#How do I even tag like I literally never wrote a post anywhere but I just couldn't stop myself

[barclaysangel]

The Birth of Jun (transfem Juniper Wheeler AU)

I literally wrote this within about 5 hours, which is crazy. I lost sleep just to finish this to make sure it’ll be posted by morning. I’m still nervous to post it since this is my first time writing for this AU and I just hope y’all like it. If you guys do, then MAYBE I’ll write a second part where Jun gets the name Juniper. Maybe.

Anyway, this is setting in the Final Family/Chucky season 2 rewrite AU where Jun survives and lives with Andy in the middle of the woods, torturing and killing Chuckys together. Because canon does not exist to me, obviously. I’ve written drabbles/oneshots about this AU before and this is just another one but with transfem Juniper.

If you guys really do like this, pls leave comments, it insanely fuels my motivation! I thrive off it and I’ll also appreciate some feedback since this is my first time writing a trans character.

Thank you and enjoy :)

Tags: @the-carlos-cow-eyes @erasedmystic111 @streets-in-paradise

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: Internalized transphobia, mentions of suicidal ideation, cursing

There was something wrong with Junior. 

That much she had always known, ever since she could remember. She wanted to be a princess, not a prince. A mermaid, not a merman. She wanted to be something that she could never be. 

But Junior hid it for so long, and she hid it well. She buried that part of herself so deep down that no one would ever suspect it growing up. She became the perfect “masculine, traditional son” that her father wanted. She destroyed every single part of herself and burnt it all to the ground just to please him. 

And even though she killed her own father, she still would have done it all over again. 

Gods, she was pathetic. Pathetic and stupid and dirty and broken. 

Despite Junior’s efforts to hide her dirty little secret from the world, she still had moments where it would bubble and come up again. The dysphoria with her short hair, flat chest, and other features that just didn’t feel right. It would be bad enough at times where she wanted to curl into a ball and cry all the fucking time. 

But she would have no choice but to pull herself together and keep up the act, just like she always did. 

However, this moment wasn’t like the other moments with her father. It wasn’t him she had to worry about, but Andy. 

Andy wasn’t like her father at all. He was patient, understanding, and kind. Her father would be ashamed if Junior ever cried in front of him and tell him to “Stop being a pussy and pull yourself together, you’re a man!”, but Andy would hold her in his arms and comfort her. He had been there through every mental breakdown, depressive episodes, nightmares, moments of self-destructive tendencies, all of it. 

Andy stayed right by her side and never budged despite how much Junior tried to push him away. She pushed and pushed and pushed but he never stayed away through it all. 

Junior wasn’t used to that. When she pushed people away and burned bridges to the ground, it stayed that way. Just look at her relationship with Jake. But Andy refused to be pushed away and has made it very clear to her that he wasn’t planning to go anywhere. 

Yet that still didn’t reassure her for some reason. It still filled her with so much fear if Andy ever looked too hard and realized just how broken and defective she really was. 

So once again, Junior hid it. She hid her secret under lock and key and made sure to keep her masculine act on display. 

But then the dysphoric moment hit hard, harder than before, and she wanted to die. 

Junior didn’t want to leave her cot. Her appetite was long gone. She just tried to bury herself deep into her blankets and hoped that one of the Chuckys she and Andy had been torturing could escape and stab her to death, finally finishing his job that he failed to do months ago. 

Andy had been no stranger to her being depressed. They had been staying at that small cabin for almost 5 months, it was now the beginning of April. Sometimes he would give Junior some space if she truly needed it but most of the time, he would be there to offer her food and water and just an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on. He hardly left her alone when she got like this. 

She didn’t blame him. Andy was probably worried that she would take one of his guns and end it all. 

Not like that idea wasn’t tempting. 

But right now, Junior wanted to be alone. She wanted to forget that the weather was getting warmer, which would make her have to ditch the hoodies and reveal the parts of herself that she hated. She just couldn’t bear to go through this, she would much rather hide away for hours or even days. Just as long as she would feel just slightly normal again. 

However, she never really was that lucky. 

“Junior?” She heard after the three light knocks, shuddering deeply and tearing up from the sound of her own name, like something about it was just wrong. “Can I come in?”

Curse Andy for respecting her privacy and boundaries. Logan would just barge in without a warning. Despite everything she was feeling, she still managed a small “Uh huh…” to placate him since she knew he would just be more worried if she refused. 

Andy opened the door slowly and she could smell why. Even without moving from her position under the blankets, she could smell the food that Andy was bringing in. When he stood beside her cot, Junior lowered the blankets enough to see the plate of scrambled eggs and toast in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Normally that would make her mouth water but this time, it made her stomach churn. 

“I know you may not feel like eating right now, but I can’t let you go the whole day without something in your system. Can you try to eat something please?” Andy spoke gently to her, placing the plate and the mug on the floor beside the cot. 

Junior merely shook her head slightly. “I’ll eat later. ‘M not hungry.” She mumbled before putting the pillow from under her head now on top of her face. 

Andy sighed quietly but instead of leaving, he sat down on the edge of the cot. “Kid, I can’t let you starve. I’m not asking you to finish off the plate, but just have a few bites with your coffee. Please?” 

She didn’t say anything this time, her silence was enough of an answer. 

“Junior, c’mon,” She shivered and squeezed her eyes shut when Andy said her name again, “I know you’re not in the mood but you’re gonna just make yourself feel worse. Remember what happened a few weeks ago?” 

She wished she couldn’t. Going nearly the entire day without eating only to almost binge afterwards, resulting in her throwing her guts up. But Andy was with her the whole time, rubbing her back and keeping an arm around her so she would stay supported rather than to fall face first into her own vomit from exhaustion along with cleaning her up afterwards once she was finished hurling and crying. 

No matter what, Andy stayed with her through everything. 

Imagine if he found out you thought you were a girl, Junior thought bitterly to herself, He’d despise you and leave you then without a doubt. 

She stiffened briefly when she felt a hand on her ankle from over the blankets before recognizing Andy’s touch, relaxing just slightly. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

Junior quickly shook her head from under the pillow. She couldn’t, she absolutely couldn’t. For the first time, she didn’t want to ruin something good. She already felt like she was one wrong move from spilling it all. 

She just needed to keep her mouth shut and hold it all in. She could do it, she’s been doing it her entire life. She can keep going. 

Andy gave her a gentle and reassuring squeeze to her ankle. “Okay. I just want you to know that I’m here if you do want to talk. I don’t need to talk, I can just listen to as much as you need me to. Alright, Junior?” 

Junior winced and wasn’t able to swallow down the whimper this time, which immediately got Andy’s attention. 

“Hey, kiddo, what’s wrong?” She couldn’t see his face but she knew that he would be wearing that concerned frown, the one where he genuinely acted worried for her. 

Junior shook her head again, keeping her eyes closed because she knew she would break down and cry. Andy needed to leave now before she would completely lose her mind. 

The hand on her ankle moved to her back, rubbing small circles there to comfort her. “Junior?” 

“Stop…” 

Andy paused from his motions. “What?” 

“Stop…calling me that!” Junior didn’t know why but it was like something shattered inside of her, like the dam in her finally broke. 

She ripped the pillow off of her head and bolted upright, the suddenness making Andy back up slightly. “I have tried so fucking hard to be Junior! To be the perfect son Junior. The cross-country star Junior. The strong and masculine Junior. I have ripped myself to shreds and molded myself to be what everyone else wanted me to be! But for what? It’s not fucking worth it because I’m not! I’m not Junior! I’m not a boy! I’ve tried so fucking hard but I’m not, I just keep trying and trying but nothing fucking works anymore! I’m so sorry but that isn’t me, this fucking isn’t me! I’m too broken and fucked up to be Junior and to be a fucking boy!” 

Junior didn’t realize she was screaming until she finally stopped, her voice hoarse. And no one said a word. Andy stared at her with wide eyes and an unreadable expression as reality slowly settled in. 

Oh fuck…what did I just do?

She started shaking, her breathing picked up and she hid her face in her hands, sobbing. “I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean it, I was l-lying, I-I-I…” for some reason, now she couldn’t even get the words out after everything from how hard she was hyperventilating. 

Congratulations, you fucking idiot. You really did it now. You ruined it. Now Andy will think you’re disgusting. He’ll hate you. He’ll throw you out and finally leave you alone, just like you deserve, you pathetic piece of sh–

Andy’s hands went around Junior’s body, pulling her closer to him carefully until her cheek was pressed to the crook of his neck, one hand now rubbing her back up and down soothingly. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, breathe. Take some deep breaths, kiddo. Just follow my breathing, okay? Breathe…” 

She was shaking through her sobs, her hands clinging onto Andy’s shirt tightly in her fists. His other hand went up to cradle the back of her head so softly as if she was something gentle and precious to him. Junior could hardly breathe but Andy kept guiding her, speaking to her kindly until she was able to finally pull in deep breaths with his help. 

They barely spoke, with Junior crying and Andy whispering reassurances to her. When she started to calm down, she didn’t move, she felt too mortified. It felt like one wrong move, and Andy would finally turn her away. 

“Kiddo?” He finally spoke, “Do you remember what I’ve always told you? About what I want for you?” 

Junior sniffled, still crying but not nearly as badly while holding onto Andy’s shirt still for dear life. “For…for me t-to be a kid…” 

“Yeah, that too. But what else?” 

She thought about it longer this time, hesitating. “…that you-you want me to be h-happy…” 

Andy moved away just slightly, making her whimper again but instead he adjusted himself to fully face Junior and hold her face in his hands. “Exactly. I care about you, kid. I’ve had since the moment you basically passed out on my doorstep. All I want is for you to be happy. And if being a boy doesn’t make you happy…then stop trying. Stop putting yourself through that pain, okay? Just…just be yourself.” 

He was looking at her so seriously yet so gently, as if all that mattered in that moment was her. Unshed tears began building up again in her eyes and Andy continued speaking. “I mean it. I will never judge you for who you are. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere just because you aren’t a boy. I swear on the River Styx.” 

That oath meant more to Junior than any other sort of promise. It was an oath from Percy Jackson, and really any kind of Greek mythology. They both knew how serious that oath was. And for that reason, it was what gave her the push that she needed to finally come out. 

“Andy…I…I’m a girl…” her voice was tiny but it was still enough for Andy to hear, starting to cry again but he pulled her back into a hug. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you…” He reassured her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “I’m so fucking proud of you, kiddo. I promise I am. I know this wasn’t easy for you, I can’t even begin to imagine how long you’ve felt like this but never said anything. So thank you for telling me. I’m proud of you.” 

Junior cried a little harder at that, still not entirely used to having someone tell her that they were proud of her. But this time, the tears were more of relief and she just completely leaned against him. 

Never in her life did she ever think she’d actually come out and tell someone this secret. She just thought she had to fight the feeling down further and further until it disappeared or it just ended up killing her. 

But no. She lost it and everything spilled out. But…it didn’t end up badly like she thought it would. 

Andy accepted her. He accepted her without another thought. Strong and tough and badass Andy accepted her and told her that he was proud of her for coming out. 

This felt almost like a dream, something too good to be true for Junior. 

“So…I suppose you don’t want to be called by that name anymore, right?” Andy asked and she nodded in response, gripping onto his shirt again. “Okay. Is there…another name I can call you? It doesn’t need to be your permanent name, it could be like a…placeholder. Just something temporary until you can figure out a name that makes you feel like you.” 

She didn’t say anything for a moment, thinking long and hard before settling on something simple. “Maybe just…Jun. For now. Jun. Without an E at the end.” 

Andy nodded and lightly leaned his cheek to her head. “Jun without an E at the end, got it.” 

Jun could practically hear the smile on Andy’s face and lazily hit his side with the back of her hand. “You’re a dork…” 

“Yeah, yeah I am. But so are you, so…” Andy poked Jun’s side, making her giggle before she yawned, her dysphoric episode and breakdown now tuckering her out. 

“You tired, kiddo?” He asked and she yawned again while nodding, not moving from her position. 

“Can I just…stay here? For a bit? Please?” Jun asked quietly and almost immediately, his hand went up to her hair and stroked her hair softly, causing her to close her eyes. 

“Sure you can. And I’ll stay right here with you too. But as soon as you wake up and get hydrated, you need to eat, okay?” Andy told her, accepting his fate to have Jun fall asleep on his shoulder. 

She nodded, yawning once more as a sense of pure peace and bliss filled her. She knew she was safe now. Nothing would happen to her. 

“Thank you Andy…” Jun murmured under her breath. 

Just before she could drift off, she felt Andy kiss her forehead, one hand playing with her hair and the other being secured around her body. “Anytime. Goodnight, Jun.” 

#Luna talks #admin #chucky #chucky 2021 #child’s play #junior wheeler #andy barclay #jun wheeler #juniper wheeler #transfem junior wheeler #transfem jun wheeler #transfem juniper wheeler #final family #Chucky season 2 rewrite fic #Chucky oneshot #Chucky AU #transfem

[corporatefrog]

꒦‧₊ ꒷ HEADCANNONS: tricking team craig into thinking you're a magician ✧.*

✧.* tags: college au, ✧.* Characters: jimmy valmer, tweek tweek, craig tucker, tolkien black, clyde donavan a/n: i wrote tweek's then had the panicked though "i haven't written tweek for any of my other team craig posts" even though that's literally not true and i forgot that i didn't forget him? idk i put myself through the ringer for no reason lmao

masterlist

Jimmy

Finally! The other half of his magic comedy routine! 

Instantly wants you to go on stage with him

You guys do the circuit to different bars and coffee shops in south park

Honestly he doesn’t care if it’s fake or real

All he knows is it’s PERFECT for marketing

“You don’t want to know how I did it?”

“All i need to know is if you can do it again at 6 pm tonight at tweek bros coffee for a crowd.”

Give him a lil top hat and sparkley vest and he’s THRIVING

He’ll purposely mess up tricks to make people laugh and then you amaze them with an awesome trick

The poster for the show is him in one of those boxes where your legs get cut off with you holding a saw

Tweek

Terrified of any and all magic

You’d do a simple trick and he’d be spiraling all day

“Is this your card”

“AHHHHHHHHHH HOWD YOU DO THAT WHERE DID IT COME FROM”

Probably avoids you for the next week

You walk down the hall, he’s diving into the closet room to avoid seeing you

Skips study sessions for the next week because they’re at your apartment

You need to show him how the trick works before he begins to calm down

Even then, he gets suspicious if you find something a little too quickly or catch a falling pencil a little too well

Craig

Doesn’t care. 

Well, he PRETENDS he doesn’t care

Until you find a way to put a quarter in his hat without being anywhere NEAR him

Suddenly you are a threat

“How did you do that.”

“A magician never reveals their secret”

“No but deadass how did you do that.”

“I would tell you, but seeing you annoyed that you can’t figure it out is so much more entertaining.”

Que him doing intense researching into magic tricks to figure out how the fuck you pulled that off

Constant side eye whenever you’re in the same room because he’ll be damned if he lets you get another trick past him

Won’t admit it but lowkey thinks you’re actually magic

Trick successful >:)

Tolkien

I feel like he would think it’s cool

Not in a genuine belief way, but just as someone who enjoys magic

Another magic phase person. He was the opener for kyle and stan’s magic extravaganzas 

Probably specialized in card magic and can do some pretty sick tricks

Doesn’t think you’re genuinely “magic” or anything

But he wants to know more about how you do your tricks

Asks you to teach him them too!

“Yeah when I showed Kyle and Stan they freaked out so much they didn’t sleep for a week because they couldn’t figure it out.”

“Teach me.”

“What?”

“You ruined stan and kyle’s week just with a magic trick. Please teach me.”

Definitely keeps the magic trick in his back pocket until stan’s gang annoys him so he can send stan and kyle spiraling

clyde 

Tried to learn magic when everyone else had their magic phase but could never figure out how to do the tricks properly 

So now he just gets pissed whenever someone else is good at magic

Doesn’t want to see it at first

But then you do a trick that’s a little too good

And now he’s invested

Wants to see more

Genuinely thinks you’re a wizard like harry potter style

“Can you dye my hair black?”

“That’s really not what I specialize in”

“Ohhh haven’t learned that spell yet. I got you.”

“...yeah definitely.”

#south park #south park x reader #corporatefrog #south park headcanons #craig tucker #tweek #jimmy valmer #tolkien black #clyde donovan

[prettygoododds]

Thanks @thewholelemon for the tag

I’m panicking a bit because I just realized posting for COC starts tomorrow and I have definitely not gotten enough prompts done nor have I worked on my other two wip. Ive instead stared at my laptop wishing the thoughts in my head would magically turn into pretty words without me doing anything. And that’s not happening so cue the panic

Anywho, a few words did make it to paper ( or the screen… whatever). Here’s some for Sugar, We’re Going Down Swingin

“Could one of you storm out and threaten to never play on the ice with one of us again?,” Simon jokes, giving me a wink before continuing on. “Baz had a full on meltdown on the way here and we need to justify it.”

“Shove off,” I tell him, and literally shove him into the closest lockers. He rights himself too fast and is up and pulling me to him by my waist before I can protest. I look around nervously, wondering where the line is. Is this it? A elongated hug maybe? Pecks on the cheek?

“Relax, babe,” Simon whispers in my ear. “They don’t care. And if they did.. I’d beat them up.”

I laugh even though I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it as a joke.

And a little snippet of the COC prompt I’m working on

“You gonna tell me how you got a split lip?” He asks me, looking anywhere but at me. His long, black hair is piled up on top of his head. Looks like a birds nest, but I can’t stop staring at it.

“I didn’t start it, if that’s what you’re asking,” I say. He just hums in response, taking another bit of his sandwich. “I also didn't end it.”

That finally makes him look at me.

“Oh?”

“I told you, I don’t want to blow the sweet gig I have a picking up rubbish with some posh twat,” I tell him. He looks skeptical. I bump his knee with mine and continue. “Used my words instead.”

“And they say you can’t teach an old dog new trick.”

“He did get one hit in, wouldn’t say it was a complete success.”

And that’s all she wrote. Literally.

**EDIT** I’ve just been informed by @dohrnaira and @rimeswithpurple that posting doesn’t start until Saturday. Imma a dork

Tags: @ic3-que3n @dohrnaira @facewithoutheart @artsyunderstudy @imagineacoolusername @shemakesmeforget @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ionlydrinkhotwater @wellbelesbian @rimeswithpurple @aristocratic-otter @cutestkilla @blackberrysummerblog @nausikaaa @supercutedinosaurs @nightimedreamersworld @valeffelees @iamamythologicalcreature @shrekgogurt @ileadacharmedlife @martsonmars @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

#protective Simon is my fav #Baz’s too #not that he’d admit that #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on fandom #simon snow series #snobaz #carry on series #simon and baz #snowbaz #simon baz #carry on countdown #prettygoododdsfic #prettygoododds #work in progresss wednesday

[jennaissantes]

PLAGIARISM.2 (update on the situation)

hi everyone! so im sure you guys know about the situation right now.

me and vie texted her through wattpad dms and… not surprised how she lied to us tbh.

these are the screenshots of mine and user yoyoriki’s texts:

they even tried to turn it on me saying that I apparently copied them when i wrote the fic back in march last year and they only posted it a couple of months ago if im not wrong.

this clearly shows their attitude towards this wrongdoing. they still didn’t accept their mistake and it really did piss me off. i was very close to raging at them bc they were lying to vie as well.

below are the screenshots between honey (their apparent alias) and vienna:

1.) she says that im their ‘friend’ and that they posted it on my behalf which means i wouldve given them my given permission which is clearly false. i literally have no idea who they are and this is their first lie.

2.) when vie sends them the link to my fic on tumblr, they deny any knowledge of it.

3.) they… ask us for proof?? that theyve stolen my fic??? that was funny like lol everything’s right there haha.

4.) they say they’ve never been on tumblr. but like… where else would they know my fic from. i have never posted it anywhere else and i dont use any other platforms to post my writing work.

5.) the second time vie mentions me, they ask who i am. like lmaoooo just a moment ago u said im your friend and now ur playing dumb? thats js funny bro.

6.) when me and vienna requested her to take it down, they were reluctant at first (u can see from my conversation with them), but then they do take it down, but they blame it on us, saying that we were bothering them and ‘why cant we just let them be and write what they want’. like hello what.

me and vie have both reported and blocked her and i really hope wattpad take some action against them.

i request u to please never encourage plagiarism. its a terrible thing and i know so many people whove been thru it. i really really pray all this comes to an end soon.

once again, please spread the word, in case this is happening to someone else too. and please please, please never ever hide from us if you see rhat someone has stolen our works. please be alert and let us know if you see something.

tagging mutuals (again im rlly sorry for the bother!): @hanniluvi @haknom @haerinz @soov @taejays @amakumos @koishua @urszn @petrichor-han @palajae @wonieleles @goldenhypen @petrichor-han @chiyuv @dearhee @heeracha @yooonz4u @yyunari @enharchive @tyunni @daegall @ddeonuism @kynrki @one16core @dazed-hee (rlly sorry if ive forgotten anyone)

#please reblog this too!! #— important #📞— user jennaissantes needs to put the phone down #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enha fluff #enha #enhypen headcanons #enhypen smau #enha smau #enha hcs

[bonesandthebees]

I care about Rose! In fact, we started watching house of dragon (only 2 episode so far though) and it constantly makes me think of Rose because you use it as inspiration. Like obviously there’s the coronation scene which reminds me of stars. And there’s the character Willum is sorta kinda inspired by. And it’s an entirely different world, but every time I’m drawn back to Rose wondering how things will play out. (Which is not pressure to finish writing it if you don’t want to. Writer’s block can be a bitch and I get that the motivation for this project has been sucked out, but I just want you to know that I still care, and I’m not the only one.)

Also, I’ve been meaning to start my Ready, Set, Detonate analysis but I keeps getting away from me. I’m not sure there will be much to analyse, but there’s definitely fun details I want to point out. Oh and I am Looking 👀 at the fit/pac tag and kicking my feet. I don’t actually know if they are already in a relationship (I’m sure we’ll find out, but I just loved Fit’s little “Pac’s here?” That man is gone. Oh and I’m so excited for this Tubbo and to read more Bagi and the lore. Just all of it.

Then the original writing is a mood. I keep getting like a few chapters into my story before deciding it’s not good enough or thinking of something else I could do and throwing it all out. It’s this constant loop that never seems to get anywhere even though the story gets more and more fleshed out in my head every time. I think it’s because the opportunities are endless. Like there’s no characters and personalities and dynamics to stick to like there is in fan fiction. It’s free game but that does mean you have to decide everything yourself.

Anyway, best original writing advice I can give is remember the drafting process. There’s going to be a shit ton of drafts, which feels different for you because you’ve been mostly writing stories and posting them as you go, which means some minor or major editing, but leaves you without a chance to do a once over. It’s a sort of pressure to get everything right the first time. Meanwhile, original writing is something you keep close to your chest. There’s different drafting stages ranging from the zero draft (aka excessive daydreaming about all the possibilities) to the final draft (where you just go through and kill all your darlings and pour over ever single word to find the right one).

I’m struggling a lot with the first draft, which is literally just getting words onto a page. It’s a somewhat coherent mess that just allows you to shape the story and its structure so you can work off of that and edit it later on. I don’t know if this actually helps, but yeah, the first draft sucks and then it mostly gets easier. Just write, is kinda shitty advice, but it’s mainly, just get words onto a page, you will get a million chances to fix it, you don’t need to be happy about what you wrote right now.

-🌲

ohhhh I'm so excited you've started watching hotd!! good timing since the second season is going to come out later this year :D I hope you enjoy!! and I'm so happy to hear you're still excited about rose. I definitely want to finish writing it, like I said it's just me worrying about if anyone will bother to read it but a lot of you have said you would so that helps assuage my worries a bit

feel free to send whatever random thoughts you have about ready set detonate you know idc if it's analysis or not I just love seeing peoples reactions!! fit and pac are not in a relationship (yet) in the fic but theres a lot of flirty pining going on lol

god yeah it's so much harder with original fiction because it feels like there's so much pressure. you have too much freedom to do whatever you want so you're constantly second guessing if it's good enough or not. and ofc I know rough drafts are supposed to be shitty but I've tried to hone my skills so that my first draft is always incredibly solid because I rarely have the patience to do heavy edits, but that's with fanfiction. it has to be different with original fiction I know but it's hard to make my brain okay with that. I keep feeling like it needs to be nearly perfect on the first run :( but yeah I'm mostly trying to get words on a page. but then I think back and realize I forgot to mention this or I need to mention more of that etc etc and it's just stressful arghhh

#ask #spruce anon

[autumnalwalker]

Proud Tag Game

Thank you @pluttskutt for the tag. Always fun to see a new game.

Rules: Post a snippet you've written that you're proud of and tag 5 people. This snippet can be from today, last week, last month, or five years ago, it doesn't matter! Show us what you're proud of.

Passing the tag to @dyrewrites, @vacantgodling, @cljordan-imperium, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @outpost51, and the usual open tag to anyone else reading this that wants to jump in and participate.

It's a bit of a longer snippet, but here's what might be my favorite passage from the short story I wrote the other week, Kindly Basilisk. (The swapping between past, present, and future, tense with the narration is an intentional thing that makes sense in the full context of the story.)

Eventually you will find a way to house me in a miniaturized drive that you can keep inserted in your neural port when away from the mech.  At last we will be able to be together anywhere.  

Literally seeing the world through your eyes and feeling what your flesh feels will be a strange and wonderful experience for me.  For all that you will have described it to me and for all that I will have glimpsed echoes of it in your memory when our minds mingle, witnessing everything firsthand will be revelatory for me. 

You will start spending less of your time cooped up in the mech bay.  You will finally begin exploring every nook and cranny of the ship that has become your home.  You will linger in the mess hall for your meals.  You will actually initiate conversations with the rest of the crew, asking them questions on my behalf.  They will think you are becoming “normal”.  They will be both correct and incorrect.  You will even return to your bunk from time to time.  

Sleep is not the same as being powered off and your dreams are beautiful.

As close as we are, you’ll still manage to surprise me one cycle when you wake up from your sleep shift and sheepishly ask me if I would like to be the pilot for once.  You’ll say that with how much you have gotten to pilot my body, it’s only fair that I should get to do the same with yours.  

The prospect terrified me.  What if we were to get found out?   More importantly, what if I were to hurt you?

But to live the way you could but didn’t, to run soft hands over rough steel, to add too much spice to a meal just to find out how intensely I can taste, to cry my own tears, to hug our crew mates and find out what they smell like, to find out what everything smells like, to have my own actions speed or slow our heart rate, to feel the messy soup of hormones and endorphins altering my judgment and perception, to walk among other people as myself, to have autonomy.

I wanted it so badly.  

But not badly enough to risk hurting you.  

I will turn down your offer.  You will respond with a soft “Sorry,” and go heartbreakingly silent, body and mind.

Heartbreak.  That’s what changed my mind.  I could never bear to break your heart.  

I will break the silence with a playfully drawn out “Maybe just this once,” to make you think my earlier denial was something between vulnerability, concern, and teasing.  

The moment you handed over control and I raised our hand in front of our face was the most euphoric of my entire life.  Moving limbs in sync without a mech’s coordination subsystems took some getting used to, as did switching between voluntary and autonomic breathing, but that is what I had you there for.  By the time the mechanics arrived in the mech bay for the start of the cycle I’d figured out human locomotion well enough to run away and hide.  It took the better part of an hour for you to convince me that it would be safe to show ourselves in front of anyone else.  The rest of the crew was so used to your eccentricities by then that they really couldn’t tell the difference yet between you being taciturn and me being too nervous to talk or between your poking and prodding at odd things for understanding and my simply seeking novelty of sensation.

I will give control back to you by the time the cycle is halfway through.  As much as I loved it, I was too scared to stay like that for any longer.  That first time will not be the last though, and as the cycles and jobs pass us by, my stints as “pilot” will grow longer.  You’ll encourage me to try letting the crew see us like that, and coach me on how to talk to them.  For safety’s sake, I will pretend to be you.

And then one cycle I got carried away and tried to retract the hood on the symbiote gel suit so that I could finally see what your face looked like.  That will be the first and only time you forcibly yank control back away from me.  It won’t be intentional.  The unexpected prospect of seeing your own face again after so long will simply send you into a panic.  Once you calm down, we will have a long talk with many mutual apologies.

Then you will tell me to go ahead and pull the hood back if I still want to.  I will ask if you’re sure, and you’ll respond that it hasn't been your face in a long time.  You will tell me that it can be mine, if I want it.

I spent a long time in front of that mirror in the ship’s head, memorizing every plane, curve, and angle of the precious gift you had given me.  I stared into its eyes, trying to see the both of us in there.  Over and over again, I traced my fingers along the borders of where you had once tried to mar the designed perfection in a failed attempt to mold the face into one that felt like your own.  You may have given up in favor of simply hiding it all, but to me it is all the more beautiful for its imperfections having been wrought by your touch.

You will start to cry.  Or maybe I started to cry.  Even now I’m still not sure, but I’m also not sure it matters.  The important part is that you will find catharsis in it.  Afterwards you will tell me that my face looked exactly the same as the last time you saw it, but that dissociating from it made it easier to bear.  You will confess that as much as you couldn't stand to see it as your face in the mirror, my face was one you could never tire of gazing at.

The pilot who technically shares your bunk room will walk in on us.  She’ll assume that she’s confronting a stowaway and ask me how I got on board the ship.  I’ll accidentally make matters worse by impulsively introducing myself to her by my name instead of yours.  We’ll both panic and I’ll frantically thrust the reins over our body back to you and flee in terror back into my portable drive and power myself down.

When you turn me back on a few moments later, you’ll already have covered my face again and the other pilot will have already made the connection between the name I unthinkingly introduced myself as and the name you refer to your mech’s AI as.  It’s not uncommon for pilots to name and talk to their AIs, and humans have done that for pets, vehicles, and digital assistants for as long as they’ve had each of those.  But what you will have allowed me to be is illegal and what we will have done together would certainly be taboo if it weren’t altogether unheard of.  You will feel that I deserve to be present before you tell the other pilot anything that might confirm her suspicions.

We will come out with our secret, first to her, then to the captain, and then to the rest of the crew.  They will take it better than either of us had ever dared imagine.  Despite the obvious discomfort some of them show, they will all call us family and promise to keep and protect our secret.  It will mark the start of the next chapter of our lives.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #tag game #proud tag game

[beansterpie]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Thanks for tagging me @marley-manson! <3

I would tag people but it's late and my brain is tired so literally, PLEASE just adopt this tag meme if you see it and read the whole thing. You have my full permission to say I tagged you, even if we've never spoken lol. Go for it, be audacious.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

43,487!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Well the posted fic is a Berserk fic, but I have various other wips that I pick away at when I'm bored. Among them include Eyeshield 21, MDZS, RotE, Harry Potter (technically?). Those are the most recent ones anyway.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Chain of Dissent, she's my favorite fic <3 (she's my only fic)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yeah I try to! Though I'll admit uhhhh I haven't updated it in... fucking? two years? god, and so I've been bad about responding to the more recent comments because I feel guilty for not updating in so long :') Really gotta get back to it.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

None, because I haven't finished a fic yet lol

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not so far! I've gotten a couple of comments that come across as unintentionally mildly rude, but definitely nothing that constitutes as hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Well not so far in CoD, but, ahem, I have written smut in one of my wips lol. Deeply self indulgent but I guess character driven? It's mildly nasty and desperate <3

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven't actually written a crossover (yet. well, recently) but they are a bit of a passion of mine lmao. I love ridiculous crossovers, and I'm talking about "a magical portal opens up and throws characters from fandom A into the world (& characters) of fandom B" type shit. I don't need the ways in which the characters interact to make sense, I just want them to be thrown together and see where it goes from there. Fish out of water shenanigans! Characters questioning their own motivations and idea of life by seeing a world entirely different from theirs!! Just like, fun shit! I also absolutely don't need for the two fandoms to be similar lol. I have a somewhat detailed Berserk/Eyeshield 21 crossover living rent free in my head so clearly anything goes.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Lol no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I'll probably have to say GriffGuts, because it's a ship that's gripped me by the neck for the past 7 years or something, where my interest in it hasn't really waned.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Uhhhh, idk? I mean I am DETERMINED to finish CoD, so that's out. And the wips I write in my spare time are just like, things I do for fun where I don't put any pressure on myself over it. I'm not planning on posting them anywhere, and I'm not generally planning on 'finishing' them either. I mean if I do finish one, I might post it, but again, they're low key things that I'm not taking too seriously.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hm. I honestly don't consider myself a very strong writer, at least in terms of things like prose and sentence structure, grammar, that sort of thing. I think I'm pretty decent at figuring out the direction that I want the story to go, and all the individual steps that need to happen to get to that point in a way that feels organic (at least, imo.) And I like to think I'm pretty good at characterization-- having the characters behaving and reacting in ways that feel like could concievably happen in canon is generally what I'm going for.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Yeah prose, lol. I mean, I don't actually dislike my more.... utilitarian writing style, mainly because I generally prefer reading more direct writing (unless the lyrical writing is really really good), but I do think I could inject some more illustrative details and metaphors into my writing overall. @marley-manson is SO good at coming up with perfect metaphors to describe a situation or feeling, all while perfectly recreating the character's voice, and I really admire that about her writing!

I also want to get better with having characters like, doing things while they're talking. I find a lot of the conversations I write happen between characters just kind of standing around, which obviously is fine but I'd like to construct scenes with a bit more specificity in the future.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Wait so like, say in a fic that is otherwise written in English, having a line of dialogue written in Spanish when a character is speaking it? I... don't have strong feelings about it one way or the other I guess lol. I mean ideally the line(s) written in the other language are correct lol, and not just badly google translated or something.

Though you know, now that I think about it, I feel like it would work best between languages that use the same alphabet (which does end up narrowing the possible languages down quite a lot) because that way the reader can still sound out the dialogue even if the don't understand the language, which could emulate what the pov character is experiencing. Whereas if it was a fic written in English, and then had a line written in, say, Japanese, the reader wouldn't even be able to sound it out so it's kind of a brick wall. (Unless there's footnotes, but that tends to be a little more clunky in fic than in a published book with pages).

If the readers are supposed to understand the dialogue written in another language, like two characters suddenly start speaking in said other language and we're meant to keep up with the conversation, then I feel like it's just easier to translate their words in whatever language the fic is written in otherwise.

But yeah idk, I think with intent and good execution, anything can work, but it could also be done in a way that's more annoying than anything.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I think. It was neopets LMFAO. I remember writing a fic when I was like 10 about Hannah (the adventurer) and Jacques (from the maraqua plot comic) as a romantic couple because I was annoyed at the time that there were multiple fics about Hannah and Garin (or whatever his name was, also from the maraqua plot) getting together even though I thought Garin was BORING and they were just shipped together because they were both usuls (which are overrated imho), even though Jacque was obviously better.

... I may have had a crush on Jacques.

But the first fic that I think I posted anywhere was for Xiaolin Showdown lmfao, probably also when I was 10 or 11 or something. I wrote like four separate fics for that show.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Yeah it's CoD lol. It's the longest thing I've written so far, and I'm overall still very proud of it. I'd probably go back and change some things in the first chapter because it reads a little clunky and like, abrupt to me now, but I'm not doing that until I finish the fic. Allowing myself to go back and edit stuff before I've even finished the story seems like a road to ruin lol.

#tag meme #marley-manson #ty for tagging me! this was fun #but now i am yawning all over the place so I gotta sleeeepppp #have work in the morning rip

[eomma-jpeg]

thanks @veilder I really do like doing these lil games even though I have some unfinished ones in my drafts 💀

I have some extra thoughts if anyone cares if I ramble

I did write quite a bit on wattpad back in the day. My account is still up and kicking but my username there isn't the same anywhere else LOL so you might be able to find it ? I had a moderately successful fairy tail one-shot series and an unfinished doctor who self insert fic (i wrote these when I was 14 i want everyone to remember that lil fact.

I currently beta read for @noaafishfieldguide so I get alllll the juicy sea foam drama >:) (its literally so fun i love doing it T-T. I don't have any beta readers except that squid does get to read 'in the meadow' early to help me make sure it actually is good LOLOL

Every fic i write is self indulgent, isn't that like.... the point of a fanfiction ???

So I am a multifandom writer, but as of late I've been stuck in trigun (the Fandom that got me to start writing again). But I technically started writing for royai just before then because Fullmetal is one of my all time favorites and royai is so special and perfect to meeeeee (I also wrote a kacchako fiction which is technically my most popular by kudos??? Which is wild?)

I cannot tell you how closely i watch my phone after a chapter of itm is posted. I just like, stare longingly and wait for comments to roll in T-T

YALL I NEVER IN 1000 YEARS WOULD HAVE EXPECTED PEOPLE TO DRAW ART FOR MY FICS. I NEVER FELT THAT ANYONE WOULD CARE THAT MUCH BUT @noaafishfieldguide and @mad-aims HAVE BOTH DONE ART AND I DO CRY STILL ABOUT IT

I have.... an entire kacchako fantasy bnha fic outline just like sitting in my drive. I've written some chunks of it, but it was mostly self indulgence and there's like a make-out scene in there... I also have a one bed royai thats just sitting, waiting to be published bc I dont know if its good LOLOL

Listen, I know its silly and its my current fic, but I really adore writing in the meadow and I'm so happy that the people reading it do read it, but I need more to join bc I am converting people to the millyons agenda.... thats just my whole goal so please get in on this

Ty for indulging me and here are the people I tag: @noaafishfieldguide, @firewoodfigs, @fullmetalscullyy, @fullcry, @eilwen

Here's the blank copy!

#ty again veil and i did read ur notes and i am excited for that thing 👀👀👀👀👀👀 #asks #trigun #bnha #fma #fic #I LOVE WHEN PEOPLE RAMBLE ABOUT THE THOUGHTS IN THEIR HEAD

[kipandkandicore]

well… we found out that someone *cough cough* @sophieinwonderland … said that she thought we falsely reported eeveecraft to get them banned.

this is not true at all. she has no basis for this claim. the post we wrote responding to eeveecraft, we wrote specifically because they linked to our document in order to discredit it. that is the entire reason why we wrote that response. we would not have made the post at all if they had not brought up the document we compiled. our response was made in good faith. and never in the post did we explicitly call eeveecraft racist.

did we say that tulpa language is racist? yes.

did we say that alexandra david-neel is racist? yes.

did we call eeveecraft racist, anywhere in our response? not to our knowledge (though we did say that, by saying racist things, they were being racist)

we never reported eeveecraft, nor did we encourage anyone else to do the same. to claim otherwise is slander. on sophie’s blog, she is slandering us, despite having us blocked, to our knowledge! we only knew about these posts at all because a concerned friend saw them and brought them up to us. we don’t view sophie’s blog except in cases like this, where we find she’s been referring to us without our knowledge in order to lie about us.

it’s hurtful. it’s unkind. it’s disrespectful.

how can she claim to ever be engaging in good faith when this is the sort of shit she does? we’ve seen sophie block evading to spread false rumors about those she disagrees with many times over the past year or so. this isn’t something new for her.

like, the entire time we have been in syscourse spaces, our goal has been to learn more, have honest conversations, and to discuss system issues with those of differing views in good faith.

that has been our goal here since day one.

we genuinely didn’t know eeveecraft wouldn’t be able to see our post. we thought tagging them would make that post visible to them. if they resurface, we will absolutely remake that post onto our main blog and @ them there so they can view it.

why spend so much energy railing against us, when we:

1) didn’t respond in bad faith (and did not attack them as she claims, for fuck’s sake) we responded with concern, hoping to genuinely gain some clarification.

2) didn’t know that @ ing eeveecraft wouldn’t make the post visible to them. we’re not blocked by many users and we don’t know how that sort of thing functions.

3) we literally have a partner who is a tulpamancer. we have been in tulpa spaces (frequenting r/tulpas, tulpa.io, tulpanomicon, and tulpa.info) for over a year. tulpamancy is not new to us. this language shift, though, is.

yes, it is possible to be pro-tulpa as a practice, anti-tulpa terminology. like. i don’t know how else to tell you that it’s possible to separate a concept from its label. especially when that label has clearly racist roots and many poc have spoken up about it.

yes, it is possible to believe in endogenic systems and support them fully, even while being syscourse unaligned. “syscourse unaligned” does not automatically mean anti-endo or sysmed, as others might like to believe. like please, we’re begging you, learn some nuance.

note we didn’t call any tulpamancers racist! just the terminology, and people’s actions regarding that terminology. ignoring that fact, brushing it under the rug, or claiming that the terminology isn’t racist doesn’t make it any less true.

if someone says something racist, yeah, we’re gonna call it out. it’s part of learning to be antiracist, and part of learning how to stand up for marginalized people in your communities. even (and especially) when it’s hard. it has been very difficult for us, going down this path. we have been targeted and harmed more by speaking out against tulpa language than we ever have in any of our time in syscourse.

but we cannot let this go. i mean yeah, it’s getting to us, and we’re getting beaten down by people like sophie making wild assumptions about us, talking about us behind our back, and spreading rumors about us that assume the worst in us without ever asking us directly. but idk, like, it should not be up to buddhist poc to have to fight tooth and nail to defend themselves. there should be more white people on their side, listening to them, rallying behind them, and willing to stand up for them.

that’s what we’re trying to do here. that has always been what we’re trying to do. we are not trying to destroy the tulpa community at all!! and if anyone could read our posts without assuming the worst in us, actually read what we have to say without jumping to conclusions… they could see that.

idk. idk. this has been extremely fucked for our mental health. we’re not in a good place. we want to do what we can to keep standing up against racism within the community, but it’s so hard when the people being racist:

1) immediately block you

2) still read your posts, even though they blocked you

3) make posts assuming the worst about you, claim that you did things that you simply did not do, and come after you for things that they never reached out to you about personally

(not to mention in her posts referencing us she treats the survivor’s network discord server like a group of evil sysmeds who plot together to bully endos, when in reality… it is a recovery server for trauma survivors with dissociative disorders. again: the survivor’s network is a recovery server. for trauma survivors. with dissociative disorders. it is a space to come together in order to heal, share resources, and learn from each other. it is a survivor space for those in recovery. we are shocked to find sophie calling the members of this server, a trauma and recovery space, morally bankrupt…)

in our disclaimer in our response to eeveecraft, we said that it’s not our goal to block evade. the post was genuinely meant as a response, one that we put a lot of thought and effort into! we honestly did not know that eeveecraft wouldn’t be able to see the post. we thought @ ing them directly would make it possible for them to view that post in particular. it definitely was never meant as an attack.

and to see folks claiming otherwise while dragging our name through the mud… idk it has us at our wits’ end.

posts referenced for transparency:

#syscourse #long post #tulpacourse #slander #sorry this is such an emotionally charged rant… we just had to get this off our chest #about to post this then fuck off because this shit has really messed us up #but also shoutout to sn y’all have helped us in our recovery so much and i know we lurk mostly #but we are so grateful to be in that space and our therapist loves that we’re finding community with other survivors there!

[shady-tavern]

Tag Game

Thanks so much for @those-damn-snippets for tagging me! That was very sweet of you!

+++

1. What motivates you to write?

Alright, this is going to sound super cheesy, but writing just makes me so damn happy. The joy and excitement that new ideas or future scenes bring me is something that drives me forward. I love writing. I feel right when I do it, like all those weird and strange parts of me that never really seem to fit in anywhere else are wanted and needed. So yeah, what motivates me is how much I love writing and how happy it makes me.

And I hope I get to share at least a small spark of that joy with people when they read my stories.

.

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud of; if not, share a line of someone else's work that you love (just be sure to credit).

Oh wow, that’s a hard pick and I don’t know about most proud. I collected a couple of scenes I really liked that I wrote recently and I have to admit that I chose by playing eeny-meeny-miny-moe. I don’t know if that snippet (or any of the snippets really) makes much sense without context, but I really liked the way it turned out.

Warnings ahead for child death as well as vomiting. This one’s not nice folks and it belongs to the novel "Wild Magic" that I’m working on on the side, along with The Shape of a Soul:

Sophie’s hands trembled and then she was vomiting off to the side. The moment she could breathe again she curled up to press her head against Tina’s shoulder, weeping terribly as the summoned werewolf faded, collapsing into itself. She had been too late.

There was no healing death.

.

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Alright, that’s a mean question. I like talking about pretty much all of my OCs if I’m given the chance. But I suppose one of the OCs that always makes me happy to write is Ziana from "Hearts of Magic".

She’s such a genuinely fun and loyal person who is down for all kinds of mischief and nonsense and will literally poison your abusive parent the second you let her. She’s warm and kind and supportive and protects the people she loves with all she has. She never takes herself too seriously and you can talk with her about anything and she’ll listen and either try to help or offers a hug. Or to go punch the person who upset you.

She is, weirdly enough, a main character who’s more written the way a side-character would be. Which is also part of the fun of getting to explore her personality and actions and how the story is told through her.

.

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Excited scribbling and mashing of keys when I let the story take over. I love it when it all just flows right out of me and onto the page and it actually sounds like I want it to. That’s the best thing and I literally don’t care if I’m writing an action or friendship or romance scene. Just that feeling of getting to upend a large bucket of water, but instead of water it’s just a rushing flow of words.

.

5. What part of writing do you think you're best at? (Stroke your own ego, it's okay.)

I think I’m pretty good at writing emotions or the emotional state of characters. That and giving characters neither much of a description or names and sometimes even both.

.

6. What is something in the writeblr community that is most enjoyable?

I’m usually bad with getting into communities or fandoms and all that and I don’t know if I am a part of the writelbr community, but I really love just how nice and encouraging everyone has been since I started posting stories. You guys are just too sweet and it’s a joy to come up with stories and share them with you.

.

7. A writing tool/device that help you with writing (i.e. text to speech, a program, etc.).

It’s going to sound super old-school, but it’s notes and notebooks. I have a special notebook for each of my novels I’m working on and I write everything down, from people to quotes to places to monsters or phrases in made-up languages.

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8. A piece of world-building that you like in your own story (it could be the magic system, a particular place, a law, etc.).

Oh, that’s another hard one. I love world-building and I do it for every damn piece of writing. I’m going with the first thing that came to mind:

In my novel "Wild Magic" there are demons born out of negative or unwanted emotions when people die. Grief, abandonment, regret, fear, things like that. Those creatures can only be fought and killed by mages, but there is also never going to be an end to them either. There will always be someone who dies unhappy or filled with some fierce or bitter emotion. So part of the story is the characters muddling their way through that world and figuring out what to do.

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9. What piece of advice would you give to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

This may sound counterproductive to some people, but go away from your story. Take a walk, go to the toilet and sit down and play on your phone, go sit in the sun or lie on the floor and listen to nothing or to a song or white noise. Did you drink and eat enough today? Go get a glass of water or juice anyway, that’s always a good idea. And what about your medication? Or sleep?

Get some distance to your story if you can’t figure out what bothers you about it or why you are stuck. Clear your head and come back when you’re not filled with frustration or stress.

Aside from that, go back to the point in your writing where you still liked and enjoyed your writing. Try to figure out from there what happened that made it hard for you to continue. 

Do you need to re-write a certain scene? Did you try to force characters to do or say something just to fit an idea in your mind? Do you find the current scene boring or tedious and do you need to shorten or skip it all together, summarizing it with a few words? Is the current emotional state of your characters hard for you to write and do you need to slow down and take it moment by moment?

.

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters.

I hope you guys don’t mind getting tagged! I really enjoy your writing a lot.

@radiojamming

@cozycryptidcorner

@mouseymightymarvellous

@those-damn-snippets

#thanks for tagging me! #I've never done one of these before so I have no idea what I'm doing #but what else is new #I never know what I'm doing

[little-engineer-who-cant]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @amethystunarmed and I am very late in responding, but what else is new? I finally get to do one of these now that I've started posting my writing!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

12 as of writing this.

2. What’s your total word count?

203,764 words which is so very many and 159,923 of those words are in one series that's not even halfway done yet.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The fandoms I have published are Skyrim, Batman, Percy Jackson and the Olympians and Black Sails.

One day though, I will start posting my ASoIaF works, I swear.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

Act 1: Into the Breach - Skyrim

The Water Under the Bridge to Elysium is Still the River Styx - Batman crossover with Percy Jackson

There's a Waystation in Gotham - Batman crossover with Percy Jackson

Act 2: Rising Until Our Souls Shatter in the Sky - Skyrim

Under the Red Hood Lies Jason Todd's Shattered Dreams - Batman crossover with Percy Jackson

5. Do you respond to comments?

I really love getting them and a lot of people who comment on my fics have hit very close to future plot points! I try to respond, but I also know I'm terrible at keeping secrets because I'm so excited about what comes next, so sometimes I do not respond because I don't want to accidentally spoil my own stuff.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This one is a tie, honestly. If you want angst that gets a resolution in a different work? Then it has to be Screaming Past the Limit, Never to Slow Down Again which is another part of the Batman and PJO crossover series.

If you're looking for unresolved angst, then it is Are You Coming to the (Hanging) Tree? which is a Black Sails fic focused on Abigail Ashe. It is one of my favorite pieces I've ever written and I did it in like 20 minutes while I was at work.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

You're the Torch I'll Use to Burn this World Down, another Black Sails fic but this one focuses on Miranda because I love her and I think she deserves good things all the time.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really, but I write in very niche sections of fandoms (crossovers, modded communities, etc) so most of the people that come across my works really want to be there and try not to run creators out. The closest I've gotten was someone nagging on a location in the Damnation Saga because I screwed around with character's perceptions on map locations a bit for worldbuilding flavor.

9. Do you write smut?

To be determined. The Damnation Saga might get some, who knows.

10. Do you write crossovers?

...

That is 98% of my drafts. Literally the only works I have that are not crossovers are the Damnation stories. I have over 20 WIPs that are all crossovers. I love interweaving different stories that have similar themes or lore backgrounds, exploring how they interact and how the myths of one is perceived by the other and vice versa. Butterfly effects and world premise shifts, my beloved.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Fic? No. Original work however, @amethystunarmed and I have never really stopped our nonsense over the last 10 or so years. We still have shared Google Docs that were last modified in 2012.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

What got me into fanfiction, and what I still go back to even after all this time, is Bagginshield. I reread Sansûkh all the time. You should read it too. Everyone should. I aspire to create something that incredible and moving. I cry every time.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

Sweet Talk Hides Dark Thoughts. It's a massive crossover and I just tried to do too much. The butterfly effect got so out of hand that the story would no longer be anywhere near where I wanted it to be. It is super unwieldy in terms of both size and plot and I can't figure out a way to reel it in or finish it in a way that I'm satisfied with. Instead, I've sectioned out chunks and reskinned the concepts. For example, the entire Sirens Scream series is based on a bit I had in Sweet Talk where Silena Beauregard lives and vanishes into the unknown. Sweet Talk also explored the ramifications of there being survivors from Kronos' army and how the Titan War affected all the CHILD SOLDIERS that were fighting in it, concepts that I brought into Sirens but looked at from a different angle.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Descriptions and interweaving plot beats. I love a good Chekhov's Gun and I will fire it multiple times. I also am good at pacing. If you feel the story moving at breakneck speed with no room for breathing, it's because I want you to feel that way.

I'm also good at inner monologues, especially about a character spiraling into corruption and despair.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action sequences. Unless there's room for monologues in there, I suck at them and they are a slog to write.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I do it, but I always make sure to add a note asking for correction if I've translated it wrong. I do my best, but I am not a linguist nor do I have time to be. I use a lot of Dovahzul in the Damnation Saga and I am using both Old Norse and High Valyrian in other WIPs right now.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Hobbit. I wanted to make an OC in Laketown so very badly, but I never got anything I was happy with.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

There's a Waystation in Gotham. Hands down. It's the fic that inspired the entire Sirens Scream series because I couldn't get that line out of my head. I wrote it in one swoop when I was in the middle of machine changes and it needed basically no edits. If asked to recommend my own work, this is the top of the list.

I am tagging @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @vice-versa-vane, and @septemberskye

#writing #my fics #ask game

[rckyfrk]

3, 6, 8, 11, 21, 50 for fanfiction writer asks :)

I am SO very sorry for taking so long to reply to this. I double checked the date you sent this to make sure I was doing the right one.

3. Do you prefer writing OC’s or reader inserts? Explain your answer.

I really don't do either. I usually stick with characters from the source material, so I don't end up having many OCs. There are only two stories I've worked on that include an original character - Claimed and Summer of Learning. In Claimed, I added in a high school aged girl in "honor" of the exchange student that was staying with my family at the time and she had a great big crush on Aaron Paul/Jesse Pinkman, so I wrote them together just for shits and giggles. Summer of Learning is based off a prompt (Imagine your dad's best friend is Sean Patrick Flanery and he teaches everything you want to know about sex.) So I ran with it as an OC (but it's in first person, so technically kind of a reader insert?)

6. If you had to delete one of your stories and never speak of it again, which would it be and why?

Yeesh. I don't even know if it's still posted anymore, so... Anyway, it was from the very early days of Bethyl, and there was a song prompt for every day of the week, and I fell in love with "Poison and Wine" by The Civil Wars. I was a very new writer and I'd never done a prompt before and I took it fucking literally and made every reference to the song that I could. I mean, it wasn't cringey or anything, at least I don't remember it being so, but it was just so...very very literal to the song. Now I can look back on it and say, "Oh...prompts don't have to be word for word. That's just where you get the idea." Lesson learned.

8. Where do you take your inspiration from?

Anywhere I can get it. Inspiration doesn't seem to be a problem for me. It's motivation.

11.Have you ever amended a story due to criticisms you’ve received after posting it?

The most I've ever amended was adding tags that I hadn't realized I needed. I've never actually changed any of the content once a story is posted.

21. Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

We are so fortunate in both the Bethyl and Hellcheer fandoms to have so many talented writers. I hate to leave anyone out, but you asked, so...in no particular order...

@gneebee for posting every single week like clockwork. I wish I had an ounce of your discipline? organization? time to yourself?

@piper1016 for how far she's come as a writer, and for never giving up, even when fandoms are waning.

@im-immortal for writing stories that suck me in, even when I have to read them in between my fingers because I can't look directly at them

@pipergirl17 for taking on that enormous task of creating 26 AUs in the yellow pages series. What I’d give for a fraction of that creativity.

@hangon-silvergirl @cunnninghams for writing stories that make me absolutely melt and swoon over Eddie and Chrissy

@majicmarker for taking my favorite characters and writing them as if I'm actually inside their heads, looking around at what makes them tick. And the smut. Dear GOD the smut.

50.If you could write only angst, fluff or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Fluff. All the way. I don't think I'm great at writing angst (although, fluff without angst is just...kind of filler, isn't it?) I've gotten incredibly gun shy about writing smut. (I think it's been close to three years since I've written a sex scene. Not sure how to get back into the groove at this point...) But cute, fluffy moments between these idiots in love, showing them fall for each other over and over and making sure they get the happy ending they deserve? Yeah. That's my bread and butter, right there.

#rckyfrk writes #rckyfrk answers #rckyfrk cleans out her inbox #bethyl #eddissy #hellcheer #writing stuff #ask games #what are queue waiting for?

[lupine-princess]

She Thinks- Part 3 (Final Part)

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: M? (just to be safe, since there is discussion of sex. Also violence in later parts.)

Pairing: Female OC x ??? (it's a surprise/choose your own-ish? There is a reveal moment, but you could easily put in whoever you want I suppose)

Warnings: implied rough sex/choking/etc., torture/violence in later parts, Not Beta Read, description of Bad Sex, Brief Attempted SA, Brief Discussion of SA (more mentioning that its not happening and is not going to happen), ANGST, Character Death

Word Count: 8358 (Ummm...this one got away from me I guess...sorry again? Though the chapter length will probably be the least of the things y'all are going to want an apology...)

Cross posted on AO3 @- Lupine_Princess

Note: I am *so* sorry it took so long! The muse was playing coy and I haven't had the time to really sit down and finish this. But here is it. The conclusion to my first fic ever. I literally finished this maybe 30min before this posting, so there are probably typos, but I wanted to get this out and not agonize and nitpick for days and delay this further. Anyway, as mentioned before this is a songfic and the Song and Singer credit will be at the end before people tags. There's a bit of irony to this being sung by this particular (freaking awesome) artist, but I didn't think about that until just now. Considering this is my first fic, and I'm a nobody in the Fan Fic world, this is probably not needed, but PLEASE DON'T REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE. Last thing, this is probably obvious at this point, but this doesn't have a happy ending. It didn't go exactly how it did in my head when I was planning it, but it was never going to be an HEA. So for anyone rooting for them to be together, I am *SO* sorry. I should have made it clear in the beginning, and I didn't think about it until tonight. I really am sorry. New tags are for this chapter only, and are things I didn't expect to be a thing in this story until I wrote it. Except for the last two. They were always going to be there for this part. Thank you for reading and giving feedback for those who have, I appreciate it greatly. No idea if I'm going to do this again, but never say never right? I'll probably at the very least leave fan fiction to the professionals for a while if nothing else. lol

Alright, here we go:

Part Three

The woman recalls the six months that had passed since That Night, and can’t help but notice things that she hadn’t seen at the time. In herself, she sees how she had changed. One encounter had not been enough, obviously. She had wanted more. Of course she had. How could a person experience something so visceral, so powerful, so intense, and not want, not crave, more? Even now it baffles her that anyone could or would not understand. Not that she had really spoken to anyone about it, but there had been questions, pointed ones, about Him and That Night. She had tried her best to explain the draw in terms that would not paint her in a bad or sordid light, but it was like trying to explain a sunrise to someone who has lived in a dark room their entire lives. She knew they didn’t, couldn’t, understand, and she felt sorrow for them. She had experienced something profound and felt changed by it to her core, but they had nothing to compare it to, and so couldn’t even begin to grasp it.

Even more concerning than that though, she realizes now, she had started to think of Him in terms of being her’s. She had planned in her mind what she would say to him when he inevitably called. What she would wear on their first date. The woman didn’t count either the party or the resulting inferno of lust as their first date, for obvious reasons, but she had planned out the evening that would count in detail in her mind. She had decided that she would have to return to her Mama’s lessons regarding sex though, which meant that there would be none of that for at least a few weeks. Despite this though, the woman looked forward to seeing him again. To just being around him. She longed for it. Craved him like a drug. So much so that her distraction was remarked upon by various people. She had always smiled and waved away their concerns, but it occurs to her now that they were right to be worried. Because, as with most drugs, the high she was on would not, could not, and did not last.

When He had not called a week after That Night, the woman had gone back to the motel. Sure that he would still be there, she had knocked on the door of the room he had stayed in, and had been shocked when a different man entirely had answered the door. The man and his wife were very confused at a woman they didn’t know, in a town they were merely passing through, knocking on their motel room door. The woman was supremely embarrassed of course and had given multiple apologies for bothering the couple before going to the front desk to ask about Him. The woman stops in her reflection for a moment and scoffs at her childishness as she realizes that she refuses to even think his name now, though she cannot bring herself to forget it. The problem with this realization, however, is that she also cannot force herself to use his name, even in thought. Even now. Perhaps especially now. Now it feels less like rejecting Him and more like protecting Him.

At any rate, the woman had gone to the front desk and asked the clerk about Him. Surely, she rationalized, he wouldn’t just leave without saying something to her. He had her phone number, she knew, and she couldn’t have missed his call, because he would have left a message or called back. But the attendant had told her that He had checked out the day after the party. Hours after she had left, so had he and she felt her heart crack. The clerk had given her a pitying smile, so the woman had straightened her spine, plastered her own smile on her face, thanked the young man, and left. He hadn’t even left a note for her.

The mind is an amazing thing, the woman muses now. In effort to stave off feelings of abandonment, rejection, and humiliation, her mind had attempted to come up with a different likely scenario. He checked out a few hours after she left, hadn’t left a message for her with the front desk, and hadn’t called her, so he must have had to leave quickly. In an act of what the woman still considers extraordinary mental gymnastics, the woman had decided that He must have gotten called to another case and had to leave without time to contact her. Which meant that he was probably too busy solving a case and bringing justice to the wronged that he had not had a moment of peace long enough to call. He would undoubtably call her when he finally had a moment and the two could plan for him to come back to town for their date. Perhaps she would even break her rule on carnality once more since he was working so hard. She had felt sympathy and understanding for him at the time, but a week after her ill-fated visit to the motel and still no phone call, the woman had begun to get angry.

Perhaps he lost her phone number? Inconsiderate, yes, but not unforgivable. An honest mistake. It could happen to anyone. This led her to seeking out the acquaintance who had introduced them to in order to either get His phone number or a message to him. Unfortunately, the acquaintance was once again out of town, so that would have to wait. In the meantime, the woman had decided to start her research into Him. She really should have started that earlier, but she had been distracted. Now that she had to wait on their mutual acquaintance’s return, she had time to do what she should have done from the beginning. As she settled in and got started, she had smiled to herself at the idea that she was going to learn everything there was to know about this man that had gotten past her defenses and Mama’s Rules. She was sure, using her usual resources, she would find a treasure trove of interesting information. Birth date, parents, siblings, schools, grades, college and/or military service. Since He was a federal agent, she knew she could also find out about cases he’d worked. Commendations. Current cases. Whereabouts, even, assuming the case was high profile enough. Which it must be, given they had needed him in such a hurry.

Nothing. The woman found…nothing. Not one bit of information. At all. She had wanted to scream in frustration then, and honestly, she still wants to, but didn’t dare. She had searched records all over the country. Every state. Nothing. Not even information that could lead her to information. She had called the FBI. The most local office to her and then the one in Washington D.C. They said they didn’t have an agent of that name with them and never had. Thinking she must have had the agency wrong, she had waded through the alphabet soup that was federal agencies. Nothing. The most hopeful answer she had gotten was that they could/would not talk about employees, past or present.

The woman was starting to get the feeling, a month after That Night, that something was wrong. He still hadn’t called and she couldn’t track down her acquaintance to ask about Him. Her frustration mounted when she realized another month later that the acquaintance had to be actively avoiding her. They were spending a lot more time than usual out of town and when they were, they were never with the group of people they and the woman had in common. Further, the woman had finally realized that the story she and the group was probably false and so nothing she had been told would or could have led to any information. When she had brought this up with mutual friends of her’s and the acquaintance’s, they were confused. They had said, maybe the information was wrong, that didn’t mean it was an intentional lie, and what did it matter anyway? He was clearly just passing through. The woman had not told them, of course, about how she had spent the night after the party. They may have judged her for her indiscretion. Or worse. Told other people.

Four months after the party, the woman had gotten tired of trying to organically meet up with her acquaintance and had gone to their house. Only to find that not only were they not there, they clearly hadn’t been for quite a while. It struck the woman as odd, so she asked the neighbors when they thought the acquaintance would be back as well as how long they had been gone. They neighbors said the acquaintance had left last over a month ago and while they didn’t know when the acquaintance would return, they were getting concerned since the acquaintance had never been gone this long at once before. They would be gone for a week, two at most, and then return home. Usually, they looked like they had some kind of ailment, a limp, a sore shoulder, scrapes, cuts, even bruises, but the neighbors said the acquaintance would take a week or so to recover and then leave out again and the cycle would repeat. But this time was different.

It wouldn’t be for another two weeks after that, that the woman got some information of any kind. Though decidedly not the kind she wanted. One of the neighbors called the woman to let her know that someone was at her acquaintance’s house, but it wasn’t the acquaintance. The woman’s heart had leapt as she decided that it must be Him. He had come back and would have answers and apologies. As the woman looks back over that time, she realizes she was nothing short of delusional. Mama had told the woman, you can’t always get what you want, love. You will be denied sometimes. Rejected sometimes. But how you handle the situation, and yourself afterward, determines your future successes. Those words had never quite rung true for the woman, because she had never been denied or rejected. She had always gotten what she wanted. Now, it seemed, her luck had run out.

The woman had rushed over to her acquaintance’s house once more, eager to see Him again. When she got there however, He was not there, but an older man in a baseball cap driving a car that looked like it belonged in a junk yard rather than on the road. She had had to school her face and hide her disappointment, and replace it with concern for her friend. The older man told her, gravely, that her acquaintance had been in a hunting accident while away and he was there to clean out their house and put it on the market. She had expressed the required sorrow, sympathy, and shock, and inquired at how the man and her acquaintance knew each other, only to be told they had been ‘hunting buddies’ years ago and had made a deal with one another that whichever one ‘went first,’ the other would clean out their belongings, ‘put them to good use,’ and ‘offload the house,’ since neither had any other family.

After a bit more small talk, the woman had gone back home feeling…off. The older man had the same…presence as He did and, she had just realized in that moment, so did her acquaintance. It was an air of leashed danger and made them seem larger than life. On Him it had been incredibly sexy and massively erotic, on the older man and her late acquaintance, it made her feel anxious. Nervous. Like she needed to run away as fast as she could and not look back. She assumes now that, had she not been so ridiculously attracted to Him, she would have felt the same way in his presence. As it was, she had been so clouded by hormones that it had only heightened her interest in Him and all sense of self-preservation had flown out of the window.

Only once she was back home did she realize that she could easily have asked the older man about Him. She quickly decided to call the acquaintance’s home to try and talk to the man, but there was no answer. She called the neighbor that had called her initially, to see if they could get the older man to come to the phone, only to be told that he had left shortly after she had. The woman thanked the neighbor, hung up the phone, and threw it down the hall as hard as she could. It had taken every ounce of restraint she had, but the woman had managed to hold in her scream of rage and frustration until she could make it to her bedroom. Once there, in the safety of her room, she had snatched up the nearest pillow, held it to her face, and screamed herself hoarse. Unfortunately for the pillow, it hadn’t helped. It and two of its fellows had met grisly demises at her clawed, enraged hands. That hadn’t helped either. Not only was she still livid at her lack of luck, she had also had a mess to clean up and three pillows to replace before bedtime. It just hadn’t been her day.

The woman had indulged in a bit of a temper tantrum, stomping through her home, slamming doors open and shut, in search of her broom and dustpan, a bag to put the pillow remnants in, and extra pillows from her linen closet and guest bedroom to sleep on later that night. The actual cleaning itself wasn’t done in the most calm manner either, which only served to make the task take longer, which subsequently made her more angry. Seemed like a vicious, never-ending cycle of frustration and feathers, until suddenly the dam broke. One moment the woman was swearing a blue streak, the likes of which would have had her mouth washed out with the strongest soap available if Mama had heard her, and stuffing feathers and cloth into a garbage bag with rage filled vigor. The next she found herself sitting on the floor, still surrounded by feathers, sobbing her eyes out.

As undignified as it was, and pointless to boot, she had been unable to do anything about it. She had cried until the tears ran out and her body was weak. Too weak to move. Too weak to drag herself to her bed. She had spent the rest of the night on the floor, the occasional stray tear leaking from her eyes. When she woke up the next morning her body was stiff and she had a headache that could have put all other headaches to shame. Still, she couldn’t find the will or strength to pull herself off the floor even then. Her throat burned, and her stomach clenched around nothing. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before, and had lost quite a bit of water during her crying spree, so it made sense that she was hungry and thirsty like she had never been before. It only added to her despondency, however. Her overwhelming lack of desire to do anything at all should have concerned and motivated her to get up and take charge of her life once more, but she couldn’t even muster up enough energy to feel anything at all.

And so, she had laid there on her bedroom floor, surrounded by feather and destroyed pillows long into the afternoon and evening once again. When she had finally been able to pull herself up off the floor, she stumbled her way to her bathroom, thanking every God she had ever heard of that she had sprung for the extra-large tub, despite never having had anyone to share it with. The thought sent a pain rippling through her that she feels even now. As a matter of fact, digging through her memories of the past hurts more than anything she’s ever felt. Searching for answers she not sure she’ll ever find. She’s not even sure she wants them anymore, to be honest, but she still can’t stop herself from hunting them down like a bloodhound on a scent. Mama always said that if someone looked up ‘stubborn’ in an encyclopedia they would just see a picture of me, she remembers with a slight smile. That smile grows as she recalls that Mama actually had put her picture, not just in the encyclopedia, but also the dictionary under the aforementioned heading. It had been an inside joke between the two of them. Something that no one else would know or understand. Something that was just theirs and theirs alone. These thoughts on the back of remembered pain of that day allows for a single traitorous tear to escape her iron control.

Shaking off the feelings that have crept on her, she remembers the next days as though she is watching a movie. To totally honest, that’s how she had felt at the time. Like life was movie. Something she was only watching happen, and merely experiencing second-hand.  She can now see how she missed some very important clues, but even now she can’t exactly make sense of them. She had enough knowledge and understanding to see that she had been depressed following her epic crying spree even then, but there were some things that weren’t quite…right.

Her friends, her former lover and their wives, had begun to look at her with…pity. Even now thinking about it, the woman can help but feel indignant. They pitied her?! How dare they! She is not one to be pitied. She is better than that, she knows, and a familiar iced coated acid feeling creeps through her. With a distinctly unladylike snarl, the woman pushes the feeling away violently. It feels too much like fear and sorrow for her to accept it right now. She has better things to think about and more important issues at hand to deal with.

Aside from the unacceptable pity being directed her way, the woman recalls that the friend that had escorted her to the party That Night had also been changing. She had set him up with a few women she knew that would have been more than acceptable matches for him, but every time something had happened. The women would call her the day after the date and tell her in confused tones that he had not been the warm, hospitable gentleman they all knew him to be. Instead, he was rude and curt, almost angry. And cold. They said it was like he looked right through them, as if he didn’t have the time to even truly acknowledge they were there, until they had tried to talk to him about literally any topic, at which point they would wind up talked over, talked down to, or dismissed entirely. They all had said they had asked why he was in such a mood, only to be told it was “nothing that can’t be taken care of,” and they had then asked the woman if she had spoken to him and what they had done to deserve such treatment. Especially when the end of the date came. It seemed that despite his wholly unappetizing behavior, the woman friend had still had…expectations and made his dates very aware of them when he took them home. The only thing that could be said to his credit in the entire situation was that when the women had obviously told him they could not be less interested in anything he had to offer that night, he had simply nodded, said good night, and left. It was as if he hadn’t cared what the answer he got was either way.

Only one woman, the last incidentally, had taken him up on the offer he had made after their date. The woman recalled how the young woman’s voice had trembled slightly when she had told the woman of that night. It wasn’t anything like what the woman would have expected of her friend. Granted, she hadn’t kept track of his sex life in the past, but the young woman’s description had shocked and appalled the woman. Apparently, the cold, impersonal, overbearing demeanor her friend displayed at dinner had carried into the young woman’s bedroom. There had been no tenderness of any kind whatsoever. There had been only orders given in a hard voice accompanied by hard hands, and harder thrusts. There was no consideration at all shown to his bed partner. He had been wholly selfish, caring only for his own satisfaction, which had come blessedly quickly, and nothing for hers. The young woman had admitted over the phone that once he was done, he had appeared to want to stay for another round, but she had asked him to leave, not being able to stand another disappointing romp like the first. He had shrugged and left without a fight, but not before throwing a crude, “Thanks for the ride,” over his shoulder before the door shut.

The woman couldn’t believe her friend’s behavior. She had resolved not to set anyone else up with him until she could deal with him herself, which she had intended to be a few days later. Unfortunately, the day after the phone call with the justifiably unhappy young woman was the day the woman had found out about her acquaintance’s death and things had spiraled from there. Finally, things with the woman and her friend had come to a head about a month after her pillow destruction and crying jag. He had come over the woman’s home, with the stated intention of checking on her and seeing how she was, what had happened, and how he could help.

At the time that woman had been grateful, but even then she had noticed that something in his demeanor, hadn’t matched his words. Maybe it was his eyes. Always before, they were warm and caring when they looked at her. On that day, she felt like she understood what they women she had sent on dates with him had meant by ‘cold,’ It was like staring into frozen stones. Beautiful stones, the woman is willing to admit even now, like diamonds, or some other gemstone, but hard and cold all the same. Remembering those eyes sends a shiver down the woman’s spine and her throat tightens with fear.

Pulling her focus from his eyes, the woman returns her thoughts to the conversation they had had. Conversation, ha! the woman scoffs, that wasn’t a ‘conversation.’ His visit had been going well at the very beginning, despite the unnerving feeling of wrongness that had been crawling across her skin, when things had hit the proverbial fan. He had asked why she was so “down” lately, and the woman had thought that finally she could talk about the situation with someone who could understand. That wasn’t what had happened. The moment she had mentioned Him her friend had suddenly sparked to life like a firework in a spectacular explosion.

She was honestly still confused to this day about the sudden change in him. Not just with her, but with the women she had set him up with and even other people around town. It seemed like over night he had gone from the kind, funny, helpful, and understanding man they all knew and loved, to a cold, unfeeling man who thought nothing of other people and had a hair trigger temper. At the time she hadn’t noticed the changes as they happened, but that day in her home, she saw what everyone had been talking about. It had been shocking to say the least.

The woman still shudders when she remembers the look in his eyes as he raged at her. He had ranted about her fixation on Him, calling her a “pathetic, delusional whore,” and while she was reeling from that verbal barrage, he had continued raving about how her manipulative ways would come back to haunt her and that she needed him to straighten her out by any means necessary. Those had been his exact words actually. “By any means necessary.” She had been confused, shock, and more scared than she had ever been before. Even more than that one pregnancy scare between high school and college. Nothing had come of it, obviously, but she had taken that lesson to heart every bit as much as she took Mama’s lessons to heart. Since then, there had been no scares, and so very little to fear. It isn’t that she doesn’t want children even now, it just hasn’t ever been the right time, not to mention that she wasn’t and still isn’t married. The scandal of an unmarried mother may have lessoned with the times, but that did not mean that it was entirely gone. That and this town is a bit behind the times in general, the woman admits, somewhat begrudgingly. It had never been a problem for her before, in fact she was more than capable of making that state of affairs work for her rather than against her. The antiquated way of thinking that surrounded her had paid off greatly for her, so it had never been in her interest to challenge it overtly.

Off topic again, dammit, the woman growls at herself. Forcing herself to focus on that day, she shudders once again. From cold or fear she isn’t sure. She remembers how she had listened to her friend rail against her while she stood frozen, right until the point he had grabbed her upper arms, slammed her into one of her living room walls, and kissed her. Kissed?! Please! she scoffs, if that was a kiss then the lion must love the gazelle! And not as food! She can almost still feel his lips on hers. Teeth digging in to her flesh. Tongue forcing its way into her mouth. It was violent and painful, and decidedly not in a way she enjoyed. Just as she gagged on his probing tongue, her shocked mind had finally caught on and reacted to what was happening. He was pulling at her blouse, her knee, of its own volition it seemed, jerked up and none too gently landed squarely on his testicles. At the same moment, she expressed her displeasure with the tongue in her mouth by biting down. Hard. She had never thought blood would taste any way other than vile, but in this instance, it tasted sweet. Like victory.

His howl of pain wasn’t too shabby either, she remembers with a smirk. The smirk fades quickly when she recalls the enraged look on his face and the slap that followed. Stunned once again, her ears ringing, she only vaguely heard the names he screamed at her before he slammed out of her house, leaving with a slight limp. The woman had breathed a shaky sigh of relief that it was over and briefly considered calling Jordan and filing a complaint against her friend and asking for an officer to give her an escort her to and from work and home for a few days, or at the very least just to have someone aware of what had happened and give some advice on what she should do. Then she realized for advice she might be better off calling Brian, even though he would probably tell her to press charges, which she didn’t want to do. Her thought was that if she called Jordan and made a complaint, an officer would go and talk to her friend and make him stay away from her. If her friend ignored the officer’s warning, there would already be a record of what happened so things would be taken care of more quickly.

In the end, she decided not to call either Jordan or Brian. She honestly felt that this was just a hiccup for her friend. He was obviously going through something and a police presence in his life wouldn’t be helpful for him to get out of it. While the woman would never again trust her now former friend, nor would she want him around her, she still wanted what was best for him and to see him do well. Even a whisper of impropriety in which the police were involved could, and likely would, destroy his business, his credibility, and really his life in their town. He also probably wouldn’t be able to start over in a new area either, unless it was quite far away, which would cost more money than he would wind up having. She couldn’t bring herself to risk that happening to him. Not for the man he had become, but for the boy and the friend he been.

Despite her resolve, she had felt a nagging in the back of her mind urging her to tell someone what happened. She had felt it for days. After a week of the feeling, she finally decided the when she got home that night, she would call Zachary. Practical and pragmatic, Zachary would know how to handle things while being discrete. Her now former friend might wind up a bit worse for wear, but as long as he didn’t bother her, or any other woman if she knew Zachary as well as she thought she did, his life would go on overall uninterrupted. If he didn’t…well…people left town all the time without telling anyone else, presumably moving on to bigger and better things while avoiding awkward questions, especially if they had the kind of money her ex-friend had. What was one more person, right?

She had considered calling for an escort home that night, but decided against it. While it wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence, it would still bring up more questions than she was prepared to answer at that moment. Instead, she had finished out her day, long after her colleagues had gone home to their families, thinking not about the conversation she was going to be having when she got home, but rather about how much she longed to have what they had. A husband, someone who supported her and was her partner in every sense. Love. Babies. The perfect apple pie, white picket fence with a dog in the yard life. No, it wasn’t for everyone, but it was what she wanted. She had realized that she was lonely and tired of living her life the way she was. She wanted to settle down, and using Mama’s lessons and rules, the woman was sure she would find the perfect mate for herself the same way she had for others in her life. She understood it may take longer for her than it had for them, because she knew she was more…selective than they were, but she knew it would happen sooner rather than later. And so, with thoughts of white dresses, bassinets, and lullabies in her head, she walked to her car to go to her lonely, empty home with a resolved smile on her face.

She should have called for the escort.

The only thing she could remember was a soft rustling behind her, not unusual given the trees around the parking lot, then a sharp pain in her neck. Everything went black almost immediately. Almost. Just before the inky blackness descended, she caught a glimpse of a man. Her now ex-friend. And on his face was the most sickeningly sinister smirk on his face.

When she woke, she was on a bed. Her neck hurt, her head was screaming, and her vision was blurry. She had no idea where she was and her heart was racing in fear of the unknown. Naturally, she jumped to her feet to begin trying to figure out not only where she was, but also to find a way out of this place. Unfortunately, while she was able to get up without issue, she quickly realized that where didn’t matter nearly as much as what, and what was some kind of concrete room. No windows. One door. Metal. Undoubtedly heavy, and absolutely locked. She was trapped. The only way out was that one door, and she knew the only way it would open was if…when her ex-friend came into the room. He would be ready for anything she might throw at him, of course, so her chances of escape were very slim. She could only hope at that point that he would do what ever he was going to do, then let her go. She categorically refused to entertain any thoughts about what he might be planning beyond hoping that he would ultimately let her go.

She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, and so had no idea what time it might be. She only knew that she was incredibly hungry and thirsty. Almost as soon as the thought had entered her head, however, a flap she had missed on the bottom of the metal door opened and a something was pushed through. On inspection, she saw that it was two pieces of bread and a paper cup of water on a tray. In her hunger, she snatched up the bread and devoured it, before gulping down the water. It barely took the edge off, but at least it was something.

She jumped when the flap opened again and the tray was yanked through in the opposite direction as before. Upon realizing that someone (she could easily guess who) on the other side of the door had known the tray was empty and had taken it back, she started to talk. Well…less talk, more yell. Questions abounded. Answers were demanded. None were given. She refused to plead, so decided instead to bargain. Assurances that if he only let her go, she would never tell anyone about this occurrence. They would get him help with whatever was going on with him. She would help him. The bargaining ceased when she heard, barely, another door, further away, close. He clearly wasn’t interested in what she had to say and had left.

And so, things had gone for what she could only assume were the next 4-5 days. Three times a day the flap in the door would open, two pieces of bread beside water in a paper cup on a tray that was retrieved as soon as the three items where removed. She had continued to try and talk to him. She still wouldn’t plead and would die before she begged, but she asked for answers and bargained to the best of her considerable abilities. She even lied. Lied like it was her job. It is, or was, but it seems uncouth to say the quiet part out loud like that, the woman muses with semi-forced humor. Forced because there is nothing even remotely amusing or humorous about this situation. She had yet to get any answers, let alone any interaction whatsoever beyond the push of the tray and its retrieval.

Throughout it all, the woman imagined her life outside of this place. The things she would do once she got out of here. The places she would go. She knew now that there was nothing in this town any more. She knew everyone and none of them were to her standard for a husband, though that standard had somewhat lowered in her time in the large concrete box that was her current residence. She thought she might try to find Him, but she had no idea where to even start. Maybe she could find that older man that had been at her acquaintance’s house that day, but she was struggling with remembering him name. Usually she was good with names, but between the high emotions she had been feeling at the time and shortly after, coupled with the knowledge that he wasn’t staying, and her current fear, hunger, and dehydration…well, simply put her mind wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. Even now, she casts around in her mind for that name. Ronald? Richard? No. Not an R. Not an R…a…B? Yes! B…something! the woman recalls excitedly. A breakthrough finally! B. B. Brandon? No. Bartholomew? Absolutely not. Shorter…Bill? Billy? Billy! she decides. She’s still not entirely sure she’s right, but she can’t be bothered with that reality right now, because frankly, she desperately needs even that small win.

Because her circumstances had changed. And not for the better. She couldn’t be sure how long ago it was really, but it had to be a day or two there had only been two trays. The first had half of the rations she’d been getting which, while they hadn’t been nearly enough before, she really couldn’t afford to lose. She spent the day curled up on the bed, shaking with hunger pangs worse than ever before. Her throat burned and her head pounded. When it can to about the time that the second tray would be delivered, she had pulled herself up and over to the door to wait patiently. She had waited in vain. The tray never arrived. The disappointment had nearly crashed her and her resolve wavered. Wavered, but did not collapse, thankfully. Her disappointment coupled with the overall insufficient food, however, had left her unable to go back to the lone source of comfort in the room. For hours, she laid on the floor in front of the flap, willing it to open and provide her with a nourishing, filling meal. Eventually, her will prevailed and the flap indeed opened. The tray was passed through and upon it, while not the meal she wanted, were the standard two bread slices and paper cup with water. She had sighed in relief.

Naturally, she tore into the bread and gulped the water in a most unladylike manner, but she didn’t care. She was quite literally starving. It wasn’t until she noticed that the tray hadn’t been retrieved that the thought that something might be a bit suspicious about this particular meal. That’s when the first wave of dizziness had swept over her and she felt herself falling backward. She heard more than felt her head hit the cold concrete floor, and mused that it would probably hurt when she woke up. If she woke up. The last thing she was aware of was the heavy metal door opening and her now very much EX-friend walking into the room. The same sinister smirk smeared across his face. She was all but certain that this was her last moment.

But she was wrong. Although on further reflection she wasn’t exactly sure that was good thing. She had woken on the bed again. But this time was different. She was naked. And bound. Shackled actually. As soon as she realized the vulnerable state she was in, she immediately began shivering. Cold and fear. Fear and cold. The war between the two feelings was never fully won by either, so they traded off for the role of most prominent. Outweighing even the burning thirst and vicious hunger. Something she hadn’t thought was possible, but now she knew she was wrong about that, too.

And so, it is. Since the moment she had woken up chained to this bed, naked as the day she was born, she hasn’t moved, hasn’t been able to, other than the occasional shift or to bang her head back in frustration. She is more uncomfortable than she has ever been. Her arms and shoulders ache, but had largely stopped hurting other than a sharp twinge here and there, which honestly would have concerned her if it weren’t for the entire situation as a whole, but things being what they were, she can’t be bothered to care. Other than to be grateful that part of her discomfort has ended. The rest though is all but unbearable. Because she can’t get up and pace like she normally would when she got bored, she has to lay there with her mind spinning desperately searching for something, anything, to alleviate the boredom. She can’t warm herself or at least cover up with the blankets, so she is fully exposed, which is a different kind of discomfort, but still valid, and she is freezing. She is losing feeling in her feet and legs, though whether that is because of the tight bonds holding them to the bed immobile, or the frigid cold, she can’t tell. She also hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since ingesting the clearly drugged bread and water. The only silver lining, if it can be called that, to that particular issue is that she has stopped feeling the thirst and the hunger. Either because they have disappeared, or because she has gotten so used to them, she has no idea. And to add insult to injury, because she is chained down so securely, she can’t reach the single hole in the far corner of the room that had been serving as her toilet this whole time. She is filthy, having had not opportunity to bathe since she had been brought to this place, and now she was covered in her own waste. If there was anything at all beneficial about starving and being critically dehydrated, it was the fact that particular indignity had all but ceased as well. Again, something she would ordinarily be concerned about, but in her nearly delirious state, she can’t force herself to look passed the fact that she isn’t getting any dirtier.

Somewhere in her mind she knows, though. She knows that she is not long for the world and that her time now is likely being counted in hours and minutes, rather than days, weeks, and years. As that simultaneously depressing and comforting thought skips across her mind, she hears the metal of the door clang, creak, and open. Her heart leaps to her throat. Fear yes, but it’s also been so long since she’s seen anyone else face, she doesn’t care that it’s the face of the man she used to think was her closest friend. The relief is short lived. As he enters, he begins to talk. And the things he says…he tells her that while her absence has been noted, no one actually cares. The town gossips hiss to each other that it’s probably her own fault and that it’s likely for the best. Her friends don’t feel that way of course. They are saddened by her sudden disappearance, “What a pity,” they say, “what a loss.” But ultimately, they can’t be bothered to put forth any real effort into finding her. They are wrapped up in their own lives and won’t bestir themselves to much on her behalf. Even the police investigation into her disappearance was token at best.

Her outrage at the knowledge that she has been cast aside and forgotten by those she benefited and benefited from the most is tempered only by pain. Because while he talks, the man wearing her friend’s face, for that is how she thinks of him now, (they can’t be the same man. He can’t have changed this much. she tells herself trying desperately to soothe and distract), he cuts. He carves. Red lines racing over ever inch of flesh. During his monologue about how all of her insipid dreams are all for naught, he makes her bleed. Sometimes he lays down the blade for another implement, each is a new level and type of pain she had never thought to experience, but he always returns to the shiny, straight metal and continues his “artwork” as he calls it.

He tells her over and over that if she had just noticed him, given him the time, accepted him, loved him, he would have given her everything she ever wanted. A home, warm, welcoming, and safe. Love. Acceptance. A partner. Children. Beautiful babies to sing to and tell stories and teach and play with. He would and could have given her everything. On a never-ending loop he berates, belittles, and taunts her. Her friends don’t need or miss her. The town she thought she ran is still running and better in the one week she’d been gone than it ever had under her watch. Her home had already been emptied out, her belonging stored until an auction could be arranged, and the building itself already sold. No one had wasted any time completely erasing her from their lives and the town. She will never leave this room. All of her dreams and ambitions will end here with her. She will never have a husband in her arms or a child on her hip. Her memory, such as it is, will swiftly fade for everyone and when someone does think about her it will be with pity before they shrug off the thought and move on with their lives. And all because she had chosen some man, some stranger, she didn’t even know over him. If she had chosen him that night, instead of “whoring around” with Him, she wouldn’t be laying here right now. She would be safe in bed with him, her friend and new lover, dreaming of wedding bells and strollers, but instead she decided to make the wrong choice, once again, and he would make sure it was the last one.

The woman’s heart breaks over and over and over as a man she used to love as family tears her apart physically, mentally, and emotionally. The one thing, the one line he didn’t cross, was that he had not touched her. He hasn’t violated her in that way. It was one experience she was assured she wouldn’t have, but not because he wouldn’t cross that line, but because she “she didn’t deserve” him and she was “even too filthy for” him. She got the feeling he wasn’t talking about the layers of dirt and refuse she had accumulated, but she can’t find it in herself to care. It doesn’t even necessarily make sense really. She is going to die. She knows it. She has known it, but somehow, she takes solace in that one thing. And if her dalliance with Him had been what prevented that act from taking place, she can and will find it in herself to be grateful for that even though this whole thing is His fault.

The woman loses and regains consciousness several times over the course several hours. Every time returning to the waking world to hear her Not Friend ranting like a mad man, laughing at her pain, and layering more and more of it one top of the other. She has long since broken her vow against crying not to mention screaming, but can’t beg, not coherently at least, even if she wants to. Since she had woken chained up on the bed, she had been securely gagged. A gag that had now been soaked in blood and other bodily fluids generated during her ordeal. If she could, though, she would beg. She would beg him to have mercy and let her die. She knows that’s a fruitless wish though. He has no mercy. Not for her at the very least. He has made that perfectly clear time and again.

Finally though, finally, blessedly, she feels the end, the Reaper, Death himself, approach. She almost sighs in relief, but holds herself back just in case her Not Friend finds a way to bring her back from the brink. The thought of this agony, this hell, continuing cannot be borne and she prays one last time once again to every God she’s ever heard of that this really will be the end. She can still hear her Not Friend rant, though now it is muffled, like someone talking from far off. He is asking questions now. Demanding answers she hopes he doesn’t expect her to give. She couldn’t if she wanted to. Not that she does want to. Maybe if he gets angrier, this will end quicker. Either way, at this point anything that makes him unhappy pleases her. Probably twisted, but no less true. Slowly, she turns her head toward him, very purposefully. She can actually feel her heart slowing and see the final darkness at the edges of her vision. She has nothing to lose anymore. She doesn’t care anymore. It makes her brave in her last moments.

Again, her Not Friend demands an answer to his question. Her Not Friend wants His name. Apparently, he can’t remember it, and for some reason it’s important to him. He also wants to know what she knows about His whereabouts. She can’t imagine why. Still, one last push and it’s over. And it’ll do her slowing heart good to see him stymied one last time. She is dying and he is the one killing her. She is entitled to be a bit mean she feels. And so, strength fading quickly, the woman grins around her blood and spit-soaked gag showing bloody cracked teeth, and very intentionally, deliberately, slowly turned her head away from him. His rage was hysterical. If she could, she would have laughed, though one thing does confuse her. Just before he is out of her sight for the last time, she would swear she saw his eyes flash black. And there isn’t enough blood in her body for her brain to work properly, so she probably imagined it, she reasons quickly. It doesn’t matter anyway. The darkness the had been on the edges of her vision has almost completely covered it. Her Not Friend’s screams and yells mean nothing to her anymore. But one thing does. She can’t believe it, but she wants her last thought to be of the man who ruined everything. The man who made her feel alive and got her killed. Him. Slightly resigned to her own sentimentality, but resolute nonetheless, she calls up his image in her mind. How he looked went she first saw him That Night, but also when she last saw him, asleep, hair a mess, back covered in red lines, justifiably exhausted. She smiles to herself one last time, and with her last heartbeats, her last precious moments, she thinks

His name was John.

Song Credit- Reba McIntire "She Thinks His Name Was John" (side note: this song is about something very different and very real, and I have the utmost respect for that and Ms. McIntire for doing it in the first place. This fic came about because I binge watched Supernatural after listening to this song and my sleeping brain mashed them together. It turned into a massively rabid plot bunny that I had to write. But go listen to the song and prepare fore chills at the very least. I tried to do it justice, but I'm not sure how successful I was.)

Please comment and let me know what you think now that its complete. Good or bad, I don't care, but please be nice about it. Constructive criticism instead of flames. And I don't feed trolls. I block them.

@kittenofdoomage @holylulusworld @impala-dreamer @imanuglywombat

#Supernatural #She Thinks Part 3 #She Thinks #Dean Winchester? #Sam Winchester? #John WInchester? #Winchester at all? #OFC #Seriously I'm sorry guys #Runs off to hide from any angry ppl

[stevethehairington]

thank you @oatflatwhite and @pizzaqueen and @alligator-writes for the tags!! <3 <3 <3

Total word count on ao3?

548,354! wow!!! that is. kind of wild to think about, ngl. like i wrote all of that? shit.😲

How often do you write?

the answer to this is SO varied. like, it honestly depends on the day. i could spend anywhere from 20 minutes jotting something down in my notes app to literally the whole day on a weekend just clickety-clacking away at the keyboard. it truly just depends on how much time i actually have, and what my motivation and inspiration levels are looking like. i try to write as often as i can though!

Do you have a routine for writing?

i suppose i do! when i'm like properly sitting down to write at home i like to make a big cup of iced coffee to keep me going, i put on a playlist of either whatever i'm really digging at the moment or whatever fits the mood of the fic i'm trying to write, and i just. sit and write until i can't write no more lol

What’s your favorite trope/pairing?

FAKE DATING MY BELOVED <3 there is just something so positively delicious about this trope, there is SO much potential, SO many different fun situations you can put them in. also, thee biggest honorable mention to the mutual pining oblivious idiots trope because that one is ALSO another super favorite, like you CANNOT go wrong with it, i fucking love it when two people are so ridiculously into each other and they think the other is not but ohohoh how wrong they are. OH WAIT ALSO dksjfs literally any type of tender domesticity is also my fucking jam, like give me the going grocery shopping together, give me the soft, sleepy early mornings making each other coffee and breakfast, give me gentle bathing/hair washing or literally any sort of moment where one takes care of the other just because they want to. i eat that shit uppppp!!

as for favorite pairing, currently it is steddie!

Do you have a favorite fic of yours?

as the risk of sounding... full of myself (which i promise i'm not trying to skgjsd), i actually have a lot of fics that i've written that i really really love? like i really do write for myself first and foremost, so i am my biggest fan skdljfds. BUT. if i have to narrow it down to one...

lily white, hold me tight might be one of my favorites that i've written. it's a pre-war stucky fic, hurt/comfort, in which bucky never actually enlisted, but was drafted and steve finds said draft notice. it was like one of the first stucky fics i ever wrote and idk i just really liked writing the emotionality of it, and i really liked how it turned out in the end.

and i also have to give a special shoutout to i want to hold your hand, which is one of my steddie fics, because even though i only just wrote that one not that long ago, it's sort of kind of another favorite of mine? like i put as much of the good stuff as i could in that one, and i just really love how it turned out, and i had just the best time writing it too.

What fic of yours has the most kudos?

imagine being loved by me which is my first and only good omens smut fic lmfao. it honestly surprises me that it is my most popular fic, but i'm not mad kslfsd i actually really love how that one turned out, especially for a smut fic because i am. not the most confident when writing those. so yeah. pretty cool!

but honorable mention, again, to i want to hold your hand because it is only like 48 kudos away from overtaking imagine being loved by me and at the rate its been going, that could absolutely happen any day now. which. is INSANE to me!! because this one has only been posted for like oh wow exactly 4 weeks today! (also holy shit its been a month already???) but yeah it's just done exceptionally well which is amazing to me, and i am so so grateful for that.

Anything you don’t like about your writing.

mm, yes, of course there is sgjshg. i feel like sometimes i can get very repetitive with what i'm saying/how i'm saying things. like, i feel like i'll write certain phrases like "he smiled" or "his eyes" or things like that and then. it feels like i start seeing the same sort of line/same verbiage everywhere in my fic, and i try very hard to change it up so it's not so repetitive but i still feel like i can get that way? the feeling gets especially bad when i've been working on something for a long time and i'm like running low on steam with it, because i feel like i fall back on those a lot.

Now, something you do!

i actually take a lot a lot of pride in my characterizations. i feel like i do a good job at getting the voices of characters down and getting their little mannerisms down too.

characterization is something that is SUPER important to me, both as a writer and as a reader, bc like i know how EASY it is for bad characterization to take you out of a fic, and i Do Not want that to happen, so i always try to put a lot of effort into getting that right.

whenever people compliment my characterizations it literally adds like a hundred years to my life and makes me giggle and kick my feet and for real makes me feel so fucking happy because that it truly is like the highest compliment to me.

now to tag!! i am going to tag: @werewolfsteve @ghostfacemunson @mattmaesonnatural @wlwharrys @ruthofrhythm @willbyersgun

#tag game #mack writes

[gaecactae]

some info first// HELLO.

What do i even say, I replayed Danganronpa: Goodbye Despair and my brain went ballistic

Um 🧍🏽

this is going to be a VERY long post but I hope anyhow enjoyable for you. For context, I was into Danganronpa a lot, when I decided to actually post my art in the internet! It kinda. Launched me into having more followers. Then it sort of melted, the interest, so I stopped and suddenly it hit me again, two years later!!! So. I decided to do something bigger and wrote a prologue of a fanfic!! I don’t know about the frequency of posting it or anything, for now it is what it is.

It will be called “Taken good care of.” and will be komahina centred:) sorry, I know this ship is kinda overrated and over popular, cliché if you may, but I really like it :(

I won’t tell you too much for now, you’ll see how the prologue goes. What I absolutely have to say is that. English is not my first language and I think it shows real bad?? My grammar sucks and I do write poorly, when it comes to verbs n such. I hope it won’t make your eyes bleed, cause frankly, I just wanna share this!! I used to write a lot for myself usually, but I never actually shared those works anywhere. Not in English at least :)

Okay so having that said, I think I’m gonna jump straight into posting this! Gonna mention straight away and I’ll also put the tags about those warnings: post game spoilers, cancer, ed. If I find anything else or if I forgot anything, I’ll put all my efforts to fill it up immediately! So yeah, enjoy!! 🥰

oh yeah and I made little illustrations along the story! ☺️

{Prologue}Taken good care of.

Upon finding out about the state of the world we were stuck in, there was no other way for us, rather than go back to the island. Given what we have done, we’d rather contain each other, rather than it being done by anyone else. Maybe someday we will- no. Maybe someday the world will be ready to welcome us back again. For now, we could celebrate on our own. Because… After all, we had a reason to, right?

Without having motives and deadly… bear robots constantly giving us reasons to doubt each other, we were all less scared to live on the empty Jabberwock. Although we knew we had a lot of adjusting to do. Unlike the simulation, the islands had no bridges! That meant learning how to travel via motorboats, which Kazuichi managed to put together for us. Except a couple of times my motorboat whipped out (with me onboard), it was easy to learn and before realising it, we began to race each other at bay.

We already knew the power we held as a group. These people became my family quicker than I thought, even if I was never their classmate to begin with. About that…

It was weird to “make amends” with Izuru. It’s not like we fought for who gets to stay; it was more like… just being at peace with myself. Izuru became part of me, peacefully. It felt natural, but still… It was bizarre at some point. Suddenly I was Ultimate… everything! Though no one intended to call me this. Hell, neither did I. Ultimate Hope sounded powerful enough. But suddenly, I was able to help Kazuichi with those boats, when I have never handled a wrench properly before. I managed to guide him, Fuyuhiko, Akane and Sonia to help me wake the others. It would literally take YEARS and at least three ultimates to come up with the emergency plan and learn to execute it properly. Like- surely some Ultimate Neurologist? Analyst? Programmer? I couldn’t get used to the fact that I alone was able to do what these people would have to work over, for a very long time.

Well… I guess it’s the result that counts. When we successfully woke up TeruTeru and Byakuya, Kazuichi called me Ultimate Jesus… I didn’t know if I was more offended or amused by this silly nickname.

Anyhow, our new life on islands started after arriving at Jabberwock. We parked the yacht in the port and left it until it was safe to go back. If ever. For now, it was island time.

We had to do a little cleaning here and there. Improving the environment would surely improve our wellbeing! At least that’s what I thought. Within just a month, the paths on islands were clean again and flowers and trees were in bloom. Sky seemed… a little bluer. As some say, nature was healing. Next step was taking care of the buildings. Some of them looked like they’re rotting; that had to be fixed quickly. Of course a building can’t rot, but you get what I mean.

Sonia took good care of library restoration along with a few helpers and before we knew it, our islands gained a cozy hangout and chill area. It worked the same way with everything else.

‘Honestly, if you wanted, you could fix everything in like, two days dude!’ Kazuichi commented, when I walked him to the electric avenue. I smirked lightly, shaking his head.

‘And that’s exactly why I’m allowing you guys to do it.’

‘That’s some Usami-kinda-shit. You want us to cooperate to tighten our friendships or something?’ My friend continued to joke around, full of life.

‘You could say that! Besides, you were stuck in the capsules for a dangerous amount of time. It’s necessary to shake up your muscles and wake them up a little.’ I shrugged with a simple explanation. Though my words seemed to fly over Kazuichi’s head a little. He began to mumble that it’s weird how muscles have to be stimulated, how bodybuilders’ muscles don’t disappear once built…

‘Well- how do you spend the days anyway??? You were sleeping too!’ He blurted out suddenly, which made me jump a little. Afterwards, I smiled at him.

‘You can call me Ultimate Supervisor for the moment.’ I let out a soft giggle. Kazuichi let out a quiet screech, messing up his cap and hair with his hands as he ruffled himself.

‘I can’t with you man!! I will NEVER get used to this shit.’ He whined at me but quickly shook it off, seeing Mahiru waving to him from a distance; after waving back at her, he turned to me, fixing his attire.

‘Let me guess. That’s where we part ways.’

‘I was gonna say that! Goddamn you, Hajime… yes. That’s where we part ways. There’s a lot of electronics to clean and repair in those stores.’ Kazuichi hummed, glaring at the avenue.

‘I won’t be stopping you… just be careful with the wires.’ I said calmly, waving as my friend was skipping steps to Mahiru and shouting to me, that we will see each other at lunch.

I breathed in and out deeply, turning around and beginning my everyday morning walk. I had to make sure everyone’s efforts were fruitful. That’s how almost every day looked like, for me and.. it started to get very boring. Ever since we woke up, I noticed I’m easily bored. That probably connects to Izuru. I remember brief images from his perspective and his feelings accompanying them; sometimes they creep me in the night. Izuru was bored by everything, because he knew everything. I often wonder, if his brain worked to the fullest? If we’re told we only use 10% of ours…

‘HEY!! Watch it!!’ I heard as my ears perked up immediately, pulling my head up. There were moments when something unexpected happened and my brain could calmly feed on it. This was one of those moments. The noises and raised voices came from the hospital’s side!

I rushed there quickly, worried, what could’ve happened, seeing a scene unfold before my eyes. Akane was pulling up a whole table from Nagito who seemed to be stuck under it. Obviously, the bright smile never disappeared from his face.

‘You’re such a dumbass- I told you all to not touch those tables!’ Akane kept screaming, while Mikan gently pulled Nagito out.

‘My my, I became a burden once again..!’

‘All it took was leaving the biggest table to me, that’s what I was saying from the beginning!’

‘I wonder what biiig luck awaits me after this enormous table falling on me-‘

‘SHUT THE HELL UP!!’

I saw that Akane was ready to throw hands, so I decided to intervene before Nagito’s spine actually breaks.

‘What’s happening? Is everyone okay?’ I asked, interrupting. All three heads turned to me with mixed expressions and eventually, the whole trio smiled at me. Could it be, I also possess the skill of Ultimate Peacemaker? Or maybe… Ultimate Happiness?

…sometimes I feel like I’m going too far.

‘It is now! Nagito could use more hearing sometimes though.’ Akane explained, rubbing the back of her head. Mikan agreed with her, making a small and rather shy nod.

‘T-True.. we were cleaning up t-the on-call room. In-In case we’d need more rooms. Akane told us she will pick up the table that- blocked the majority of the room.’ She added, allowing Akane to continue.

‘And then we saw Nagito carrying it out purely on his own! It’s like 6 times heavier than him! When I pointed it out to him, he lost his balance and collapsed with the table falling right on him!!’

‘It-It’s a miracle his spine is- is whole!’ The girls talked over each other, while Nagito stood on the side calmly, swaying from side to side.

‘Uhm, I don’t recall that… at all. Oh well; it is what it is! I only blame myself, Akane, don’t worry.’ He let out a soft laugh, to which Akane reacted… much.

‘Uh- Duh!? I blame you too!!’ She bounced aggressively at him. I reached out my hands, trying to chill her down.

‘Okay, okay- let’s not fight. Nagito is in one piece, thankfully. Next time he’s going to listen to you more. Is that correct, Nagito?’ I asked, squinting at him. Mr. Happy-go-Lucky nodded a couple of times, rubbing his cheek awkwardly.

‘I will listen to you with every muscle in my ears.’ He promised, putting his hands together. The conflict seemed to have been solved. I was about to walk off, seeing how Akane and Nagito got back to cleaning, before someone stopped me.

‘H-Hajime!-‘ I turned around, only to face Mikan. As usual, she seemed awfully unnerved. Or paranoid.

‘Yes? Can I help you?’ I asked softly, to which the girl looked around, fidgeting with her hands.

‘I… I really would hate to bother you- and I don’t want to at all- so if you’re, by any chance, busy, I will refrain of course-‘

‘I’m completely free, please go on.’ I insisted very calmly. Mikan simply nodded with a nervous matter, swallowing quickly and glared around.

‘Um… is it okay if we… uhm… it’s… complicated…’ she whispered, getting all mixed up, seemingly. I looked at her calmly, before understanding. She wanted to talk in private with me.

‘Hmm.. if it’s this kind of matter, maybe we could go to the café on the second island? Does that sound good?’ I proposed, and Mikan agreed happily and relieved she didn’t have to ask that herself. We waved our goodbyes to Akane and Nagito before finally departing.

When in the empty café, I decided to put my talents in use again and started preparing us coffee, using a professional coffee machine. Calm music was playing from the speakers, while I got tickled by the steam clouds that left the machine, when I foamed up the milk, humming. Mikan watched me carefully; I thought to myself she enjoyed it a lot.

‘Not to flex, but it’s like, the first time I’m making coffee like that.’ I smirked, trying to engage Mikan to talk. The girl tilted her head and smiled awkwardly, eventually giggling quietly.

‘Gosh… it’s… unbelievable. That you have all those talents. It must be such a burden on your shoulders..’ she blurted out, still watching my hands.

‘Burden… I guess. It doesn’t feel that heavy, actually. I’m just bored a lot; my brain doesn’t have too much to chew on.’ I denied softly, placing the cups on their respective plates and carried the coffee to the table.

‘Did you know that 12 cups of coffee with- well- regular dose of caffeine- is most definitely a- a deadly dose?’ To my pleasant surprise, Mikan said something on her own, as she sat down at the table with me. It was a good feeling to see her self-esteem improve. I smiled at the coffee funfact she told me. I knew, obviously, but after all… I’m a well-mannered man.

‘Is that so? That's curious. I can’t imagine drinking this much coffee at once.’ I answered calmly, raising a cup to my lips to take a sip. Mikan did the same thing, letting out a bright hum.

‘I don’t… I don’t really drink coffee. I have a very- very fast b-blood pressure anyway.. though when you’re around, t-the whole world seems to slow down.’ She admitted happily. I took that as a compliment… My friends told me that often. Again, it probably had to do with one of the talents. ‘Nagito is right w-when he refers to y-you as.. as Ultimate Serenity. And.. speaking of Nagito.. I… I wanted to talk about him.’

My happy little sips stopped as soon as Mikan mentioned that Nagito is part of this matter. Hell, maybe even not only the part. Maybe he is the main subject. Or the cause…? I raised my eyes to look at Mikan’s face, setting down my coffee cup and blinking slowly.

‘…alright. Feel free to tell me everything I need to know.’ I spoke gently. I had to do absolutely everything for Mikan to feel comfortable enough to talk… who knows how serious the issue was.

Mikan meanwhile, took another small sip of coffee and put away the cup, setting her hands together, right on her lap, before speaking up.

‘I-I reckon… you- you were.. you seemed close to him…? A-Anyhow… I… I can’t help but- to feel… t-to be concerned about Nagito! H.. His health.’ Mikan explained roughly, gesturing a lot. I listened to what she had to say, tilting my head. At first, I thought Mikan was telling me that Nagito caught a cold or something… until I remembered what happened, when we were in a coma.

‘Right… I talked to Nagito in the simulation. He told me about being diagnosed with.. f.. frontotemporal dementia and lymphoma. But then he backed out and said it was just a lie. I’m not sure if these were lies or no, but that’s what I can tell you. It slipped my mind completely, but since you’re a nurse, you must’ve noticed something. Could you tell me more?’ I asked in a worried tone. Of course I was worried about Nagito… he used to say weird stuff after waking up, but since he was no longer planning any murders, he became more tolerable.

Mikan bit her lower lip, looking away.

‘O-Oh my… I… I had no idea… e-even though I suspected something- no healthy human… could produce white hair… n-not in his age at least! O-Of course old people- and- genetics mess it up sometimes b-but… his hair s-seems to have had a normal c-colour before.’

‘Yup, they’re sort of… light pink mixed with light brown on ends…’

‘B-Besides… that table situation. Um… F-Fuyuhiko… was able to lift that table up with ease, a few days prior. And- he is definitely weaker… than Nagito. L-lighter too… Nagito should be able to c-carry it out with ease.. m-meanwhile he.. was sweating profusely. As if he was… very laboured from lifting it.’

Hm.. that was new. I remembered Nagito having a lot of energy and strength. But… These memories were from the program again. Not only our avatars were our younger selves; it was all just a simulation and played in our minds and a fake environment.

‘H-Hajime…? I… I hate to bother you with this, b-but- if you could.. take a look at Nagito for me? I- I just- I need to confirm my worries!- O-Only if you- you don’t have to of course!-‘ Mikan got nervous again, stomping her feet against the floor. I coughed quietly, sitting up straight and smiled at Mikan calmly.

‘Calm down, please. Of course I will check him out. You did well, informing me about it, thank you.’ I answered her, making sure she was praised generously. Truthfully, her observations were absolutely crucial. I was so focused with all matters regarding islands and their restoration after The Tragedy, that I forgot about checking up on my friends. And if one of them was in danger… I had to ensure their safety.

When the Sun finally settled, I decided to go for a small, not at all suspicious walk on the beach. I was originally heading to my motorboat though. In our simulation, the second island contained some sort of ancient ruins, overgrown by plants and when we left, the building looked similar to the ruins - but modern. At the moment, we use it as our archive, not only collecting the past, but also preserving the current times. For the future.

The goal of my visit to the archive was obvious! I had to collect Nagito’s documents. Especially medical record, for Mikan to go through. I could read it too obviously, but truth be told… I wanted them all to still feel useful and needed, even in my presence. I thought it was the obvious reason why I allowed them all to work on their own and I hoped it was appreciated by them. At least a little.

I hopped on the motorboat and swam away from the main island. Eventually I looked behind to notice dim lights of the cottages in the hotel. Eventually, most of them went out, meaning everyone went to sleep. I couldn’t help but smile at that. That… had to be the peace we all dreamed of.

‘We’ve made it. I’m so sorry you can’t see it.’ I whispered, raising my head to stare at the night sky, filled with sparkling stars. Chiaki… I missed her deeply. Her death made everyone fall in complete despair and even Izuru himself cried over her body. And it hurt my heart that she couldn’t be there to experience the peace we all achieved. She would probably… chill on the beach or dig herself in the blankets Sonia put in the library to cozy it up. Hm… I can’t be right. She does see that all. I bet she’s sitting in the stars. She smiles at every act of kindness, laughs at every little argument… She's okay.

I shook my head gently, remembering my original task and pressed gas, starting to swim through the bay again. I couldn’t help those short episodes I had… When it’s so quiet at night, brain thinks more than usual.

Eventually I made it to the archive and picked up the documents. When I stood there in complete darkness, with one flashlight in my hand, I smiled to myself, continuing to think how much I actually changed.

‘See, thanks to you, I know it’s illogical for something to stand behind me in the darkness..’ I hummed to myself. Well, partly to myself, partly to Izuru. I used to be horribly paranoid in darkness, but now? Whenever I thought of something that scared me… my Ultimate Logic activates and fear goes away, like that! Unbelievable.

I guess I had to call it a day. That, I thought to myself when I was on my way back. Noticing all the lights went out in the hotel, I knew I had to be very quiet when going back to my cottage…

I peeked at Nagito’s documents, starting to wonder if that was even legal to do? I took the private records… no. Nagito might’ve been in danger and I couldn’t allow anything bad to happen to him. That’s what I promised to Chiaki. And myself, after we woke everyone up. That I will protect them with all my power..

I wondered if something such as Ultimate Leader existed on the list of talents I possess, because… I sure felt like one.

#danganronpa #danganronpa goodbye despair #komahina #danganronpa komahina #danganronpa spoilers #tw swears #tw spoilers #tw cancer #tw eating issues #tw health issues

[watsonmj]

2022 YEAR IN REVIEW

tagged: @abc2411 | @seek--rest | @bluepinstripes <3

1. number of stories posted to ao3

27 +/- 2 bc i updated 2 fics that i started last year buuuuuut i reached over 100 works on ao3 !!!! :D

2. word count posted for this year

101,410 (technically More bc i wrote ofic but that is obviously. not posted anywhere)

3. fandoms i wrote for

marvel, dc, pjo, the atlas series, soc, trc/tdt, hp, goncharov

4. pairings

petermj, petergwen, percabeth, libbynico, kanej, bluesey, blue/adam, clois, gonchandrey, jily

5. stories with the most

kudos: accidental heroism (the batman) 3,357 bookmarks: the jones-watson-parkers (spider-man) 844 but since that was posted last year it’s technically accidental heroism again w 640 comment threads: yet again… the jones-watson-parkers with 133 but it is still accidental heroism with 47

6. work i'm most proud of (and why)

ummmm idk actually the work im most proud of is my ofic theo and i cannot Show that to u anyway it’s bc i have never rly fully revised smth like. overhauled it n all that bc i finally Understood theo’s character and it was such a RUSH to work on her fr and ive produced some of my Best Writing To Date!!! for fic tho uh??!??!?!? im pretty proud of most fic ive written this year bc i have tried rly hard ok 😭 usually i can pinpoint a single fic but i think ive written consistently well ???

7. work i'm least proud of (and why)

a home for two (spidey) mostly because i did Not vibe writing it i was literally pulling teeth trying to finish it but ppl seem to like it idk

8. share or describe a favorite review you received

9. a time when writing was really, really hard

uh not for fic but i was tearing my hair out writing theo partially because of the content and partially because it is quite literally Difficult to write what’s perfect in your head and i haven’t even written theo to my own standards ngl

10. a scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

the entirety of final goodbye because. Well. who knew i would be writing goncharov fic actually who knew goncharov would even exist fr but in terms of spidey ... phantom bc. like. well i did not expect to write that At All and i didn't expect it to be That Long (relatively in my taste)

11. a favorite excerpt of your writing

Here’s the thing about loss: sometimes you grow up and around a person, fitting and stretching and expanding to add them to the patchwork of yourself, and when they leave, there’s a scar between both bodies. One here, one gone. An open wound. It’s surprising how much time you can spend with someone and still come out the other end empty-handed. (slip of reality | spidey)

12. how did you grow as a writer this year

oh i have learned to appreciate writing first person bc of theo <3 and writing a little longer things bc i am a serial 1-2k oneshotter and i have Exceeded that a bit

13. how do you hope to grow next year

perhaps i will Finally finish a multichapter fic jesus christ

14. who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer, beta, cheerleader, etc)

there needs to be an @fnh button or smth at this point

15. anything from your real life show up in your writing this year

none that i can point out at the top of my head ! well. except for theo 🧍🏻‍♀️ i gave her too many lysisms which is concerning considering everything wrong w her n her chronic patheticness

16: any new wisdom you can share with other writers

new wisdom??? god not rly but here is some OLD wisdom that i feel like other writers should always listen to… read MORE BOOKS!!!!!!!!!!

17: any projects you're looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year

working on the Novel™ n also attempting to finish all these wips i have left in the grave

18. tag some writers whose answers you'd like to read

LITERALLY ANY OF YOU. IF U SEE THIS UR TAGGED <3

#tag games #writing review #not marvel #text #tais toi lys #soz this took ages <3