#blips ficlet

[crumbleclub]

unreliable narrator.

a short one-shot from William Afton's perspective–sort of a character study– canon to blips. notable warnings for physical and emotional abuse and neglect, s//h, and sui// behavior.

William Afton did not want his son to die.

When his favourite child– Elizabeth, of course– had died, he had not enjoyed the feeling. William was far from an emotional man, so he was surprised by how absurdly difficult balancing his work and his science became over the following weeks. Sure, he wasn't blubbering on about it for ages like Henry had been after his daughter's death– which was cute, at first, but became rather grating after the first month or so– but he did feel as if something was missing. It disconcerted him.

No matter. It was an oversight; one of the few mistakes William had made in his life. It was not going to happen again.

William Afton did not want his son to die.

Of all his children, William understood Evan the least. The boy was... strange. Sensitive. He had been alright as a baby– quiet, but adventurous– but, as he got older, the child's temperament had changed. He cried and cried over every little thing, and– while it was annoying, yes– William found it to, more notably, be confusing. He hadn't thought much of it at first– his first boy had gone through a similar phase– but the fact that he hadn't outgrown it by the time he was entering his school years was baffling.

Even so, William had treated him rather well. There was food available to him in the fridge, he was given clothes that fit, toys to play with, and high-quality medical care. Evan had been born with a cleft lip and palate– which William had paid a handsome sum to repair– and he'd required tube feeding as a baby. His mother had been wrought with the aftereffects of a turbulent pregnancy at the time, so the boy's care had fallen to William.

Caring for any infant was both tedious and fairly unsanitary, and this one had come with extra responsibilities. Still, William had done a good job. If he had grown up in William's childhood home, he...

Well, no matter.

As Evan got older and grew more daring in his exploration, the boy's father had gone out of his way to keep him safe. Nothing like what had happened to Elizabeth would ever happen again, because William would find a way to always be watching him.

The bear had been perfect. A radio, a camera. William would always know what the boy was doing, so there was no risk of him running his mouth, and there would be no repeat of Elizabeth's fate. Evan would be safe.

William had sacrificed quite a lot for children he didn't love. Elizabeth was likeable, at least, but the others...

Meh.

William Afton did not want his son to die.

The scene had been bloody. William could smell it as one of the panicked party hosts led him out to the dining area. His composure was intact, but the speed with which his legs carried him to the site was uncharacteristic.

The boy was pulled down. He lay limp in his father's arms; lifeless, but breathing.

Michael had done it, apparently. William was only a little surprised. It wasn't as if William hadn't encouraged the behavior. He wanted to see how far it would go, whether the boy had any potential, but Michael had always been just a bit too concerned with the wellbeing of living creatures for William's taste. His incessant fussing over the wounded mutt in their driveway had spoiled William's opportunity for a perfect kill. The behavior was swiftly corrected, of course, but William couldn't do those things at home anymore. Michael had ruined it.

Light bullying aside, doing any serious harm to William's things was off-limits. Michael should have known that.

William Afton did not want his son to die.

Six days. Evan had fought for six days, and William had been by his side in the hospital the entire time. He'd even taken off work.

William had been there when he died. It was a peaceful occasion, unlike any of the deaths William had seen before.

He was holding his son's hand when the breathing stopped, eyes fixed on the tight gauze fastened over a broken skull and swollen cheeks.

It would be fine. William could fix this.

William Afton did not want his son to die.

Michael couldn't be left alone anymore.

It wasn't something William had expected. Evan's death had carried the glimmering hope that Michael may have taken after his father– a delightful treat, because nobody was ever like William– but the man felt his hopes being quashed with each moment he spent with his remaining child. In response to the event, Michael had become... irrational.

William hoped it was temporary, because his patience was wearing thin. The last time he'd been left unattended, William had come home to a fairly lackluster attempt at hiding the arm Michael had made striped and bloody, the sound of something metal clattering into the sink.

It was a curious behavior that William didn't really understand, but– after a few cycles of observation, and one occasion of the boy losing control and going a bit too far– it was one that he had decided was bad.

Michael had been disobedient with the new rule. He'd also gotten more creative; more impulsive. William had to start child-locking car doors. It would cast a very unflattering light on William were all of his offspring to die in such a short span of time– and he was conscious of that– but there was something else.

William Afton did not want his son to die.

The boy quaked where he lay curled up on the couch, lip quivering and eyes on the telly. William watched from the other end of the sofa, exhaustion starting to seep into the look of dull interest that marked his features. This had been going on for too long.

Twice. Twice, today, Michael had broken the rule. William was tired from a long day of work, but he wasn't confident that, were he to go to bed before the boy fell asleep, Michael would remain relatively intact by morning. So, William sat with him.

Hours later, though, he was still awake.

William spied the clock on the wall. Four in the morning. This was getting ridiculous.

Sighing, William leaned over and tugged the boy towards him, pulling him by the back of his collar as if it were scruff on a cat.

Startled, the boy flinched, almost trying to wriggle away before deciding better of it and falling eerily still. He stared up at his father in frightened askance, voice faltering as he hesitated in questioning the action.

"Father, what...?"

William situated the child in his arms, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the inconvenience. Michael was nearly fourteen; he shouldn't need such coddling.

He positioned the boy's ear over his heart, allowing him to hear the steadiness of his father's breathing and heartbeat. This maneuver had always helped Michael fall asleep when he was a baby, and it was going to help now.

"Pipe down." William shifted, as miffed by his own actions as he was annoyed with the request for an explanation. William was as unused to this sort of thing as his son was, and he was making himself uncomfortable. "You need to go to sleep. I don't want to have to miss work because of you."

Still shaking, the boy quieted. William leaned his head back and closed his eyes, a silent request for sleep to consume them both.

In the quiet of early morning, the simplest of sentiments was the only one that rang true.

William Afton did not want his son to die.

#a lot of it is kind of exposition-y and passively written but i think it's ok for what it is #which is essentially me figuring out how william percieves himself and his children in blips #mike's actual writing #michael afton #cc afton #evan afton #elizabeth afton #william afton #blips #blips ficlet #blips one-shot #fnaf #fnaf fic #fnaf one-shot #fnaf ficlet #sh mention #cw sh #tw sh #cw sui mention #tw sui attempt #a lot to tag in this one #cw abuse #cw neglect #cw animal injury #animal injury cw #tw animal death #tw animal abuse

[eclec-tech]

"The Turn"

I had a thought about this handsome fellow, and it manifested itself in the form of a little ficlet...

Crosshair's eyes narrowed at the screen as five bright blips suddenly appeared exactly where he was hoping they wouldn't. "There's a squad on our tail, closing fast."

Omega turned with the authority of a commander. "Get to the tail gun. I'll get us out of here."

"You're sure?" One of them had to fly and one of them had to shoot. He wasn't at all happy with their chances knowing that she would have to be responsible for one of those.

"Tech taught me! GO!"

That was unexpectedly comforting news. Crosshair nodded and bolted for the rear of the ship, leaving Omega to hopefully do Tech proud as pilot. She did. She climbed and dove, weaving through the terrain as if Tech himself were guiding her hands.

An angry beeping broke her concentration. "The lead ship's targeting our engines! Crosshair, what do I do?"

Crosshair raced back to the cockpit. "Omega, turn sharp, zero thrusters NOW!"

Omega instantly realized her brother's plan. She turned the ship and cut the engines, then immediately reengaged the thrusters--the "Tech Turn". Crosshair almost instantly removed four of their pursuers from the equation. The pilot of the lead ship however, performed the exact same maneuver the moment Omega had begun her own turn, and was now careening skyward in an attempt to once again get behind the shuttle that now had no gunner in position.

Crosshair's blood ran cold. He knew of only one person who could fly like that, and according to a recent conversation with a very tearful Omega, he couldn't possibly be here. Yet here he was.

"Omega, we have a very big problem."

#speculative ficlet #the bad batch #bad batch fanfic #tech lives #crosshair tbb #omega tbb #tech tbb #imperial tech #cx-2 #clone x #the tech turn #bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #bad batch season 3 #amberowl24

[annwrites]

exactly what he needs, pt. 2 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | pt 1 | pt3

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (multi-chapter)

— summary: you & nate hang out in your room (after he snoops through it right in front of you), then ask each other questions, & he dresses & does your hair before you head out to spend the evening together.

— tags: conversing, getting to know one another

— tw: sexualization, lying (nate manipulating the truth), dollification

— word count: 6.2k

— a/n: I edited this numerous times, but fucked myself over by writing part 1 in present-tense to begin with, which I'm not always great at. So, if I messed up the tenses anywhere, please ignore it. Going forward, I'll probably be publishing further installments in past-tense.

Next post will be reader & Nate going shopping & having dinner!

The next morning when you wake, it only takes a few minutes for you to remember that Nate will be there in a little less than an hour, and the nerves immediately set in.

Surely people will see you getting out of his truck. What will they think?

You shake your head. It doesn't matter. Not really, anyway. You don't much care what any one person of the student population thinks of you.

You know high school is just a blip—a very brief moment in time, where it seems like every little thing you experience can be the end of the world, but it's really all just the beginning.

People will think whatever they like. It's not your job to try and change their minds. Not that trying to do as much would work anyway.

Once you've quickly showered, dressed, pulled your hair into a high ponytail to keep it out of your way, and eaten breakfast, you don't even have time to wait by the door as Nate's truck pulls up. You quickly pull on a pair of boots and step outside, locking the door behind you.

When you look up, your stomach does a flip when you see Nate holding the passenger-side door open for you.

You walk over to him. "You don't have to get my door for me, you know."

He shrugs, taking your backpack from you, setting it in the backseat with his. "I want to."

You tell him thank you as you climb inside and he shuts the door behind you.

Once you're on the road, he's the first to break the silence. "You can listen to whatever you want on the radio."

In truth, it's a bit too early for music for you. "I'm ok."

"Did you eat already?"

You nod. "I had a bowl of cereal."

He gives a slight frown. Not a very healthy start to your day. Something full of sugar.

"Do you want me to pick you up something on the way?"

Your eyes go wide. "Oh, no, I'm fine. Thank you, though. It's nice of you to offer."

He decides tomorrow he's bringing you breakfast, and he won't be asking for permission beforehand.

You're both silent again for a moment and the truck slows as he pulls up to a red light. He briefly wonders if you know how to drive. If not, he'd be a more than willing teacher.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you something personal. If you do, just tell me to fuck off and you don't have to answer."

You look at him. "Ok..."

The light turns green and the truck picks up speed again. "I noticed neither of your parents were home yesterday. Were they both at work?"

You grow quiet for a moment, a pregnant pause settling between the two of you as you look out the window at the passing houses.

"My dad was...is. He travels a lot for work, so he's not home much."

He nods, deeming it good news, at least for him. "And your mom?"

You're quiet for even longer this time. Then, "I've never met her."

Minus Lexi, you've already divulged more to him in that short sentence than you have to anyone else at East Highland.

"I'm sorry to hear that." He's not sure that he means it. He despises both of his parents and, if anything, in this moment, is envious of you, due to your lack of relationship with both of yours.

You shrug. "It's fine."

He wants more than just 'it's fine'. He wants to know more, as it's clear it's something which bothers you. He wants you to give him emotional vulnerability for just a moment. Something he can use in the future to work his way in closer to you.

"Do you know anything about her?"

You shake your head. "My dad refuses to talk about her. After a few fights when I was younger where I tried to get him to, I gave up. It's probably for the best. She made her choice, and I think me knowing anything about her would just make things...more difficult. My life, I mean."

Even if you still felt like you were chasing shadows sometimes.

He nods. If nothing else, it's one less person he'll have to go through to be with you. Two less, from the sound of things.

Finally, he turns into the school parking lot, taking his usual spot and he shuts the truck off.

"I'll get your door for you," he states before getting out.

You unbuckle yourself, not sure what to think of his insistence with the whole door thing. It just doesn't seem to be something men much concern themselves with anymore—getting a girl's door for her—at least not teenage boys, that is. But perhaps he's different. Maybe it's just the way he was raised.

Nate opens your door and grabs his backpack, sliding it over his shoulders, then grabbing yours as well.

You get out and go to take it from him, but he continues holding it.

"Turn around."

Your brows furrow for a moment, but do as he's asked. You quickly realize what he's doing and adjust your arms as he slides your bag onto your back. He's really going the extra mile to be a gentleman, you think.

Once the truck's doors are closed and he's locked the vehicle, he places his hand against the small of your back as you walk into school together.

You look perfectly calm on the outside, but on the inside, your anxiety levels are rising with each pair of eyes turning your and Nate's way.

When you spot Lexi, the look on her face is nothing short of bewildered. Next to her sits Cassie, who's fuming.

You're torn away from looking in their direction by Nate coming to stand in front of you. "See you in third period."

You nod and give him a small smile, going to sit with Lexi, despite Cassie giving you that same glare from yesterday. A worse one, really.

"What the hell was that?" Lexi asks, her tone full of concern as you sit down beside her, setting your bag on the table.

"Nothing. He just drove me to school, that's all."

"And home," Cassie says, voice full of malice.

Lexi looks from her sister, then back to you. "The two of you are not hooking up."

You flush. "No. He just gave me a ride, that's all."

"Ok, but why would he do that? The two of you never talk. You're not even friends."

You do your best to ignore Cassie's unsettling stare.

"I'm just—" You immediately shut your mouth. You should've thought further ahead, should've thought about what excuse you would give people when they inevitably ask why the two of you are hanging out all of a sudden.

Nate asked you to keep it a secret and you aren't about to betray his confidence. If you do, you're sure he'll fail and never bother asking for help again.

"Just what?" Lexi prods.

"We're just hanging out. It's not a big deal. I promise."

Suddenly, Cassie stands, angrily grabbing her bag, jerking it off the table and storming away.

Lexi rolls her eyes. "Just ignore her. I don't know why she's still hung up on him, anyway. He treated her like crap." She shifts in her seat, facing fully toward you now. "What I can believe even less, however, is the fact you're giving him the time of day. He's an asshole. He was abusive toward Maddy and wanted to keep screwing Cassie so long as she kept it a secret. He uses people, Y/N."

Abusive? You knew he and Maddy had argued quite a bit, but nothing that severe.

"What do you mean by abusive?"

She shrugs. "I don't know much, since she and Cassie obviously aren't friends anymore. But I know a good portion of it, at least, was emotional. Maybe verbal, too. Then again, I don't think she was any better." Lexi glances behind you, and you don't dare turn around, now worried the subject of your conversation is who she's looking at. "She gives as good as she gets."

Once the school day is over and you go to drop off your books at your locker, you find Nate leaning up against it.

He smiles when he sees you and you give him a shy smile in return.

You put your things away, then look to Nate.

In truth, what Lexi told you had gotten to you a bit. You try to tell yourself that it's all nothing more than hearsay, and you're only tutoring—not dating him—so whatever had occurred between he and Maddy and Cassie is none of your concern.

"You ready?"

You nod, and, just like this morning, he places his hand firmly against your back.

Once you're in his truck, you notice Maddy staring at you today, just a few cars away. She and Kat are both looking in your direction, Maddy clearly getting worked up and Kat obviously trying to calm her down, and your eyes widen when she begins heading in Nate's direction.

Before she can reach him, however, he gets in the truck and pulls out of the lot, leaving her standing there, staring after the two of you.

You're glad whatever was about to happen has just been avoided.

Over the next week, you and Nate go to your house every day after school to study. You gradually get to know more about one another, like you learning he has a brother—which you'd somehow managed to forget over the years—and he tells you how passionate he is about personal fitness, something to which you don't much relate.

It'd been abundantly clear since day one that he dislikes his father. But that dislike—even if he talks about him very little—clearly, somewhere along the way, became loathing. It's all in the tone he uses, the language he uses when he's brought up.

But the thing that always seems to calm him—make him happier—is talking about you.

He asks you every question in the book: favorite food, color, flower, song, type of music, art, what you want to be when you graduate, the kind of house you want to live in. The list is endless.

And then the day came when he asked to see your room, with you standing awkwardly in the doorway as he surveys every inch.

He starts with your bed, your fluffy white comforter with small pink flowers printed across it, and your plethora of pillows. And then he notices the small brown teddy bear leaned back against said pillows. He briefly picks it up, smirking to himself, then looking at you.

“Do you sleep with this?”

Your face goes blood-red. “Y-yes.”

He studies it for a moment longer, making a mental note to one day buy you one himself, wanting you to sleep with one that’s come from him instead.

In truth, while you think about you sleeping with a stuffed animal as embarrassing—at least for another person to now know about—it’s a major fucking turn-on for him. You’re that innocent that you still sleep with a teddy.

He sets it back down, throwing a “that’s very sweet” your way before moving on to your bookshelves.

Not that he’s read or heard of the grand majority of the novels you have, he can tell by the titles and covers alone that they’re all either romance or fantasy. He supposes he understands that: you trying to escape through stories. Stories where you can go somewhere else, be someone else. Have a new family, new friends.

And then he thinks it incredibly sad—just how lonely you are.

It’s not like he isn’t already aware of it, because he is—has became more and more so as the last week has gone on. Everyday he’s come to your house it’s been empty. But to see your shelves crammed full of books—your one attempt at escaping into a better life—he vows in that moment to start working faster at bringing the two of you together into a relationship.

You need him.

You like stories about princesses trapped in towers and white knights coming to save them? Then that’s exactly what he’ll be for you. He’ll rescue you from the lonely hell you’re living in and give himself to you fully. He’ll dedicate all of his time that he can to you. And he plans to spoil you fucking rotten.

He looks over the various trinkets you have set on—and on top of—those shame shelves. Porcelain figurines of unicorns and cats, a small jeweled crown, some candles and a few faux plants.

He turns back to you. “Which one is your favorite?”

You shift nervously from one foot to the other. “The Lord of the Rings, actually. I…I really like Éowyn and Faramir’s story.”

He nods.

He’s never watched the movies, and has obviously never read the book, so he makes a mental note to at least do some reading on the characters you’ve mentioned to understand you better.

He then looks over your entertainment center and the small collection of DVDs you have alphabetically organized in one of the cubbies. Beauty and the Beast, Ever After, Stardust, The Last Unicorn, The Princess Bride, among a few others.

He then steps over to your closet and pulls the doors open without even asking your permission first.

You don’t much react to him doing so, supposing that everything in there you’ve worn to school at some point anyway.

He’s met with skirts and sweaters and dress blouses. Another thing he’s going to have to change—your wardrobe. It isn’t exactly “frumpy”, but it isn’t feminine enough for his taste, either. He wants your clothes to reflect who you truly are. Sun and baby doll dresses, and tennis skirts with the right pretty tops will suit you far better. Sandals and delicate flats. Your hair curled and actually down for once, perhaps with a bow in it. And he’ll buy you a few nice pieces of expensive jewelry as well. Maybe take you on a shopping trip to Tiffany one day.

He closes the doors in front of him.

What he really wants is to go through not just your bedside table, but also the top drawers of your dresser. He's curious if you've ventured into the territory of lingerie and sex-toys yet. And if so, what your preferences are.

He doesn't like to imagine you using more than a vibrator on your clit to get yourself to orgasm. As for lingerie, he doubts that you own any, but he often pictures you in lacy panties and pastel teddy nightgowns.

He adds such things to his mental shopping list of things to one day buy you.

Speaking of orgasms, however, he'd come thinking of you nearly every night for the past week.

He imagined you on his bed, naked, your pussy soaked for him, your legs spread wide as he teased you until you were begging for him to put himself inside of you.

He imagined all the things he'd teach you in bed, sure that you're inexperienced.

And only after you promised him that you're his—belonged to him and wanted no one and nothing else but him—did he finally join your two bodies together.

Finally, he sits on the edge of your bed. He then glances to the chair which hangs from the ceiling in the back left corner of your room, directly facing where he now sits.

You walk over, sitting in it.

He then lays back on your bed, feet still planted firmly on the floor, arms folded behind his head—God, he’s so tall.

“Do you not get lonely here?” He asks, turning his head to look at you.

You lift one of your socked-feet onto the chair, wrapping your arms around your bent knee. You shrug.

He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

Your brows furrow. “Do what?”

“Act like you being left alone all the time doesn’t matter. It matters; you matter.”

You remain quiet. Then, “I’m used to it. I like being alone.”

He refuses to believe that, knows it’s bullshit.

You’d only spent a week together, and only a little over an hour every day at that, but it’d not taken but a couple of days for you to—at times—talk his ear off. At one point, it’d nearly gotten on his last nerve, until his stomach dropped and heart broke when he realized why: how fucking long had it been since you’d had someone—anyone—to really talk to? Someone who bothered to truly listen? How long had you stayed silent, withdrawing further and further into yourself, until you’d built up an entire fantasy world within your mind and soul, which became your new reality?

And so he promised to himself—and mentally to you—that he’d never, even if it were true—tell you he doesn’t care what you have to say. He won’t be just one more person to hurt and let you down. Just like he knows you won’t be as much to him.

You’re good for him. He could tell as much from the first day he spoke to you.

He stares at you for a moment, making you squirm. “I don’t believe that.”

“Ok.” You don’t particularly feel like arguing. He can believe whatever he wishes.

He frowns. He dislikes that you don’t seem to much care what his opinion of you is. He supposes it’s a strange dichotomy. Going from Cassie who, it was all she cared about, to you, who clearly can’t care less.

“You’re really telling me that talking to barely anyone at school, except occasionally Lexi, and being alone in this house all the time doesn’t ever get to you?”

You shrug. “It’s just what I’m used to.”

In all the talking to him you’d done over the past week, all of it had been surface-level. About history or the new book you were reading, or something you’d read in a news article. None of it was actually truly about you.

If his plan to get in deeper with you—to know you like no other person on the planet does—is going to work, then you need to give him more.

“What if it wasn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking up to the ceiling. “What if we started hanging out more often than just when we study after school? We could text or something, too.”

You appreciate his being concerned for you, you think it really kind of him. Even if makes you the least bit uncomfortable. You tell yourself it’s simply because it’s something you’re not used to: someone showing genuine concern for you.

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

He looks at you again. “You wouldn’t be. I like spending time with you.”

You’re not sure how to respond, so you just say thanks.

“I feel like for the last week I’ve done nothing but ask you questions about yourself. Is there anything you want to know about me?”

He’ll never admit it, but your lack of interest in him hurts his feelings. It makes him feel like you aren’t nearly as attracted to him as he is to you.

“I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He smirks. So that’s why. Always so fucking considerate; his sweet girl.

“You won’t.”

You think for a moment. The things you really want to ask him about are too personal this early on (even if you’d told yourself such things were none of your business, you can’t help wanting answers). Like why he despises his dad so much, and what happened with him and Maddy and Cassie. And what happened at that New Year’s party which landed him in the hospital?

You start smaller. “What made you want to play football?”

He considers giving you some bullshit answer—which will seem a plausible enough explanation—and giving you the actual truth. Finally, he decides on both. “It gives me something to do, for one. A reason to push myself harder. It gives me something to focus on. And football is a contact sport. So when I’m pissed off, I finally have something to take it out on.”

“Like when you’re angry with your dad?”

He grows silent.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

He shakes his head. “It’s ok. It’s not like I’ve exactly been subtle about my dislike of him.”

He doesn’t elaborate further than that.

“So…what’s your favorite color?”

He laughs. “I don’t know. Black, I guess.”

Somehow it seems fitting for him.

He looks at you, able to read you. “But that’s not the kind of question you want to be asking, is it?”

“I don’t want to overstep boundaries.”

He leans up on one elbow. “Then how about we make it fair? You ask me one actually personal question, and then I ask you one. And we both have to answer. No matter what. As soon as one of us refuses to, I head home.”

You think about it for a moment, worried about the sorts of things he may ask, but you have an out. “Deal.”

He smiles. “Alright, ladies first.”

“Will you tell me what happened during New Year’s?”

He sits up fully then. “Fezco smashed a bottle over my head, then beat me within an inch of my life. He got the upper hand immediately by doing what he did with the liquor bottle. He almost fucking killed me, all for a worthless druggy.”

Your brows furrow. “Who?”

“Rue went to him with some made-up story about me harassing her and some friend of hers online. When in reality I want nothing to do with her. So then he threatened to kill me and finally fucking tried to.”

“Why would she do something like that?” It feels like he isn’t giving you the whole story. He’s laid out the edges of a puzzle, but is withholding the middle.

He shrugs. “She’s a drug addict, how should I know?”

Before you can reply, can think of a polite way to say: so what’s the real story here, he takes his turn.

“How come we were never friends?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we’ve known each other since we were five-years-old. We grew up together, have known each other for over a decade now. And only in the last week have we really finally talked, or spent any amount of time together.”

You lean back in your seat. “Well, just because you grow up with someone doesn’t mean that fact has to serve as some prerequisite to becoming best friends or something. Sometimes people, even from a young age, just don’t click. You were always running around on the playground, playing sports with others. I was always sitting off to the side and reading or coloring or playing with toys. I guess you were just more outgoing than me.”

“You know what they say: opposites attract.”

You tell yourself he’s just referring to friendship.

He lays back again. “Well, it may’ve only taken eleven years, but we’re friends now. I just… I just wonder what things might’ve been like had it happened sooner.” He sighs, then, “Your turn again.”

To an extent, you wonder that, too. Mostly just what it would’ve been like to have a best friend for that long.

“What happened between you, Maddy, and Cassie?”

“Not going to give me an easy one, huh?”

You let out a small laugh.

“Me and Maddy had been together since sophomore year. I guess we just grew comfortable with one another, even if we weren’t always happy. Even if it wasn’t always healthy. It didn’t start out toxic. We were happy at first. For awhile. A long while. But she just…it was like she wasn’t pleased unless we were fighting and then making up.

“It was just a constant cycle of her beating me down, then trying to build me back up again through sex. She just…she made me feel like shit about myself. As both her boyfriend and a man. It was like it wasn’t bad enough: the shit I dealt with at home with my dad. She just had to become one more problem in my life that I was forced to deal with.

“I’d hoped that if I loved her hard enough, if I gave her enough, she’d love me back the way I wanted to be loved. The way I loved her. Turns out I was just a fucking idiot.”

Tears sting your eyes. You feel so sorry for him. To be so young and to have already known an emotionally abusive relationship was heartbreaking. It was one reason why you refused to date at such a young age. You were all too young to understand yourselves, nevermind another person. Not in the context of loving and taking care of them, at least. You all were barely even fully-formed people yet.

So that was what Lexi had been referring to before. Just like everything, there were always two sides.

“And Cassie?” You ask, softly.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Just a giant fucking mistake. We first hooked up a couple weeks after Maddy and I had broken up…again. It happened on New Year’s Eve. I just…maybe I was trying to get even for what Maddy had done to me at the beginning of the school year—fucking a guy in the pool at McKay’s house—right in front of everyone.

"And then we hung out more, and at first I thought she was different. Maybe better for me. Until she started blowing up my phone with hundreds of calls and texts, screaming one night in my room about how crazy she was, how she’d never let me be with anyone else. How she was better for me than all the rest.”

Your brows raise. That unhinged? Cassie had always seemed so sweet and demure to you. But you’d also hardly ever been around her outside of school.

And dating—being in relationships—seemed to sometimes bring out the worst in people. Facets they themselves didn’t even know they had.

“I’m sorry, Nate. I never knew Cassie was so…” You trail off, until he fills in the rest for you.

“Psychotic?”

You laugh. “I wasn’t going to say it like that, but…” You shift legs, wrapping your arms around your other one now. “Your turn.”

He remains lying back, wanting this question to come off as something he’s casually asking. Whereas, in reality, he’ll be holding onto every word of your answer.

“Have you ever dated before?”

You feel like you suddenly want to use your out, but refrain. It’s a simple enough question, with a simple answer. “No.”

He looks over at you. “Never?”

You shake your head. “Nu-uh.”

His brows raise. He’d never known you to have a boyfriend before, but until recently he’d not exactly kept tabs on you.

It surprises him.

“Have you never kissed anyone or had sex?” He prays the answer to both is no. Also hopes you don’t cut his questioning you short.

You’re quiet for a moment, the two of you just staring at one another. Until, finally, you decide to answer. “No. And I’m not ashamed to say it. Not having done either of those things is a choice, just like having done them is as well.”

He sits up, hunching over to try and hide the erection he can feel forming.

No one has ever been inside of you—not in your mouth, not in your pussy, and not in your ass. Another pair of lips have never even touched your own, another tongue has never tasted you. Another pair of eyes has never explored your lovely naked body.

He wants to know what you do, then, to satiate yourself when the mood strikes. Do you rub at your clit until you come? Do you finger yourself—he wonders if your hymen is still intact? Do you bunch a pillow up between your legs, humping it until you've finished and the case is soaked? Or do you take and rub your teddy against your wet, needy pussy until you’re sore and can’t take it anymore?

God he wants to know what you fucking taste like. Wants to feel your fingers in his hair as he goes down on you. Needs to know what your perfect pussy feels like around his cock.

But he knows it’s too soon for any of that. For you, at least.

“That’s not something to be ashamed of. Not nowadays. You should be proud of yourself for having held out this long. I admire it.”

You shrug. “It’s not that hard to do.”

He smirks. “That’s because you’ve never done it before. Once you’ve been with someone in that way…giving up that kind of intimacy is difficult.”

You think any kind of intimacy must be hard to let go of after having it. Whether it’s emotional, intellectual, physical…sexual. Maybe it’s one more reason you keep most people at arm’s-length. If you never let anyone in, then you’ll never have to worry about losing them.

You clear your throat. “My turn.”

He lays back again.

“Can I ask about your dad?”

He flexes his jaw. “What about him?”

“Why do you hate him so much?”

There’s a long pause and then he finally sits up. “I guess it’s time for me to go.”

You plant both of your feet on the floor, now sitting on the edge of your swing-chair. “You don’t have to. I’m sorry. I was just curious. Since he always seems so…perfect, you hating him, I guess, is just a source of confusion for me. Then again, maybe that perfection is the source of it: your hate. I don’t know.”

“That’s part of it. But not all.” And that’s all the answer he’s willing to give you.

Letting onto his hate for his father in the first place was a mistake. But that loathing sometimes seeped out. And he feels like he can be honest with you. He trusts you. So, sometimes he lets go a little. That lid he keeps so tightly screwed slips loose sometimes in your presence.

He stands and you fill with guilt.

You’d gone too far. You’d known better—that asking about his father would end up being a mistake—but you’d brought him up anyway. And now you’d ruined the day.

“You really don’t have to leave. We can talk about something else?”

He pretends to consider that for a moment. When in reality, he’s all too-pleased that you’re so eager for him to stay.

Then, he steps over to you, standing in front of your seat, towering over you as you look up at him. He briefly thinks that this would be a perfect position for the both of you to be in as you take him into your mouth.

Then, he kneels down. One week was all it had taken for you to bring him to his knees.

He reaches up, grabbing either of the ropes the chair hangs from from on either side of you. “It’s Friday.”

You smile nervously. “That’s very observant of you.”

He smiles, letting out a small chuckle. “I just mean that it’s only four o’ clock; still early. We could go do something together.”

He begins to lightly swing you, just barely.

“Like what?” You ask quietly.

He shrugs. “Whatever you want. I could take you to dinner, take you shopping. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, even if you just want to drive around.”

You don’t know how to respond to his offer. “You don’t have anywhere else you need to be?”

“Not at all.” He wants so desperately to touch you, but he sees you like a newborn fawn, easily frightened; skittish. So he refrains. For now at least.

You glance to the set of glass doors beside the two of you which lead into your backyard. At the sun still high in the sky and tree branches blowing lightly in the wind. And then you look back to Nate, seeing no good reason to waste such a beautiful day cooped up inside.

“Okay.”

He smiles. “Good.” He stands, offering you his hand.

You take it, doing the same. “I’ll just be a minute, I need to change again. Don’t really want to go out in sweats.”

He nods, going to leave, then stops by your closet. He pulls the doors open and you watch as he pulls out a light-pink sundress, then turns back to you, holding it out in your direction.

“You don’t have to wear it, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it on you at school before. Just thought it might look nice.”

You gently take the dress from him.

He speaks before you can tell him no. “I’ll be waiting in the living room. Take your time.”

Once the door has shut behind him, you look down at the dress in your hands, then at the things you usually wear—the clothes you feel most comfortable in—beckoning you from your closet.

While you dress, Nate leans back on the couch, hoping you wear what he’s picked out for you. In truth, he wants to dress every inch of you. He wants to do your hair, your makeup—even if you never wear any. He wants to pick out a cute matching pair of lingerie for you—so only he knows what’s under your clothes—your shoes, your jewelry, even your perfume.

He isn’t sure why it means so much to him—perhaps it’s just another thing he feels the need to have control over. He wants you to look nice. He knows you’re capable of matching his ideal picture of what he wants you to be in his head.

When you finally emerge from your bedroom fifteen minutes later—you’d spent half of that time sitting on your bed considering putting the dress away—he’s left speechless.

You’d put on the dress, along with a cute pair of sandals, your toes already painted a pleasant shade of pink, which just so happens to match the item you’re now wearing. And between your breasts hangs a necklace.

You stand in the entryway awkwardly, one of your hands clutching your other arm. “I feel ridiculous,” you whisper, your face red.

He stands, coming to position himself in front of you. “You look beautiful.”

You’re surprised by his response. Wearing something which shows off so much of your body makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

You’d considered putting on a cardigan to cover your arms, but it’s almost ninety-degrees outside. So you decided against it.

He reaches around to the base of your ponytail, his thumb, index and middle finger gripping your hairband. “May I?” He asks, looking down at you.

You feel dumbstruck by the sensation of the base of your hair in his grip, so you just nod.

He gently pulls the band free, your hair falling over your shoulders and down your back, coming to rest just above your ass.

He’s never seen hair as long as yours before. Why the hell do you keep it up all the time?

He flexes his hand, the holder now firmly around his wrist and he reaches up with both of his hands, running his fingers through your soft hair, massaging your scalp as he styles it.

You just stare up at him, his face the picture of concentration as his fingers work against your head, through your long strands of hair. Your eyelids droop just a bit out of the feeling of relaxation that comes over you, goosebumps rising on your arms.

Nate takes note of that, as well as the quiet whimper in the back of your throat as his fingers brush against the base of your neck for just a moment. He likes that you like the way he’s touching you. He wants to know what other places his fingers and hands could explore that would get him similar results.

Finally, once he deems your hair presentable to his personal satisfaction, half of it falling down your back, the other half split evenly over both of your shoulders, he slips one hand into his pocket, the other coming to rest under your chin, making you look up at him again.

He feels blood rush to his cock at the flushed, lax look on your face as your hooded eyes stare up into his own.

“Why don’t you wear your hair down more often? It looks very pretty like this.”

“It gets in my way,” you state, your voice now having a dreamy quality to it.

He really likes you like this. All soft and submissive and dressed how he likes. He wants you wrapped around his finger sooner rather than later. Completely his in every single fucking way imaginable.

Today will be one step closer to getting that future.

He deems what you’ve said a good enough answer, but he knows you’ll have to get used to it. Your hair being down suits you far better than it being up.

He steps away, walking over to the door, holding it open for you.

Once you’ve locked it behind you, he holds open the passenger side door of his truck for you, same as always, shutting it firmly once you’re inside.

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader) #nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs imagine #euphoria x reader

[dispatchvampire]

Radio Free Bucky - Bucky x Fem!OC

Pairing: Bucky x OC (in progress)

Warnings: Fluff, mild angst, casual swearing, smut in later chapters

Series Summary: A bunch of interrelated  of fluffy ficlets about Bucky and Penelope. Strangers in the night, tenuously connected by the past, finding their way together a little at a time.

Chapter Summary: In which Bucky has a birthday and someone unexpected knows about it.

It was his birthday, but he’d kept the proceedings low key. Dinner with Sam and his family, some cake, before retiring to the fixer-upper he’d bought not far from their family homestead so he had a place to stay in Delacroix  that wasn’t the front room couch when he came down. That’s really all he had the mental and emotional space for these days.

The soft patter of rain on the roof and windows droned in the background as he worked on the birdhouse Sarah had asked him to. Sam’s sister was a sweetheart, very unlike her brother, and he had no problem giving in to any and all requests from her and her boys. They did love them some Uncle Bucky. 

A memory of a warm summer afternoon on the bayou made him smile as Chet Baker’s smooth voice crooned about falling in love too easily, just a shade louder than the downpour. As much as Sam gave him shit for it, Bucky liked what he liked, and he wasn’t ashamed. It was good music. 

He’d found this satellite radio station one day online, looking for god knows what now, but it had been a revelation. A whole channel devoted to 40’s music, and it was like the universe was giving him a bit of comfort after kicking the hell out of him for so long. 

The soulful trumpet at the end of the song faded into the gathering shadows in his workshop.

“That was Chet Baker on vocals and trumpet there, and I think that might be my favorite song of his. It’s ten past eight here on the east coast, and this is 40s Junction.” 

Just hearing her voice made Bucky smile. It was warm, knowing, with a spark of humor that made him wonder if her actual smile was as nice as what he pictured in his head. And, to be fair, he’d pictured her a bit.  

This woman, the only female DJ at the station near as he could tell, was a nightly companion as he worked on his projects and unwound at the end of the day. Hearing tiny snippets of her life, and how joyfully she related to the music that was clearly way too old to be current for her, made him feel a little less alone in the world. It was an unusual feeling and he’d started to enjoy it. 

“Now, I know I promised you all I’d get to some Ella Fitzgerald this hour, but…” she trailed off and he turned his head to look at his phone like he expected to see her there, with a mischievous grin. “I wanted to take a moment to share something with you all. Today’s a special day in my family. It’s a tradition my Pawpaw started way back in 1945.

“I’m sure you all have guessed by now that he’s the reason I’m here with you, five nights a week from four to midnight. He was my best friend growing up and I miss him terribly. 

He served in the Army in Italy, with the 107th Infantry Regiment.” Bucky carefully set his work aside as his fingers went numb. 

“You history buffs probably recognize the unit, but for those that don't, that’s Captain America’s outfit, and my grandfather was Gabe Jones, one of the original Howling Commandos. 

“Today is March 10th, the birthday of one of my Pawpaw’s fallen comrades in arms, Bucky Barnes. For years, on this day, he’d raise a glass and tell us about the man who saved his life more than once. A man who gave him a reason to go on, to keep fighting, even when all seemed hopeless. Whose death marked his young life indelibly. You get the picture. 

“He’d raise a glass and ask us to remember the fallen and their families, and to help those still around us carry on. After the Blip, I’m sure a lot of us can relate to those sentiments.” Her sigh held paragraphs he didn’t need a translation for. 

“Anyway, long story short, it feels weird to say that Bucky isn’t dead, as Pawpaw informed us, but I’m celebrating his day just the same. I’d like to think he’s having a good 107th birthday, out there, somewhere. 

“As for me, I raise a glass to him, and all the boys who served.” She paused and he could faintly make out the sounds of ice cubes hitting glass. “And with an extra sip for those who didn’t make it home. Happy Birthday, Sergeant Barnes, wherever you are. Now, here’s Ella, serving up some Black Coffee.” 

Bucky’s gasp when the music kicked back in told him that at some point he’d lost air, and even though he was breaking currently, the lump in his throat was throttling him slowly. Of all the things… so many thoughts in his head, fragments of memories, imaginings. Abandoning his workbench entirely, he shuffled across the room to toss himself down onto the couch in the now mostly-dark. 

He could see Gabe’s face in his mind like it was yesterday. Easy smile, quick wit, brilliant mind. Gabriel Jones had been a good man, and it warmed Bucky’s heart to know he’d gone on to come home, have a family, and that he kept the joy in his life. 

The tender affection in her voice when she spoke of her grandfather said more than any words could ever. That was the true measure of a man, the love of those left behind.

There was a voice in his head, one that sounded annoyingly like Dr. Rainor’s, whispering that he was well-remembered by those he’d left behind too, and that meant something. To them, to the world. It was a voice quickly snuffed out by the knowledge that while that may have been true at the time, a whole encyclopedia of lifetimes had transpired between then and now, and his worthiness of that sentiment, no matter how well-intended, well… it was more worn than not. 

Still, it warmed his heart a little to know that he was thought of fondly, and by his DJ-crush of all people, even if it was a strange coincidence. How could it not? He may have still been getting used to this time, but having that moment, that connection no matter how brief, felt like a much-needed hug in a world that has offered him precious little in the way of comfort. 

For a second, he could just close his eyes in the gathering darkness and let the music and rain rhythm wash over him, like a baptism of time, washing him clean once more. For a second, he could just… be. And it was enough

#fanfiction #avengers fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #avengers fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes

[goldeneyedgirl]

So back in August, @pupupuphuca drew this adorable and beautiful piece of Jalice fanart, and I immediately volunteered to write a little ficlet about it because it was so beautiful.

It took me forever to get this at least close to how I wanted it, but it's here. @pupupuphuca, I hope you like it and thank you so, so much for sharing your gorgeous art!

The coffee house is like a dozen others that they’ve visited in the last decade. The smell of real coffee in the air, the mismatched furniture dotted around, the low music playing.

The reason they chose coffee places is because the smell of the giant roasters and grinders; enough to cover up the smell of the humans that inhabit the space so that it’s tolerable. That they can be… well, not entirely comfortable, but a hell of a lot more comfortable than they are in a high school classroom.

This is one of those spaces that makes him - makes them - feel more real and somehow more insubstantial than ever. It's... it's nice.

It’s nice to come and sit; watch whatever aspiring singer or poet or performer might be standing in the corner, where a discoloured circle on the floor outlines the wannabe ‘stage’. Just to talk about anything and everything, and maybe lean into feeling normal - feeling human - for a little while.

Alice loves it. She loves finding another one of their little bolt holes, the place that none of their family will think to look for them if they needed to. She has stacks of business cards, loyalty cards, collected in a box somewhere.

“We met in one of these places, Jasper,” she says when he watches her add another one to the pile - right down to the very faded Moonlite Diner matchbook she has. “Of course I want to remember them all.”

Tonight is just like the others, in a good way. It’s warm, and there’s a couch near the door free, tucked back from the rest of the tables and patrons which is for the best. Alice leaves him with her bag, and returns with drinks - straight coffee with ice cubes. She has always picked the drinks carefully - the cold cups are opaque, so no one realizes they aren’t consuming them. Cold drinks smell less than hot drinks, and the scent is tolerable without chemicals and sweeteners or animal products mixed in. They’ve work-shopped this over the years.

She tucks herself next to him when she returns, placing the drinks on the small table in front of them. She leans against him for a moment, her emotions bright and happy; she loves these nights. Getting out, being a normal girl going out with a normal boy. And he likes that he can give her this one small taste of it.

There is a musician with a guitar at the microphone, a crooning woman who isn’t too loud. She’s quite good, actually; there are more people here than usual. A pair of girls are whispering in unsubtle admiration about Alice’s outfit, and his girl is practically bubbling over with glee.

And then Alice’s emotional signature flickers. For a split second, it’s like she’s disappeared. One moment where she doesn’t exist next to him - it’s a very cold feeling, a shocking one. A second later, she’s back and the vision is already upon her.

It’s been exactly the same since he met her. The visions make her blip out for a second. It’s a good warning, honestly, and right now he’s already focused on her, holding her hand and waiting for her return, the music already forgotten.

Alice looks and feels very distant, muted, when she’s having a vision. Her fingers grasp weakly at his sleeve as she stares off at something only she can see, and they wait. Frustration, disappointment, and curiosity leak out of her.

And then she’s back.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly, settling against him and the couch again. “Nothing urgent, nothing we need to worry about.”

“You’re sure?”

“I promise,” she smiled up at him. “But we are going to have to cut our night short - maybe go for a walk instead?”

“Of course, love.”

“Are you okay?”

They both look up at the barista who has appeared in front of them.

“I’m fine,” Alice smiles and the barista nods, and moves on. Alice watches her leave, ostensibly testing the future to see if the barista has found them strange enough to be memorable. A moment passes and Alice relaxes.

“Let’s go,” Jasper murmurs in her ear. “A walk sounds nice.”

“It does,” Alice takes his hand, slinging her bag over her shoulder. The drinks are forgotten on the table as they slip out, a few dollar bills tucked next to the untouched cups, as they step out into the rain.

“Might be a while before we can go back,” Alice says ruefully as they walk away. “Just in case.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” His arm slings around her shoulders as they slip down the street. “Gives us time to scope out some other places.”

Maybe it’s never been about playing human, about feeling human, coming to this coffee house, and all of the dozens in their past. Maybe’s it’s just about being in the world together. Hundreds and thousands of little coffee dates because it never gets old, being together.

Alice perks up and gives him a bright smile. “Anywhere with you is perfect.”

He takes her hand and presses a kiss to the knuckle as she smiles up at him and they slip away into the night.

#pupupuphuca #alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #twilight fanfiction #canon compliant #my fic: one shot #a little slice of life #for that gorgeous art

[actual-changeling]

decided to start collecting all my little tumblr blips and ficlets and eventually post them as a series on ao3

i'll probably expand on some of them but i'm always hesitant to post fics that are less than 1k words, but having them as a themed collection makes it easier

current title idea (for the series) is "the confidential journals of a.z. fell and anthony j. crowley"

#alex yells at the void #good omens #ineffable husbands #now more than ever feel free to send requests and fill my inbox #4.5k for the series and counting

[brandwhorestarscream]

Jazz vs. Cryptid Seekers

Behold, a mini ficlet one shot thing brought in by weird thoughts about the cryptid seekers AU. Jazz is traumatized XD

The weapon detonates without a single shred of warning. Glowing, slimy fluid splatters his entire left side, nearly the same color as energon, though slightly darker. Jazz doesn't have more than a moment to react, opening a comm to report what he'd found, but it's too late. He blinks once and suddenly the floor is rushing up to meet him. He collapses, paralyzed, landing with a sharp bang. Everywhere the thick fluid has touched is numb and tingling, and he can't so much as twitch his digits. It's sticky and slimy like a glob of old oil, and a goopy rivulet dribbles down from his temple and streaks over his visor.

He's got his right servo planted on the floor and is pushing himself up when there's a loud, wet popping noise, and more slimy goo rains down on him from above. His right side goes numb and heavy and he collapses back to the floor with another clang. A third sloppy noise and something hits his chassis and bounces off to land in the thick puddle on the floor. He can't even move his optics to look around. Whatever these security measures are, they're potent. He's entirely unprepared to handle full body paralysis, only driven home by the blaring of emergency messages on his HUD, warning of immediate shutdown to reboot and flush the Invasive agent from his system.

He barely gets his comm online to send a distress signal when his vision clouds over and he's forced into stasis.

Some odd megacycles later, Jazz wakes to the unpleasant florescent lights of the medbay glaring down at him, and he's barely sat up for half a klik when Ratchet finally arrives to give him the typical cranky reprimand. Going on about how irresponsible and dangerous that was, how he had taken out three other mecha during the retrieval. The paralyzing slime had been collected and analyzed–thankfully it wasn't going to give him some dreadful virus, but that's no excuse! "-better be grateful, I had to completely flush your systems, so-"

A warning blipped to life on his HUD. Energon levels approaching 10%. As if right on cue, his primary fuel tank makes a loud grinding noise, and Ratchet stops his rant to give him a curious look.

Jazz chuckles good naturedly. "Gotta cube, doc? I'm wastin' away over here."

"I just topped you up a megacycle ago," already the medic is approaching with a scanner, checking his processing system for leaks or ruptures. The scan comes back normal. "That can't be right... hn. Drink up."

A glowing cube of precious energon is tossed at him. Jazz snatched it out of the air, breaks the corner with his denta, and happily began gulping it down. While he chugs the fresh fuel, Ratchet is staring intently at his scanner as it searches yet again for a breach.

"...So am I free ta go?"

Ratchet flicks one servo with disinterest, grabbing a second and third scanner just to double check. The results all come back the same.

"That slag you were covered in must have temporarily increased your fuel metabolism," he could bring that to Wheeljack and Perceptor later. Wouldn't be the weirdest thing to ever come out of decepticon scientists' crazy defense mechanisms. They were just lucky they'd been able to extract Jazz before he was discovered. "Come back if you experience anymore symptoms, got it? You're free to go."

Jazz thanked the medic and slid off the berth, happy with his clean bill of health and relieved to get away from the overbearing scent of antiseptics and sterilizing bleach. The mission was technically a bust and Prowl was none too pleased at his lackluster report, but it was good to be home all the same. The minibots teased him for getting caught in a 'con trap, and he laughed right along with them. A rookie mistake to be sure, but they were all thankful it hadn't turned lethal.

Less than a megacycle after being released from the medbay, his systems pinged him that he was once again low on fuel. He forwarded the information to Ratchet, dragged himself in for another scan, but everything came back clear. The energon wasn't leaking from any of his vital components, there were no breaches, nothing to suggest that anything was amiss. The science team was working as fast as they could on analyzing the strange slime weapon, but as of yet had no answers as to why he was digesting his fuel so quickly. It wasn't hurting him, really, so Ratchet told him to just stay on top of fuel consumption and keep his gauges in the green as best he could.

Easier said than done. He swallowed down five cubes in just as many megacycles, and the hunger pains were starting to make his whole body ache. It seemed like as soon as he finished refueling, his tanks were twisting and prodding him from the inside, demanding more. Sharp cramps and pinching pain had him walking gingerly around the base, and it eventually got to the point where he was so uncomfortable he slunk miserably into his berth to try and sleep it off.

Jazz wakes up in the dark to the sensation of falling, rolling right off his berth and hitting the floor with an utter lack of grace. The soreness of the fall is nothing compared to sudden, rampant nausea, and he's gagging before he's even managed to sit up. His tanks heave and his systems warn of an imminent purge. Oral lubricant fills his mouth and he dry heaves once, twice, clamping one servo over his mouth to try and keep it down. Primus no, not here, not on the floor, at least let him get to the wash racks!

He stumbles to his pedes but something makes contact with his shoulders from behind–and he realizes he's not alone. He's shoved back onto the floor, back on his knees, and an unfamiliar voice angrily demands, "Give them back!"

He orders the lights on through hiccups, his tanks rolling unhappily. His sensors don't pick up on anything, and he can't see anyone. It's not Mirage, he knows Mirage's voice.

There's the distinctive clack of thrusters on the floor and his spark constricts. Seekers.

How did they get in here?! Are they under attack? Why aren't the alarms going off? What-

His panicked thoughts are cut off and he lurches forward, half-processed energon and digestive enzymes flying past his derma, splattering his servos and the floor.

"Give them back!" A second voice demands.

He tries to turn his helm toward the direction of the voice, but the movement makes the whole room spin and he's helpless, collapsing onto his side, cheek barely missing the puddle of purged fuel. "Wh- Wha- g'oh…!" He groans and clutches at his midsection. His tanks feel like they're going to physically crawl out of his body. Another wave of nausea bubbles up and he purges again. Primus almighty, what had the cons done to him?!

"Give, them, back!" The tip of an invisible truster very, very gently toes the side of his face, tilting it up. He can't see the seeker, but he knows that voice. Starscream. He is so fragged. "We won't ask you again, autobot! Give them back or we'll take them by force!"

"Wh- What're you-" another glob of half-processes fuel flies out of his mouth and splatters all over the invisible pede. It drips down to the floor, and Starscream doesn’t even flinch. "What're you talkin' about?!"

"Don't play dumb," That deep voice… Thundercracker, maybe? Or Skywarp? He can't tell Starscream's trine apart. "We know it was you. We can smell them on you."

Jazz has no time to ponder what the frag that was supposed to mean, because something in his tanks twists, violently, and suddenly something is clogging his primary intake tubing. He chokes grandly, clawing at his chassis and back arching in pain. His HUD blares a red warning, a dangerous obstruction is damaging his aeration tubing and it needs to be purged, now. It wriggles it's way up his throat and his optics bug out helplessly, body thrashing against his will as something squirms it's way up his throat, and then into his mouth.

There's a sharp, shrill squalling noise; something tiny and moving and very much alive is in his mouth! He flips over to spit it out, horrified, and the tiny, slimy thing hisses at him. It's… a cybertronian, he thinks, but microsized and misshapen, stubby half-limbs and malformed plating. It skitters across the floor on all fours and all of sudden Skywarp is just there, plain as day, cooing as he kneels down to offer his servos to the teeny, tiny bot.

"Oh bitty, we were so worried!" He croons, gently cradling the tiny thing. "Here, come on, where it's safe."

He brings his palms up to his mouth, opens wide, and promptly pops the only half-developed sparkling into his mouth, swallowing them down in one gulp.

"That's better," Starscream appears beside him, glaring down at Jazz. He feels like he just lived through a grisly scene in a horror movie, still laying on the floor gaping at them. Just before Skywarp's teleportation spirits them away, he utters a grave warning, "Stay out of the hatchery, autobot."

#cryptid seekers au #jazz #Starscream #skywarp #thundercracker

[amarmeme]

A little second person Durge ficlet, based of a discord prompt: You already know how this ends

Spoilers for the Dark Urge.

++++

You come to with a splitting headache behind your eye, the worst pain you ever felt–can ever recall feeling with such a short blip of a memory reserve–and recoil at the burgeoning sunrise. You glance away from the sliver of bright hope to your feet, which you realize are caked in mud and what looks like viscera. It seems you’ve done it again, and while the flush of satisfaction should be settling over your wicked bones, all you feel is disgust. 

Perhaps the headache is a penance. This time you’ve slaughtered an innocent bard. A tiefling who’d made you crack a small smile over her passionate performance in the grove. Somehow she followed you home to camp, seeking sanctuary. 

The rush of disappointment floods your gut, worming down from your ravaged mind to nestle in a pit of self loathing so vibrant it could overtake the dawn. You should clean up the debased corpse. You should clean the blood and guts off your own hands and feet. 

You cannot make yourself move. What is the point in hiding an evil act? You already know how this will end.

If you do not say something to these strangers-come-allies, they will be next. Their corpses will litter your campsite and what then? You will be totally lost to an urge that beckons you to the darkest depths, no moors to tie you to shore. You need them to know. You need them to witness and understand a beast lives in your body, barely hiding beneath the surface. 

You turn your face back to the blinding light, embracing the pain. Let the dawn come. Let them see you for what you really are.

#durge #bg3 #bg3 durge #bg3 spoilers #dark urge #second person pov #im the narrator now #ficlet #baldur's gate 3

[slavicviking]

🦇My Steddie Masterlist 🦇

Soulmate AU:

Part I: Eddie

Part II: Steve

Part III: Eddie and Steve

Grey Matter: Steddie BigBang Project no. 212 tags: canon divergence, stobin, steve finds out about UD in 1985

1 (art)  2   3

podfic by @hullomoon 1  2   3

in the memory of Steve disappears but not one remembers him existing AU

inspo post   1   2

the best gift of all (is you) - steddieholidayexchange tags: post-season 4, christmas, punk steve, getting together, idiots in love

1   2   3   4   5   6   7 

the subtle art of non-existing  1   2 tags: steve harrington has powers, canon divergence, hurt&comfort, mystery

Oneshots/Ficlets:

My Cabin in The Woods: January microfic challenge

Please, put it DOWN - prompt request

Yellow: December microfic challenge

Kiss and Tell: November microfic challenge

Isn’t it weird?: October microfic challenge

Good Ol’ Harrinton Charm: September microfic challenge

Long Jump, Huge Leap (ao3 version)

Pre-Season 3, Canon-Divergence

Pool: July microfic challenge

that one au where you can’t lie to your soulmate

stuck with you (I want to be) - high school steddie set in the Spring of 1985

Long Odds: Steve fills in for Dnd (ao3 version) (art)

A Blip On Your Radar: an ode to Eddie’s malfunctioning gaydar (ao3 extended version)

The Idea: Valentine’s Day 1985 (ao3 version)

Steve and the Prom dillemma

Valentine’s Day Gone Wrong Post-Canon

Dorks being Dudes at a motel

Buy me a coffee

My art

#steddie #my writing #my art #look at me trying to stay organized #I'll do my best to update

[aerodaltonimperial]

Dammit I need sleep but the ficlets are so good! Because I apparently can't resist this new ship, could you maybe write something where Hook and Darby tend to each other's wounds after All In? Maybe with Hook being extra soft?

(🧡⚰️)

"Ow," Darby hisses.

"Yeah, no shit," Hook says. He's got his fingers pressed up against the bumps in Darby's spine, the knobs that are currently on fire in his lower back. Hook presses in, kneads his thumbs around. "What, exactly, did you think was going to happen here?"

"That I'd win," Darby grits out, elbows against the wall and one foot propped up against the baseboard just to keep his balance, keep him steady, keep his knees from giving out as Hook tries to find the worst of the pain.

"By sacrificing your spine, got it. Good victory."

"Shut up." Darby sighs. He doesn't really mean it. He's had a number of people backstage who end up helping to patch up the worst of things after a match, and they've all had different approaches to it. Sting is very practical, matter-of-fact; Orange, well, Orange mostly is waiting for the sweet release of death by the end, so he's not always a lot of help. And Hook, well... Hook was a surprise.

Surprises in this industry aren't always good, but this one, Darby is willing to see out. He doesn't think he should have expected Hook; that tag match had been kind of a weird blip more than anything else. But he's here, fingers jammed into Darby's back as he slides his hands down in a shift to try and pop Darby's spine back into place, and Darby isn't going to tell him to leave. Truth be told, he wants to see this one through.

"Dude," Hook says, with the tone of someone who cannot possibly fix all the damage Darby has done. Honestly, fair.

"I'll sleep on it," Darby says, pushing back from the wall a little, at least enough to straighten his elbows. "See how it feels tomorrow."

"Hopefully you can still walk."

Darby huffs out a laugh. "Guess we'll see."

Hook doesn't let go of Darby's back, though his hands do splay out a little, fingers twitching along Darby's waist. And that's why Darby was willing to let this go: the shiver of the unknown that's laced through this entire situation, wedged between the ice bucket and the wet towels. Hook is here, and Darby is thinking maybe he knows why.

He feels a little bad about the body bag thing. It was a long time ago; hopefully Hook is over that now.

Hook's hand continues upward, palm dragging up the bumps until he reaches the top, pausing between Darby's shoulder blades. "The rest okay?"

"Good enough." Darby twists his chin over his shoulder, trying to catch Hook's gaze. Whatever this is, they've reached the crisis point in it. Nowhere else to go. No other way to spin being in the same room, the excuse gone.

Hook leans in, mouthing what might be a kiss against Darby's skin, and it sends a wave of prickling down the back of Darby's thighs. Darby sucks in a single breath. Holds it. Flips around so he's facing Hook with his back against the wallpaper. And then he meets Hook's eyes and refuses to look away.

Hook's gaze flickers down to Darby's mouth, then back up. Darby nods. "Yeah."

Maybe this isn't what he should be doing, in the London hotel room, while his back continues to shriek admonishment at him. But it's pretty hard to feel guilty about it when Hook kisses him, greedy and eager and desperate to find a way to forget about everything. Darby can't really blame him for that: it's a damn good way to chase the ghosts away. And if he wakes up tomorrow with ridiculously overpriced ugly NYC street wear on the carpet, his back in a whole new expression of pain, well, at least they both got to forget about things for awhile.

#tag so you don't lose this shit #the vibes of this ship are so delicious lmao

[crumbleclub]

a super short ficlet in the blips universe, told from elizabeth's perspective.

Elizabeth and her little brother huddled together on the carpeted floor of her room, and she lifted her hands to cover his ears.

The muffled sound of shouting made its way through the walls, punctuated by a sickening crack. It was quiet for a moment. Then, she could hear crying. It was raspy and gasping and loud; the kind you couldn't mask no matter how hard you tried.

Evan was crying, too, silent tears dripping down his face and leaving damp spots where they fell onto the collar of his shirt. Elizabeth could feel him trembling in her arms, and her palms pressed even more tightly over his ears. Closing her eyes, she willed it all to go away.

"You don't have to be scared, Evan," she whispered. "You just have to pretend."

Elizabeth was very good at pretending.

#i made a haha funnie earlier so now i have to be angsty #this takes place immediately before the 'accident' art i did for a prompt btw #both are canon to blips and might get proper chapters later #i have lots of ideas for stuff in the blips universe outside of mikes pov actually #just not sure where to put them lol #i wasn't sure if i needed a readmore since it's so short? lmk if i should add one #cw abuse #blips #blips ficlet #giving that a tag bc im sure i'll make more #fnaf #cc afton #evan afton #elizabeth afton #mike's actual writing #ficlet #fnaf ficlet

[thatmexisaurusrex]

My Current Table of Contents

Maybe I'll change the banner for this at some point, but I thought I should post my Table of Contents for my AO3 works here:

Canon Divergence:

The Bucky Quest Saga, which tells the behind the scenes story between Sam and Bucky post-Captain America: the Winter Soldier through to The Falcon and the Winters Soldier and beyond that

A Captain and His Bucky which is what if Bucky was the original Captain America, Sam has been Captain America since the events Avengers Movie, Steve Rogers is the Winter Soldier, and Sam found Bucky thawing from a chunk of ice in SHIELD headquarters during the events of Captain America: The Winter Soldier and has now taken him in to help him navigate life in the future

My Aaron Davis/Peter B. Parker Fake Marriage Enemies to Lovers Fic You're a Sunflower (I Think Your Love Would Be Too Much)

My Heimdall/Sam Wilson Post-TFATWS Fic Series, Loving Are All-Seeing Men and Midgardian Captains

Sam Wilson finds himself in a very strange game show with some asshole named Bucky Barnes, The Marriage Game

Two clubbing feelings with porn SamBucky fics. One that happens post-TWS during Bucky's European Tour and one that happens during the black market art auction nightclub scene in TFATWS. The fics titles, as well as this collection title, are based on lines in the song hand crushed by a mallet by 100 gecs, I didn’t get to tell you goodbye

A story about Sam and Bucky finding out that Sam's dead husband Riley is a Winter Soldier, Captain America, The White Wolf, and the Winter Soldier

A story about Bucky hearing Sam truly laugh for the first and a bonus series of vignettes about Bucky's twenty-three goats and their pun names, Sam and Bucky's Cabin

Time After Time, or my Sorcerer Supreme Sam Canon Divergence Fic

Back in the Gulf, where Sam Wilson tries to figure out where he fits in the world post-blip and if he wants Bucky Barnes to be part of his life.

My All Caps fic, sometimes that's all we need, an Endgame Canon Divergence where everyone lived, no one went old and went to the past, and Steve and Bucky are competing for Captain America Sam Wilson's love and attention

Fantasy AUs:

My Fantasy/Medieval/Arranged Marriage AU, Golden is the Sun

His Wingless Stranger, which is a "What if WWII Bucky fell off that train into a world that spliced Tomorrowland with Hiyao Miyazaki and Sam lived in a future society where everyone has wings?"

My Zombie AU, ESCAPE TO WAKANDA

My Apothecary Meets Prince Who Accidentally Becomes His Apprentice Fic Series, The White Wolf Apothecary

My Star Wars AU, Star Wars Episode IV.V: The Phantom Hookup

Fairytale AU, The Little White Wolf

A story about monster Hunter Joaquín meets Vampire Sam and Werewolf Bucky in a bar, Joaquín Torres Monster Hunter

The Two Strangers, A post-apocalyptic future western SamBucky AU on a different planet

My Practical Magic inspired AU, Impractical Magic

No Powers AUs:

My Single All the Way AU, A No Snow Christmas

My Popstar AU, The Only Thing That I Refuse to Forget

My one fantastic impromptu date fic, A Night With You

My airport chase confession fic My Best Friend's Brother

My Anthologies:

The SamBucky Halloween 2021 Anthology I made for the SamBucky Halloween 2021 event the SamBucky Library is hosting

The WinterFalcon Week 2021 I participated in that's being hosted by the WinterFalcon Week tumble

The Nine Short Dates with Sam and Bucky ficlet series I made

The Sambtember Ficlets and Drabble Anthology I created for the Samtember event hosted by the Sam Wilson Fest tumblr

The Kinktober Collection 2021;

Water They Waiting For anthology series. It's 9 writers, 19 stories, and a lot of sexual tension involving water

My ongoing installments for Fleur de Louve Month2021

My SamBuckyTorres anthology, Captains and Falcons and White Wolves, Or My!

My collection of three fics for the MYSU Holiday Gift Exchange 2021!

My collection of fics based on the SamBucky Library's Candy Hearts Event 2022, SamBucky Library's Candy Hearts Event 2022 Fic Anthology

My collection of stories inspired by my the Daily SamBucky Fluff Diary on my tumblr, The Daily SamBucky Fluff Diary Auxiliary Stories

My collection of fics based on the 2 card of the MYSU Valentine's Day Bingo 2022, MYSU Valentine's Day Bingo 2022 Fic Anthology

My collection of fics based on the photos in post by hot-chocolates-world on tumblr, The Tush Collection

My collection for the SamBucky AU Week 2022, My SamBucky AU Week 2022 Collection

My collection of Drabbles and Ficlets for Samtember 2022

My collection of WinterFalcon Bingo Round Two 2022-2023 Bingo Fills 

My collection of fills for SamBucky Halloween Bingo 2022

My collection of fills for the Sam Wilson Bingo Round 2

My SamBucky One-Shots!

My Other One-Shots!

#sambucky #sambucky fic #sambuckyquin #sambuckyquin fic #samquin #samquin fic #samdall #samdall fic #my fic #table of contents

[mrmatthewmurdock]

anyway since we all now know for sure from echo that matt wasn’t blipped, i’m here again to plug my lil canon compliant ficlet about how the blip day might have gone

#daredevil #marvel #matt murdock #daredevil show #karen page #foggy nelson #lucys ramblings

[scribeoffate]

"it was an accident" + sceo?

It has to be an accident. Theo stares at the invitation in his hands. There is no chance he is really invited Dr. Deaton's retirement party.

He finds Scott, hip deep in paperwork at the animal clinic.

Scott glances up briefly before turning his attention back to the form in front of him. He makes a few notations and slides into what Theo can only assume is his done pile.

Theo turns the invitation over once and then shoves it in his pocket. "That's a lot of paper."

Scott shrugs. "Yeah. Deaton didn't like keeping computerized records. I think it was just a holdover from Dr. Ramsay before him. But it leaves me... to deal with the fallout."

"Looks fun."

Scott laughs. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you,"

And Theo doesn't hear any little blips to indicate Scotty is lying. And Scott's face looks flushed when he says it.

"but why are you here Theo?"

Now that he's here, he doesn't want to ask anymore. If the invitation was a mistake, it wasn't on his part. Scott will be there, so he wants to go. "I was in the area, thought I'd drop in."

"Oh."

Scott smells...disappointed. Which is a weird smell.

"It is my lunch hour in about..." Scott glances at his phone, "two minutes. In case you wanted to spend it with me."

Theo stares. Scott *is* flushed.

"Uhm, yeah, sure."

The smile that blossoms across Scott's face decides it. Accident or not, Theo's going to that party.

request a ficlet

#ask game #scott mccall #theo raeken #sceo #fluffiness apparently #it happens sometimes

[cherryfinolahobbes]

Timeless Loyalty

Spoilers: There are no spoilers for Quantumania, but if you haven't watched the Loki miniseries and don't know about Kang/The Conqueror/He Who Remains, you may want to skip this.

Triggers: Mentions of abuse/scarring/lost family

A/N: This was inspired by Quantumania and learning more about our new big bad. The idea was born as you have a person that can manipulate time and, of course, I thought of Cherry. This is a bit more of a vague outline of her, probably a variant as I see this as one of the many Kang variants. She's escaped Norman, but doesn't seem to be connected to the Starks and hasn't met Wong or Strange.

Right now, this is more of a one shot to get the plunny out of my head. This was how I used to write a lot of my ficlets, in first person, and I honestly miss it. I may need to do some more.

Anyhow, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Cherry and my own imagintion. This is for fun and everyone belongs to their original creators.

***

He surprised me.

I hadn't heard the bell above the door ring or even his footsteps. I hadn’t seen him in a long time. He used to come quite often looking for a kind word and something to eat. I figured since the Blip had ended he’d found his family and a home. There was no need to hang around FEAST any longer.

The building was empty and I was getting ready to close when he was suddenly there. I turned around, hearing my name.

He seemed taller, but maybe it was because he stood straighter, held himself with more presence than he had before. For a moment, I didn’t recognize his face before it shifted. A cold placid mask melting into something shy and uncertain. I did not recognize his clothing. Polished metal and gleaming green fabric. I’d never seen anything like it before. His posture changed, turning into that slightly hunched and submissive stance I knew much better.

“Do you remember me?” He asked softly and I realized I had gone still, frozen in place the moment I’d seen him. I nodded, swallowing hard past the tightness in my throat.

“Of course,” I said, breath thin as I bobbed my head. “It’s been a while…you’re doing better, I hope,”

That shy expression turned sharp and eager as he took a step forward. My heart skipped and I instinctively took a step back. “I am…so much better, it’s why I had to come see you. I had to repay you,”

“Repay me?” I repeated the words looking dumbfounded. “I…don’t understand,”

He could no doubt see the fear and anxiousness playing over my features. I wondered if he could hear the thunder of my heart. I was nothing in this world but a once snared rabbit that had outwitted her hunter. I lived my days plainly and choose anonymity and quiet to keep from the hunter’s gaze from me and yes…kindness.

I had been treated with such vitriol and hatred before escaping my captor, how could I choose anything but kindness? I feared going back, feared the hunter’s friends because he had them. I feared most people and worried they would hurt me again. The man in front of me stilled and I saw his expression change from sharp eagerness to that cool thoughtful mask as he straightened and pulled himself upright.

“You were kind to me without knowing me, without knowing what I could offer you, I don’t forget those who help me…” He said and extended his hand. “And my loyalty is timeless,”

My heart was in my throat. I didn’t often allow myself to touch people. I was scared of being close, being grabbed, being hurt…scared of how they could interpret such intimacy and trust as a touch. I was human though. I craved touch as much as I feared it and something about the man pulled me like a magnet. One step became two and then a third, the wounded rabbit hobbling to inspect to see if this was indeed safe or just another trap.

He waited though, waited with his outstretched hand as I warred within myself before tentatively slipping my fingers against his gloved palm. Strong fingers curled against my own and a moment stretched into eternity.

“You said…I helped you before knowing what you can offer…what can you offer?” I asked, my voice trembling on the edges, breathy and small. My chest felt so tight. I was waiting for the snare to come over my neck and choke me, but the bait had been too tempting. His hand was warm and solid as he held onto mine.

‘Time,” He said simply, as he turned his eyes to mine. “Time to use however you wish. I can take you back and give you all the time you lost,”

I thought of them immediately, my family gone forever in an accident that no one was punished for. An accident that everyone knew wasn't one but no one wanted to look into an impoverish immigrant's shop "exploding". An accident that tore me from my loved ones and set me on a path that changed my life forever. I was constantly searching for them in others and only finding pain. Could he do that? My heart lurched both in disbelief and hope. The man's hand tightened and I could feel my skin tingle,

“or I can cut out moments you never wished had happened," Something happened that I couldn't explain, a sensation that felt like the beating of a thousand butterfly wings as the air around us shimmered. I knew what had happened somehow, what he had done, but I didn't believe it until I pulled my hand from his and shoved the sleeve of my shirt up.

My four years of hell with a man named Norman Osborn had left me with scars. Most were in my mind, but he had left his mark on my skin as well. It had much to do with that fear of letting others near me. He made sure to leave the marks that wouldn't show to the public easily, but I knew as I ran my fingers against the back of my upper arm, under my bunched fabric at my shoulder to feel, not uneven tendrils of scar tissue, but smooth, flawless skin.

Tears gathered hot and bright in my eyes, stinging my vision as I hugged the now flawless shoulder closer to my own self. The man...man? Could he be a man? Someone who could perform these miracles? What was he? Stepped closer and gently took my chin in his hand, the cool expression creasing into one of strange, tender yearning. “I can give you all the time you need. You’ll create all the memories, all the dreams you’ve ever wished to accomplish because you will have all the time you need and nothing can ever touch you,”

I couldn't breathe. It didn't seem real. I wanted to wake up but I wanted to dream forever if that's what this was. It was everything and too much all at the same time.

"I don't know your name..." I said weakly, looking into the dark eyes of the man who held me. "and you don't...you don't have to do all this. I just thought..." I thought back to the man that visited FEAST in the past, a man who looked so sad and alone and broken. I couldn't help but be drawn to someone who looked like that, who reminded me of me when I would have given my last breath for a kind word, "you could use a friend,"

Quiet settled between us before the hand at my chin moved to push my hair away from my face, fingertips brushing over my skin and set my nerves tingling, "I did..." He murmured, eyes turning more and more liquid, and less like the cool aloof mask he held before. "I did need a friend and you were it. I won't forget it. I told you, my loyalty is timeless. Think on my offer..." Leaning forward, he pressed a soft kiss to my brow and I felt the itching sensation of time being redone, my scars returning, things returning to the present. "You can be whatever you choose, your path whatever you want, and I will make it so,"

He stepped away, my lungs empty and breathless, and he gave me that small, shy awkward smile I knew so well, "My name is Kang. Remember it," and he left, clothing melting from the strange armor into a green sweater and dark slacks, walking out the door, but I could still feel the warmth of his lips on my brow and remember the satin feel of my flawless skin which was now rescarred. It only took a moment's hesitation before my feet were flying after him, the clattering jangling noise of the door and its bell silvery in my wake.

#spoilerish #? #but not really #kang the conqueror #he who remains #multiverse #variants #fanfic #mcu #loki #antman quantamania #scar tw #tw dark themes

[whotaughtyougrammar]

For the writer asks! 1, 3, 18, 20

I’m sending good vibes for 1, that it flows smoothly soon based on the writer memes.

Thank you for the good vibes 🙏🏼🙏🏼 And thank you so much for the ask!

1) Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

OH BOY WHERE TO START LMAO

I’m working on a few things right now, which is funny because I used to be a one project at a time sort of person, back when I didn’t write as often but putting pen to paper was paradoxically easier.

The “first” (technically second, you’ll see what I mean) big thing is:

A “multiverse” story. This sounds like something that I came up with after watching Everything Everywhere All At Once, but I’ve been working in this since before the movie came out 🤣 Of course, Daniels had thought of the concept for this movie long before this was even a blip in my mind, but I digress.

I think I mentioned this before, but I kind of like the idea that out of all the families, the Close/Streeps/Freemans are just… utterly mundane and non-magical (not really the case anymore eyeroll ¯\_(ツ)_/¯), but I still wrote a ficlet where Morgan basically implies she knows the gender of her child through a dream. I took that and spun it off into, “Morgan visits her alternate selves through her dreams and is comforted and finds closure in the choices she’s made in her life,” (or something like that, I don’t usually like to deal too seriously in themes and prefer writing vignettes or scenes) I mostly just wanted to write down some of the AU ideas I’ve come up with without committing to several fics at a time because as much as I love my AUs, and as much as I like writing fics, there’s only so much time and energy I can put into them without ignoring basic necessities 😅

I have a basic “prologue” done but not much else. What I want to do next is figure out which AU I want “featured.” As big as this idea sounds, I really do want this to on the shorter side (if it exceeds Heart’s wordcount and is not considered done by then I may cry lol) and I’m not including the completely outlandish universes like the bodyguard AU or the figure skating AU. I definitely want to include Morgan Foster-Freeman, and mercenary Morgan from my Monsters and Mommies AU, but other than those two I’m still in the planning stages.

The “second” big thing I’m working on is:

A Glenn and Morgan love/origin story that I’ve been working on on-and-off since fucking 2020 (!!) I have a few scenes fully written out and even an old outline of what I wanted to happen (it’s so old I was still calling Morgan “Michel” or “Mysterious Significant Other”).

I have a lot of problems with this one lmao.

One is it takes place over a pretty long period of time—I specified they’ve been dating around 5, almost six years in “Everyday Words Seem to Turn into Love Songs”, and they didn’t immediately like each other when they first met (I’ve always been pretty firm with this bit of headcanon), so the timeline for this one, tentatively titled “You’ve Got a Pulse and You Are Breathing” would have to span at least 7 years, and maybe even longer.

Another problem I had was formatting. I was having trouble deciding if I wanted this to be one long document/short story (my preferred format) or if it should be split up into chapters. As I went on, I was even starting to doubt whether I even wanted to do such a comprehensive “origin” story that went from point A to point Married to point Canon, and considered doing it in semi-related short ficlets like “In A Sentimental Mood,” or as a 5+1 format, specifically something like “5 times Glenn had a shitty date, and 1 time Glenn still had a shitty date but it led to something infinitely better” (a lot of “Pulse” involves Glenn’s dating troubles, not only from being a pan/bi Asian man in the 90s and 00s having to deal with biphobia and racism, but also being aspec and not being able to put into words why certain parts of dating don’t appeal to him without sounding like he’s stuck-up or a “freak” or like there’s something wrong with him.)

But I think the biggest problem I am having right now is simply the fact that I think I psyched myself out 🤣 I wrote “Everyday Words” in… a day? Maybe two days? It was simple and cute and so easy to do, one of the few times I just wrote first and edited later, that I figured I could write up a “But how did they meet,” story in maybe a week, and now it’s two years later, the campaign is over and it’s on to the next one for a majority of people, so many scenes written that may not even make it into the final product and the only thing I’m sure on is the title, and even that might be changed for the final product 🤣

I still have so much love for this fic, it feels like my baby basically lmao, that I feel nothing less than perfection will do it justice. It would be very funny but also poetic if the first meeting of Glenn and Morgan ends up being my last fic written for the fandom, but I don’t see that happening—I still have plenty of ideas left to write!

Smaller things I am also working on (that I have actually started and are not just ideas I want to write eventually) are: A Carol and Morgan bonding thing that will hopefully segue into some sort of Carol/Mercedes thing, and a social media fic of fans speculating on Glenn’s love life (Single? Straight? Dating? Bi?? Secretly married??? Something else?????), Morgan’s general cryptidness (Dancer? Actor? Pianist? All of the above? None of the above? No really, how does one woman hold so many jobs at one single time?), and generally being weird and parasocial. So you know, just your average day on social media.

3) What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

There is a scene that I’ve never written but has always stuck out in my head in my abandoned Glenn in mourning fic, where after the funeral, Glenn is accosted not only by Bill, (obviously thinking that now that the ol’ ball and chain is in the ground Glenn is suddenly OK with having his father around again), but also by Morgan’s side of the family, either by her sibling (who I think was her sister and not her brother at the time I was thinking of writing this) or her actual parents, who are basically threatening to take Nick away from him.

Bill is handled fairly quickly and easily, but a legal matter is something else entirely, and in a panic, Glenn goes to see his mother and basically starts verbally whaling on her once the shock of what happened wears off and lets her have it, demanding/screaming that she help him because, according to Glenn, she owes him for never being an adequate mother and treating him like an inconvenience until it was too late, but eventually his rage subsides and his grief takes over and he begs her, much more plaintively, to help make the problem go away, swearing that he’ll forgive her for all her past transgressions and never bring them up again if she helps him with the custody problem. She agrees, and he never hears from Morgan’s side of the family again. (which sounds ominous written like that, but everything was dealt with legally I swear lmao)

18) Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

I recently reread “Everyday Words” and though I consider is part of Musicverse canon, a part of me feels like it’s a completely different ‘verse, simply from the amount of (implied) boning that happens 😂 I came up with the idea of Ace Glenn very early in the series run (my series and canon series) but it wasn’t in my head when I wrote this evidently (it was probably while I was writing “Pulse” did the idea firmly plant itself in my head, which was basically immediately after I finished this). Chalk it up to being away from each other for extended periods of time, Glenn being (generally) sex-favorable and sex being an easy way of establishing intimacy.

A lot of the story beats in “Heart” were originally going to be part of other things (Glenn mentioning that his mother taught him guitar was originally going to be part of “Pulse”) or were going to be smaller ficlets. The bit where Morgan gets sick in Heart was originally going to be its own short ficlet, and so was the scene of Glenn talking about his failed “date”/realizing something was “up” with him irt sexual attraction (it was originally a morning after scene), so I’d consider all those plotlines I’ve abandoned, or more accurately, merged into one.

My friend also made a throwaway joke about an AU where the meet-cute is both of them dumping bodies into the Gowanus and their eyes meet, which isn’t an AU of my adult store AU per se but it is a joke I can see Morgan making as she’s trying to puzzle out how much she wants to say about her occupation .(“So how are you going to introduce me to your friend’s kids?” “I don’t know, I’ll just tell ‘em we met when we were dumping bodies into the Canal. They’ll get a kick out of that.”)

20) Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

I have a few, but the one that sticks out for me is probably the headbutt. The scene of Glenn headbutting Bill in “You Send it All Back to Me” is a call-back (call-forward?) to a scene in “Pulse,” where Glenn attempts to punch somebody and gets punched back for his troubles. Morgan fixes him up while criticizing his technique and advises him to go for a headbutt next time instead for a variety of sensible reasons. Glenn is skeptical and is in the process of “Well, Actually”-ing her when she surprises him with a headbutt to demonstrate—not hard, just a sudden forehead touch that stops him in his tracks and forces him to reconsider his talking points and also realize that Morgan’s eyes are not black like he originally thought but brown, and that this close he can see how they sparkle when she’s amused and how deep and dark and mesmerizing and beautiful they actually are and—oh no.

#thank you again! i love seeing your asks lol #dndads #dungeons and daddies #dndads odyssey #dungeons and daddies odyssey #musicverse