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cozy-the-overlord · 6 months

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Free Fall

Summary: Tony Stark arranges for an Avengers Teambuilding Day at a local amusement park. Loki had been hoping to avoid it -- he's had enough thrills to last a lifetime, he has no desire to seek out more -- but you and your endearing enthusiasm for roller coasters convince him to come along. However, the free fall drop tower you start out with turns out to be a bit more thrilling than he bargained for.

Word Count: 3,482

Pairing: Loki x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: Drags self out of the grave and awkwardly waves

So it's been a minute since I posted lol. Those of you who follow may be aware that I recently graduated from college with the Final Semester From Hell that involved my computer hard drive dying on me in class and causing me to lose not only forty pages of my honors thesis two weeks before it was due, but also almost every WIP I had been working on in the past four years because I am an idiot who chronically forgets to back things up :D I did make it through college, but between stress, burnout, depression, and the death of any motivation to work on anything because of having to restart from the beginning for all of my projects, I went a while without writing anything. But I'm slowly getting back into it -- I have several projects in the works and I'm hoping to get back to posting more regularly. This fic was a short piece that I had started prior to the computer death that I had a lot of physical notes on so they weren't lost when my hard drive decided to yeet itself into the sun. I'm not entirely happy with it, but honestly it feels so good to finally finish something that I don't care.

Anyways, sorry for the obnoxious A/N. Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks, panic attack, a bit of motion sickness?

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian @imnotrevealingmyname @electroma89 @lokislittlesigyn @moumouton4 @theredrenard @justdontmindmetm @lostgreekgod @naterson

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :) (I also realize that this taglist is Old so if I need to update it please let me know)

Read it on Ao3!

Standing in the shadow of the great tower, heart thudding in his throat, Loki is suddenly aware that he’s made an enormous mistake.

Next to him, Stark whistles. “This is what you usually start with?”

You grin up at the spire, a massive construction of electric green cutting through the cloudless sky. Two elevators, one on either side, are creeping slowly up the length of the tower. They linger at the top for just a moment before plunging back down to Earth, their occupants screaming. Loki feels ill just watching, but you’re practically vibrating in place. “It’s good to get the blood pumping.”

He can’t bring himself to look at you.

It’s your fault that he’s here. Loki hadn’t planned to come today at all. A day spent outside in the sweltering summer sun, following Stark’s gaggle of misfits onto various machines designed to fling mortals from side to side to simulate the feeling of a near death experience? Loki couldn’t imagine anything more torturous. Thor’s begging and cajoling received nothing in response. No, he hadn’t the slightest intention of coming today, not until last night, when he came across you restocking the main refrigerator.

“Are you excited for tomorrow?” you had asked as you arranged rows of Red Bull on the top shelf. “I can’t wait to take you guys around Rapid Rails—I’ve been begging Mr. Stark to do a teambuilding day there ever since he hired me.”

Your eagerness caught him off guard— as Stark’s personal assistant, you had been present at all of his godforsaken teambuilding events, but Loki had never known you to be particularly excited about any of them. “I … I wasn’t aware you had such an attachment to it.”

“Oh yeah—I grew up just down the street from there!” You beamed at him, breaking down the cardboard box you had used to carry the cans. “We used to have season passes – they were way cheaper when I was a kid – and we’d just go there to hang out all the time. Gosh it was so fun. And now I get to go for work!” You let out a merry laugh. “I guess some things never change, right?”

Loki huffed a soft chuckle. He had never seen you like this before, practically bubbling over in excitement. It was … rather endearing. “I suppose not.”

“You are coming, right? Thor said you hadn’t made up your mind yet.”

Were the circumstances different, Loki might have scoffed. Hadn’t made up your mind yet—Norns, his brother lived in denial. Instead though, he hesitated. “I … I’m afraid I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Really?” The way your face fell actually hurt his chest. “Why not?”

“I—” He glanced away, pressing his lips together. “I’m not sure I’m one for your roller coasters,” he said, finally. “You’d likely have a better time without me there.” It was an attempt at lightheartedness, but you only seemed more disappointed.

“Oh, that’s not true at all! I was really looking forward to—” you stopped suddenly, and when Loki looked up again, you were biting your lip with a nervous laugh. “I mean, it would be really fun if you came with us. But it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“I suppose I could come, if you so desire.” He hoped he sounded nonchalantly cool, and that you couldn’t see the way his heart fluttered at the idea that you might want him there. “I wouldn’t wish to let you down.”

“Oh, I mean—” You looked away, the light from the refrigerator silhouetting your frame. “I don’t want to force you, if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t do it just for me.”

“No, I …” He inhaled, then smiled. “I think I would like to join you.”

And so here he is, at the base of this great metal monstrosity, intently studying the sign outside of the line entrance to avoid Thor’s knowing smirk. His brother has never worn self-satisfaction well.

DEATH DROP: THE TALLEST AND FASTEST DROP TOWER ON THE EAST COAST

The description is illustrated with a photograph of two people strapped to their seats, mouths wide in mid-scream as their hair flies every which way. Loki lets out a shaky exhale as he reads. The tower, it claims, is 400 feet tall. It reaches top speeds of 85 miles per hour. The ride itself lasts about 90 seconds in total. The measuring stand besides the entrance indicates that participants must be at least 48 inches tall.

400 feet. That doesn’t sound too terrible, he tells himself. The concept of a foot as a unit of measurement is still something he struggles to wrap his head around, but he knows that Stark Tower stands at over a thousand. So that’s not too bad. 400 feet would be a drop in the bucket, really, compared to …

No. He pushes the thought down, back into the dark recesses of his memory. None of that. Not today.

Stark smirks at him. “You’re looking green, Tommy Wiseau.”

Loki swallows, straining to maintain his stiff mask of composure. It’s bad enough to have Stark reveling in his discomfort, but now you’re looking over at him too, brow furrowed in concern, and he wishes he could melt away on the spot. “I’m quite fine.”

“Of course he is!” Thor booms, slapping his shoulder with a hearty thwack that does nothing for Loki’s stomach. “We’ve fallen from much higher heights, haven’t we, brother?”

Weightless. Breathless. Engulfed by inky nothingness, the air so thin he can’t even scream —

Loki’s smile hurts. “Yes, very true.”

“You don’t have to go, Loki,” you interject. “It’s totally okay— I have friends who love roller coasters and refuse to touch this ride. It’s a lot.”

He knows you mean it as reassurance, but he can’t stand the way you’re looking at him, as if he were a frightened child, too fragile to be brought along. Are you regretting having convinced him to change his mind? Do you feel that he’s only holding you back? Somehow, the idea that you no longer want him here is almost as sickening as the thought of the fall.

Loki huffs a breath. No. He will prove himself worthy of your coaster. “I assure you, I am fine.” His voice is more strained than he’d prefer it to be. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

…

The attendant seems rather starstruck as he ushers the group onto the ride—he stumbles and stammers through the explanation of the seating arrangements and the harness. Loki’s not really listening as he follows you to the left side of the cart, trying not to ignore the buzzing that seems to be settling behind his ears.

You smile up at him. “Would you rather sit on the side or in the middle?”

He frowns. “Does it make a difference?”

“Well, personally I don’t think so, but I know some people who get scared of heights think it’s easier to sit in the middle.”

“I’m not scared of heights.” The words come out far too quickly to sound believable, and he curses inwardly at himself. “I can sit on the side.”

“Are you sure?” You eye him uncertainly. “It’s okay if you—"

“I’m quite capable of managing such a seat.” He sits before you have the chance to question him again.

The seat is rather tight—Loki wonders if that’s intentional, or if it’s simply built with a smaller frame in mind. In the cart off to the right, he can hear Thor fumbling about with the attendant, and he chuckles despite himself. If he’s finding it to be a bit of a squeeze, he can’t imagine the troubles his bulky brother must be having.

It’s a momentary reprieve from his darker thoughts, and Loki is actually smiling when you warn him to sit back against the seat.

“The harness is going to be coming down soon.”

“What?”

You motion to the contraption above the cart, two plastic green masses shaped like upside down u’s that hover above your heads like the top of a clam shell. “It sits over you and keeps you from flying out of the cart.” You let out a small laugh. “It’s like the harnesses on the Quinjets, but way less cool. They also have little handles that you can hold on to if you want.”

Loki is eyeing the harnesses uncertainly. “What do you mean they’ll be coming down soon?”

“You used to have to pull it down yourself, but they have it all programmed now.” A great mechanical creak cracks through the air, and you press yourself against the back of the seat. “Oh, here it comes now!”

He frowns, mimicking your movement to sit as far back as he can. The green restraint descends slowly over his head, with a metallic groan that does not give him much faith in the construction of this monstrosity. He expects it to stop once it was hovering over his torso, but it continues until it’s pressed snuggly against his chest, pinning him to the seat. The attendant is saying something over the intercom, but Loki barely registers it over the feeling of the restraint. It’s … it’s not a painful sensation, but the firmness with which it holds … he’s been restrained before. Little flames of memory spark in the corners of his mind, flames he can’t seem to douse no matter how hard he tries.

Get it off. Get it off. Get it off.

He gives an apprehensive tug on the metal handles that now rest on either shoulder, a tug which quickly turns into a hard yank. The harness does not move. His mouth has gone dry.

“Loki?” you’re frowning at him, your head only barely visible through your own harness. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You’re not bothered by the restraint. Of course you aren’t—how many times did you say you’ve ridden this ride? It’s fine. It’s fine. Goodness, what must you think of him, seeing him panic over the safety harness that you’ve worn hundreds of times before for fun? He nods his head, shaking away the feelings and memories and emotions and all the other thoughts that he wishes he could just wash down the drain …

“Are you sure—?”

“Perfectly,” he spits, but it comes out more snappishly than he intended, and you recoil with a look on your face that makes him despise himself.

I shouldn’t be allowed to speak.

“And enjoy your ride!” the attendant finishes with a flourish, and the thick metal cranking is all the warning you get before the cart begins to lift off from the ground. Loki’s heart jumps to his throat, pounding so fast he can’t make out the separate beats.

“This part is the scariest bit,” you yell at him over the grinding of machinery. “The anticipation kills me!”

Loki inhales. The elevator continues to rise, inching up slowly along the spire, the ground beneath their feet melting into miniature. This is alright, he tells himself. If this is the worst part of the experience, then he’ll be just fine. There’s nothing particularly frightening about it—he spoke the truth when he told you that he had never been bothered by heights. It’s all perfectly fine.

Perfectly. Fine.

Norns, they’re still going up. He risks a glance at the track above him—surely they must be close now? The movement makes him queasy, and he quickly turns back to face straight ahead. His knuckles are white from clutching the handles. The harness is digging into his chest and it takes all of his self-control not to rip it off. The elevator stutters—is this it? His breath catches, but no, they’re still going up. They seem to be slowing down though, don’t they? Or is that only his imagination?

I’m going to be ill.

They’ve stopped. That’s not in his head. Everything seems frozen in place. Why did he agree to do this? Loki presses his eyes closed. Any moment now. Any moment …

Still nothing.

His chest aches. He may have forgotten to breathe. Why have they stopped? Is something wrong? Loki turns to you—you look ecstatic, eyes crinkled with elation, mouth wide in an open grin.

“When is it going to—”

You drop.

The world goes silent. He feels it, that awful sensation in his stomach as the line goes slack and colors rush before his eyes in a blur until it all fades to darkness, airlessness, weightlessness, his lungs burning and drowning on the empty void of space—he’s falling, he’s falling again, he’s falling again oh please Norns not again—

There’s ground beneath his feet. He’s not sure where it came from. His knuckles ache. You’re talking – to him? He’s not sure, he only barely can make out your voice …

“Loki? The harness is coming up. Can you let go?”

He’s still clinging to the handles. Can he let go? He’s not sure. His body feels like lead. He pries his fingers from the metal tube and the pressure against his chest vanishes with a woosh over his head.

“There you go.” Your voice is soft, encouraging, closer than he remembered. He looks up to find you kneeling on the ground before him. You flash a nervous smile. “You alright?”

He’s not sure what to say. His instinct is to apologize, insist that yes, of course, he’s quite alright, he didn’t mean to give any impression to the contrary, everything is fine, but the words catch in his throat.

stars melting together smothering his last breath

Loki lets out a shuddering breath, settles for a nod.

“What’s the hold-up?” Stark calls out. “Barton and Romanov are waiting with the kids on the other side of the park.”

“We’re just taking a break for a minute!” Your reply is hurried. “You guys can go on, we’ll meet you there.”

“Is something wrong?” Thor sounds concerned, and—oh great—now both him and Stark are walking over to their cart. “Loki? What happened?”

“I—” But words, so often his steadfast ally, seem to be failing him right now. What happened? He has no answer; at least, none that his brother would accept. For nothing had happened, not really, and yet that was enough to send him spiraling through the fabric of reality.

He hates this. He hates feeling so weak.

Stark is chuckling. “If I knew that this was all it took to shut him up, I would have rented this place out sooner—”

Enough.

Loki forces himself to stand – far too quickly, his stomach churns at the movement, but he swallows the bile in his throat. He needs to get away. It doesn’t matter how, but he needs to not be with them. Besides him, you scramble to your feet too.

“I’m well.” His voice doesn’t sound right—it feels foreign, and thick like syrup, nothing like his own. “You may go on without me.”

“Are you certain?” Thor is frowning. “We can wait—”

Please don’t.

“I’m certain. I just need to sit for a moment.”

“There’s a bench nearby!” You’ve taken on the same cheery inflection typical of your working voice, and it adds a sense of normalcy to a distinctly abnormal situation. He’s grateful for it. “I can show you where!”

Both Stark and his brother seem reluctant to leave, but you insist that it’s fine. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

He feels slightly steadier as he follows you to the bench—it’s just a wooden thing on the side of the concrete path, across from what appears to be a diner of some sort. You mumble something about going to get water. It’s a relief when you turn away, so you don’t see how he collapses against the seat.

There’s ground beneath his feet. Loki closes his eyes, focuses on that. There’s ground beneath my feet. The asphalt is firm, hot with the summer sun, anchoring him to reality. He lets out a breath. It feels safe.

Unless, of course, it crumbles beneath your step and flings you back into the abyss –

“Hey.” He jerks up at the sound of your voice, and the suddenness causes you to jump as well. You shift apologetically, standing in front of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Loki swallows. How did he not hear you come up? “You didn’t.” Although it must be obvious that you did. At least you’re kind enough to allow him the lie.

You offer him a plastic cup. It’s a flimsy thing, but quite cold, relieving against his feverish skin. He takes it with a mumbled thanks, pretending he doesn’t notice how you’re studying him with a quiet sort of concern.

“Are you feeling better?” you ask after a moment.

Loki bites down on the inside of his cheek, relishing the way it stings. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just – I mean – ” you glance down, tugging at your shirt sleeve. “I get panic attacks too.”

“I don’t—” But he stops himself, stops the urge to argue. Gives a gentle nod instead. “I’m well, thank you. I just … I need a moment to catch my breath.”

“I’m sorry …” You look away guiltily. “Death Drop is kind of a lot – we shouldn’t have done that first.”

“It’s not that. I –” He wants to explain to you. He wants you to know that he’s not usually like this—he never used to be like this, he’s strong and steady and perfectly capable of anything you could ask of him, but his voice is failing once again. Loki huffs a sigh. “You ought to go on with the others. I don’t wish to ruin your day.”

“Oh, you haven’t ruined anything. I’ve been on every ride in this park about a million times. It’s fine!” Your voice is bubbly and light as you sit down next to him on the bench. There’s something oddly comforting about the sound. “Besides, it’s bad etiquette to leave a friend by themselves at an amusement park. Buddy system and all that.”

A friend. He can only stare at you.

You falter. “Unless … unless you’d rather I left?”

“No—” Loki surprises himself with how quickly he answers. “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

Several minutes pass in silence, the frantic beating of his heart slowly tapering off into something softer as he drinks in your presence. He’s grateful for it, grateful for how you let him soak in the quiet. Thor would never have allowed him such a moment’s peace.

He’s considering asking if you’re sure you don’t want to go on any other coasters (he feels guilty for keeping you here—perhaps he can accompany you through the queue and wait on the ground?) when you suddenly sit up stock-straight. “Oh!”

Loki frowns. “Is something wrong?”

You turn to him with a wide grin. “I just remembered they have Dole Whip here!”

“They—what kind of whip?” What sort of ride would a whip be, he wonders? A human sized slingshot, perhaps? His stomach lurches at the thought.

Luckily though, he’s proved wrong. “Dole Whip!” you giggle. “It’s like ice cream, but fruit flavored. Like there’s pineapple and strawberry and whatnot—it’s like soft serve.” You look at him with a kind of hopeful excitement. “Do you want to try some?”

Loki hums. He has yet to try soft serve ice cream, but he knows his brother practically swears by the stuff. “Is it good?”

“Supposedly. I’ve actually never tried it— we never wanted to spend money on park food when we would come as kids. It’s stupid expensive.” You smirk. “But today’s all on Mr. Stark’s dime, so…”

He chuckles. “And you would take advantage of your employer in such a fashion? I didn’t realize I had such a Machiavellian on my hands.”

“Hey, I’m just taking advantage of the opportunities presented to me!” You stand with a grin, holding your hands up in a mock surrender pose. “You can’t blame me for that, can you?”

“Oh, I’d never,” he teases as he stands, and he’s relieved to find that his legs have regained their steadiness. “I’d be honored to experience this Dole Whip with you on Stark’s expense.”

“Fantastic,” you beam. “It’s not too far from here. And it’s right next to a bunch of these little shops—they have this ridiculous giant sea monster toy that costs like $300, I can show you—”

You continue on as the both of you walk down the path, telling him all about the park’s various hidden gems and the inside jokes you and your friends have concocted around them, and Loki finds himself laughing more than not—he can’t help it, your giggles are just too infectious.

Huh. Perhaps joining you today wasn’t a mistake after all.

#loki x reader #loki fluff #loki fanfic #hurt/comfort #loki marvel #free fall #cozy writes

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swiftsgirlfriend · 4 months

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‘𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍

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ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:i started writing this at the beginning of this month but i never ended up finishing it so i thought i would post it anyway as a wip. one last holiday post before i become obsessed with summer ig! jake seresin x reader, no use of y/n

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Texas is big on Christmas. Jake is very much reminded of this as he drives through his hometown.

It seems that the smaller the towns get, the more the people love to celebrate. That certainly rings true when he thinks about the cities he’s lived in, how big they were, and much Christmas seemed to go unappreciated in them.

This is why Jake is very excited to be returning home for Christmas for the first time in years.

For a couple years now, he hasn’t had the opportunity to come back for the holidays. Always deployed, on a mission or forced to spend it with a girlfriend’s family.

However, this year, no mission, no deployment, no girlfriend. And now, he’s here, being reminded of just how much he himself he loves Christmas.

As an aviator, Jake is stone cold. Frigid, unforgiving, known to leave people hanging - hence his callsign. Despite how he acts as a pilot wherever he is stationed, coming back to Austin, brings back the old him. The sweet Jake. The family-man Jake, who loves his mother and sisters. The Jake that is still in love with you. Though, the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks he’s always at least a little bit in love with you.

You were Jake’s first love. His high-school sweetheart. Although you were young when you were together, it felt like so much more than just puppy love. It was more than that. Anyone could see it. You were infatuated with eachother. Until, Jake left for college. And you didn’t.

Unlike Jake, you weren’t restless. Unlike Jake, you hadn’t been aching to leave town, and move on to something ‘bigger’. Unlike Jake, you were content where you were. It was the hamartia that destroyed your relationship from the inside out.

So you broke up, both of you knowing deep down that long-distance would never work.

When Jake came back for holidays during college, you would always find your way back into each-others arms, each-others beds. You never put a label on it, but it still ripped both of your hearts out when he left again, again.

But now, it’s been years since he’s seen you. As he gets closer to his home, his mind falls down a rabbit-hole, of you. He knows you still live here, through the grapevine. He wonders if you still hang with the girls you did in high-school. He wonders if you still live with your parents. He wonders if you miss him, like he misses you.

Suddenly, he turns a corner, and the familiar, old house that he grew up in comes into vision. It is already clad in colourful lights and copious amounts of Christmas-themed decor. He smiles to himself and parks the car.

He swings his car door open and is engulfed by the harsh, Texan winter. Should’ve brought a hat, he thinks to himself, as he walks to the boot, to retrieve his suitcase. He slams the boot shut, almost as a pre-warning to his family to get ready, Jake has arrived! He knows, just mere feet away, his mother and sisters are scrambling to tidy up the last remnants of wrapping paper, toys, and all the other delightful messes that come with family, kids and Christmas.

His boots trudge through the thick snow as he makes his way to the front door. He notices the wreath, obviously made by his nieces and nephews. His heart breaks a little bit when he is reminded of how long its been since he’d seen them last. He hadn’t even been here for his youngest-older sister, Lucy’s, first child’s birth.

He knocks on the front door, with all the strength he can muster whilst being so cold, and immediately the heavy door swings open, and Jake is greeted with the faces of everyone he loves. However, he can’t look at them long, as he is soon swept inside and into a bone-crushing hug. From everyone, at the same time it seemed.

He hears a chorus of ‘Oh Jake, we’ve missed you’ and ‘It’s been so long’ and ‘Hi Uncle Jakes!’ and his heart swells about 10 sizes. He feels a bit like the Grinch right about now.

His bags are swiftly snatched from his arms by his sisters, and he is lead into the kitchen by his mother. In his house, being the man never meant being in charge, necessarily.

He takes a minute to revel in the scent of homeliness. The scent of something always baking. The scent of the pine tree. The scent of fresh linen and moth balls from the old sweaters dug out for Winter.

“Oh Jakey…” his mother began, as he sat down at the kitchen island. “It’s been so long baby.”

“I know momma.” His southern twang creeping back. “I’m sorry. But I’m here now. So let’s play catch-up.” There was bound to be a plethora of situations he’d missed out on.

“Well… obviously Lucy had her baby. Baby Charlotte is upstairs sleeping now, you can meet her later. What else… Oh Your father got a job at the market, it’s much better on his back, he’ll be home soon. Leonard’s son, Tom, finally divorced that gold digger. Always knew she was no good.”

Jake chuckles, remembering his mother’s long-term distaste for Tom’s now ex-wife.

“Anything else?” Really, he just wants to know how you are.

“Nothing important, just small-town drama really.”

“So nothing’s changed?”

“I don’t suppose it ever will.”

Some nights, when he gets homesick and can’t sleep, Jake struggles to remember why he left. Right now, surrounded by the beauty of the country, his family, the cosiness, he was struggling to remember why he left. That snapped him back. Nothing will ever change here. Maybe when he was a kid, that was good. Simplicity. Consistency. But the older he got, the more he longed for something more. Maybe the town had always been small, and he was only just noticing, maybe the town had shrunk over time, most likely it was Jake who changed, who got bigger, and found himself desperately trying to keep fitting in with the town, like trying to fit into an old t-shirt.

Usually, from around the age of 16, when he had sleepless nights, trying to find a way to fit in, trying to fathom reasons to stay, he had you, cuddled up next to him, to ground him in the moment, to keep his head screwed on. And when he was 18, and told you he was leaving, and that he wanted, needed, you to come with him, he’d lost that. Because you’d said no.

“Cookie?” His mother offered, ripping away from his gut-wrenching thoughts.

“Sure.”

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(top gun) ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟꜱ

@sebsxphia @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @teacupsandtopgun @hangmans-wingman @mak-32 @southpawbitch @notroosterbradshaw @floydsglasses @sunlightmurdock @its-dee-lovely @tongue-like-a-razor

#lily’s writing #swiftsgirlfriend #top gun #top gun maverick #tgm #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin #hangman #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #divider by cafekitsune #cafekitsune #‘tis the damn season

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wizard-finix · 1 month

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Ao3 tag game!

THANKS @ragecndybars FOR THE TAG I APPRECIATE IT

*cracks knuckles* lets do this

How many works do you have on AO3?

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

What's your total AO3 word count?

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

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

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

Here's the breakdown!

The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms (6)

Persona 5 (5)

Persona 3 (5)

SPY x FAMILY (Anime) (3)

Wizard101 (Video Game) (3)

SPY x FAMILY (Manga) (3)

Runescape (Video Games) (3)

Pirate101 (Video Game) (3)

Persona 4 (2)

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

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga (1)

Star Wars - All Media Types (1)

The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors (1)

Top five fics by kudos:

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

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

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

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

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

Do you respond to comments?

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

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

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

Do you write crossovers?

*looks at my persona fics and recent LU fics*

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

Have you ever gotten hate on a fic?

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

Do you write smut?

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

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of? I sure hope not.

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

Have you ever had a fic translated?

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

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

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

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

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

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

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

What are your writing strengths?

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

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

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

What are your writing weaknesses?

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

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

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

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

What was the first fandom you ever wrote for?

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

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

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

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

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

#cici speaks #tagged #tag game #my god this is long if you read this I salute and respect you

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geesenoises · 4 months

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so long 2023

hellooooo! i'm writing this in the final minutes of jan 2, to tell you about the two (2) things i wrote and posted last year. thank you to @sorrybutblog and @oknowkiss for tagging me. (jan 2, 2, fics, 2 friends! a theme is emerging!) i am almost certain everyone else has done this already, but just tagging a few pals anyway. please drop me a link to your's if it already exists!: @cavendishbutterfly @elskanellis @oflights @wolfpants @sweet-s0rr0w @basicallyahedgehog @moonflower-rose @phoebe-delia @shealynn88 @phdmama @citrusses

i'm extremely low output in a good year, but whew. 2023 was a rollercoaster (fun and terrifying in turns, and truly there was no way to step off once i was strapped in) in my life and i feel like i've just stopped screaming. i'm hoping to have some rest and the mental space to do creative things again this year, including finishing a wip that's languished since 2022.

the first thing i wrote:

is a ficlet that doesn't have a title, but the tagline: NUT SO HARD A PATRONUS COMES OUT, which i feel needs no further explanation. i am desperately tempted to expand this into a full fic because. what happens when you're out in public and your boyfriend back home indulges in a deeply satisfying wank to the thought of you?

the second thing i wrote was:

draco malfoy starring in... bad idea, right? (T, 2.3k words) Leaving the party to see Potter’s new house couldn’t be a bad idea, right? I mean, Draco was invited…

i had a blast writing this and posting it in tiny drips on tumblr!! the banner is some of my best work imo!!

and you know what? as a bonus round, here's a shoutout to some of my favorite drarry/fandom related shitposts and fic-related thoughts that i wrote this year:

middle-aged harry = keanu reeves

i love it when harry is pathetic

lesbian drarry getting having a mehndi party before their wedding

draco/sirius inspires..... emotions in harry (which unbelievably inspired this work of genius from citrusses!!!)

dron + sectumsempra scars

harry is bad at being rich

can’t believe both harry and draco are tsunderes. tragic. (that is literally the whole post lol sorry)

and finally: canon draco and harry are straight, hate each other, and happy about it.

thanks everyone for hanging out and laughing with me!! here's to another year of shitposting, but also please actual words and complex thoughts!!!!

#year in review #my writing #tag game

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buckttommy · 4 months

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WIP Wednesday!

Some time ago, someone sent me an ask about Mob Boss Bobby assuming custody over Buck because his father couldn't afford to pay him off. The idea has simmered ever since. I don't know if I'll ever finish it, but here is the beginning! I was tagged by Morgan @rewritetheending and @daffi-990 and now I'm tagging @rogerzsteven @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @gayhoediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz

By the time Evan Buckley comes into his custody, Bobby Nash has sworn off having kids. It’s no good, not in his business. Kids are a vulnerability, a liability. Only thing to expect from having your heart walk around outside your chest is for someone to run off with it like it’s theirs. Or worse—break it. Having kids didn’t work out so well for him in the first time anyway, and just because he killed Jonah Greenway for setting the fire that torched his family doesn’t mean he’s inclined to do the whole “grief” thing again.

But still.

Still…

There’s something about this kid. Something about his big, blue eyes and snotty nose and baby soft cheeks that gives Bobby pause. He cries in the backseat of his dad’s old Volkswagen like he knows something’s wrong, even if he’s not sure what, and it breaks him a little.

His dad, Philip, looks over his shoulder, jaw tight. “I don’t know what else to do with him,” he says.

“You only owe me fifty thousand.”

Only like that’s not an exorbitant amount to owe anybody. Still, the thought of Philip Buckley putting a price on his kid—it doesn’t sit right. But that’s exactly what’s happening.

Buckley shrugs. “I don’t know what else to do. He’s not—” he frowns. “He’s just a reminder of all the bad times anyway.”

Bobby doesn’t ask. He doesn’t care.

Buckley takes his kid by the hand and helps him out of the car. He gives him a little shove until he’s standing next to Bobby, and then squats down to look him in the eye.

“Alright now, Evan, this here is a—” Buckley glances up, disdain on his face as he searches for the words. He looks back down at his son— “this is a friend. You’re going to be staying with him for a while.”

Evan frowns. He’s an intelligent kid—Bobby can see the wheels turning in his head even though he can’t be older than six, his eyes darting between himself and his dad like if he’s at it long enough, he’ll figure out the calculations he’s just too young to understand.

“How long?”

“I don’t know,” Buckley snaps, impatient. “Christ. Just. I’ll be back soon.”

Nothing about this situation sits right with him, but Buckley lying to his kid just serves to discomfit him even more. He’s speaking before he even realizes he’s going to.

“Don’t lie to him.”

Both Evan and his father turn to look at him. They have the same mannerisms, the same narrow-eyed gaze when they want to say something, but hold their tongue at the last minute. Bobby dares Buckley to say shit to him, but he’s almost curious to know what Evan would have to say. He doesn’t get the chance to find out. Buckley swallows a little, probably remembering that Bobby could still call this whole thing off if he wanted to, and takes a deep breath.

“Alright,” he says after a moment. “Evan, you’ll be living with Mr. Nash for a while.”

“But what about Maddie? Is she coming?”

“Don’t ask questions. I’ll try to come back for you as soon as I can.”

Another lie. At least this time, Bobby doesn’t call him on it. Buckley walks back to his car without a hug, without so much as a backwards glance, and Bobby can’t help but wonder how much he must hate his own goddamn kid to abandon him like this. He pulls off, broken headlights getting smaller and smaller the further he gets, and there’s a moment—just one moment—where Bobby swears Evan waits for him to come back. He looks around the dark, wet alley like he’s waiting for someone to pop out with streamers and a pinata but it never happens. It won’t ever happen.

Evan doesn’t cry when he realizes this, he screams at the top of his lungs. It’s a horrible sound. Would be horrible in broad daylight, but in the middle of the night, just sounds like Bobby is leading him to slaughter. He tries to run after the car, but his little legs are no match for Bobby’s long stride. He catches the kid with his fingers hooked around the back of his collar and doesn’t let go, even as he kicks and squirms and curses. Bobby has no idea who Maddie is, but he’s willing to bet she’s an older sister or cousin who taught him how to swear like a sailor. Evan calls him a stupid motherfucking bitch with all the rage and fury he can muster in his body and Bobby almost laughs. Almost, if not for the fact that the whole scene is just so damn tragic.

“Christ.” Chimney appears at his side, hands clapped over his ears. “He’s got a mouth on him.”

“He does.”

And they can’t afford to get caught. It’s bad enough Bobby’s got a warrant out for his arrest. Getting picked up with a kid in hand sends the wrong message. “Can you—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Bobby passes Evan’s collar over to Chimney and watches his right hand man lead the kid away, into the car parked in between the pharmacy and the boutique. Silence falls as the kids screams are locked up behind the doors of his Chevrolet, and Bobby—

Bobby has a fucking kid.

What the hell.

#wip wednesday #my fic #tv: 911 #jack.txt

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gremlin-bot · 3 months

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That ain't happening Thursday

So, last week I posted "That ain't happening Thursday" on Friday. I thought it was Thursday. Time is an illusion, (to me).

This wip is inspired by the song Gladiator by Jann! It's a strip club-ish Au with Danny being the performer among other things and Tim has to find him! This wip also ruined my Spotify wrapped and it wasn't even gladiator! it's Brain Dead for the ship btw!

Anyways, Fic's name is "Body's more than just a flesh, you can sell it for success" hope you like this bit of it!

The music was loud enough to rattle his bones and he could barely breathe with how crowded it was tonight. This is the third night this week Tim was here undercover. He just hopes that it’ll be the last.

The strip club was a semi-popular one called Miss Fortune's Table. It always has a decent crowd but he had seen nothing like this. All seats were filled and people had started to fill any space they could fit into. He was glad to get there before the rush and snag one of the best seats in the house.

Tim is at a two person table in front of center stage. He unfortunately had another person filling the space across from him. The guy was built like a tank and was blond. He was pretty sure that it was dicks co-worker from the GPD but he won’t know for sure until the man speaks. Either way he has to be more careful than before. Time to follow his motto in life, fake it 'til you make it, like always.

He was looking at the female dancer with faked interest as she finished her routine. The crowd had been rowdy with anticipation all night. He wasn’t really paying them, or the stripers really, any attention. No, he was waiting for the recognition spell sitting uselessly in his pocket to trigger. It hasn’t done anything since he was given it by Zatanna. He is really doubting how good the Information was that the JLD got. After all, why would a psychopomp work out of a strip club and not some candle shop or at a cemetery.

His train of thought was derailed by a sudden increase of noise from the crowd around him. A new dancer was announced, one that he hadn’t heard the name of before but the rest of the club clearly had. It seems that it was Saturn’s Gladiator who brought everyone here tonight, well almost everyone.

#dpxdc #That ain't happening Thursday #Wip it. twist it. Bop it #tim drake #brain dead ship

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johaerys-writes · 4 months

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Hello! May I ask a WIP Wednesday? I hope you have a pleasant evening/night🥰

Hi anon!! And sorry for the late reply, I was quite beat last night when I saw this and didn't have much writing to share anyway BUT I did work on a very dumb smutty one-shot today, so here's a lil WIP Thursday for you hehe:

Patroclus is not horny for his best friend. He absolutely isn’t. He has always been into girls. The few relationships he’s had, however brief, were for the most part positive experiences that ended in a more or less mutual and friendly understanding. Any interest he has ever felt for men has always been fleeting, easily forgotten or ignored. Patroclus just isn’t into guys all that much. But Achilles is hot. He is unarguably, undoubtedly, overwhelmingly hot, perhaps the hottest man Patroclus has ever laid eyes upon, a truth that is universally acknowledge and has remained uncontested since they became friends, almost twenty years back. His hair is the richest of golds and his eyes the most fetching of greens, and the fact that whenever they go to the gym together he can easily squat 100kg without breaking a sweat while wearing the sluttiest, tightest sports shorts known to man doesn’t help matters. Perhaps that is why Patroclus finds himself on his bed one evening, half dressed, jerking off like his life depends on it while pressing Achilles’ hoodie against his face. It isn’t entirely Patroclus’ fault. That should be noted somewhere, for posterity’s sake. Not to get weird on his homie of twenty years, but as good as Achilles looks, he smells even better. It doesn’t even have to do with his shampoo or his body wash or his deodorant or his after shave, as pleasant as those are. It is the smell of his body, his skin itself, that drives Patroclus crazy. It’s warm and musky and sweet, just a little spicy; even his sweat has a fresh, vibrant note to it, like taking a stroll through a spring garden. Patroclus can never help but linger a little too long when they hug, or secretly press his nose to his hair whenever Achilles falls asleep on his shoulder when they watch movies together. Achilles smells like heaven, and Patroclus could get drunk on that scent every day if he let himself. And he’s also just... such a great guy. Achilles is amazing. He’s Patroclus’ best of friends and his foster brother and Patroclus loves him more than anyone. He’s smart as hell, kind and generous and quirky, and Patroclus could listen to him talk for hours on end and never get bored. No one Patroclus knows has a bond like theirs, and it’s been quite exclusive for all the years they’ve known each other. No one knows Patroclus like Achilles knows him, and Patroclus is honoured that he can say the same for him. His smile could light up Patroclus’ entire day no matter how shitty it’s been—some days, all that keeps him sane is knowing that he’ll finish work and go back to his flat and find Achilles there, waiting for him. God, Achilles. Achilles. Patroclus squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a deep breath of the fabric that’s pressed to his nose as he strokes himself faster, imagining it’s Achilles’ hand wrapped around his cock instead of his own. He’s so lost in the fantasy that he barely even hears Achilles’ bedroom door opening, and his footsteps down the hall. “Pat, did you take my phone charger again? I told you I needed it for—” Patroclus’ door is flung open and then there’s Achilles’ standing at the doorway, staring at Patroclus wide-eyed. Staring at Patroclus’ dick, which is currently hard and leaking and in full view between them.

#i blame bae entirely for this #yes they're idiots to lovers in every universe #patrochilles #patroclus #achilles #tsoa #the song of achilles #hades game #johaerys writes

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neonbrutalism · 4 months

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RIP Dead Guy (working title)

Unfinished WIP time.... there's a lot more to this but too many scene gaps to post officially, so here's the first bit for the Tumblrerers.

(Speculative Post-BTSV in which Miguel O'Hara of Earth 928B dies saving the multiverse and defeating the Spot. The Society is in mourning and the Spider-Gang is forced to reckon with their feelings. Complicating matters is that Peter's brought back another Miguel from the multiverse who is obviously not comfortable with how they're projecting all this on to him.)

Why hadn’t Miguel put a chair at his work station?

Peter cracked his back and peered again at the the symbols on the glowing, orange screens, trying to make sense of whatever organizational system Miguel was using.

Had used.

Dammit.

He didn’t want to bother LYLA anymore with this. She’d been subdued for weeks – well, almost everyone had been – and Peter wasn’t sure how long AI took to mourn. She did her scans and ran numbers, sure, but it was all without any … snap.

Peter didnt think she was, well, aware enough to grieve… but he also didn’t think Miguel would put her mourning his death in to her programming. Hell, Peter was pretty sure Miguel wouldn’t have wanted anyone to mourn him at all, the stupid, stubborn, broken bastard. If only Peter had moved faster, had recognized what was about to happen…

But maybe it wouldn’t have changed anything. He saw Miguel’s face at that last moment, before…

There was nothing else for it.

“Hey, LYLA?”

“Yes, Peter?” LYLA appeared next to him, expression unnaturally blank.

“Sorry to … bother you? I’m just trying to, uh—“ Peter gestured at the orange screens, “I can’t make webs or tails of this.”

He paused, waiting for a reaction. None came. Miguel wouldn’t have reacted either.

“Anyway, uh, I keep seeing this symbol on certain earths? Looks like a… U?”

“A closed eye,” said LYLA, “After the incident, Miguel cut off any viewing access to mapped earths with… other versions of himself.”

“… Oh,” said Peter, slowly,”I guess he, what, didn’t want the temptation?”

LYLA’s eyes narrowed at Peter, “If you think it would have been tempting for him after what hapoened, you didn’t know him as well as you think you did.”

“Uh. Sorry?”

“Is that all, Peter?”

“Yeah, uh. I guess so. Th—“

LYLA vanished before he could finish thanking her.

Peter shook the interaction off and returned to the screen. He touched the closed-eye symbol. The system pop-up counted 793 locked earths. More than Peter was expecting – but maybe that wasn’t a crazy number, since there seemed to be tens or even hundreds of thousands of Peter Parkers. Had Miguel locked them all manually, or had LYLA done it automatically as their map of the multiverse expanded?

In the corner of the pop up, there was an Unlock All button.

He shouldn’t.

Miguel had once told him, when he asked about seeing versions of Aunt May or Harry, that the only thing that spending time watching the dead live without you in another world was good for was torturing yourself.

Ha. Maybe if Peter had remembered to point out the irony if him saying that, Miguel wouldn’t have…

Fuck it. Whatever. Miguel wasn’t here to tell Peter not to. Miguel was just a miserable, guilt-ridden, self-loathing, dead hypocrite and… and Peter wanted to see his friend again.

He pressed the lock. There was a buzz of haptic feedback and all at once, the eye icons blinked open and Peter found himself looking at dozens of versions of a dead man’s face.

Plenty of them were scowling, wiping blood off their faces after pulling their masks off or boredly picking at paperwork in an office or laboratory. Mostly they were just familiar in a way that felt like a punch in the gut. Stretched all the way out, slouching in a chair looking crabby or curled in with their hands hooked around the back of their necks, poorly dealing with some emotion or stress or another. Some of them, though, looked … happy. Or, at least they looked happier than Peter had ever seen Miguel, outside of those few weeks he’d spent with Gabriella. He didn’t see any versions of her, though. But still, at least there were some versions that weren’t alone.

One Miguel was standing looking out of a large broken window, expression dark and triumphant while a pretty, asian woman in a lab coat and inexplicably a pair of high top sneakers from 1993 curled her arm around his waist and smiled. Peter decided he didn’t want to know what they looked so happy about.

A teenaged version of Miguel and a girl – maybe a younger version of that woman in the lab coat – with her hair in purple pom-poms, sat in a bedroom. The girl pulled out a box from under her bed, revealing what looked to be a lot of ancient Star Trek merchandise, smiling like she was a little embarrassed. Peter pushed that node aside too, he didn’t want to intrude on that.

A pink haired woman covered in chitin and with a thousand needle teeth hovered in the air on vibrating wasp wings and chatted happily while Miguel in his spider-suit listened, sitting on the edge of a tall building. Behind them, the sky was dark and filled with pistons and girders – Downtown Nueva York.

And speaking of Downtown Nueva York – an explosion caught Peter’s eye. He pulled the node forward – Miguel, in a different mask but it could hardly be anyone else, was fighting, his suit torn and bloody, not flickering with broken light like the suit Peter knew. Someone else – some kind of cyborg or robot, slammed a whirling metal thresher down on the spot Miguel had been lying less than a second earlier. He was losing the fight.

Okay, calm down, Peter. Miguel was tough and could take a lot of hits – he just needed a chance to recover. Miguel, no matter the dimension, was perfectly capable of surviving – until he wasn’t.

Behind the cyborg … A Green Goblin rose up on his glider, bombs in hand. Miguel looked up at the Goblin and Peter was through the portal to Earth 416647 before he could stop himself.

(UNFINISHED FIGHT SCEEEENE!)

Peter stared.

This Miguel looked a little younger — or maybe just got more sleep. He was less gaunt, less haunted. Less like he hadn’t eaten or drank in weeks. His hair was little reidder, messy from his mask, curls hanging over his forehead. He had a small scar across his upper lip that the original Miguel hadn’t had either.

Peter realized he’d been staring too long only when Miguel took an awkward step back from him and exchanged a quick, nervous look with the now unmasked Green Goblin. He looked a lot like Miguel too.

Oh… this was Gabriel — his brother. Miguel had mentioned him once or twice. Peter was pretty sure the Original Miguel’s brother was dead — but then again, he’d never really asked.

“Uh — sorry, I’m. Spider-Man.”

“We know,” said Miguel.

“You said that already,” said Goblin.

Peter was struck with a terrible idea. One of his worst. But … the society hadn’t been the same in the past few weeks. A dark cloud had come over it and Peter wasn’t sure how to get it to pass. The fact was, nervous breakdown in the last couple of days notwithstanding, just about everyone had liked Miguel. He’d been their leader, he’d taken care of them and listened and tried to help them. They’d all loved him …

Not that Miguel would have ever believed that in a hundred years.

But without Miguel, things were kind of falling apart. Not literally, LYLA ran the place like clockwork, but emotionally. Miguel could de-escalate petty arguments and fights that broke out better than any Peter Parker could (because most of the arguments involved at least one other Peter Parker). But now, arguments festered, problems went unresolved and still, every time that Peter went to the cafeteria, he almost picked up some empanadas before he remembered himself.

Maybe … a familiar face would help everyone move on? Or at least return a sense of normalcy until people got used to the idea that Miguel, their Miguel, was gone.

“Right! Right – um,” shit, how had Miguel done this ‘I’m from another dimension’ shpiel? “I’m from another dimension! I’m part of a – uh, strike team? Thing? It’s a few hundred other Spider-People and we travel around the multiverse to help people! And stop anomalies — wait, no, we don’t do that anymore. So just the helping people. That’s why I came to help you fight — well I guess you didn’t need help, you two weren’t fighting – but it’s cool! We have a headquarters! And a cafeteria and a gym. Just … amenities. You should come check it out. Miguel should – uh. No offense, Mr. Goblin, but a Spider-Society is kind of. Spider-centric.”

“Wow,” said Gabriel in a familiar flat tone, “I’m devastated but I think I’ll survive.”

“Pass,” said Miguel. He turned to leave.

“Wait!” said Peter, “I’m underselling it. I promise, it’s … really cool. Super elite.”

Miguel raised a skepical eyebrow, “Super elite with ‘a couple hundred’ people?”

“There’s a bazillion different universe, so I mean, it’s all relative.”

Miguel pulled his mask back down over his face, “Yeah, still pass.”

Miguel fwizzed a strand of web (pale, organic, not like the glowing orange Peter was familiar with) to the upper corner of the building and the Goblin kicked his glider’s power on.

“Wait! Please!” said Peter, his voice breaking a little, “just – just come see it? And then you can come right back! Please?”

The lenses on Miguel’s mask squinted at Peter and then he sighed, “Fine. Okay – Gabri, will you tell Xina I’m …”

“Being kidnapped by a time traveller?”

“Dimensional traveller.”

“Whatever,” said Miguel, waving his brother off, “I’ll be home later.”

Gabriel gave a lazy salute and sped off on his glider.

Peter opened the portal to 928.

Miguel — this new, other Miguel — eyed it suspiciously, then stepped through.

#Miguel O'Hara #Across the Spider-Verse #WIP #fanfiction #beyond the spider-verse #Gabriel's here and Xina's in the background :D

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canonicallyobserving911 · 4 months

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WIP Wednesday

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

This is an EPIC LOVE STORY!

Season 7 FANON Speculation: Buddie Multi-Chapter Fanfic - Hiatus Reading: “I’m still in love with you but... I needed to learn how to love myself too!”

Chapter 15 is available on AO3 & Chapter 16 will be posted soon.

Currently 15 chapters completed: 484.9K Words Rated: Mature

One chapter will be posted at a time.

I'm so excited to finish writing Chapter 16 because there are so many things happening for Buck and Eddie and the Diaz Family. For anyone who hasn't read Chapter 15, here's a brief overview: Buck and Eddie got engaged however the day they're getting married is different from the day they're planning to have a wedding ceremony. They're going to get married before Christmas in 2023 but their wedding will be in May 2024 so they can invite their found family and Eddie's family. Buck told Eddie he wants to take his last name and they immediately started saying they're going to be Mr. & Mr. Diaz. Also, two more people discovered they're in a relationship but who was it and what did they see? Bobby already knows but who else saw something that caused them to believe they're already together?

___________

Here's some Buck and Eddie domestic fluff from Chapter 16 as they plan their international adventure.

___________

“That’s good. Also, we should probably start looking at the places we want to stay while we’re there. I mean we don’t have to book anything yet but uh… we should at least have an idea of the types of places we’re interested in staying.”

Eddie nods but he’s sure Buck’s already looked at some on the internet. “I agree but have you already done the research on the places that are available?”

He smiles. “I did and honestly, the hotels are nice and all but I think it’ll be better if we rent some homes while we’re there instead of us staying at different hotels.”

Eddie likes the idea; he really does but he’s still worried about the cost. They’re adding up and he remembers Buck saying the settlement money will cover it but he’s not sure if there will be enough to cover everything they’re talking about doing while they’re in Italy for almost eight days along with the seven days they'll spend in London. He sits his fork onto his plate and inhales because he’s trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say.

Buck furrows his eyebrows. “Is everything ok?”

“Yes it is but… the costs are adding up and I know you said the settlement money will cover it but Buck… that’s your money and you’re getting it for your pain and suffering. We shouldn’t spend it all on a trip to Rome. Let me do something to help because…”

He leans in and kisses him to make him be quiet. He knows Eddie worries about money and he’s never asked for anything but this is their adventure and he could care less about that settlement money since he was planning to pay for the trip anyway and that was before he found out Harmony Clinic agreed to settle.

After he pulls back, he takes Eddie’s hand in his and replies, “Listen to me… there’s more than enough money to pay for our trip, to pay off this house and to pay off your truck and there’s still going to be a lot left over even after we do all of that.”

“But…”

“Remember this is our money… OURS! We’re getting married which means it’s money for our family. I didn’t tell you this but I was planning to pay for the trip before I was awarded the settlement. I was going to give it to you and Chris for Christmas.”

“You were?” Eddie responds with a high-pitched tone in his voice because he’s shocked.

“Yes. I have money in my savings account, it’s not a lot but uh… it’s enough to pay for the trip. But now that the settlement money will be deposited into my account within the next couple of weeks, we don’t have to worry about the cost. It’s our first international adventure.”

Eddie bites his bottom lip and before he can say anything else, Buck starts talking again.

“I just realized I didn’t tell you how much the settlement is…???”

How much money will Buck receive after Harmony Clinic pays him the settlement from the sperm donation mix up lawsuit? 👀

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Fic Summary: Months after Buck and Eddie were hit by the same lightning strike; they’re still struggling with the aftermath of it. But before they make their love confessions, they’ll spend time getting to know themselves as individuals first. Eddie learns to enjoy the simple things in life as he participates in activities on his own and with new friends while Buck learns the rest of the 31-year-old deep dark family secret about his conception and birth. Their journey to forever is still a work in progress but once they finally admit they’re in love with each other, everything that follows their love confessions will be cataclysmic.

__________

Chapter Summaries

Chapter 1 - Eddie makes a new friend while Buck receives devastating news regarding the sperm donation he made for Connor and Kameron.

Chapter 2 - Buck does a lot of research to learn more about the abnormalities found in his red blood cells and Eddie starts a new therapy journey that’s all about him and not the traumas he’s experienced.

Chapter 3 - After more than a month, Buck and Eddie finally spend time together outside of work but it doesn’t end well and they part with a lot of uncertainty regarding their places in each other’s lives.

Chapter 4 - Eddie has a few realizations about his life which causes him to consider moving back to El Paso, TX while Buck continues to be reminded of his past which causes him to take an impromptu road trip across America.

Chapter 5 - Both Buck and Eddie have difficult conversations with their parents and Buck finally learns the truth behind the reason why his mother despised him while Eddie finally tells his mother about the way she tries to control him.

Chapter 6 - More than two weeks after Buck pushed Eddie away after suggesting they needed a break; Eddie decides to try again. Eddie’s there for Buck when he’s at his worst just like Buck was there for him when he was at his worst and he won’t let Buck give up.

Chapter 7 - After Buck’s mental breakdown, Eddie has his back the same way Buck had his when he had his own breakdown more than a year ago. They share several vulnerable and emotionally intimate moments with one another and they begin to realize their small, sweet and caring gestures matter just as much if not more than any grand gesture ever could because these are the foundations of a long-lasting love relationship.

Chapter 8 - Buck, Eddie and Chris all have their own therapists and during their sessions, they reflect on their pasts while they’re in the present so they can prepare for their future together as a family.

Chapter 9 - Buck and Eddie are there for each other when Buck has to testify as a witness during the trial. But by the end of it, they’ll both realize their individual and shared traumas are going to keep resurfacing until they talk about them, deal with the fact that they’re in love with one another and face the fact that they can’t live without each other.

Chapter 10 - As Buck and Eddie finally begin to confront their past traumas, they realize how much they need each other to fill in the gaps of their memories. Additionally, the universe screams at them for what appears to be the one hundredth time so Buck can realize he doesn’t have to ‘find it’ because he already ‘made it’ and Eddie’s reminded tomorrow isn’t promised and he doesn’t have to die alone if he doesn’t want to.

Chapter 11 - A “virga” or dry thunderstorm is in the forecast but once the rain starts, the thunderstorm happening outside won’t be able to match the storm brewing inside between Buck and Eddie. It’s the universe’s final scream and when the tumultuous winds begin to blow, they’ll have one last chance to hold onto everything they’ve built over the last six years or they’ll lose it all forever.

Chapter 12 - Buck and Eddie have always shared a deep physical attraction and an emotional intimacy that’s unmatched but now that they’re in a relationship, they’re learning how to navigate the romantic intimacy they’ve been waiting for six years to explore. The love they have for each other is a once in a lifetime, soulmate, love of their lives type of love that transcends space and time.

Chapter 13 - While navigating the newness of their romantic relationship, Buck and Eddie take advantage of every moment they spend together. As their individual lives, people from their pasts, time constraints and the possibility of losing each other again make attempts to interrupt and interfere with their journey to forever, they love, care for, support and hold onto each other even tighter to withstand it all.

Chapter 14 - Buck and Eddie can see the lights at the end of the tunnels regarding the results of Buck’s Cancer Screening along with everything else they’re dealing with. But are the lights they see exits to the tunnels or are they headlights on different runaway trains that are speeding towards them in an effort to interrupt their forever?

Chapter 15 - Buck and Eddie have known they were exactly who the other one wanted in a partner since they met six years ago when they agreed to have each other’s backs. They’re in a romantic relationship, they’re both preparing to ask the other one to spend forever with them and by the end of the seventh week into their relationship, together they will plan their most important and greatest adventure for their future.

Chapter 16 - Will be posted soon.

__________

Read chapters 1-15 are available on AO3.

Continue reading on AO3

Chapter 16 will be posted soon.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #the buckley diaz family #buckley diaz family #buddie fanfic #ao3 fanfic #911 fanfic #buddie wip #Fanonwriter2023 on AO3 #Hiatus Reading #911 on abc #911 abc #WIP Wednesday

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fragilecapric0rnn · 1 year

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“it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyway” for the prompt thing!! (-patheticgirlsteve)

OKAY SO this prompt is from a prompt list I rb'd in December (wowza!) and I found the writing for this prompt half finished in my WIPs folder today and decided to finish it!

This ficlet is also a look into the in-progress When Harry Met Sally-inspired AU/canon divergence fic. I've been sitting on both that fic and this snippet for far too long and have been itching to share something. So, here's the something!

(something set in the late summer of '98, in a city that doesn't bode well during heat waves)

It’s an unusually hot night in Steve’s apartment.

It's going to be an unusually hot week in the city, actually.

Steve has gotten used to the temperate San Francisco weather in the 11 years he's been a resident. But after 11 years, he's still surprised at the random bursts of heat that creep in during these last few weeks of August. Just in time for him and his students to sit inside the toaster oven that is his classroom during the first week of school.

Thankfully, it's not a school night. The last week of his summer vacation, and he's spent most of the daylight hours dangling half of his body out of the screen-less street-facing window in his apartment, praying a breeze would whip past him. (It didn't).

After an hour of tossing and turning in bed, in nothing but a pair of boxers, the open window providing no relief, the air stale and hot and a bit sticky, he decided to move to the living room, where he will still be suffering, but at least there's a TV out there.

A movie he remembers seeing with Robin in the theater during their Oakland days is playing as soon as he flicks on the TV, reminding him of how long it's been since they've lived together, let alone in that first apartment in Oakland. Freshly 20 and 21, figuring out how to live on their own, thousands of miles from everyone and everything they knew. Figuring out how to deal with the calmness of it all.

Remembers talking about the movie again in '92, and being annoyed with all of his friends (Eddie and Nancy) who thought that Lloyd and Diane broke up in London. Wonders if they're still as cynical about love today as they were back then.

As he's counting the years back in his head, the phone rings, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Hel-lo?” He answers, remembering that it is 2am in the middle of the word, dragging it into two syllables to make it seem like he's shocked that someone is calling him.

“What the hell are you doing awake at this hour?” Eddie quips, Steve reflexively rolls his eyes, at both the tone of his voice and the question itself.

“How do you know that you didn’t just interrupt my much needed beauty sleep?” He scoffs, flicking his head like he would if Eddie were sitting right here on the couch with him. Eddie must pick up on it, chuckling over the phone, a similar sound to the one he made when he was sitting on this couch hours ago, suffering with Steve in his apartment.

Now there's something twenty-one year old Steve would be shocked to learn. That him and Eddie became friends, at all.

“I can hear the TV.” Steve hums in response, turns the volume down a notch or two. “But, here’s a courtesy ‘I’m sorry’ for the late night call.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway.” Steve sighs as the slightest breeze rolls through the open window. He's a much better sleeper than twenty-one year old Steve, but due to recent life-changing events and this damn heat-wave, a late-night phone call with Eddie is almost routine at this point

“I miss Evie’s apartment. She had AC.” Eddie says, casually. Steve still doesn't get how he can talk about her so casually. How he can just bring her up like it's nothing. If he even thinks about -

“I still can’t believe you got your heartbroken by a trust fund baby.” He says, cutting off his own thought.

“I’m more heartbroken about that AC unit right now,” still casual, as if he is actually heartbroken about an AC and not a person.

“What’re you watching?” He asks.

“Say Anything.”

“Channel?”

“12.”

The scene where Lloyd is talking to Diane’s father on the prison yard. It makes him think of Eddie on the other line, sitting in his unintentional bachelor pad a few blocks away from his own. The thought must’ve made Eddie’s ears burn.

“That’s not what visitation is actually like, ya know?” His voice is soft.

“Oh yeah?” Steve says, wanting to encourage but not pry.

“Yeah. It’s indoors, at tables, cold and gray. Feels dirty and sterile at the same time.” Eddie says.

“I always thought it happened between a plane of glass, with a telephone on either side of the glass.” Steve offers, giving him an out, a chance to change the subject if he wants to bow out.

“That’s what it’s like in county jail. Prison’s different.” Steve hums again, knows there’s no need to respond with anything else. Steve doesn’t need to ask him how he knows all of this. He knows that Eddie doesn’t expect him to ask. That’s the thing, about old friends, about them, about their whole gang. There are certain things they’ll always know about each other.

His mind drifts to a little Eddie and a younger Wayne, walking into a room just like Eddie had described, going through the motions. It pulls at his chest a little.

“Do you still think they broke up in London?” Steve tests.

“I don’t think they broke up in London?” Eddie says, a tad defensive.

“Yes you do, or you did.” He remembers the conversation, he knows Eddie must remember the conversation.

“When did I say that?”

“In San Diego, we had a whole thing about it, the five of us.” The drunk and loud debate was held stuffed into a diner booth in San Diego. Before you left.

Eddie pauses.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You sure did.”

“Well, to answer your question, no. I don't think so. I think that they’re two weirdos who were meant for each other.” Eddie says, Steve sinks further into the couch, holds the phone up with his shoulder.

“That's exactly what I said then.”

"Well, I think it now."

"Me too." It comes out softer than he expected. Suddenly thankful that this conversation is happening over the phone, so he can scrunch the feeling away from his face, take a deep breath and shake the feeling that just washed over his body.

“I know a thing or two about weirdos who’re meant for each other.” Eddie says playfully, that tone he uses when he's half-joking, but half-serious. Steve feels something bubble in the very depths of his stomach.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“You and Robin.” Pop. He lets out a deep breath.

“Ha ha.” Steve says, toning up the sarcasm.

“Max and Lucas, Joyce and Jim, the entire gang who’s bonded by the terrors of the 80s and government NDA’s.” Steve’s laugh barks out of him, he can’t hide how surprised he is at these words coming out of Eddie’s mouth.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” He trails off, trying to choose his next words carefully. “Not used to you talking about the past. Hasn’t really been your thing.” His mind drifts momentarily to San Diego again. Watching him hail that cab. Running away.

“There's a lotta things that I used to do, or not do.” There’s a pause. Either of them could say something, there’s something dangling in the air between them, between their two phone lines, filling the space between their two apartments. Just as Steve opens his mouth to say something, cut the tension, snatch the feeling out of the air, Eddie beats him to it.

#whms au #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #sen writes #my fic #did this just light a fire under my ass? YES #there's a lot of missing context from this that will be given in the fic don't worry!#i just love a good telephone scene #especially a telephone scene that's loaded with things unsaid!!!#aiaof

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hanakoofthejungle · 2 months

Text

It's been more than 4 years since the last time I drew something. Study, work, losing loved ones and depression depleted me of almost all joys and rendered me no time or motivation to make art. I am still trying to get better.

My passion to draw was ignited again by means of the Hazbin Hotel. It is a cluster of all of my favourite things, animation, musical and second chance. What an amazing cast it has! All of the wonderful voices singing some of the most beautiful songs.

Anyways, here are some of doodles and WIP for my upcoming Hazbin Hotel fanart. It will take awhile to finish since getting back to art after years has proven more challenging than I thought.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #hazbin lucifer #hazbin angel dust #angel dust #lucifer morningstar #sketch

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jaimebluesq · 8 months

Text

WIP Wednesday 08/30

I think it's been a while since I put up one of these, so here's a taste of something I'm working on - SangCheng, modern day AU set in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, to hopefully be finished before the end of the year *crosses fingers*

~~~

“There’s my favourite young engineer!” Jiang Fengmian crowed over the noisy crowd.

Wei Wuxian entered the hall – late, of course – with his new boyfriend on his arm, and Jiang Cheng’s father greeted him with a smile and a paternal pat on the shoulder.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t remember the last time his father had greeted him in such a manner.

“We told you he’d be here,” Wei Changze scolded, bringing Wei Wuxian a glass of wine. “I love my son, but punctual he is not.”

“And someone is looking particularly handsome tonight,” Cangse Sanren cooed as she approached Lan Zhan. “Did A-Xian pick out that jacket?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan nodded.

“A-Niang, be nice,” Wei Wuxian playfully scolded despite the wide grin on his face. His parents loved his boyfriend and were nothing but supportive of him, had been even before he’d come out years ago.

Jiang Cheng was not jealous. Not at all. Not one bit.

There was a huff at Jiang Cheng’s side and he glanced at his mother from the corner of his eye. If looks could kill, Jiang Fengmian and Cangse Sanren would be long dead. He felt his phone buzz, but decided this wasn’t the moment to risk taking it out to see what Nie Huaisang had texted him.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian waved at him, and at the risk of angering his mother, Jiang Cheng left her side to approach his best friend. “You remember Lan Zhan from New Year’s Eve?”

“Of course.” He exchanged nods with his friend’s boyfriend. “It’s good of you to come.”

“Xian’er invited me.”

Wei Wuxian’s face broke out in a huge grin at that proclamation, and the expression on Lan Zhan’s face might as well have had heart-eyes for all to see. Jiang Cheng resisted the urge to retch at the sight.

Suddenly, his phone began to ring, immediately attracting everyone’s attention.

“Ah, excuse me a moment, I should take this.” He pulled out his phone as he stepped away to a quieter corner of the hall. “Huaisang, what’s up?”

“I sent you half a dozen texts that you didn’t reply to, so I figured you just might need a reprieve.”

He lifted a hand to cover his mouth lest his family see the small smile he wore at the sound of Nie Huaisang’s voice. “Admit it, you were worried I’d killed someone.”

“Have you?”

“Of course not!”

“I’m almost disappointed.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I know it’s been a rough night for you,” Nie Huaisang continued, “so this is your chance if you need an out – you can say an emergency came up at work or at your apartment or something.”

“You’re a life saver.” He sighed. “I’d say a night at home is better than this, but fuck, a frontal lobotomy would be better than this.”

“Well, sure, you can go home if you like-” There was a pause as someone laughed in the background on Nie Huaisang’s end. “Or, you can join us. If you’re interested, that is. It’s just the five of us, but we have so much food, and I’m sure Da-ge and A-Niang would be happy to have someone to talk hockey with.”

The sounds of the noisy banquet hall faded as Jiang Cheng focused on Nie Huaisang’s voice. “You’re sure I wouldn’t be in the way?”

“Is that Jiang Cheng?” a woman’s voice could be heard over the line. “You tell him we have some custard buns with his name on them.”

Nie Huaisang chuckled. “You heard Mama, you’re more than welcome. No pressure, though. I just thought it might be a nice way to spend Spring Festival.”

Jiang Cheng looked back into the hall in time to see his mother and father begin an argument over something or other while Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren looked at them with pity. Jin Zixuan looked lost since Jiang Yanli had left with Jin Ling. And a number of aunties had surrounded Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan offering them red envelopes that they dutifully attempted to refuse.

“Text me the address and I’ll be there as soon as I can get out of here.”

#wip wednesday #sangcheng #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #so many parents live in this fic!

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idontknowreallywhy · 7 months

Text

WIP almost-Wednesday because I’m excited about this one but also a bit stuck so it might not see the light of day for a while 😂

Will be part of chapter 3 of Play it Out.

Virgil carefully stowed his tools in Two’s specifically designed storage compartments and stretched, stifling a yawn. He checked his watch - 2am already! Gordon had bailed and disappeared off to bed a while ago but he hadn’t realised it had got quite so late… he’d got thoroughly absorbed in those calibrations though and it was satisfying to have it finished.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and made his way over to the elevator, turning to look back at the big green behemoth as he waited for the door to open. He was now 3 weeks ahead on his ship’s routine maintenance schedule and she was purring like a kitten. Between the familiar but challenging work and Gordon’s background chatter, he’d been doing a great job of not thinking too much either. Which was… good. Hopefully if he ignored the weird existential angst feeling for long enough it would go away and he’d get back into the more healthy habit of loving his life.

Which he did.

So.

All would be well.

As he passed through the lounge he was relieved not to find Scott there working until the early hours again. He’d seemed more tense and frowny than usual the last few days and Virgil was incredibly thankful he’d resisted the temptation to unburden himself to his big brother. The last thing that man needed was anything more to worry about.

Not that he wasn’t eaten up with guilt about it anyway. There was a good reason he was never deliberately untruthful with Scott - it felt like a betrayal even if he knew it was for the best. He was a horrible liar at the best of times, and now he could feel his face burning whenever his brother caught his eye. Every time Scott spoke to him, Virgil’s treacherous heart jumped into his mouth and he was almost overcome by the need to confess everything.

Not that there was much to tell.

Except that he was a fool who needed to get a grip and be grateful.

With stealth borne out of years of practice he crept past the rooms of his younger brothers on silent feet and paused at his own, glancing over at Scott’s. A prickle of… something ran through him and he was seized by the sudden insane urge to burst in and demand a big bro hug. It had been a few days, in fact, since his last, but Scott slept little enough as it was. Tomorrow, then.

Gosh he was tired. He opened the door and made a beeline for the bathroom, beginning to pull his shirt over his head as he walked. He became vaguely aware of a rustling noise from the vicinity of his right foot and shook it irritably, failing to shed whatever had got stuck to his sock. Flannel tangled over his face he reached down and removed the sock, random scrap of paper and all and abandoned it behind him.

Once the grease was washed from his hands and teeth thoroughly brushed he drifted back into the bedroom and went to stand at the window. He squinted into the grey, his eyes finding nothing to focus on as the low lying cloud reflected the light from his bedside table straight back at him. He shivered, despite the villa’s consistent, comfortable temperature.

Tracy Island’s sub-tropical winters were very mild compared to those he’d experienced growing up, but the cooler temperatures combined with the frequent sea mists still made him long to hibernate. He pulled the blinds down and shut it out.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #wednesday wip #wip wednesday #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #virgil tracy #scott tracy

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vivelarevolution13 · 3 days

Note

Hello & Happy Monday!

So...for the WIP tag game...I know I'm supposed to pick the one (1! ONE!) that I find most intriguing, but this is like a whole buffet of intrigue, so maybe I can have two? 👀 1) НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT) <- ngl, the 'figure out' cracked me up. Also, late night conversations? Yes, please!

2) what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 <- this just sounds fun...and possibly like the title could be deliberately misleading

Thank you! <3

Hello helloo, happy Monday to you too! (but also Tuesday now I guess. It's a 2-for-1!)

Thank you for the ask, and thank you for indulging me with two (2! it's gonna be so long!) <3

НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT!!!) - Ooof, this fucking guy. I'm glad my stern instructions to myself in the title there were funny, because I do indeed need to FIGURE this one OUT and it's bugging me. It's essentially another chapter that's a part of a larger work (not naming names not pointing fingers but it's. The Work I'm Having Trouble Updating) and it was written a looong while back, which is why it's now a standalone file. I love the premise but I kinda want to tear it down and rebuild it entirely, mostly because I'm still deciding on whether I like the way I wrote the backstory for it. So. It's fun! It's challenging! It's giving me a migraine! The title's from this song about a tired traveler trying to find his way in the night. It's three conversations (Steve+Nat, Nat+Bucky and Bucky+Steve - although they barely talk at all) that happen in the night after a very not lucid, injured Don't-Call-Me-Bucky who's recently remembered the Red Room and also had a pretty rattling encounter with the code words seeks Natasha out in Europe for [redacted] something as a last resort, but instead accidentally walks straight into Steve who he's been staying away from like the Devil Himself since CATWS. And then basically bleeds all over him. (I am not immune to the wound care trope! However, this is unfortunately not that.) A lot of ugly feelings and defense mechanisms are brought up, some painful memories re: the war and the Red Room are brought up, and nobody's having a good time or really knows how to process jack shit. They all communicate/perceive love&protection in wildly different ways, and while all three dynamics end on some kind of natural conclusion it's still a lot of unfinished, unspoken business and just kind of sad. Hurt no comfort that's necessary for there to be the promise of comfort in the future, if you will. Tbh, I really want to finish/reincorporate this one. But it's just so *screams into paper bag*. Anyway. Snippet:

When Steve wakes up the next morning Bucky’s gone, like he knew he would be. Like a hurricane passing through, the foreknowledge doesn’t make the aftermath any easier. And then what? his own voice from so long ago echoes in his head as he waits for the water for Natasha’s tea to boil in the sunny little kitchenette of the motel’s lobby. 16 hours later, he’s watching the blinding stripe of the sun setting over the East River before the plane maneuvers onto the landing strip at JFK. The hell else? Then we march on, ace. We go home.

2. what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 - oh good, thank god! So this one is a bit more fun, but it's only got a few disjointed half-scenes so far. The title is actually one of the most literal ones on the list - the fic does take place in Astoria, Queens, and it does involves a certain "nutcase". Several, even. They really don't get along, and then they almost do.

(Blame my recent rewatch of the Netflix shows for this one. Man. What a golden age that was.)

Excerpt under the cut:

It was easy to clock the combat training before, sure, but up close this guy’s… Keyed up. Wild-eyed, a little, and not in the twitchy way of the three idiots piled up outside by the ruined water hydrant, not just sheer adrenaline stoked by fear and booze and coke. More dialed-in, purposefully ruthless. Hungry. Getting up with an expression like an enraged bull in spite of the beating he just took. Nutcase, Barnes thinks bleakly. Not that he’s in any position to judge — glass houses, all that, but — “What’re you,” he croaks, “some kind of psycho?” “Says the guy who just mowed down six guys without blinking." The man spits, grimacing at the blood that lands on the stark white of the rooftop like it personally offends him. If he notices the similar spray across his busted face, his clothes, his military-short hair, he doesn't seem to give a damn. "Nice going, by the way— my man got away." "And my man's bleeding out on a fucking pool table downstairs," he grits out. He doesn't have time for this. This whole night has been one giant exercise in unpredictability, and the police sirens echoing off in the distance are problem enough without him having to duke it out over and over with some local homicidal moron who might or might not be HYDRA. "You wanna tell me what that's about?" The man levels an irritated look back at him and then shrugs, dismissive. "I don't play with my food." "Your food had intel I've been hunting for two weeks." "Tough shit. Maybe if you hadn't screwed up your goddamn trig—" His lip curls of its own volition, affronted despite himself. What an appropriate time for his ego to announce it's back from the dead and in the mix. How fun. “The hell I did. I don’t miss.” "Is that right? There's some real screwed up drywall down there that says otherwise." His voice picks up an edge of something dangerous, aiming for threatening and landing on feral as he takes a step closer, and Jesus, can he stay down already? "Unless you did it on purpose to let him know I'm coming because you work for the bastard, in which case lemme tell you, you and me have a whole different problem." "I don't work for anybody," he says, probably with more intensity than strictly necessary. "He was a civillian. I don't kill civillians." The words curl acerbic on his tongue. He doesn't. He doesn't. That, of all things, makes the man laugh, a bitter little thing that sounds like it clawed its way out of his throat, and only barely. Who the fuck is this guy. "Oh Jesus Christ, not this bullshit again— how many of you assholes are running around this place, huh?" he says, gesturing a little wildly at him. "You got a fancy catsuit under that hobo getup, too?" It's Barnes' turn to look at him like he's a few marbles short, which judging by all evidence he very well might be. The guy snorts at his confusion, shaking his head. "If you consider that criminal piece of dog shit a civilian, you’re way more out of your depth than I thought, kid.”

but also:

“Self-righteous, God's sacrificial lamb type-of-shit," he mumbles around the mouthful with distaste, staring off across the bridge. "Got himself a stupid fucking title and everything, if you can believe that. Major pain in my ass.” Barnes hums, considering, before taking a cautious bite of his own sandwich. The thick pile of fatty meat and melted cheese breaks apart in his mouth easy with a sudden, almost overwhelming explosion of flavours, his empty stomach singing praises despite the ache in his bruised jaw as he chews. He never thought he’d say this, but god bless Queens. “Catholic?” Castle grunts an affirmative. “Yeah, I have some experience with that.”

#thanks for the ask<3 #one of these days I will learn how to make these normal length. not today though lol enjoy!#booksandabeer #tag game #my fic #asks

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