancestry. He’s also surprised by her answering with more than just 3 to 5 words, providing more information than he asked. 

It’s not something he necessarily cares about, but it doesn’t annoy him like it typically does when people give him a longer answer than what’s necessary. 

“Are—are your cousins always like….like that?” Again, she takes him by surprise, up until the point where she immediately goes into apologizing. “I–I don’t mean it in a bad way. I would never—”

“Yes,” he cuts off her rambling. It’s unnecessary because the answer is simple. “They are.” With a mutter, he adds, “they never shut the fuck up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. That smile smile, this time conjoined with a small laugh that she does a decent job trying to suppress. And it’s like she catches herself, changing the subject as she asks, “umm, are you—like—allergic to anything? Or is there something you don’t like? I can learn—”

“I can eat anything.” It’s a simple, truthful answer. It also seems like something she’d been wanting to ask but only built the courage to do so at the end of their current conversation, even if brief as hell.

Solana doesn’t say much after that, and it confuses Roman when she tries to grab items on shelves much higher than what exceeds her reach. It confuses him because it would be significantly easier for her to just ask him to reach it. Granted, something tells him just her asking to be taken to the grocery store seems to be her daily quota for requests.

So he takes it upon himself, hand on the small of her back, ignoring how she tenses at his touch, to tell her to step aside as he easily retrieves the item. With a tuck of her hair behind her ear and a small “thank you,” she continue shopping but this time actually, still with that same irksome gentleness, asks him to reach items that she cannot. It’s not a lot, just a couple.

And it’s not long before she’s done, checking out with his card that she makes sure to give back to him immediately. He gets the sense that that’s something she thinks is important to him.

It’s not.

The worst he can see her doing is going crazy at fucking Barnes and Nobles.

Roman has his men load the trunk for her, something that also seems to take her off guard. Like she’s not used to the assistance.

And she probably isn’t. 

————

Samantha Irvin has been on Roman’s revolving roster of women since he was in his teens. The longevity being that It’s always been the easiest with her. Sexually, at least. Their compatibility in that one area, the only one he really (only) cares about, is astronomical. But lately, more in the past few months than anything, she’s dropped a comment here and there about wanting more. 

He’s ignored them everytime. 

Roman has never promised Samantha anything more than what they currently are: fuck buddies. She knows this, just like she knows she’s not the only woman he’s fucking. Nothing about that should indicate him wanting more with anyone, including her.

Well, other than the wedding band now on his finger.

Samantha’s gaze falls on that wedding band, a bitter chuckle leaving her mouth. “I still can’t believe you actually did it.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. Discussing his shitshow of a marriage is the last thing he wants to do and far from the reason he left Solana in the middle of the night to come see her, to come work off his frustrations.

The same reason he invited her over tonight. 

Last night was a dumpster fuck, without a doubt. But today with Solana was….decent. Not amazing. Not awful. Just some strange space in between. Even as they arrived back at the estate and she went straight into cooking, creating something he can’t pronounce but can honestly say was delicious, a meal she delivered to him in his office. There was something manageable about that, this level of she does her thing, he does his, and if their paths cross in the process, he can deal with that.

The intimacy though….that’s something he’ll have to figure out, have to navigate, just not now. Not tonight. 

Right now, he just needs Samantha’s talented mouth on him.

She moves her hands up his chest, biting on her bottom lip. “She’s just a little girl, baby. You need a woman who knows how to please you.” Roman knows the other side of what she’s saying or rather what she’s not saying. Another subtle, or not so subtle depending on how you look at it, hint that she’s the one he should settle down with.

In all honesty, he has, or had, zero desire to settle down with anyone.

Especially not with Sam. She’s the kind of woman that’s good for fucking and nothing else. As much as Solana’s extreme passivity annoys the shit out of him, he’d pick that over the bitching Sam would do. He just knows she’d be on his ass about stupid shit like fucking other woman and not paying her enough attention. Like she’d think she’s somehow above him doing who and what the fuck he wants just cause he put a ring on her finger.

Way too needy.

But at least he can actually fucking touch Sam.

Kinda hard to make a baby with someone who has literal fucking panic attacks just from being touched.

It builds up his frustration again, hence Roman grabbing Samantha by the back of her head, forcing it back. She hisses, both from pain and pleasure. It’s another thing he does actually enjoy about her. She lets him be as rough as he wants and needs.

“Why are you still talking?” There may be a slight dim in her eyes at his question, but she hides it well. “I don’t give a fuck what you think.” He releases his grip and shoves her to her knees. “Put that mouth to actual good use.”

If she’s hurt by his brusque tone, she doesn’t show it, simply bringing her hands to unbuckle his pants. “I got you, daddy…” 

She gets his zipper down when a scream sounds throughout the house, causing her to freeze in her motions as she shoots Roman a confused look.

“What the hell?” Samantha’s obvious irritation is the last thing he hears before adjusting himself as he heads out the room and down the hall.

For some reason, Roman already knows what to expect before he even reaches Solana’s room. Opting against knocking, he opens the door and finds her twisting and turning in the bed, eyes shut, chest moving up and down, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Yeah….just as he expected. 

Sighing, he walks over to the bed, sitting on the side. “Solana.”

“No.....” she’s crying in her sleep, clearly in the midst of a nightmare. Or night terror. “Mom, please…don’t leave me.”

Roman tenses. Immediately, he knows exactly what her nightmare is. He brings hands to her shoulder, shaking her. “Solana, wake up.”

“No…..”

He says her name again, a bit louder, firmer, “Solana, wake up.”

“No!” She screams again, shooting up from the bed, immediately fighting and pushing against his body. “Leave me alone!” She’s crying, clearly fighting against the demons one faces once in life but forever battles, even when they’re gone. 

It’s a permanent scar on the soul.

“Solana,” he says again, still stern, but somehow gentle. “You’re fine. You’re safe.” It’s the ‘safe’ word that seems to trigger something for her, mouth still ajar, painting heavily but no longer struggling against him. “It was just a bad dream.”

There’s a fleeting thought he has about pushing some of the flyaway hairs out of her face, but it’s gone before he can really process let alone act on said thought.

Solana looks at his hands on her forearm and immediately tugs them back to her body, hugging herself. She drops her head, eyes closing, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

His eyes take her in, studying her, “it’s fine.”

“I—I need some air.” She kicks the blankets off her body and swings her legs over the bed, hurriedly grabbing a notebook off the dresser and rushing out of the room past a smirking Samantha.

Roman shuts his eyes and runs his hand over his face, ignoring the strange array of emotions, or something like that, he’s experiencing.

He hasn’t been this exposed to this kind of behavior in years.

This may be more complicated than he realized. 

And it’s as he stands up from the bed, walking near the door that Samantha smirks. “Did she seriously say mom?”  His eyes snap to her as she runs her hands up and down his chest. “What a fucking child.”

Her words take him back, reframe things so that it’s not Solana the child crying for her mother not to be taken from her. It’s a young boy. Burned, bloody, and beat, fading in and out consciousness, the gaze of fiery flames in his peripheral vision, the smell of burning flesh invading his nostrils, the sound of wails and sirens all mingling together from the shock of it all. 

Roman catches himself, forcing those buried memories back where they belong in the very back of his mind. He then looks at Sam for a good five seconds before demanding, “get the fuck out.”

She pauses and then asks with an uncomfortable laugh, “what?”

“Get the fuck out of my house,” he repeats, shoving her hands off him. 

“What did I sa—”

“Get out!” Roman snaps, volume and tone making her jump. He probably scared her. He also doesn’t care. He just wants her gone. And she does as such, walking away without another word of protest. 

Left alone, he tries to gather himself, moving back to his room.

So much for a fucking distraction.

 —----- 

Roman finds her out back on the patio. 

He needed to clear his head, get back into his tunnel vision focus, and the gym he had included when he built the house is the perfect place to do that. Two hours later, recentered and showered, he readies to call it a night. But, he realizes he probably shouldn’t do as such until he makes sure Solana is at least partially stable enough to be left alone. 

And she is. 

She’s laid out, sleeping on the rattan lounge chair, a closed notebook tucked into her side. Roman recognizes it as the same one she was writing in that day at the library as well as the one she used for her grocery list just earlier in the day. 

He settles down on the chair next to her, studying her. Even in her sleep, she looks….sad. And for the first time in the midst of all these strange experiences with her, Roman understands. He understands her sadness, understands her difficulty, understands the memories that clearly haunt her.

The same way they used to haunt him. 

His hand goes to his tatted arm, intricate tribal tattoo hiding permanent remnants of that night of hell. The night that he once had the same kind of night terrors about. 

Noticing the breeze, he walks back into the house, grabbing one of the throw blankets on the sofa. Roman is careful to not directly touch her as he lays it over her body. A part of him is tempted to carry her back to her room, but he remembers these kinds of nights. The kind where it’s a challenge to escape the memories, let alone find a place and mental space to turn your brain off enough to just sleep.

So he leaves her alone, allowing her to enjoy the only escape she clearly has in this life.

[watchtowerindistress]

the empath and the eldritch horror (1/5) - ben hargreeves x empath!reader

Summary: Number 8 challenged him. Ben just needed to decide if he liked it or not. Nope, definitely hated it. There was no way in hell he actually liked the little Empath.

Word count: 3.1k

Series masterlist

Warnings: sparrow!ben is a warning in itself, language, violence, mental abuse (y'know Reginald's usual schtick)

Author’s note: I'm merely writing moments in the lives of these characters, since I don't know all the quotes. So the chapters are going to feel like snippets/best moments. I made this series shorter than I expected, but I'm cramming everything together as I wanted. (Set in S3)

I didn't feel like doing a lot of world-building, to be honest. I'm aware this isn't my best work, sorry, my depression makes me tired. I just realized when I wrote that dojo scene that I liked Sparrow!Ben so much because he reminded me of an older version of Damian Wayne. 😅 Please be gentle 🤗 I've never written for this fandom before. You want to be tagged or untagged, let me know. As always, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“Where the hell is my brother?”

Your determined voice carried to the departing backs of Ben and Fei. Even walking through those corridors in this strange timeline felt utterly surreal. Not to mention, profoundly strange seeing this older version of Ben. After remembering the pictures of when he was still alive.

So, you could only compare this version with the stories Klaus loved to tell. A funny mess. And most of the time a little shit.

Judging by the sarcastic look Ben threw over his shoulder before he fully turned his body, this version of Ben certainly was willing to stir some trouble.

Ben smirked. Fei copied his arrogant demeanor next to him, silently watching this exchange.

“Relax, we just want to have a little chat, and then we’re done with you two.”

Just hearing him talk so unceremoniously about your lives like that simmered something inside you. Like the two of you didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Like Luther and you were barely a blip on their radar.

Your face contorted with anger. To infuriate him just a tad, with the way he infuriated you with his callous words, your body barely leaned forward.

“We’re not things you can just dispose of once we served our purpose.”

Ben tilted his head. There was something fascinating about rendering someone like him speechless for a moment. You weren’t foolish enough to think you were getting to him. Your fingertips twirled behind your back to get a grasp on Ben’s emotions, only to sense something akin to a daze tingling under the surface. Not trusting your own empathetic powers what you detected was real.

Barely turning his head, Ben spoke to Fei with a certain voice. “I can handle this one.”

Fei smirked to herself before murmuring, “I’m sure you do,” and leaving Ben on his own.

He laced his fingers behind his back while playfully dancing on the back of his feet. Ben pursed his lips. “Something I can help you with?”

“How about being the responsible one by having a real conversation instead of using people for your benefit by literally abducting them, huh?”

Ben nodded repetitively, like he couldn’t care less about anyone’s feelings. “Right.” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “What’s the name of the big guy again?”

You conjured a patient smile. “Luther. You know, your brother from another timeline?”

Ben crossed his arms, revealing a crooked smile. “As everyone keeps telling me. I wouldn’t call it an abduction,” he exhaled tiredly, shrugging slightly.

“Are we allowed to leave?”

Ben pursed his lips. “I think he’s starting to like it here. And, you know, you seem seconds away from falling for our charms. We do have things to offer that your precious Umbrellas can only dream of.”

Mocking laughter erupted from your chest before Ben joined in. “Right. Wow, someone’s really sold on themselves.”

“I mean, calling it an abduction? Sounds kinda judgmental, don’t you think?”

You clenched your jaw. Remembering Luther’s emotions brought you back to the park, like they were your own. “I felt his desperation ahead of me,” you replied, deciding to remind him.

At the mention, Ben pointed at you, remembering. “So, you’re the emotional one, huh? What’s your number again?”

“I’m not just a number, Hargreeves.” You placed your hands on your hips. “Not surprised that you would deem something like empathy barely a power. I’d like to see you handle an anxiety attack when I’m done with you.”

Ben waved his arms at his sides. His aura was literally shimmering with excitement as he smirked widely. “Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You rolled your eyes. It seemed like this version of Ben felt drawn to any sort of mischief, the more the better. “And I thought Klaus was the crazy one,” you muttered under your breath. With a normal voice, you inquired, “Where’s Luther?”

“Probably in the kitchen still miserably failing at charming the pants off Sloane.”

A sigh left you when you mutely walked away towards the direction of Fei’s departure. Truth be told, only to get away from Ben faster.

You had already walked away with brisk steps when Ben’s arrogant sing-song voice made you regret all your life choices. “Other way.”

You instantly turned, while grumbling under your breath, “Fucking smart-ass.” You didn’t need to spare him a glance to feel Ben’s arrogant joy coming off of him in waves when he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms in delight.

“You know where to find me if you want to work on those powers of yours, … Number Eight.” Ben chuckled with mirth.

Self-loathing rippled through you just a tad for not letting your power detect Luther’s aura through the mansion to avoid this embarrassing situation altogether. And you blamed yourself for underestimating him. For thinking Ben wouldn’t have interrogated Luther about you.

“So, this is what you guys are doing in your free time, huh?”

Ben’s eyes remained closed when he performed his tai chi movements in the dojo, not letting himself appear to be ruffled by your presence.

“This tells me everything I need to know about your squadron of Umbrellas. How does it feel wasting your day away, not improving?”

You remained unfazed by his choice of insults. In the end, you were used to Reginald’s mental abuse. Your eyes followed his movements, content with watching his little ritual while leaning with your shoulder against the pillar.

“Depends. What’s it feel like when you’re not being a mascot for a Hargreeves empire?”

Ben scoffed in derision. “You think you can distract me?”

Grateful for his answer, you smiled in pure delight before sitting cross-legged on the middle of the training mat. “Oh, I know I am. Besides, I wanted to take you up on that offer which was made by a helpful Ben.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t ever call me that. You’re delusional for thinking I want to help you.”

You dramatically pressed your hand to your chest. “‘Oh, Y/N, I just can’t live with myself if something happened to you. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if that means helping you advance your powers.’”

Forced laughter erupted from Ben’s chest. “Har har, and I thought Sundance was the hilarious one.”

“Klaus.” You reminded him diligently.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Empath.”

You were strangely getting used to this Ben and felt truly like you were having a grand ol' time with him. Even if that meant ruffling his feathers. “You want to know what I think?”

“No,” Ben muttered with a gruff voice.

You continued as if you hadn’t heard him, “Someone’s really pretending that they don’t care about anyone or anything. Or, second theory-”

“I’m on the edge of my seat,” Ben interrupted you wryly.

“Maybe you don’t mind a distraction to take your mind off things.”

This time around, Ben turned to face you before he knelt down. Leaning over you until you could feel his warm breath on your skin. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“I’m the emotional one, remember?” You whispered before you pursed your lips when a thought hit you. “Not to mention, I can feel your curiosity, with a smidge of you itching for a fight.”

Ben snorted. “You’re adorable for thinking you can take me in a fight-”

An angelic smile tugged at your mouth. Your fingers brushed against his bare chest which was revealed underneath the dark robe. Your fingertips tingled before you let your power come to the surface.

The golden shimmer enshrouded Ben’s chest, pulling him backwards. No matter how many times you had done it before, your hands cautiously studied his aura once you heard his heavy breathing.

You still whispered soothingly, “That’s the sensation you get for being close to fainting. That feeling of vertigo tormenting your body and like your head can’t get enough air.”

The caring side of you stroked Ben’s feverish forehead until the dizzying spell lessened and was finally relieved.

You swallowed once you met Ben’s darkened gaze. He stared at you with glittering eyes, like he was truly seeing you for the first time. Ben licked his lips. “I think … I might have some use for you after all.”

“You may not know this, but my power doesn’t work like a medium,” you said, nervously rubbing your thighs to stimulate your senses.

Ben sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. The Sparrow had changed back into a shirt after the impromptu training session. He leaned forward and warned through clenched teeth. “Do you want to be of help, or not? Get this done, and you and your brother can go back to whatever shithole you stay at.”

“Not with this type of energy in the room.” You widened your eyes at Ben’s glowering ones to make your point. Before long you sat down on Marcus’ bed, with a bored Fei leaning against the door jamb.

Ben’s sister twiddled her manicured fingernails. “Is this a waste of time?”

He clenched his jaw, facing her. “No, it’s not. I know what she can do.”

“Aww, Benny-boo, you believe in me. That’s so cute. Who knew you had a heart?”

Fei smirked, tilting her head. “Not me.”

“You guys are hilarious. Are we done with the ‘band together against Ben today’? I’m doing whatever it takes to locate Marcus here and you two are not helping with the situation.”

You pressed your lips together at Ben’s all too serious demeanor. “Just trying to lighten the mood since your tense atmosphere isn’t helping with the task at hand.”

Ben shared a close-lipped smile, caging your body in on the bed. Despite his threatening air, you remained steadfast and didn’t move an inch.

“Do you mind just doing the thing before I lose my mind and let my tentacles do the talking?”

You narrowed your eyes. Ben needed to work on his lacking social skills, if his only resort were threats. “Say please?”

You could breathe easier again when Ben straightened his body and crossed his arms. “Keep dreaming.”

You exhaled heavily. Half the time he was fun to talk to and other times, he wore you out. “Just give me something of his that holds emotional value,” you mentioned, patiently waiting. The awkward silence confused you to no end. Ben and Fei exchanged glances among each other.

“Why is nothing happening?”

Ben turned to Fei. “Get Sloane.”

His sister tilted her head, challenging him. “Oh, I can just summon my crows.”

The muscles on Ben’s arms tensed before his jaw clenched with his next words. “Fei, take a walk.”

Her shoulder shook with mirth when Fei left with relaxed steps.

Ben’s sarcastic voice pulled you back to him. “I’m guessing giving you one of his leather jackets wouldn’t count, right?”

Your elbows supported you when you settled back. “Wouldn’t get the desired effect. So, let me guess, you guys are just numbers and soldiers?”

Ben shrugged, leaning his hip against the cabinet. “Gets the job done.”

“And you’re content with that?”

“It’s the only thing that matters.”

You didn’t believe him for a second. Or at least, you couldn’t imagine someone being satisfied with being so shallow. “Right. Because being associated to a number is all that matters.”

Ben smirked crookedly. “Oh, there’s nothing better.”

“Right, Number Two,” you added, trying to get to him.

“You trying to flirt with me, Eight?”

You rolled your eyes, retorting, “You wish.”

Ben chuckled, pondering to himself. “Who’d have thought? Maybe I prefer calling you Empath more than Eight. It’s pretty close though.”

You shook your head, feeling your cheeks blush at being more intertwined with that status of Empath than a generic number. “You’re weird.”

The mood of his aura changed to something unfamiliar. At least to someone like Ben. He cleared his throat. “So,…”

“So…?” You teasingly copied him, putting the side of your head against your shoulder, watching his reaction.

Ben crossed his arms. “What was he like?”

“Our Ben? Why do you want to know?” To you, it seemed strange for someone like him to inquire about his alternate version.

He eyed something outside the window. “Just curious, I guess,” Ben said, still not looking at you.

“Why don’t you ask Klaus or the others? I only met Ben after he was dead.”

“Wait, what?” That finally got a reaction out of Ben when he rapidly turned his head to stare at you with a peculiar gaze.

You sighed, remembering the circumstances of you meeting your siblings for the first time. “Reginald called me ‘the replacement’.”

Maybe this was ultimately his plan to ostracize you from the others by using that term. At least, you had Diego and Luther at your side. Klaus soon joined that tight-knit little circle once you confided in feeling that sensation of an unfamiliar aura wandering the halls of the manor.

Sometimes it still hurt how everything progressed. Your siblings emanating their grief onto you didn’t bother you. It was their apathy, that they didn’t care about you.

“I was taken in after Ben’s death. I could only feel his aura around after he was dead. I can sense who someone is in a way. Feel what kind of a person they are. Ben was always…” You pondered deeply how to describe someone like him. How to condense someone’s life and traits into the essence of someone.

“Kind, intelligent, mostly mischievous.” You smiled fondly, whispering quietly, “I could never replace him even if I tried.”

You didn’t know what it was about your gaze that made the Sparrow avoid it again. With the shaking of your head, you dispelled your thoughts. The new aura close by tickling your fingertips was a fitting distraction.

You glanced towards the open door. “Hey, Sloane.”

Seconds later, said woman poked her head into the room, smiling with a delighted air. “Neat party trick.”

An expectant Ben raised his eyebrows, interrupting any further carefree moments. “Sloane, Marcus’ favorite stuff he liked to touch?”

You felt inclined to add something else before more inquiries could arise. “In other words, yes. Or something that mattered to him.”

“There should be a book in his nightstand.”

That was the only mention Ben needed before he opened the drawer. Ben shook his head with a scoff, inspecting the worn edition. He showed his sisters the found evidence. “Are you kidding me? The Velveteen Rabbit?”

Sloane waved her open palms soothingly. “Remember we just want Marcus back.”

“What a nerd,” he grumbled, carelessly giving you the book.

“Says you? It’s a timeless classic,” you admonished Ben lightly before reaching for the hardcover edition.

Ben smirked. “I rest my case.” He furrowed his brows when a second thought hit him. “And what did you just say to me?”

You chose to ignore Ben’s little angry outburst when Sloane sat next to you on the bed. “Will it be enough for you to build a psychic connection?”

You closed your eyes, trying to hone in on the source. With your fingertips brushing along the spine of the book, your search for the truth was soon answered with the first memory remnants hitting you. Shivers coursed through your body at the sensation of Marcus’ memories filling your mind like they were your own.

There was an abundance of wishful thinking contained into the book, the craving of a different reality when Marcus’ birth mother granted him this first and last gift.

“It should suffice,” you said assuredly. With a calming sigh, you leaned your head back against the pillows. The book was held tightly in your grip.

“Yeah, sure. Have a nap, why don’t you? Something else you need? Maybe some soothing music, a face mask?”

Your eyes remained closed when you murmured, “Ben Hargreeves.” To get the message across, you made a quiet coyote signal. Hoping it would calm his frayed nerves.

A ripple of Ben’s undignified frustration wafted through the air. His only answer was a harrumphing noise.

You stirred your head, biting your lip in confusion. “I can feel a strong enough remnant, but I should be able to sense his location.”

“What are you saying?” Ben inquired tightly.

You chose your next words carefully. “I’m saying, … I can’t feel Marcus.”

“What does this mean?” Fei’s strained voice shared Ben’s sentiment. “Are you saying he’s dead? Abducted?”

At last, you opened your eyes. The perplexity of this unsolved mystery still plaguing your mind even after. It was more than nerve-wracking. “I’m saying that I should be able to find him, but I can’t. It’s like he just … vanished.”

The air crackled with hostility. Anxiously, you swallowed, staring straightforward. You jumped back when Ben’s wrath reached you.

Holding you down with his tentacles, with one of them slinging around your throat. Tightly but menacingly enough to spell out his primal urges. Ben’s body draped over yours. Fury blazed in his darkened eyes. “Now, Umbrella, I’m done with your little mind games.”

Sloane stood behind Ben’s shoulder, raising her voice. “Ben, let go.”

“Not until I find out what her family has done to him.”

With a hoarse voice, you implored darkly, “Listen to your sister before your Cthulu tentacles get the memo about me too.” As a warning, you gripped the surprisingly smooth appendage around your throat.

You cursed your curious mind for even harboring the thought of wanting to know how the tentacle’s skin would feel like.

Ben’s smile grew tighter, the more his eldritch monster’s hold intensified. “Try me, Eight.”

Summoning empathetic energy from within to converse it as a kinetic shield, you blasted him against the cabinet and leaving small splinters of wood on the carpet.

With a grunting noise, Ben’s tentacles drew back into his body. “Alright,” he murmured reluctantly. Ben dragged his body upwards until he was leaning against the furniture for support. He offered a blood-stained smile in reverence before he wiped off the crimson evidence from his lips. “Little minx.”

A dull thud resounded when you dropped the book on the duvet. You stood up and with a quiet voice you told Ben in no uncertain terms, “Don’t ever threaten me again.”

Remembering the company of Ben’s sisters and the result of your outburst, you awkwardly glanced at them before your feet led you towards the open door.

Wordlessly, Fei turned her body to make room. Her gaze roamed over your body with fondness after your display of power. As soon as you left the room, her dry voice remarked, “I’d consider this a success.”

Tagging: @cherryinsalemverse @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @ravenmoore14 @blackmagicwoman @lelaamela

[fanfictiongirlie]

Marvel: Unplanned Chapter Nine

Parings: Bucky Barnes x Reader (First person written though)

Description:

"It says...it says it's positive doll" His voice matching mine in a quiet shaky whisper.

"Fuck... I'm pregnant?"

"Yeah doll, you're pregnant"

"Fuck" I whisper.

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: Little pregnancy scare, nothing serious. Swearing. 

Chapter Words: 1,329

(I have the urge for every Marvel fanfic I write to have a seperate timeline where nothing bad happens, and everyone is happy)

I groaned as I walked into the Avengers common room, I had hit 35 weeks in my pregnancy, I was huge, my belly stuck out and it was heavy. I waddled over to the armchair I found most comfortable, Steve, Nat and Tony were sitting together, watching as I walked in. Bucky was out on a run this morning in the Avengers gardens.

"Morning guys" I muttered as I finally got comfortable on the chair. 

"Morning doll, you're looking very pregnant" Steve says, I look at him, my eyes glaring, I watch as Nat slaps his arm. 

"Obviously Steven" I snap. I watch as he winces at my response.

"Sorry doll, it's just...you look really pregnant, that's all" 

"Wow Steve, that makes me feel so much better" I sneer at him. Nat and Tony both gave Steve a sharp look, but they looked like they were trying not to laugh. Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish.

"Doll, I didn't mean it like that, I just...I mean you're like three weeks from your due date...It's a normal thing to say, right?" 

"No Steven, it's not, don't comment on a woman's body ever, okay? Dingus" I say, I could see he felt bad, his entire face was red, I rubbed my belly as a faint pain shot through me. 

"Fuck" I mutter. 

"The baby kicking girlie?" Nat asked. 

"No..Uhh false labor pains, my doctor said they're normal, but fuck do they hurt" I explain. I watch as Steve's eyebrows furrow in concern. 

"False labor pains? Like contractions?" He asked, worry laced through his words. 

"They're called braxton hicks, nothing to worry about Stevie" I smile faintly. I decide to go see Bucky, anxiety bubbling inside of me as the pain continues, I try to stand up, my body fighting against me, Steve was quick to rise to his feet, he steadies me with a supportive arm around my waist. 

"Thanks Stevie" I smile.

"No problem doll, just take it easy alright? You like like you're gonna pop any second" He says. 

"Steven, I will punch you" I say shaking my head, I start to walk away, heading towards the garden. I walk outside sighing happily as I feel the winter sun on my face. I see Bucky running, it makes me feel a little calmer, so I sit on a bench and watch him. I groan loudly when I feel another wave of pain shoot through me. 

Suddenly Bucky is in front of me, a little out of breath "Baby, what's the matter, another braxton hicks?"

"Yeah babe" I groan loudly "She calms down for you, come put your hand on her please?"

Bucky sits down next to me and gently places his hand on my belly. "Damn, she's moving a lot, isn't she?"

"Yeah... fuck, how am I supposed to know what real labor feels like?" I ask panicking. "Bucks, I'm really scared, can we...can we go see the doctor please?"

Bucky's expression softens and he nods immediately. "Of course doll"

He helps me up and we drive to the doctors, we were able to been seen straight away, perks of being Avengers. I explained to the doctor how I was feeling and she did a full check on me and the baby. 

"The baby is fine" She explains "She's a little stressed however, she can probably feel your stress mama...So for the remainder of your pregnancy I want you to stay in bed, or on the couch, just relax as much as you can alright?"

I nod, hoping Bucky was paying more attention than me, I tried calming down my breathing, the stress bubbling around my body. 

"So she's completely healthy?" I ask. 

The Doctor nods, giving me a reassuring smile. "She's perfectly healthy, just rest until your due date, we wanna keep her in there until she's ready"

"Okay thank you, I'm sorry we wasted your time" I say sheepishly. 

The doctor shakes her head and waves off my apology, explaining she'd rather see me if I was worried about something then having me sit at home worrying myself. I say a thank you, as does Bucky and we leave to go home. Once home I decide to walk to the common room, not wanting to be stuck in my bed all day. I walk over to my armchair and get myself comfortable. 

"Hey preggy, you okay?" Clint asks me. I roll my eyes at the nickname. 

"I've been prescribed bed rest" I say, my voice sounding a little sad. Sitting still was going to be hard for me. The room fell silent for a second, the Avengers looking at me worried. 

"Bed rest?" Nat asks "For how long?"

"Until baby's here" I say, we hadn't told anyone the baby's name just yet. 

"You'll have plenty of time to read, watch tv, whatever you want" Nat says, trying to cheer me up. 

"True...plus I can make Bucky wait on me, like a little slave" I smirk, winking at my boyfriend. Everyone in the room but Bucky laughs loudly at my comment. 

"Funny doll" Bucky rolls his eyes playfully. 

"Bucky, can I have a water please?" I ask sweetly, he does as asks, bringing me a glass. 

"Anything else doll?"

"A kiss?"

"That I can do" He grins, he moves over to cup my face, he kisses me softly, his lips pressing against mine gently. I smile kissing him back. We spent the evening in the common room, chatting away to everyone. When it was late Bucky carried me to our room, I got into bed and watched him do some stretches next to the bed. 

"Come snuggle?"

I watch as he grins, he crawls into bed and snuggles close to me, my bump keep us further away than I wanted to be from him. I hold him as I feel myself doze softly. 

"I love you" I mumble, we hadn't said those words to one another, not awake at least. I watch as his eyes widen. 

"I love you too doll, so damn much" He answers, as he kissing my nose lightly. I sigh happily and breath him in as I fall asleep. 

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Over the next two weeks, I did nothing but rest, whilst everyone around me looked after me, I hated it, I missed training, I missed missions, it didn't help that Bucky was on his last mission before paternity, only a small mission. 

I laid in the common room on one of the couches, rubbing my belly with one hand and reading my book with another. Peter, Nat, Steve and Wanda were keeping me company, chatting amongst themselves, I could feel them, glance over at me every now and again, checking on me. 

"You're glowing over there mama" Nat smirked at me, I put my book down to grin at her. 

"Thank you girlie" 

"How are you feeling today? Any contractions yet?" She asked. 

"I feel good, we're missing Bucky, she kicks more when Bucky isn't around" I say rubbing my belly. 

"She probably wants her daddy to come home" Wanda adds. 

"We both do" I whisper. 

"At least you've got us keeping you company, I've heard Peter's been having sleepovers with you" Nat chuckled. 

"Yeah, we've been watching movies together when I can't sleep, haven't we?" I say smiling sweetly at the younger Avenger. Peter looks up from his book and grins at everyone. 

"Yeah, it's been really fun!" 

"Oh...Steve, Nat...Bucky and I have been trying to think of a good way to tell you, but we couldn't, but we want you to be our girlie's godparents" I smile sweetly at them both. I giggle as both of them open their mouths and eyes widen at me. 

"You...you want us to be her godparents?" Nat asked, her voice unbelieving. 

"Yeah... if you both want to of course" I add. 

"Of course we do! It would be an honor really" Steve smiles proudly. 

"Perfect" I say, happy tears leaving my eyes. 

Taglist:

@quinquinquincy @jaybbygrl @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @learisa @hi172826 @ravennablue @purplecolordeer @a-small-blue-nebula @buckitostan

(If I've forgotten anyone from the taglist, I'm so sorry! Just let me know on this post and I'll add you!)

Also, thank you for all the nice things being said about this fic! I'm glad you're all enjoying it! <3

[end-otw-racism]

End OTW Racism Link Round-Up: Week 1!

We are now in week two of our action demanding that OTW live up to its commitments to address racist harassment & abuse, which ends May 31st! There was a lot of great discussion during the first week, so we wanted to post a round-up of some of the longer-form discussion/analysis that people have been sharing (we're going with posts on Tumblr, Dreamwidth, and other sites, as well as Twitter threads that are longer than three tweets). These are posts that we think would be helpful to consider as fandom engages in the necessary conversations about these issues.

If we've missed something you've written, we'll be doing another round-up of week two, so it's not too late! You can either submit it on tumblr, tweet at us, or email us at endotwracism [at] gmail [dot] com. We do reserve the right to only share posts that are in line with the intent of the campaign and that we believe are adding to the conversation.

Tumblr

beatrice-otter: Why AO3 needs to be accountable for reducing fandom racism in its internal culture and the archive [link]

pretty-weird-ideas: End OTW Racism and the “Fed” Accusations [link]

aretethegreattelleroftales: You don’t understand what EndOTWRacism is asking for here, and because you clearly do not understand it, you should have known better than to speak on it. [link]

vex-verlain: In response to the reactions I’ve seen to #EndOTWRacism [link]

unrealromance: I don’t really understand how people don’t know the difference between ‘whoops I’ve fallen into a racist trope’ and 'I am literally writing hate speech that is unveiled, mask off’. [link]

pretty-weird-ideas: Codification of a Living Document as a solution to Harassment on OTW [link]

indifferentvincent: RE: End OTW Racism Derailment [link]

elumish: In light of some of the backlash to the End OTW Racism protest, and particularly the concern that an anti-harassment policy would lead to abuse of reporting mechanisms or censorship of unpopular authors/ships… [link]

seepunkrun: How to Find and Attend OTW Board Meetings [link]

indifferentvincent: The people who use the excuse of saying ao3 is an ‘archive’ and so 'must preserve’ the most vile, intentionally racist fics just sound like the most privileged motherfuckers on the planet to me. [link]

spacebeyonce & pretty-weird-ideas: wow this is such a normal and rational thing to say about having a diversity consultant to help ao3 fix their bullshit. [link]

indifferentvincent: I have to assume this is in regards to my promotion of the end-otw-racism call to action, because I don’t know what else it could be referencing. [link]

princeescaluswords: Writing Doesn’t Happen in a Void [link]

mousieta: There is a place, a magic place, a giant, ever growing park filled with sandboxes of every color and shape imaginable. [link]

Twitter

spacebeyonceart: alright so I want to talk about this post I made two years ago now that the #EndOTWRacism ball is finally rolling. [link]

generalfrings: This shit makes me so goddamn angry, yall. [link]

eruthosish: One of the calls of #EndOTWRacism is to improve the AO3's Terms of Service and how the AO3 deals with fanworks that are part of an offsite harassment campaign, so I wanted to share a story about the only time I have ever reported offsite harassment and had Abuse agree with me. [link]

buttonthemdown: They've proven they can move quickly *when they want to*, but the fact the OTW hasn't made an official statement acknowledging their lack of action and pledging to do better sends a signal they don't care about their POC fans. [link] 

Clonehub7567 Seeing the reactionary dismissals of #EndOTWRacism from white fans who pretend to care about racism is reminding me of the backlash i/we got for #UnwhitewashTBB. [link]

hydrochaeris3: ppl who are worried that not participating in the call to action will get them labeled racist..... first of all once again yall are showing that you care more about what others might label you than putting forth tangible effort into caring for a community [link]

m_sketchyart: If you think that #EndOTWRacism is censoring your escapism, here’s a thought to chew on: why is being anti-racist a threat to your escapism? Is true escapism not also leaving racism, antiBlackness, fatphobia, abeism, misogyny, etc out of your escapism? /rh  [link]

lunedraws: Have you wanted to walk the walk and not just talk the talk, re: racism, in one or more of your fandom spaces? This is a concise and timely line of actions we can take. [link]

aliasmarionette: One thing I see a lot in #EndOTWRacism comments which are in favour of the status quo is assumptions about who we mean by fandom, and about the user base of the Archive. [link]

SapphicScholar: New profile photo while participating in the important fan-led campaign to demand that OTW make good on the promises it has already made to address issues it has already acknowledged as problems in the archive—that is, instances of extreme racist harassment and abuse [link]

Fansplaining: Since the endotwracism campaign has begun, we wanted to highlight the timeline they've put together about the OTW's communications re: hiring a diversity consultant since their initial statement of commitment in the summer of 2020. [link]

gwenpendrcgon: ive seen so much backlash over #EndOTWRacism which shouldnt surprise me (also majority of this comes from tumblr is also to be expected) but most if not all backlash received by this event is done is such bad faith and complete wilful ignorance [link]

fiercynonym: so op of the #EndOTWRacism post on reddit dm-ed me and the situation is even more fucked up than i originally knew???  [link]

kitschlet: seeing a lot of people confused about what the OTW can do to address racism [link]

generalfrings: poor AO3 maintaining a 'absurdly heavy site'. all that text! [link]

RukminiPande: Fan scholars should be paying attn to #EndOTWracism. [link]

Saathi1013: The thing to notice about all the assertions that people know who's behind EOTWR is like... Okay, there are a few things, actually [link]

buttonthemdown: If you think that victims of racism need to "develop a thicker skin" you're a fucking racist [link]

mousieta: if i could have people understand one thing abt #endotwracism right now is that This issue matters not because racism makes you feel bad, or uncomfy, or squicky but because racism is actively harming Real Living Breathing Fans right now. [link]

fiercynonym: okay so…you know how OTW has been saying, when asked at meetings, that they have a budget surplus of about USD $1 million? well…manogirl & i did some digging, and it might actually be more than TWO AND A HALF MILLION USD. [link]

runpunkrun: Speaking of OTW Board meetings, if you're interested in attending, here's what you need to know [link] 

Dreamwidth

satsuma: A Chronic Habit of Avoiding Responsibility? #EndOTWRacism [link]

bcgphoenix: I have a lot of feelings about OTW and End OTW Racism as a book conservator/general preservation person, most of which verge into tl;dr territory. [link]

killabeez: Looking at past archive policies [link]

nyctanthes: End OTW Racism (Fannish Fifty #47) [link]

chestnut_pod: Be more democratic, be more autocratic, OTW [link]

Other sites

Lady’s Weblog: End Racism in the OTW [link]

The Rec Center: #384 Final Thoughts [link]

Stitch’s Media Mix: I’m Supporting #EndOTWRacism [link]

[elumish]

"being cognizant of the implications of what I write" and "doing what you can to avoid hurting other people" sound a hell of a lot like the people who claim writing toxic relationships is bad because it isn't inherently or explicitly demonizing the relationship, and it's "triggering" abuse survivors. "Don't like, don't read" exists for a reason, but it's a lost rule to far too many. It's impossible, unrealistic, and unreasonable to expect someone to know and cater to anything and everything that could possibly her someone.

Writing a toxic relationship that doesn't end in that relationship being clear cut disavowed is probably going to hurt some people. Writing an incestuous relationship or a homophobic relationship is going to hurt some people. Those stories still deserve to be told. Sometimes you end up dating a homophobe, and 4+ years into the relationship you realize you're queer, and you have to juggle a long term relationship with what you understand about yourself. And not everyone has the strength or the means to walk away from that relationship. Is it toxic and traumatic to be in that situation? Yes. Is reading it potentially going to be triggering for some people? Yes. It still deserves to be written.

That's where your language gets muddy. Because the same arguments you present are the same ones used by purity culture warriors. It DOES need to be clarified, because far too many people equate "avoid hurting other people" with "authors should never write anything even remotely toxic or triggering". Because "be cognizant of the implications of your writing" too often means "never criticize a minority author except for when they don't write representation exactly the way you want it perfectly" or "you didn't explicitly say this relationship was bad so you're implying it's okay and that's evil".

With as much censorship as there is currently happening, YES, you DO actually have to keep this in mind. How ironic that you want to preach about being "cognizant of implications", yet viciously attack anyone for elaborating on your own ambiguity.

Wow, I'm so glad that we've decided that saying that someone was using a straw man fallacy is a vicious attack (though, somehow, an anon swearing at me in my asks and calling me an asshole was a totally measured reaction).

Look, anon, I am not at fault for you reading things into my words that I never said. I am not using subtext. There is not a deeper meaning to what I'm saying.

When I say "be cognizant of the implications of what you write" I mean literally that. i mean that you should know what you're writing. You should have an understanding of the meaning and the implication of what you've written down. That's it. That's the entire meaning of that statement. Understand your own work and the implications of it.

When I write stories involving characters who are or have been in the military, for example, I take some time to think about how it fits within the broader context of American civic religion re: the military and our general pro-military narrative in the culture that I live in. I look at how I'm writing the character and the world to see if I am sending messages that I don't want to be sending. When I write a character who was deployed to Afghanistan, for example, I think about what I or the book is implying about the invasion/war and how that might continue to shape or subvert existing narratives about the War in Afghanistan and about Afghanistan in general.

When I say "doing what you can to avoid hurting other people" I mean literally that, too. I mean putting even the bare minimum thought into (as noted above) the implications of what you are writing and then, if you identify something that you think might hurt other people, doing what you can to minimize that.

Continuing the example above, maybe I realize that I included a line that implied that average Afghan citizens are responsible for the deaths of American civilians, when it was really intended to just be a disillusioned character's feelings about their experience during the war. I would then edit the line to reflect my intention (the disillusioned character's feelings about their experience) while minimizing the harm (not implying Afghan citizens are responsible for the deaths of American civilians, which reinforces Islamophobic and anti-Afghan narratives). Understand implication, do what I can to avoid hurting others.

But you control what you write, and you are the one who makes the decision as to what to include or not include. As I noted in one of the posts you all are so mad at me for, we can figure out what that means for ourselves, based on our own morals and ethics and standards. I am a writer! I give writing advice! My advice is how to make your own writing better, not about how to somehow censor other people. This is not about critiquing other people's writing or about when you can or can't criticize authors or about anything other than writing your own stories.

There is nothing inherently wrong with writing bad or toxic or awful things. I do that in my stories all the time. I just also do my best to write about them in a way that minimizes the harm to others, based on my own standard of what is harm and what it means to minimize that harm.

There is an irony in you telling me I sound like I'm making an argument that I literally refuted in the last ask I got about this, but c'est la vie.

I can't control the made up things you read into what I write. But stop accusing me of saying things that I didn't say and then getting mad at me for it.

[iamnmbr3]

you know what's sooo stupid to me that it's almost bound to drive me crazy?!

The fact that whenever i see you sharing tom riddle metas about how traumatized he was and trying to look from his pov, i think that FUCKING MAIN VILLAIN, lunatic voldemort who was a reason for so many deaths and did everything to achieve his end is vastly understood. bellatrix, the cruelest witch(after umbridge lol), who knows nothing but voldemort has a not lil fandom

BUT jkr says Draco doesn't deserve fans' love & THERE IS NO GOOD INSIDE HIM (says about the guy who despite his environment and his own desire couldn't be bad & cruel..even if coward, still he didn't do several things in spite of his fears) so we shouldn't be that attached to him!!!!

And many people agree!!!! Like is Draco the only bad guy here? Is he actually a bad guy?

Like🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

(i don't have any problem with you guys talking about tom riddle or bellatrix having fans, just the injustice of it makes me insane)

First off, thanks for your patience in waiting for an answer to this ask! Second of all, I think two things are going on here. On the one hand, we have the fandom response to the series. On the other hand we've got JKR's response. While it's true that Tom Riddle and Bellatrix both have their fans (most of whom acknowledge the problematic things their faves have done - and indeed find their flawed actions and complexity to be part of their appeal) within fandom spaces the same is very much true of Draco. He is an extremely popular character within fandom. On AO3 he is the third most tagged character (after Harry and Hermione), drarry is the number one most written about ship, and dramione comes in at number 3. So I think in fandom spaces Draco gets a lot of attention and there's generally an interest in and understanding of the fact that he's a complex and grey character and not by any means a one-note bad guy.

However, JK Rowling does not seem to share that view at all. She's been very dismissive of his character and of fans who like him on a number of occasions and indeed seems irritated by his popularity - even though it is driven by writing choices SHE made. She claims Draco never got a redemption arc even though she herself wrote that he ultimately changed his opinions and behaviors...aka had a redemption arc. She seems to be someone who has a great deal of trouble admitting she was wrong and who is also very threatened by anyone having a different interpretation or view of something that what she wants. So I think she's especially bothered by people responding to Draco - particularly because she's on such shaky ground. Most Bellatrix fans admit she was a die-hard Death Eater - and indeed that's something they embrace about her character - so that's probably not as threatening to JKR as people pointing out that Draco changed his mind is. I think she also hates drarry.

And yeah it strikes me as really unfair that she singles out Draco fans and claims anyone who likes him is just a girl who is confused due to being attracted to the actor (wow. way to be heteronormative, misogynist, and a misandrist all in one go). Which is bizarre and problematic on so many levels and also especially weird when she has no problem with Snape fans or Regulus fans and doesn't seem to think that a similar problem could occur with people thinking Tom Riddle had a redemption arc just bc the character is canonically attractive and played by an actor generally considered to be attractive in the second film for example.

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

before this goes any further, I want it on the record that you all asked for this.

my first and most petty point: Midnight Mass gets basic details about Catholicism wrong, such that even I (not a Catholic) twigged them. The big one is that Catholics DON'T HAVE MIDNIGHT MASS FOR EASTER - it's a Christmas thing - but since the priest holding the mass is also a vampire, I can accept that he's going off-book. I have a harder time with them holding a PICNIC for ASH WEDNESDAY, aka THE DAY LENT STARTS, aka the day everyone starts fasting and are therefore not snacking on a potluck. It's a minor thing, and normally I wouldn't pick at it, but since this show ostensibly revolves around Catholic doctrine, it bears mentioning.

on a writing level, not one single character in this show talks like a human being. or acts like one. I couldn't give you any information about who these characters are as people, because they're not people, they're mouthpieces for Flanagan to impart his ideas to the audience. He is both deeply in love with his own writing and entirely unconvinced that his audience is smart enough to Get It, so he has his actors turn to the audience and lay it all out. Not only is this bad writing on a character level, it brings all plot and tension to a screeching halt whenever it happens. The most unintentionally hilarious instance of this has to be when Annabeth Gish comes to the sheriff to tell him that the church is being run by a vampire and her mother is aging in reverse, and his response is to start rambling about where he was on 9/11. Like. Nothing about this makes sense, and also why should we care when it has fuckall to do with the story?

(as regards the sheriff character: I, a white Quaker, am not the person to critique this show's handling of Islam. But I will say that Flanagan doesn't seem to have a clear idea what he wants to communicate: the overarching plot is antitheistic, in a very r/atheism sort of way ("WHAT IF THE SACRAMENT WAS VAMPIRE BLOOD" ooh wow didja cut yourself on that edge there, buddy) but Flanagan has no idea how to balance that with the precepts of any religion that isn't Christianity while also maintaining his broadly liberal bona fides, so it all sits very uneasily next to the church plot. I'm not advocating for the show to go full Christopher Hitchens, but I am saying that if Flanagan wants to posit that faith is a mass delusion and a net detriment to any community formed around it . . . he needs to either focus only on Christian characters or be willing to engage with how other religions function in society, because as is, the storyline with the sheriff and his son just peters out into nothing.)

but the thing that made me angriest - that took me from "this is so boring and pretentious and badly written" to "oh FUCK this guy and the horse he rode in on -" was the titular midnight mass. It is very overtly inspired by the Jonestown massacre, which a lot of horror media does, but what it fails to account for is that the members of the People's Temple did not voluntarily kill themselves. I know "drink the kool-aid" has entered the popular lexicon as shorthand for "blindly following a leader," but extensive testimony from Jonestown survivors - not to mention the death tape, which is available online if you really want to ruin your day - all confirms that the people who died that day were forced to drink poison at gunpoint, after years of brutal abuse from Jones and his inner circle. And even after all of that, people fought back. And not outsiders - people who had been in the Temple for years and wholeheartedly believed in the mission that had lead them to Guyana in the first place. (Christine Miller was a fucking hero and she deserves to be remembered for it.) Jonestown was not lemmings going off a cliff, and any serious take on the story would involve reckoning with that - that these people believed in a higher power and also believed that they had a right to live despite what Jones told them. But that would contradict Flanagan's point of "religion is dumb, WAKE UP SHEEPLE," so instead he borrows the iconography of a truly horrific tragedy and disrespects the victims by implicitly representing them as dumb, brainwashed cult members who eagerly toss back poison because they think sky daddy wants them to. He has so little respect for the subjects he's portraying, and the real people whose deaths he is copying for shock value, that he doesn't care about the inner lives of anyone whose beliefs might demonstrate that faith is more nuanced than his screed would have you believe.

There are good horror properties out there that are critical of religion and society - The Medium, which we posted about a few days ago, is one. The Witch is another. So is The Sudbury Devil. Hell, you could go back to the sixties with Witchfinder General. Religion - especially socially dominant religions like Christianity in the west - can and should be critiqued. But Midnight Mass is too sloppily written to be a critique of anything besides, accidentally, how far Mike Flanagan's head is shoved up his ass.

Anyway, that's why mod L doesn't like Midnight Mass. I did warn you.

[bbcphile]

AO3 Wrapped 2024 (Writer's Edition)

Thanks for the tag, @momosandlemonsoda, and for the asks, @evolutionsbedingt and @hideyseek! :D 

1. How many words have you written this year?

I’ve posted 14,838 words to AO3 this year, which is exciting after around six years of not being able to write because of medical stuff! This year, I’ve also written an addition 72,107 for my MLC long fic draft, and I have an additional 20k words in my “MLC rejected text” docs, plus another 9488 words of meta I posted on Tumblr (I’m not going to look at the wordcount of the “rejected text” file for my CPTSD metas). So, all together, that’s 116,433 words between January 1st and mid-September, which I’m pretty excited about!

2. How many works did you publish this year?

Just 2 fics on AO3: "What's Sealed Away" and "Waning Marks and Dawning Realizations."

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I’ve talked before about why I’m proud of “What’s Sealed Away,” but I haven’t said much about “Waning Marks and Dawning Realizations” here yet, so I’ll say more about that. It didn’t get nearly as much engagement as “What’s Sealed Away,” but I’m equally proud of it. I was so excited with what I was doing with the flour symbolism and the ways in which trauma leaves its marks–physical and psychological–and that while those marks can’t be wiped away, you can still make a good and happy life regardless. It was really really important to me to write something where even though LLH is healed from Bicha physically, he and DFS still have plenty of emotional wounds from it that they are still learning to navigate. It was fun to write something that was fluffy and sexy and had great banter, but also was an incredibly serious meditation on trauma and the way it lingers. Yay for trying to capture the contradictions of life? Anyway, I hope more people read it/comment on it eventually, because I’m really proud of it.

4. What work of yours has the most hits? 

What’s Sealed Away is the work from this year that has the most hits (1,140).

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

It was so exciting to get such a positive response for “What’s Sealed Away.” I definitely go back and reread the comments if I need a reminder of my own abilities. It made me so happy to see people quoting the lines they’d enjoyed the most, or identifying the thematic work I was doing, or just having feelings about the characters and how I’d written them! 

6. Favorite title you used? 

I’m still so very proud of “What’s Sealed Away” as a title and the many different ways that can be read and interpreted. :D

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? 

I didn’t use song lyrics in these fics, sorry!

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year? 

I’ve published the most for Di Feisheng/Li Lianhua, but I’ve written the most for the Lotus Trio (Di Feisheng/Li Lianhua/Fang Duobing), even though these 3 haven't gotten together yet in the fic. *facepalm *

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? 

It’s hard to say! Dihua is definitely easier for me to write for than the Lotus Trio, but I love difanghua a lot, too.

10. What work was the quickest to write? 

“What’s Sealed Away” was surprisingly the quickest, despite its length. It took about a week between the moment of coming up with the premise to the moment I hit publish on AO3.

11. What work took you the longest to write? 

My MLC long fic, which is 72k and still going, and I’m only just about in the middle of it (*wails *). When I’m not having crises of self-confidence, I’m fairly proud of it and really enjoy working on it, but wow, I sometimes wish I had picked an easier and less emotionally complicated subject with less character development to write about, because then I would have finished it several times over by now. 

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? 

*Cries * Heh. Ummmmmmm. Too many? So, my MLC long fic, obviously, and then there’s also the sequel to the anniversary fic which I’m collaborating on with @greentealycheejelly, and then there are about 5 other WIPS for MLC that I have entirely outlined and just haven’t been able to write because life keeps kicking my ass. (Also, I have two different Fangs of Fortune fics that I want to write, but that might not happen because of all the other things on my to write list.)

13. What’s your longest work of the year? 

The MLC long fic in terms of things not on AO3. “What’s Sealed away” (11,135 words) in terms of fics on AO3.

14. What’s your shortest work of the year? 

“Waning Marks and Dawning Realizations” (3703 words). 

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

MLC long fic and the anniversary sequel. 

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? 

Sharing a bed. :D 

17. Your favorite character to write this year? 

Oooh. Probably Di Feisheng. I just love the gaping chasm between what he shows to the world and what’s happening internally, although that’s ironically less obvious in the fics I’ve posted to AO3 this year compared to what I’ve written for the MLC long fic.

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Probably Li Lianhua. I love that I get to be a little more poetic while writing his POV, but my main challenge with him is how much he won’t let himself contemplate or acknowledge. I mean, it’s fun to hint at all the things happening under the surface that he won’t fully name or admit to, but I also spend a lot of time rewriting and trying to make things more opaque and less explicit.

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

I am very much looking forward to reaching the point in my long fic where Difanghua is actually together and playing with the intricacies and growing pains of that relationship.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Probably “What’s Sealed Away.” Normally, I can barely reread my own published work without wanting to delete it, massively edit it, or just hide under a blanket for the rest of time, and the fact that I occasionally voluntarily re-read it and find things to like and be proud of about it is pretty exciting. :D 

21. How many kudos in total did you get this year? 

213! (well, for my new fics. I know I got some for some of my older fics but I don't know how to track that.)

22. Which work has the most comments?

“What’s Sealed Away” (63 comments in 26 threads). 

23. Did you do any collaborative works this year?

@greentealycheejelly and I started working on the sequel to “Waning Marks and Dawning Realizations,” but had to put it on hold while my life exploded. Hopefully we can get back to it in the new year!

24. Did you write any gifts this year? 

I did! “Waning Marks and Dawning Realizations,” for @exitvelocities as part of the dihua exchange.

25. Did you receive any gifts this year? 

I did! And I feel so very loved! Thank you to @the-wintry-mizzenmast for “無路可走可回歸 No One is Lost,” to @omgpurplefattie for “The End of the Tether,” to @evolutionsbedingt for “To All the Things I've Lost On You” and “The Tassel Incident,” to @momosandlemonsoda for “Out of the Spotlight,” and to @eirenical for “From the Mud of Adversity.” And for art, thank you to @greentealycheejelly for this amazing illustration from “What’s Sealed Away.” (Wow, I am tearing up typing this all up! Seriously, thank you all! You’re all amazing! <3 ) 

26. What’s your most common category? 

M/M

27. What do you listen to while writing? 

Heh. Well, it’s the wrong fandom and it’s more sound than music, but I usually put on tabletop audio’s “age of sail” soundscape. I always had it on in the background while writing “Harboured and Encompassed” back in the day, and now it just automatically helps me calm down and focus, even though there aren’t any tall ships in my fics. :D 

I’m still searching for the right music to write to for my long fic, so I really hope I find it soon, because it makes things so much easier!

28. Favorite work you wrote this year?

I love them all, but I guess I’ll choose “What’s Sealed Away,” because I’m still proud of my take on a-Fei with amnesia.

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? 

Oh yikes. Um, I’m bad at choosing favorites, so here’s one from each of the two fics I posted this year:

From “What’s Sealed Away”: “Then, he wouldn’t have to wonder what else he liked or didn’t like, or what skills or abilities he had yet to discover. Or why Li Lianhua’s name felt wrong in his mouth, but only his dao had felt as right against his palm as the man’s hand.”

**

From “Waning Marks”: “Di Feisheng stilled, then slowly turned towards him, shoulders almost imperceptibly straightening. Di Mengzhu’s proud and unflinching eyes met his own, but underneath that, like the black zhongyi beneath a coating of flour, a-Fei’s did, too, wearing the wince the rest of him tried to bury. Li Lianhua waited, letting a-Fei search his expression and catalog the twitches at the corner of his lips and the faint dampness at the corners of his eyes that together voiced the words he couldn’t speak.

A-Fei dipped his head in a nearly invisible nod, a hint of a smile curling his lip as his shoulders lost their infinitesimal hint of tension. “Good morning,” he said, as though he didn’t look like he’d been caught in a blizzard and he hadn’t stayed up all night cooking for them.

This ridiculous, dear, impossible man. “You know, Di-mengzhu,” Li Lianhua began, clearing the distance between them, “if you missed snow so much, we could have gone north instead of south for the winter.”

A-Fei snorted. “You never dust. I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Li Lianhua tried and failed to suppress a smile, and covered it by brushing the flour off a-Fei’s shoulder. “You do realize you’re supposed to knead dough with only a fraction of your strength?”

A-Fei rolled his eyes. “I did.”

Li Lianhua huffed out a laugh. “A small fraction of your strength.”

“It’s not my fault the brat’s recipe lacked precision,” a-Fei grumbled, setting the sheet of paper in question on the counter.

Li Lianhua had no choice but to kiss the hint of a pout off his lips, wiping a streak of white off his cheekbone with his thumb in the process.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year? 

That I was able to write at all? That may sound strange, but I’m being completely serious: I’m still so excited that my health was stable enough for the better part of 8 months to write so much, after years and years of barely even having the energy to write an email! I’m really hoping that once we move to the new place and finish getting rid of our possessions the mold apartment 2.0 contaminated, I’ll be able to stop feeling so sick all the time and will get back to writing! Fingers crossed! 

Tagging @eirenical, @evolutionsbedingt @the-wintry-mizzenmast, @howdaretrashships, @la-muerta, @thesilversun, @exitvelocities, and @hideyseek, but no pressure if you don’t want to do it!

[xoxoemynn]

I was tagged by @edsbacktattoo, @summerlinenss, @spirker, @piratecaptainscaptainpirates to share the favorite things I've written! I've loved seeing everyone's responses to this and have been adding to my ever-growing MFL. 💕

First we have my "heart story," my magical realism fic The Merry Strays of Lighthouse Sanctuary, which is technically two stories because I wrote the first one in a day for Our Flag Means Party, and then that little idea exploded and I ended up writing another 115K to go along with it. The basic premise is "what if a house was built with so much love it came alive?" Took a lot of inspiration from The House in the Cerulean Sea in terms of vibes, so if you like that, you'll probably enjoy this one. Feels like being wrapped up in a big gay hug. Also recently re-read this one and made some minor edits to prepare it for a book binding and have to say, it holds up. I cried at the end.

Next I'll highlight my beloved Clock Boys, which I feel like was my Peak Writing for OFMD experience. I came up with this idea when I passed a clock repair shop and went "heh, dark and mysterious shop, what a great place for a PWP. Hey, this reminds me of a random clock fact I picked up from one of my favorite shows. Hey, let me do some googling. Wow, clocks are really horny and also have a ton of nautical ties. Cool." I posted the first PWP fully expecting it to be too niche to resonate with most people. It is shameless smut with more clock puns than I can count. But NOPE. People were INTO it. And maybe it's weird to get sappy when people tell me they love my PWP but I do get really sappy when people tell me they love the clock boys just because I never expected anybody else to do so. ANYWAY currently three stories, planning on a fourth for AUgust, probably mostly stand alone if you want. Just have to know Ed's a (w)horologist and Stede is horny for c(l)ock.

Next, I don't write a ton of canon fic just because canon is so perfect to me I don't want to touch it much, but I did really love how read me like a book came out. We have Ed going through great lengths for a Big Romantic Gesture and Stede always willing to "yes, and" him, even when he doesn't have a clue wtf is going on. It's unhinged, it's silly, it's romantic, it's got a lot of banter in line with those cut improv scenes... it makes me happy.

And finally, I'll highlight forever is our today (who waits forever anyway). I, uh, struggle keeping things short, but I managed it with this one and I think it may be one of the loveliest things I've written. Ed is a sea god who falls in love with mortal Stede and they're both punished for it. It's a lot of bittersweet, but also Buttons and the Swede are muses, so. You know. Got some silliness. And a happy ending. Prommy.

I've lost track of who's been tagged on this so apologies if you've already done this, but I'll tag @bizarrelittlemew, @ghostalservice, @petrichorca, @veeagainsttheday, @adhduck, @saltpepperbeard, and @chocolatepot. (And if you have already done it, link me to the post so I can add to my list.) 💕

[citrusici]

Ao3 tag game!

THANKS @ragecndybars FOR THE TAG I APPRECIATE IT

*cracks knuckles* lets do this

How many works do you have on AO3?

24 works! I would have never expected to have that many 5 years ago, hahaha

What's your total AO3 word count?

186,291! oh wow, almost 200k!! (unsurprisingly PT minato takes up over a third of that LMAO)

How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

10 fandoms! I'm counting Persona 3, 4, and 5 and separate, but I'm grouping all the Zelda fandoms together since it's all Linked Universe fic.

Here's the breakdown!

The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms (6)

Persona 5 (5)

Persona 3 (5)

SPY x FAMILY (Anime) (3)

Wizard101 (Video Game) (3)

SPY x FAMILY (Manga) (3)

Runescape (Video Games) (3)

Pirate101 (Video Game) (3)

Persona 4 (2)

The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom (2)

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga (1)

Star Wars - All Media Types (1)

The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors (1)

Top five fics by kudos:

The Ghost of Mementos/Stygian Ringlet (Persona3/5) - to the surprise of absolutely no one, since this is currently my longest fic. I'm very happy with Stygian Ringlet being the top because I love my boys :)

True Crime Special on the Midnight Channel (Persona 4/5) - my Ren has a TV Dungeon fic! also very proud of the dungeon concept for this one, I really need to finish the last two chapters

Dark Clouds on the Horizon (Linked Universe/TOTK) - I feel like this one got a lot of momentum partially because it was directly in the wake of TOTK's release, but I'm happy with how it turned out :)

Strangers Are Just Friends You Haven't Met (Persona 3/SPY x FAMILY) - this was a collab series with mewrose and a few others in the marigolds discord! we were throwing ideas at the wall to see what stuck and I really had a lot of fun with Shinjiro-related prompts, because I LOVE him and hitting him with the isekai baseball bat into a universe with Anya brings me great joy

Salt Tears and Raindrops (Linked Universe/TOTK) - directly related to Dark Clouds, and I'm glad people enjoyed good ol' fashioned angst >:) (I do need to post more of my wips, I do have a couple more roleswap AU wips that I want to post)

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I almost always do because I really appreciate them and its my way of saying thanks for the comment! If I don't comment it's because I lost track of it or because I can't think of a response.

What's the fic with the angstiest ending you've ever written?

Probably Salt Tears and Raindrops. I was in a Mood and decided to go for the tried-and-true method of putting fictional characters I like through the emotional wringer. That's how I got the rough draft for this fic :)

Do you write crossovers?

*looks at my persona fics and recent LU fics*

...I think it's safe to say most of my fics these days fall under crossovers lmao

Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

I wouldn't say I have? One or two comments that came off as rude, but no actual hate, thankfully. If I did, I forgot about it. I've been blessed by wonderfully nice readers <3

Do you write smut?

Nope. I don't read it, so I wouldn't know how to write it anyway.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of? I sure hope not.

I have seen a couple short fics slightly imitate Ghost of Mementos though, which I thought was really sweet that they liked it enough to inspire their own writing.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, but I'd definitely be open to it!

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

RYOMINA. Hands down. I love them so much, I am so mentally unwell about these two

What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

My two Runescape fics, Whispers in the Temple and Welcome to the Jungle. I absolutely loved going hogwild with rewriting old quests in Runescape, but I psyched myself out of Welcome to the Jungle because I got overly anxious about accidentally doing bad representation.

(in hindsight, it probably wouldn't have been as big a deal as I thought; it's hard to make it worse considering how bad Legend's Quest was with the british-african stereotypes. that quest DID NOT age well.)

I also want to finish Snake in the Grass; that was my first attempt at a genuine mystery plot and I really liked playing with Warriors in that fic in the context of the gang trying to figure out who the heck is trying to murder him.

What are your writing strengths?

I feel like I'm pretty good at dialogue! I try to make sure it matches the character's speech patterns and personality. Really well-written dialogue can tell you who's speaking without actually telling who it is. (For example, the way I write them: Minato speaks as few words as possible and has very little filter with his observations when he does share them, and Shinjiro is pretty rough around the edges, with shortened words and the occasional swear. Warriors is good with words and wit, but he has a certain military-esque directness and doesn't dance around the topic.)

I do try hard to keep the plot clear and understandable over everything else, so probably that as well.

Also, now that I think about it, maybe fight sequences? I don't do them much, but I do enjoy the challenge of making a clear sequence of what happens in a fight and trying to make it understandable. Fight sequences are easy to skip or gloss over, but I think of them like their own miniature plot. What happens? What surprises are there? What are their movesets? How do they get the upper hand? (and of course, what looks cool as fuck)

What are your writing weaknesses?

Time management. I tend to over-proofread since I beta my own work, and often I'll go back to tweak stuff if I had additional thoughts to add to it, or extra insight. Lately, it takes longer to write chapters than I'd like.

Also, dialogue-heavy scenes often get very chaotic in my WIPs because of the way I rough out fics. I'll throw together a bunch of dialogue bits I think would be cool to include, and sometimes they'll clash or get really messy, especially if there's lots of characters (looking at the latest two chapters of Stygian Ringlet)

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fics?

I think it's cool! It adds flavor to fics. If it's more than one short phrase though, or if it's story important, then I do prefer that there is a translation in the author's notes. I haven't done any non-English dialogue in fics, save for one memorable adventure into trying to figure out how Latin grammar structure works for a character that didn't speak English.

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

Wizard101 and Pirate101. I was obsessed with those two for YEARS. I really, really liked pirate stories in high school, and having a cast of crewmates that accompany you throughout the game really inspired me to write my first fic featuring my OC. (I was also into One Piece at the time, but I never wrote for it.)

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written so far?

Stygian Ringlet. It's really dear to my heart. I have poured so much love and effort into that fic, and the reception on it has completely blown me away.

THANKS FOR THE TAG!! Uhhhmmm for tags I'm going to go with @skyward-floored, @catreginae and @breannasfluff (but only if you want to!! no obligation of course)

and of course any other writers that want to do it as well!! go forth

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is: Atalia_Gold! @ataliagold has 77 fics on Ao3 in the Stranger Things fandom and all of them are in the Steddie tag.

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by @ataliagold:

My, My, Those Eyes Like Fire

Keep My Hand In Yours

I Can Wait For You At The Bottom

Oh Darling, Please Be Mine

The Wreckage Of You I No Longer Reside In

"Atalia_Gold has written fics I just go back and read over and over again. I love the way they write the characters and all the very different universes and situations they end up in. One of my favorite authors of all time!" -- Anonymous

Below the cut, @ataliagold answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I love the pairing so much. Steve is my favourite character ever, I loved him since series 1, but I never had anyone to ship him with until series 4 as Harringrove just wasn’t for me, so when Eddie came along I just thought wow they’re so perfect together.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Hurt/comfort, sick/injured Steve and Eddie doing the comforting/caretaking is my absolute favourite, but there’s a lot of stuff I love to read.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Same as the above, I love Steve so much but I love to hurt him haha. (So long as there’s a happy ending!)

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

You’re Divine by Oonionchiver. I love so many of their fics, but this one consumed my soul and was a big contributor to me wanting to write my own fics. A close second would be Take the Money and Run by thisapplepielife - so damn good.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I have a modern AU idea, and I have done one modern AU before but this one will be quite different, the subject matter is much lighter/more humorous and I’m excited to try that - usually a lot of angst slips in even when I try to keep things light so we’ll see how that goes haha. Also planning to throw in the good old one bed trope into that, which I love reading but haven’t written before.

What is your writing process like?

…there is no process haha. I have an idea, usually a scene or a line or just a feeling, and I start writing and see what happens. I don’t plan anything ahead, I don’t write anything down that isn’t literally just the story, I don’t know how long it’ll be etc - I just start writing and see where the characters want to go. I tend to write up a chapter or a oneshot in a day (sometimes two if I’m busy), then think about it overnight, edit the next day, and then post it once I’m ready.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Maybe a couple of little ones - I’m a fan of ironically both run-on sentences and line breaks - can never have enough line breaks for me. I use them a lot to emphasize things or just because they feel right. Run-on sentences I often use to show a character being indecisive/spiraling/emotional just because it sort of reflects that state.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

…neither. I have no schedule, but I also don’t wait until I’ve finished because I’m too impatient, and I find posting chapters as soon as I’m finished quite motivating. I’m a fairly quick writer so I can usually comfortably post a few updates a week.

Which fic are you most proud of?

That’s hard. I guess it would be The Wreckage Of You I No Longer Reside In, because it was the second fic I ever wrote and the first one longer than a small oneshot. I had covid, a lot of free time on my hands, and no idea what I was doing, but people seemed to really like it and I was floored by the response it got. There’s other fics too though, like My, My Those Eyes Like Fire or Keep My Hand In Yours that come close.

How did you get the idea for Oh Darling, Please Be Mine?

This fic happened while I was writing something else that I was struggling with a bit. Oh Darling, Please Be Mine was me returning to writing something familiar, something I felt comfortable with, and I enjoyed that one. I had worked as a vet nurse before and I really wanted to write vet tech Steve and Steddie with kittens.

When writing I Can Wait For You At The Bottom, what was something you didn’t expect?

That some people would comment and tell me it was accurate to their own experiences with depression. That’s one of the heaviest fics I’ve written and it dealt with Steve seriously struggling with his mental health. I was a little worried when writing it that I wasn’t depicting depression accurately - I’ve never been diagnosed with it myself despite definitely struggling with it or something very similar before. So I just wrote from the heart and people seemed to appreciate it, and I’m glad people found it authentic.

What inspired Keep My Hand In Yours?

I’d wanted to do a post-apocalypse fic for a long time. I love that genre so much, I love the idea of these characters being completely stripped down and having to survive in a very difficult world. Also, the title is from the Noah Kahan song Everywhere, Everything, and a lot of those lyrics inspired the fic too, especially the relationship between Steve and Robin.

What was your favorite part to write from Keep My Hand In Yours?

I think the reunion scene between Robin and Steve, or the scenes with Steve and Eddie at the cabin by the lake. I’d had those scenes in my mind for months before even starting to write that fic, and couldn’t wait to get to them.

How do/did you feel writing My, My, Those Eyes Like Fire?

I loved writing that fic. For me it was just such fun to write - I love sword fights/ancient history/that whole…genre. So I really loved writing that one, and it was literally entirely inspired by Joe Keery’s lovely gladiator outfit.

What was the most difficult part of writing The Wreckage Of You I No Longer Reside In?

That one wasn’t difficult, it really flowed. The most difficult part was actually maybe just sharing it - for so long I was terrified of putting my work out there, because I was convinced people would hate it or it wasn’t good enough/nowhere near as good as other authors’ works.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

It’s hard to think of one, there’s so many that are special to me for different reasons, but I think it would have to the be the Steve and Robin reunion scene from Keep My Hand In Yours: In the distance, two figures approached. Steve ran to them, caution thrown aside – he couldn’t make out their faces from here, but he knew one of them was Robin. He’d know her in the dark; would know her even if he were blind and deaf. One of the figures broke away from the other, running for Steve. They met in the middle of a dirt road at the end of the world, Steve scooping his best friend into his arms and dropping to his knees in the dust.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I have five fics ready to go for the Summer Things Fest, they’ll be released anonymously at first and then creators revealed a bit later, so keep an eye out for those later in July! Other than that, my current WIP We Made Universes Out Of Bitten Lips And Broken Hands is nearing the end at the time of writing this - a few more chapters to go and that’ll be complete. I’m away for the whole of July so not starting anything big until I get back, but I have a few ideas brewing, including a modern AU where Eddie and Dustin drag Steve along to New Zealand (where I’m from) to visit Lord of the Rings filming locations, and I’m quite excited to write that later in the year - planning at this stage for it to be upbeat and fun.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Just a thank you to anyone who has ever read my fics and dropped kudos or comments, I never expected people to even read my fics let alone enjoy them, so I’m really grateful to everyone who has. There’s some massively talented people here and their fics have helped me in so many ways over the years. And I’m happy to have met some lovely people through writing fics too :)

Thank you to our author, @ataliagold, and our anonymous nominator! See more Atalia_Gold's of works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

[shavynel]

Writing comments for fanfic

tl;dr -- Write one thing you liked about the fic (a phrase or moment) and how you reacted or made you feel! Also, keep it fun! Make no demands of fic authors who write out of love and Owe Us Nothing.

It took me a while to figure out how to write comments. I went through an evolution. There's lots of stuff on how to write stories, probably even giving crit and feedback, but commenting? Not nearly as much. So here's my not so short ramble on writing comments for fic. Includes my Ways of commenting and Tenets of commenting.

Examples here will be T-rated (by AO3 standards) and most are taken from or newly written with specific fics in mind. They are, ahem, almost all Genshin Impact.

Commenting is, I believe, a personal thing. I've been told I have a bit of an enthusiastic presence, so what feels true to you may vary. I also like to write words (can you tell?). And smash keyboards.

Leaving comments is, in fact, effort! But it's also a skill that can be learned and honed. And honestly, I think my fic experience is improved by it. I don't always leave a comment. But, I don't know... that random internet person authored a Whole Thing. For Free (likely). And I just get to read it?? Yeah, I'm going to leave a little appreciation. Just a little snack in return for this fulfilling meal you have fed me.

I also find writing a comment is also a way for me to just bask in a fic a little bit longer, linger in that feeling of oh, wow, this was so good, and I don't want to leave yet. (And then sometimes there's a response, and then I get a bonus dose of nostalgia!)

Ways of commenting

These are roughly ordered by amount of effort required. I would say the comments I leave are a mash up of these, really. There aren't actual hard lines between them.

1. An extra kudos.

Kudos are nice. Knowing the kudos button isn't enough is one layer deeper! Comments like

"Thanks for writing!" "<3" "i mash kudos button but no more kudos come out what's wronnnnggg????" "yay an update!" "this is so good"

Level of effort: slightly more than a kudos.

Honestly, copy-pasteable. Personally, I would always write these out. Somehow, to me, as a commenter, feels more real if I tippy tappy the letters myself even if Author can't tell. It's a nice way to let an author know you're coming back chapter after chapter when we can only kudos once on a fic. I like to leave a little something more, but I still often start or end with this.

2. Fic reaction.

Sometimes a fic just leaves me a certain way. Invoked a particular mood or visceral reaction. So, I let the author know!

"Awww, my heart is warm!" "Jaw on ground. WTF!" "Literal chills." "My eyes are wet. How did that happen?" "This fic is pure comfort." "AHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Heart on floor, smashed." "WHOLESOME!" "This has left me completely feral and ready to punch something."

Level of effort: you need some emotional intelligence or other awareness of you reactions.

As a starting point, was the fic -- wholesome, sweet, chaotic (in a good way), funny, heartwrenching, sad, delightful, shocking, calm, peaceful, I just want a hug now, terrifying, creepy, comedic?

How do you then turn this into a comment? "This was so ___!!"

Honestly, my crutch here is to just keyboard smash. What does it mean? Your guess as good as mine. I'm speechless, and I cannot words properly, but please participate in these Feels I'm having.

3. One detail I like. (My default comment style)

This one covers a lot of scope. If I read to the end of the fic, there's probably something I liked. Maybe

a turn of phrase. "Diluc drinking grape juice like a man chained to an interrogation table. sfjfskkdz" "Bedsheets twisted up like cooked spinach is SO accurate." "Itto-to is such a cute mashup name!" "We have years ahead of us. That was just one day in the past. The feeeeeelllssss" ":) as punctuation" "Barbatos and Nobles as a bookstore. Sdjjsfjdw I love it"

a particular character moment, action, interaction, or dialogue. quote or paraphrase it! "Diluc kicking Childe into the water was hilarious." "Childe is such an adrenaline junkie. I can't believe he would lean out the window while he was driving." "I'm so proud of Zhongli for actually admitting his feelings!"

some specific moment you emotionally reacted to. I've only recently trained myself out of stoic facing through fic. I mean, it's a useful skill, don't get me wrong (especially in public), but it's less useful when it's just me by myself. I now laugh at 3am reading fic, and my life is brighter for it. Comedy fic writers, you are my fave. "Can't get over when Diluc walks in on Kaeya and Childe. AHHHHH!" "Qiqi drying Childe's hair was so sweet!"

Level of effort: you have to actually remember something you liked or reacted to.

The number of movies I watch and number of times someone asks how's my week, and I just stare blankly because I know it was good but don't know anything else? High. So yeah, this isn't trivial.

I've gotten to the point where usually while reading I notice a moment of "wow I love this!" I don't go looking for them (because I want to stay in fic headspace not comment material hunting headspace), and I don't spend much effort trying to remember. If I forget, that's fine. Not like I'm not writing a book review for a grade or anything.

Just, what's a moment you just got to call out? (And bonus, what's your reaction?) Authors out there seem to like to make us feel things. Show them we're just dangling from their puppet strings!

I usually leave comments like this. Just popcorn style, as many things as I remember, whatever comes up as I recall it. I'm aware that sometimes I end up basically quoting a fic back to its author completely out of order interspersed with commentary or keyboard smashes. I'm occasionally embarrassed by how much I'm smashing into their comments, but the reception seems overall positive.

4. Between the lines and spin off thoughts.

Sometimes fic make me think. I mean, canon makes me think, and then people go and make fanworks off of that, so of course I'm bound to run into fic that makes me think. Sometimes the things I notice or think about aren't directly in the text, but implied or spin out thoughts. An interpretation, a mini analysis, or a reflection. Like,

a new thought or take on a character. "Aro-ace Venti! I like this take!" "Please don't break Klee. She's just trying her best to hold all the adults together. Oh no. You've already broken Klee. T_T" "I bet Jean is the only person who could have kicked Diluc's ass, and he really needed it." "Kaeya what are you doooinggg?? Why is he like this???" (An extra note, it's cool to disagree with a character, but not the author. Character did that makes you want to scream? Go for it. Author wrote the character in a way you disagree with? Don't comment. Leave the fic if it bothers you that much.)

noticing foreshadowing or a detail that isn't fully explained / only alluded to. "Is that Scara working at Scarabucks???" "Wait, something about what Venti said makes me think this isn't just a modern day AU ..." "Did that count as a geo construct for the purposes of the contract?"

some sentence or moment somewhere that just hits you in the brain. This one I don't actually know if author's like. On the one hand, I can imagine it being flattering. On the other, maybe it's too personal? I'll usually center these on the characters, kind of like character analysis. "Diluc sharing his anxiety with Kaeya, and that being what made Kaeya look at his own anxiety... really hits. Like, I don't even think Diluc could have said something sooner without Kaeya running, which says so much about how Diluc loves Kaeya. And the fact Kaeya can see this as a mirror of what he's doing and learns something from it. Just. Oof. Wow." "The conversation between Zhongli and Childe is just so real. Like Zhongli is trying so hard but his ass just can't understand Childe just wants him to tell them things and his not telling things is Not Helping even though he just wants to protect the boy!"

Level of effort: some amount of analytical thinking, reflection, or willingness to share when you get sucker punched by words.

This one I absolutely never go looking for, so I don't leave many such comments. When it does come up, it usually smacks me in the face, and I let it (roll with the hit and into the comments). On occasion I am wailing in the comment box when the revelation (like having broken Klee) just dawns on me. Am I Feelings Processing in comment boxes? Uuuhhhhhh, no comment. (Don't mind the lack of delivery on the pun.)

I'd like to think authors appreciate when we reflect back to them we get their interpretation, but I can also imagine it might be a little too much for authors if we get too personal. In which case, sorry. Your work is great! Please take it as my intention to flatter you since you've touched my heart or brain or soul with your words.

5. Craft appreciation.

This one, *head scratches* yeah, I don't often end up here. But sometimes it's not one moment, but something about all the moments, something underlying, or something in the way it was all put together. If I do end up here and write a general statement, I like to point to specific bits that made me think that (which is where I lean back on One Detail I Like). Actually, yeah, usually I use this as flavor to One Detail I Like, but I think it's sufficiently different to pull out separately. It's a writerly meta layer. What falls here?

dialogue. "Your dialogue is so good. I can hear it in in the VA's voice." "I love the contrast between how Zhongli talks and Childe talks."

imagery. "Can't get over the imagery of Childe releasing dandelion scenes. Such a kid!" "Childe sleeping with Tranquil Statlight is just so peaceful."

characterization. "The little nuggets you give characters like Rosaria doing community service at the church for Crimes just gives me life." "I love the way you write Childe. He's so aggressive!"

setting, world building (more for AUs but wow there are some authors good at expanding on canon lore). "Your world building is so cool. Like the abyssal graffiti on the walls?? HNNG!"

writing style. "Your style is very dreamy. <3" "This is genuinely so heartwarming, and yet at the same time what is this underlying feeling of something is wrong????" "I feel like people appreciate the art of comedic one liners but you've got angst one liners. AND THEY SLAY."

pacing, timing. "This fic reads like a high speed express train. It just never stops or slows down!!" "What is this cRaFT! Like. Para 1, comedic. Para 2, thoughtful. Para 3, WHY DO MY HEARTSTRINGS HURT."

use of language. "Using he for POV character and they for the other is LINGUISTICALLY MIND BLOWING." (Please, I want this to catch on more. I do absolutely respect people's pronouns. These fictional characters (and people who have pronoun flexibility)? She and they instead of she and she?? THE CLARITY WE COULD HAVE??!? I'm incredibly greedy for it.)

premise. "Pierro Dad gives me so much life." "The Bachelor but it's Diluc?? Let's go!!"

plot twist, or cliff hanger. "The reveal!!! *screaming*" "I can't believe you would do me like this." (No, I can't in good conscience leave a specific example and give a fic away. Yes, I am thinking of specific fics still.)

Level of effort: be able to map details you like to writer's craft.

Let's not pretend we're here to do crit. Even if we're using writerly words, we are not here to do crit. Well, I am not because I don't believe the comments box is the right time or place for it, but I am happy to lay on the praise and point out the things that worked for me.

Usually, I think it's harder to look across a fic and be like, yeah, the dialogue hit, or this writing style or pacing really does it for me. It's more nebulous. And sometimes it kicks you out of fic reading headspace and into a writerly meta land to notice, so I don't, and I just let the fic wash over me. And if something here strikes me, I will offer my praises. Again, I think it helps to think of this more as an additional kind of One Detail I Like.

Tenets of commenting (and a little of reading)

Okay, so those were some do's, but I also have don't's. These are my boundaries that I keep. Maybe yours are different. I suspect most of these stem from the place, Author did this for free and Owes Me Nothing, so that's the one real tenet. I keep these in mind so that I can keep fic a nice, fun, safe place for me (and hopefully the authors too).

1. I will never ask for updates. I never expect a next chapter.

I've seen enough content creators stressed out and burnt out about putting something out over and over again. I feel for them. That sucks. They probably just started doing it for fun, and now ... The demand and expectation they continue to perform for free? Yeah, it's not going to come from me.

Once upon a time, because of this and a desire to have complete stories, I wouldn't read incomplete fics. I now am The Biggest Fan of incomplete fics. Yes, hang me off the side of a cliff. I will scream at you. And if you don't haul me back up? Well, fine. I'll live. Some other author's got my back. Probably. There's still so much to love between world building, characterization, good moments, jokes -- and you sometimes get the experience of seeing familiar faces screaming at the fic with you update after update. It's precious. It's fleeting. I could go on, but maybe a different day. Back to commenting!

Flip side, as an author, I will say the desire for more is, in one case, why I plan to continue a fic from years ago. I was very firm at the time I would not be extending the one shot, but I guess time changes things, and the fact people were like, I would read more story contributes to that.

So this one is very much a personal tenet. There's some line between I love this so much I want it to continue, and expecting there to be more. Where is it? I don't know. So I just stay away. Surely Author will get I want more if I just say how much I love everything and have commented on their latest chapter. Rather than leave snacks that taste like burn out to some authors, I will focus on other flavors of comments!

2. I will not say what I dislike.

Not my ship? I probably won't read. Not my preferred ship dynamic? Tropes I don't like? Characterization not hitting it for me? Paragraph formatting not doing it for me? I just x out of there, find something I do like. People be writing things for free! Let them have their fun!

If I did read it, snd I stayed, something else must have grabbed my attention. I'll focus on that. Writing style not quite doing it for me but I love the details added to the world? "Wow, the world you flesh out is so complex." No mention about how much of a drag it is to read, because hey, I still read it, and I had reason to not put it down!

3. I will not give corrections.

Authors (and maybe a beta) have put in tremendous effort and time, and to be like, "you missed a typo" or "actually, the canon lore says X" often detracts from the beauty of the shared fic experience. I interpret random grammar and misspeaks and typos in daily conversation and texts all the time. Surely I know enough to employ this skill. And if I figured it out, other readers probably will figure it out too. If I can't, I usually assume the author was too big brain for me and skip merrily along to the next sentence. (And if it's too much for me to handle, I click out.)

Yeah I get it! I get the urge to want to be helpful and contribute to other people's experience! I know that feel! Because, well, I learned this one from experience. I tried once. Watched an author wilt a little when what I wanted was to be helpful. Yeeeaaah, not doing that again.

So, I suspect this often comes off as a little entitled that just by that bit of you say something and kinda underlyingly expect the author to do something about it, and again, Author Owes Me Nothing! Even if the author is asking for a beta, I'd reach out first and make sure they are now in a headspace to be expecting beta thoughts from me.

Wrapping it up

I love fic, the world is rich with it, and I am full of love for authors and their craft. It fills my heart with joy to know I can return a little smile to someone who has let me hop on their ride for free.

It does take effort. Writing comments, turns out, is writing. Writing is a skill, therefore writing comments is a skill. And writing takes practice to improve, so, guess what, writing comments takes practice to improve. Who would've thunk. (Not me, I assure you.)

I've wanted to write this for me for a while, capture what I've learned because I noticed my ability to write comments change over time. Then recently, I was rec'd a fic and told to definitely leave a comment because the author deserves it and I write good comments. Dispatched because I write good comments! Now my commenter feathers are fluffed up, and so I have actually written this. But I definitely didn't start out the comment writer I am today, so I wanted to share that, surprisingly there is a progression path! (Maybe this is only surprising to me.)

I do find commenting adds to my fic reading experience. And I love reading other people's comments. Sometimes other people notice things I didn't or have very cool interpretations, and that is an extra wow right there. (And look at all these other people who like the thing I like!)

And if I leave a comment, sometimes I get a reply! Author noticed my little comment! Extra dose of happy for everyone!

And sometimes, sometimes, (and again I would never expect it, but it is a gift much like fic itself is) an author will write back full of their notes and what they were thinking about writing those moments, and I treasure that so, so much. It's both a delight because of the usual Author saw my effort commenting and I get an extra behind the scenes! The craft behind the craft! (Now how do authors leave good replies? That is still a mystery to me.)

Sometimes I write a lot and then it goes into a black hole, and that's sad. Hmm. I'm pretty sure this is what authors feel when we don't leave comments. Hmm. Guess it's time to write more comments! (Sometimes, like fic updates, replies show up months later, and that's honestly <3)

So, let's go leave some comments and show those authors love and tell them how much they delighted us! Or ... how they smashed our hearts into the ground with angst/no comfort because sometimes that's just what one wants to read.

[salbei-141]

Rescue Mission (Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Reader)

Masterlist

word count: 6.1k...i can't write a 3k essay but I can do this

warnings: 18+ mild smut, fluff, a lot of violence, self-doubt, graphic stuff etc. (forgive me if I've forgotten anything)

a/n: Wow am I entering my writing era again? I haven't written any sort of fanfic since I was like in my early teens, and I'm sure you can imagine how bad it was then, so I'd like to think this is better, but that's up to y'all to dictate. I do hope you all enjoy it, and as much as I desperately wanted to write for Ghost (which maybe I will in the future) I wanted to do something for Soap, he deserves love too, and there's not enough.

I don't know if I'll make this a part 2, if enough of you want it then I'll see what I can do - I also don't know how much more I'll write - knowing me it'll be like once in a blue moon lol

Anyway, I've spent my time writing this instead of completing uni work, which I desperately need to finish, but anything to procrastinate. I'd really appreciate any and all feedback, so please let me know if I can improve and if y'all wanna see anything specific in the future.

(I've gone over and edited it, so hopefully there's no mistakes)

:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With an intruding knock on your door followed by Ghost’s command of “Smoke get your ass up, Price wants you in his office in 10.” You were left to get ready in a rush with no negotiations.

Walking into the bathroom all you can focus on is the redness around your eyes followed by some bags to bring the look together, and the faded scar under your left eye as a reminder of past fights. You find yourself rarely getting any sleep these days - between random calls for missions and the ongoing night terrors, there’s little to no time for rest. You tend to wonder how much longer your body will be able to handle before it gives into exhaustion and you hit the ground - probably with Ghost at your heels telling you to get the fuck up before he drags you up himself. It really wouldn’t be a surprise if he did that to you, you thought to yourself with a small smirk gracing your face.

With several minutes to spare you throw some water on your face, flinching at the temperature - not quite awake enough to readily process things - patting your face dry and smoking your eyes out with some black paint you're closer to being ready to leave. You find yourself thinking back on a memory where Lt argued you had stolen his look of the blacked-out eyes and anonymity, but you begged to differ, plus you teased you looked better than the big man anyway, which had made him quietly huff.

Finishing up in the bathroom you slipped the plain black balaclava over your head, weary of the healing cut that laid as a reminder of the last mission on your cheek. In some fresh undergarments and black uniform you find yourself robotically walking out the room and down the hall to Price - there’s little thought in your actions anymore, everything’s just an automatic response, and there’s no need to think.

With a deep breath, you knock on the door, “Captain.”

“Come in Smoke.” Price said with a gruffness to his tone - he's not quite a morning person himself despite how long he'd been in the military.

Walking into the room, there’s a thick layer of tension that feels suffocating - your not sure what he’s going to ask of you, but you're on edge, he looks nervous, and Price is never unnecessarily nervous.

“Please sit Smoke.” And he averted his gaze on your eyes to look back down at his desk - it was definitely nerves, he didn't quite have Ghost's staring issues, but he always stared you down when you were walking into the office.

“Yes, Captain.” Without much else to say, you took your place on the dingy chair in front of his desk.

“Did Ghost tell you anything?” He made eye contact then, not averting it like before.

“…no, he didn’t. Just said to meet you in 10.” You felt your brows furrowing slightly at his question - should Ghost have said anything? You would've liked a pre-warning from the guy seeing Price's nerves shining through.

“Well, we’ve got a mission come up for you. It’s solo.” He states staring directly into your eyes, he knew you weren't going to be okay with this arrangement, so why the fuck had he decided on this.

“And you can’t have Ghost complete it?” There was a growing edge of anger to your tone, you didn’t want this, and you were getting progressively defensive.

“He’s aiding Laswell in a separate mission. You can’t hide forever y/n - it’s been a year now, and you’ve had more than enough time only participating in group missions…I wouldn’t make you do this if I doubted you.” There was sincerity in his tone, but you didn't want to believe him, you refused to.

“You didn’t doubt me a year ago and look how that went down, almost got the whole team's data exposed and ended up near enough getting Johnny killed while his ass was dumb enough to accept a rescue mission to save me.” Your hands were starting to shake underneath the table, and you could feel your heart rate starting to beat faster at the memories of Johnny coming to save you. “Look Price I’m not the fucking one, you got enough men on this base better than me and-“

“It’s MacTavish Smoke, and no I don't", you felt your stomach drop and the thoughts started running wild through your head. "Soap lost contact with us 2 days ago and we’ve received intel that a new terrorist organisation in the Middle East have taken him hostage. I’m not going to tell you again Sergeant - your mission is to save Seargent MacTavish and you’ll do it without fail. Do you understand?” He was giving no room for you to back out of this, there was no way to. You couldn't leave Johnny, but you also didn't feel capable after screwing up your last solo mission.

The tension had snapped after his confession, but was replaced with trepidation - it was all up in the air now, but you still felt like you were suffocating. Johnny was supposed to be on an in-and-out mission, nothing too difficult - he was supposed to be done tomorrow, what the fuck had happened?

Swallowing, you asked for the necessary intel, and Price started to brief you on the mission. You were to head to Yemen, following coordinates that Price would send to you once you were in the country. From here you were alone - it was a high-risk operation and they didn't want to risk losing more soldiers than was needed - Price knew you were capable of completing this alone, even if you didn't.

~~~Time skip~~~

Now in the heli you were about an hour away from the house Soap was situated in - you had, had time on the aeroplane to figure out a basic plan and between the anxiety of what Soap was currently enduring and the desperation to succeed you knew what you were going to do.

Price's intel suggsted there were about 50 men minimum around this base at all times - but tonight there was some sort of event, and there were going to be about half that, which made things easier, but you knew it meant they'd be on higher alert; especially when they have a member of the 141. About 5 men would be at the entrance to this home give or take; another few men would be around the back of the house; give or take there would about 6 men patrolling the ground and first floors; then that left probably 3 men with Johnny and some stragglers patrolling the ground of the place, but there was no guarantee this was even close to the layout in reality. What you did know though was that there was a blind spot around the east side of the house where there was a small hatch to the basement of the place - this was your only safe way in and depending on how things went, it'd also be your safe way out.

"Seargent y/l/n, we're here, you ready?" you heard a static voice come through the headset from the pilot.

"As ready as one could be I guess.", you all but muttered into the mic.

And with a count down you were sliding down the rope and landed heavily onto the ground - it was dry land, which meant it'd be easier to cover tracks if necessary, but it also meant there were fewer ways in which you could hide yourself and Soap wouldn't be in the best of conditions for this, assuming he was alive.

Hiking to the house, you were half expecting someone to take you down on the spot with every step you took, but with each step, you got closer to where you had to be, but you still couldn't allow yourself to take a relaxed breath of air.

After about a 40-minute walk, you found yourself on the edge of the compound if you could call it that. You were in the middle of nowhere and already knew you needed to do this quietly - running away was going to be difficult with the sheer amount of open land, but there were a few valleys into the back of the compound, which you were sure you'd be able to escape and camp up in, assuming there were caves within them.

You noticed there were a group of men at the front - maybe about 11..something wasn't right, but you had no clue what was going on yet. There were 2 guys covering the back of the place and no one on the east side - at least it was a blind spot for sure. Without another thought, you went from your prone position to stalking toward the hatch, which would hopefully lead to Soap.

Putting an ear to the small hatch, you listened for what was beneath, and so far there was only silence - hopefully, it stayed that way. With that, you lifted the hatch carefully, making little noise, and peered in, seeing steps leading down - it was dark though - had they been depriving Soap of all his senses hoping he'd go mad enough to confess or something?

Without little insight into what was beneath you, you had no real way to plan how you'd go about this, but what you did know was there were more men outside than you'd planned for, which gave you a little less anxiety. Creeping down the stairs, you turned your night vision on and took a moment to look around. Where the fuck was Johhny? All you could see were damp cobble walls and dirt. Walking to the bottom of the stairs you pulled a suppressed pistol out and a knife and stalked the room looking for another door.

Suddenly a door above you opened - there was another set of stairs and light seeped through before it closed again, welcoming the darkness once again. With the night vision still active you could see one of the men walking down the stairs with what looked like an AK-47 - that made it a lot easier for you to take him out from behind, it would take too long for him to adjust and fire. Watching him reach the bottom of the stairs, you stalked closer to his figure and just before he could flip the switch on the wall, you pulled your knife and plunged it into his neck, covering his mouth and slowly lowering his writhing body to the floor - making sure to make as little noise possible.

Moving the guys body to an empty corner of the room you remained silent and listened for anything else above - no sound. You assumed he was to take watch of Soap - hoping he was behind a door you noticed was under the stairs this guy had come down. There was again no light seeping underneath; either he was elsewhere or they were indeed depriving him of his sense, but you had no idea if there were any men in there. Putting your ear to the door all you could make out were some shallow breaths - it had to Johnny.

Pushing the door forward, you cringed hearing it squeak on his hinges. If someone was in here, then they knew you were too, and with no precautionary thoughts, you walked into the room, scanning it with your gun aimed and knife up.

There he was. You felt tears prick at your eyes, his body had stiffened and his breathing had picked up - Johnny wasn't ever usually this scared, what had they done to him?

Turning to your left you flipped a switch and closed the door behind you, putting a chair underneath in case anyone tried to walk in before you could prepare.

Walking to Johnny you placed a gentle hand pulling up the cloth bag they'd placed over his head - the small flinch hadn't gone unnoticed by your gaze. Letting him adjust to the light, you placed a gentle hand on his jaw, examining the cuts littering his face - you doubt they'd scar, but you were guessing the real pain was done to his body - you could see the crimson that was dried to his clothes - he looked like a mess, you had to get the both of you out of here and straight to a medic, you couldn't bare this for much more.

Of all the years you'd known Johnny, you'd always denied how you felt about him - he was a friend, a coworker, and there was a fine line you refused to cross, you didn't want to lose him nor your team. But seeing him like this, seeing him so broken - noticing his pained stare holding onto your eyes, you knew you couldn't deny what you felt anymore. There was no way you could deny that the pain in your chest wasn't due to the man you refused to accept your feelings for.

"Smoke? That you?" Soap all but managed to mumble out - his eye was bruised up and there was some mild swelling - nothing that concerned you too much, but you could imagine he was having a hard time properly focusing on you.

"Yeah, it's me Johnny. You're alright now, yeah." you said it more to convince yourself than him, but you had to start making moves, as much as you wanted to hold him in your arms and soothe whatever was going through his head, you had to get him out of here before they sent more of them down here, you knew you were counting down mere minutes before they would come.

"Johnny I'm going to cut you out and give you a stim, then we're going - we'll find somewhere to hold up for a bit then I'll call for evac." you were rushed in your movements, still careful with him to not hurt him any more than what he was.

With his hands now free, he brought them to his sides and tried to loosen his arms up a bit from where they had been stiff behind his back. Coming to his front, you gave him a stim and he became more aware of what was happening.

Standing tall, you held his sides, noticing his lack of balance. He sucked a breath in when he felt your hands come up on his sides - you were so gentle, he'd only felt calloused hands pressing into his body over the course of the past few days, and it felt comforting to have you holding him with such care.

With one last look up into his eyes, you told him to follow behind - just to trust you. He never doubted you for a second, the moment he'd known it was you who was sent to rescue him, he knew you'd get the both of them to safety - he admired your skill on the field, even if you didn't possess the same ability to believe you could succeed this.

Moving the chair from the door you flipped the switch, feeling one of Soap's hands come up to your shoulder - he didn't want to admit it to himself, but he knew this was going to take a toll on his mental state.

Opening the door, you took a deep breath and moved forward with Soap at your heel. Crouching back in front of the guy you'd taken out, you took his gun, and gave it to Soap behind you, which he gladly took - feeling more confident now he could aid you.

Heading up the stairs to the hatch, you both suddenly went stiff hearing the door open. Without much thought to pushed Soap further up the stairs whispering for him to leave and run into a valley - you'd be right behind him. His eyes remained on yours - he looked worried, he didn't want to leave you - he'd never forgive himself if you were hurt because he ran. With another push, he lifted the hatch - he trusted you, he had too.

Aiming the pistol you hit the first guy directly in the head, knocking him cold. He fell to the floor with a thud and before you could get a solid aim on the second guy, he shouted something in Arabic and suddenly you could hear chaos starting to ensue upstairs - all you could think was how the fuck you were going to do this now. Shooting the guy in the leg, he fell to the floor with a pained scream and you rushed out the hatch hearing several men shouting at each other. You could see Soap at an edge of a valley - it wasn't a far run, you could make this you were sure.

Without a second thought, you took off for the valley edge where you could see Soap prone aiming his gun. Suddenly bullets started to litter the ground around you and Soap could only do so much to fire back before they'd eventually get him to. Pulling the infamous smoke grenades from your belt you pulled the pin in one throwing it behind you and another one you threw in Soaps direction. With bullets still firing at nothing, you pushed your legs as fast as they'd go, and just as you got to where Soap was now stood, you felt a searing pain travel up your left arm.

"Fuck! Soap I've been hit" you gritted between clenched teeth, "carry on running, we need to find somewhere to bunker down for the next few hours while tensions calm".

Nodding his head in your direction, Soap continued forth with you in tow - you could both hear the men shouting from behind - they were gaining, but you were still ahead enough to hide. Feeling a hand grip your right arm, you were pulled into Soap's side in a crack big enough for the two of you. You could feel the beating of his heart and for a minute you felt yourself relax and just as you did the adrenaline started to wear off, and your arm was throbbing in pain.

Looking over Soap, he seemed to be okay - the stim hadn't worn off yet, and you still had another one for when it did.

Leaning his head down, you felt your heart pause - you felt yourself staring at his lips, wondering how they would feel pressed against your own, thinking that it'd be enough to distract you from the current pain you felt. You felt your hands running up his torso to lay on his chest, feeling his heart beat even faster if that was possible. He was warm despite the nipping breeze. Preparing to move your hand to his neck, Soap bent closer to your ear whispering for you to follow him. You felt stupid - of course, he wasn't about to kiss you in the middle of a mission, let alone ever - you had selfishly been misinterpreting his body's response as something else - he was hurt and tensions were high - you were stupid to think it had been anything to do with you. With that you dropped your arms back to your sides, flinching as you lower your right arm, and followed Soap deeper into this crack, seeing it led into a small cave - it was still cramped, but you'd live.

As you were about to open your mouth to speak, Soap placed his hand over it - silencing you from making any sound, clenching your thighs, you found yourself keening into his touch before coming back to your sense when you heard footsteps and Arabic being shared between people. Suddenly things got very real again and you felt Soap's over arm come across your waist and pull you into him - the both of you needed some sort of comfort right now, and the both of you relished in each other's warmth.

With quiet shallow breaths, the men passed by and you relaxed against Soap's chest. You felt safe with him behind you, you had been so anxious completing this mission that you felt back in your comfort zone being with Soap.

"Think we're okay now hen?" That stupid pet name he used had you smiling underneath the mask, you secretly loved how he only said it to you, but would always pretend it bothered you, which only made him tease you more.

With a staggered breath you turned to face him - you didn't realise how close you were, your noses almost touching but you didn't make the effort to move. "I think we're okay Johnny, for now at least, we'll wait a couple hours then I call for evac".

"How're you feeling?" you asked tentatively placing a hand under his cheek where there was a cut, careful not to press too hard - you never wanted to cause him pain.

Feeling bolder than usual, Soap placed a hand over yours that held his cheek - you felt your heart rate pick up, feeling his calloused skin run over your gloved hand and onto your wrist where your skin was exposed. He could feel the fast pulse within your wrist and wanted to ignore the dull ache in his body, noticing that the stim was starting to wear off. He stared into your open eyes, looking at him so full of admiration, and all he wanted to do was press his lips to yours in a searing kiss - so selfishly he wanted to distract himself with you. He'd seen you with your mask off once and the image was burned into his mind - he spent countless nights led in bed remembering how full your lips looked; how smooth your skin was - with a faded scar beneath your left eye; the way your hair perfectly parted down the middle with bangs that perfectly framed your face, and hair stopping at your shoulders; with a jaw so perfectly carved he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in the crook of your neck and place gentle kisses upon your jaw, trailing down to your neck - you were perfection to him, pure perfection and all those nights he'd relish in that memory thinking about your beauty, or fisting his hard cock - precum dripping from his tip as he imagined those full lips taking him in while he praised you from above as your doe eyes stayed locked on his.

Taking a sudden breath in as you felt the pain back in your arm, Soap was pulled from his thoughts with worry plastered over his face, "Oh yeah, I'm okay hen, the pain's starting to come back, but let's get you fixed up."

Even though he'd been through a torturous hell the last few days, your wellbeing was somehow on the forefront of his mind, it made your heart flutter unexpectantly. You couldn't allow him to sort you out first, you'd live, you'd been through much worse, but right now his wounds needed cleaning.

"No Soap, I need to clean your wounds before an infection starts to fester. Then we can attend to whatever I've got, but I'll live." He gave you a narrowed look, but the look you sent back made him remain silenced, you weren't going to let him help you.

Without much more talking you pulled your first aid kit from your back and asked him to remove his shirt. With a smirk he all but obliged and you rolled your eyes - Soap was still Soap. You noticed him struggling and helped him pull his gear over his head, placing it down next to him.

Staring at his body, all you wanted to do was admire him - despite all the marks that littered his torso, you thought he was the most beautiful man you had laid your eyes on. You saw his body stiffen and noticed the look of insecurity in his eyes, making you your face fall in sorrow - you didn't want him to feel like this, he didn't deserve to. Tracing his abs and some scars, you asked where it hurt most and he just let out a chuckle, "Everywhere hen, I couldn't tell you where to start".

Pulling the remaining stim out, you gave it to him and it again started to rapidly kick in. You took some disinfectant on a cloth and started to clean his wounds as he hissed in pain, letting small whimpers slip past his lips - you were doing everything not to clench your thighs right now, he was in pain, but the sounds coming from him were making you delirious - you'd be mad if you were to never make a move on this man - you'd dreamed of pulling those sounds from his mouth.

Feeling his hand grip your arm, you were pulled back to reality and continued cleaning him, whispering your apologies each time he'd grip your arm a bit tighter when it'd get too much for him to deal with. You wanted to press your lips to each wound and hope it'd cure his pain, you could see they had done a number on him, but luckily none of the wounds were too deep. You felt his ribs, seeing his skin was patched in a mix of purple and blue bruises - you could count 2 of them were broke, but a medic would have to confirm this. Placing gauze on his wound, you then wrapped his middle and placed your hand back on his chest - staring into his eyes.

"That any better Johnny?" you asked doe eyed, worry on your face that you hadn't done a good enough job.

"I dunno hen maybe a kiss would make me feel better." You felt yourself blush, you couldn't believe he was flirting with you out here, but maybe you actually had read the signs correctly earlier, maybe you weren't so stupid. Leaning down you pressed a lingering kiss to his head through the mask.

"Better now Johnny?" you asked, a smile forming on your face.

"A bit hen, just a bit" There was a pout on his face, you knew he wanted more, but you were on a mission and didn't want to risk your chances compromising it - you needed him to make it to the evac.

With a last stroke of his chest, you pulled back and helped him dress into his gear again. Turning away from the man you took a deep breath, you needed to get your head completely back into this misson.

"y/n?" you hummed back in response to him, "let me help you fix your arm up yeah?" You'd forgotten about the dull ache in your left arm and turned back to him with your medkit in hand.

In silence he gently took your arm into his own hands, you were only skimmed by the bullet luckily. He wet a new cloth in disinfectant and wiped over your wound, weary of your flinches, feeling guilty about the pain you were in. Wrapping your arm he ran his own hand up your arm placing it on the back of your neck, giving you reassuring strokes as you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

"You know I'm glad it's you that came Smoke" he admitted.

"Yeah?" you questioned back.

"Yeah." he confirmed staring sincerely into your eyes.

"You know I didn't originally want to come here Johnny. Price didn't give me much choice, to begin with, but when I found out it was you, I couldn't say no." you were building up a confession to him, hoping he'd read between the lines - you didn't want to admit to him directly how you felt, just in case you were wrong, you were full of doubt, suddenly becoming self-conscious under his gaze, "I was scared I was going to fuck it up like I fucked my last solo mission. I've been so scared I was going to get you killed this time, I still haven't forgiven myself for the rescue mission, you shouldn't have been the one to fix my failure Johnny, and this time I..." you felt yourself choking up, you didn't realise how deeply you really felt about things and found yourself pulling away, embarrassed at your confession.

Johnny could see how genuine you were being and it made his heart clench that you felt this way - he had been the first one to volunteer to go on the rescue mission - it was supposed to be Ghost's mission, but he convinced Price to let him go on it. He knows how scary of a day it was and how close to death you both were, but he'd do it again if it meant you were the last person he was with.

Pulling you back into him before you could pull yourself away too far, he brought your head to his chest carefully, making sure you weren't putting too much pressure on his torso. You were holding back your tears, you didn't want to break in front of him, but it was hard, a few escaped as his hand came up to cup the back of your head and stroke your hair gently. Without another word, Soap placed both hands on your masked cheeks and pulled you eye level to him, wiping the few tears that fell from your eyes with his thumbs. He didn't want to cross a line, and placed a tentative peck on your masked lips, watching as your eyes flutter closed. You couldn't believe it, without another thought you pulled your mask up, revealing your lips and nose, not feeling secure enough to completely remove it. Taking his chances, Soap placed his lips back onto your own, relishing in the feeling of the both of your lips moving in sync with each other. You felt in over your own head, keening into his body as the speed picked up between the both of you - small breaths getting caught between each other's lips. Soap moved his hand down to your neck, caressing the skin as he passed, and rested on your right breast, caressing it through your uniform. As his palming got needier, you let out a small moan, urging him to move from your lips to your jaw, placing gentle kisses before he nipped at your neck, being sure to leave small marks behind - he was marking you, and you had no issue with it, you'd let him mark your whole body in small love bites if he wanted to. With the both of your breaths picking up, and each other's hands getting needier for one another as a wetness started to pool between your thighs, making you clench them together - not going unnoticed by Soap who gave a deep chuckle at your desperation - a sudden dull shrill was sounded, echoing in the cave.

"Oh come on hen, do we really need evac yet?" you chuckled, pulling you mask back down and gave him a stern look.

"I'm sorry, but I think it's in both of our interests to call for evac - we both need medical attention; you more so, and we can always carry this on back at base hm" You stroked his pouting face, noticing the hardness in his jeans - you felt bad, but you knew you couldn't give into your own desires.

With one last huff from Soap, and a laugh from you, you called evac, and found they were about 40 minutes out. You'd probably been hold up in the small cave for a couple of hours and were sure it'd be safe to continue down the valley.

Pulling yourself up, and helping Soap to his feet, he gave you one last peck on your head, before you took lead, making sure it was safe to walk down the valley before pulling Soap alongside you.

In a comfortable silence, the both of you spent the next 30 minutes walking to the evac location, with no issue, apart from Soap almost tripping on a rock, which had you holding your laughter as he glared from your side.

The evac was close by - you could hear it. Soap pulled you from your thoughts staring into your eyes, "when we get back, we're not going to just forget this right?" you saw the vulnerability in his eyes and it made your heart ache.

"Johnny...no I- I would never do that to you, god no. I didn't go through all of this just to pull your leg and get back to base and ignore you like nothing had happened. I love you Johnny. I love you. I really do and I'm sorry it took me this long, I really am, I've been in denial for so long, just scared, but I'm ready and -"

"I love you too y/n, so fucking much" you could see his eyes well up at your confession, "I'm sorry it took me this long too, I think about that rescue mission a year ago all too much and find myself regretting every passing second where I didn't admit how much I cared about you, and while I was down there getting beat, all I could think about was how I potentially wasn't going to see you again."

You placed a hand on his cheek, bringing your heads together gently, "Johnny, I'd never let you die, never. I'd risk it all for you. We'll head back to base, get cleaned up, then we'll discuss things more okay? But I'm not letting you go - not now, not ever" and with that he placed a final kiss to your head just as the evac came into view.

Holding onto Soap, you helped him onto the evac as it landed - you knew he was perfectly capable, but you wanted to be close to him - it was an excuse.

~~~Time skip~~~

Back in England, you were both at the base - you having been treated by the medic quickly, and Soap having to stay for probably the next few days.

The nurse had relayed Price wanted you in his office for a debrief - you wanted to check in with Soap desperately but knew he was in safe hands, so you made your way to Price.

With a knock on the door you walked in without waiting for a response - you were so exhausted you didn't think.

"Yes, Seargent y/l/n, please come in, don't wait for me," Price said with a sarcastic tone to his voice. You laughed and gave a small apology to which Price gave a small smile to you in return.

"I told you, you'd do it" That bastard you thought, he was wearing a cocky smile on his face, and giving you a sympathetic stare at the same time. "Smoke, I put you on the mission for a reason - we've all seen the way you look at Johnny, we knew you'd get him out alive." They knew this whole time how you felt, were you really that obvious.

All you could do was respond with a quiet "oh" embarrassed at the fact the whole task force was able to read to you so clearly and had done for so long.

"Smoke. Work relations bring a lot of issues," you tried to interrupt, you didn't want to lose your only chance of happiness and contentment, but Price silenced you before you could get anything out, "hold on Smoke. While typically it can cause issues, I've pulled some strings for you and Soap, and you can both remain on the task force, while having relations if that's what you both want - you just need to keep your love lives separate from your work lives when your out on the field, okay?"

You instantly agreed, of course you and Soap could do that - neither of you would ever want to jeopardise your jobs, so you shook on the agreement to not let each other interfere with your jobs - you could be coworkers and lovers. With a goodbye, Price excused you and you were back at Soap's side who was sleeping peacefully - you knew he needed it after everything he'd been put through.

Sitting in the chair placed next to his bed, you took a hold of his hand, kissing the top of it before you too fell victim to exhaustion, closing your eyes, holding the hand of the man you loved.

[thunder-shadow]

ive got many!!! 1, 4, 5, 8, 17, 21, 27, 28, 37?!

Thank uuu <333333

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

Oh boy, yeah I daydream a lot haha - usually I get an idea and write down the bare info for it (like the ship and maybe one or two scene ideas) and then I just let it marinate for a bit, usually listening to music or reading! Then ideas usually pop in from there XD I'm a daydreamer all the way

4. How do you choose which fics to write?

Usually it's just whichever one I feel needs attention at the moment? Or whatever my brain latches onto haha

Like yesterday I meant to edit the GHE chapter so it could be posted, but instead I wrote the Earthcury one-shot turned multi-chap (which I wanna finish b4 I post it)

It's very wishy-washy is what I'm saying LOL

5. How many wips do you have?  What fandoms/pairings are they for?

All of WIPs are for SolarBalls haha I can only write for one fandom at a time XD

Okay, so obviously I have the GHE fic, the Jupixturnus fic, the Vercury fic, and now the Earthcury fic (those are all multi-chaps); then I have my oneshots, of which I plan to write Vars, Vearth, another UraEarth, a fluffy Jupiturnus one, a Poly Rocky planets one, and I still have a Sol & Nemesis one with snippets, as well as the post-paranoia Luna fic that still needs its chapter two LOL (and then I have a titanearth smut + jupixturnus smut that i'm thinking abt but shhhhhh)

That doesn't even count the random ideas I've just jotted down in my notes app LOL

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

Oh gee, lemme find one I feel like posting!! I don't have any spoilers to be honest, bc i haven't written since i posted the ghe one or i would've used that 😭 so just have a snippet from my latest wip

I actually posted this the other day but deleted it like immediately LOL but here! from my earthcury college AU

‘Okay,’ Earth thought, narrowing his eyes. ‘First midterm is in 7 days. One week. You’ve got this,’ and he pumped his fist, ignoring the weird looks a couple of people threw at him. ‘Just need to study. Actually study for once.’ Then he looked down at the multitude of papers spread out in front of him, his laptop propped open to a chemistry video from a Youtuber he’d found on line, and groaned, letting his face fall onto the table. Across from him, Mars let out a laugh, flipping another page in his book. “Earth, I don’t know what your definition of studying is, but putting your head on the table and giving up is not studying as far I’m aware.” Earth looked up at him through his lashes, sending him as much of an annoyed look as he could muster before groaning again. “Organic Chemistry is going to kill me! Why did I decide to become a biology major?” “I don’t know. Why did I decide to become an Astronomy major?” “Because you’re weirdly obsessed with aliens?” “Wha-” Mars spluttered, putting his book down and looking at Earth. “No!” “Because you weirdly like math?” “No, Earth, because I enjoy astronomy! I like learning about it!” Mars rolled his eyes, taking a sip from his water bottle after a second. “And I know you’re the same way about biology because we’ve been roommates since freshman year!” “Ughh,” Earth whined in response. “Just let me melt into a puddle and evaporate away so I don’t have to take these midterms.” “You could just study for them, you know.” “That was my plan! But that involves studying…” “Oh, wow,” Mars said, throwing him a stare that just dripped with disdain. “Studying involves studying, I really didn’t know that, Earth.” “Fine!” Earth stood up, shoving his stuff haphazardly into his backpack. “I’ll go to the library! And this time, I’m going to actually study!”

17. Do you have a writing routine?

Nope! I literally just sit down and start writing oop

21. Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots?

I prefer writing one-shots just bc it feels simpler, like a one-and-done LOL but multi-chaps can be fun too!!

27. What area of writing do you feel strongest in?

Being able to write a lot 😓 and body language, I feel quite confident in body language LOL

Also my grammar and language use, despite my copious use of em-dashes, semicolons, and ellipses I otherwise really just innately understand most grammar bc of how much I read when I was younger ‼️

28. What area of writing do you want to improve in?

DIALOGUE 😭😭😭

37. What fic has been the hardest for you to write?

The GHE fic hands down, it just feels so complicated 😭😭 I'm slowly chugging a lot, we're nearing the last few chapters :D