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steviewashere · 1 month

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No One You Can Save That Can't Be Saved (Love)

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Lots of talk around death, Vague suicidal thoughts (seriously very vague) Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Season 4, Established Relationship, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington has Nightmares, Panic Attack, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Cuddling & Snuggling, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Introspective, Fear of Death

I don't know what this is. I wrote the opening poem and then wrote the rest. Enjoy, I guess? Title is from "All You Need is Love" by The Beatles.

This is also on ao3, but it's not showing up currently in the Steddie tag. If you'd like to read this in full on ao3 instead, Here's the Link!

💕—————💕 I’ve had no desire to die. None in my body. But if you told me to die, I’d ask: Who for? Where should I lay my body? Like this? I’d perfect it. I’d make a gala out of it. I’d win. Blood on my hands and flesh between my teeth; I am not dead. But— Death is intimate with me. I have no desire to die.

——— The grass pearls with early morning dew. Tacky soil shapes to the bottom of his left sneaker. He takes a step forward, the imprint of his posture a temporary fixture in the lawn. If it rains again, the divots of his soles will collect water like cupped palms. Though the day will surely pass while he stays inside, working the nightmare from his musk scented skin, and he’ll return home dead on his feet. Ready to lay himself bare to a cooling bedsheet.

Tapping his sneakers on the doorway of his vehicle is the first thing he does fresh from his house. Shake the dew from his feet, shuffle inside until his legs are tucked gently under the steering wheel, slam the door shut, turn the engine over, and wait for the radio to croon. If he had the time, he’d pick a tape. But on mornings like these, he backs out of the driveway. One arm on the headrest of the passenger seat. Head peering over his shoulder.

One time he hit the neighbor’s mailbox. His cheeks remember the anger radiating from his father. If even one tire begins to turn incorrectly, he pulls back in and tries again.

Desolate roads are his favorite bit of scenery. Morning drives where people are between waking up and already at work. Long stretches of asphalt against his tires and breeze icing his cheek. It’s the quiet, too. Silences in lulls. Reaching out and holding him.

Today is different. His sneakers are wiped and his legs are burrowed and the cold air reaches his cheek. But today is like no other. Heart racing, blood chilling in his wrists, fingers going numb. The tendrils of a nightmare wrapping around his brain like thorned vines on dungeon walls. He is a prisoner to himself and his surroundings. And he can’t take a deep breath. It’s like drowning, but nothing is like drowning. Drowning is death. This isn’t death. Everything is death.

It’s death in the way his breath tastes like finality. Mouth dry of saliva and teeth as specters, rotting and decaying before he has time to fully swallow. The heave before the storm. Before the vomit goes beige on his thighs and chunky to the floor of his car. And it’s death in the sense there’s blood every time he blinks. He’s reminded of the way he played role as emergency room technician. Two hands on a slim chest, ribs crackling under his palms—the sounds similar to that of heavy tree branches downed in an Indiana snow storm. He is numb in the fingers, but cold on the palms. And it’s the darting in his eyes, sign of life somewhere, sign of life nowhere. The road stretches forever this morning.

It’s death in the harrowing way. A car beelining for the side of a road. Parked in the means to brake, but not to settle. He is thirty seconds away from a crash. Turbulent planes flying overhead, he is an unsuspecting tree. The cat between his front two tires. Mushed traces of squirrel guts half a foot from the base of a robin’s nest; crushed eggs fallen to the floor. It’s death because there is the phantom tail of a bat pinning him to the headrest of his seat. Wrapped to the two metal bars below the bottom of his skull. And his hands are tingling, heavy on his lap. Kicking his legs, feet lurching into the brake, a squeal when his car takes the movement as instruction. He’s not ready to go.

But he can’t escape. And he can’t move. Can’t blink unless the road crumbles below him.

He is trapped. This is death because he’s dying and he’s got the black spots in his vision to prove it, but there is an overbearing glow of a white light like a cone on his peripheral. He is trapped—a dog free from the vet.

Clinking on his window draws him to look left. Blearily. The slow drag of his eyeballs. Two weather vanes in stilted, hazy, sticky summer stillness. Muffled. This is death because he’s forgotten what urgent care sounds like, but this is a near thing.

He’s not ready to go.

It’s death because there is warmth and gentleness. He cries—though it isn’t felt—because there is love. And while love is not absent, he had been chasing it. Longing and yearning. Giving himself in ways not even God would approve of. This time, though, it makes sense he had to die for it.

“You’re not dying, sweetheart,” a pleasant voice says. If Death is speaking, then he is listening. Death has two hands and warm breath and a husk gargled in his throat like sucking down cigarettes on and off for four hours. The stale smell of one smoked swirls in his nostrils. “Not dying, you’re just far away. And scared,” Pleasant Voice speaks again. It’s accompanied by a faint tickle under his eye. He closes up, lost in the sensation.

It’s death because he doesn’t desire, but he is persuaded. God, it’s sweet.

He takes a deep breath. The hurt is temporary as it seems like shards shed from his lungs. Nosing at his headrest, the perfumed scent of floral shampoo and fragrant salty sweat and those cigarettes. It relaxes him slightly, the tail away from his throat. The breathing comes easier and the black spots begin to dissipate. He’s reminded of the aftermath of torture, sleeping fitfully in bed, but alive. And he chases his nose to the left, body twisting around on his seat, hands limp on his legs still.

Pleasant Voice seems to hum. Murmuring low, raspier than before, “Easy, you’ll be okay. Doing a good job relaxing. I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Another careful pet to underneath his eye. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” And a caress through his hair, two hands cupping him like water. He ripples with contentment. Crumpling against the pleather seat. He swallows. An uneasy emotion, a vapor, noxious poison billowing through his nose.

His eyes flutter open again. In front of him, two brown irises. Both gentle and concerned, deathly afraid and lowering their haunches. He blinks. Clarity. And he had expected to die, but it’s like drinking ice cold water, coming back to life from the warmth of an early summer’s day. “Eddie?” Steve chokes. “What’re—Eddie?”

Eddie—not Death—smiles a sad thing. Two frowning corners, but the gentle uptick of his lips. His eyes don’t crinkle. And his nose remains stagnant. “It’s me,” he whispers. “I was on my way into town from the trailer and I saw you on the side of the road. Looked like—Thought you were—I was half expecting your skin to be green when I came closer.”

“What does that—“

“I thought you were dead, Steve,” he answers bluntly. His hand tightens on Steve’s jaw, the other pressing closer to his scalp. “Baby, that was horrifying. I wasn’t ready—Why are you out here driving?”

Steve shakes his head. The low ruffle of his hair like two pieces of paper being scrubbed together. “I don’t remember,” he mutters, “I woke up and—My throat was aching and I thought that—Woke up with blood behind my eyelids, Eds.” He tries to swallow again, but the emotion rises. Bile. Pleasantly like bile. Then, he bursts. Crying and keening. Hiccuping through his gasps and breathing as if there are rocks on his tongue. And he isn’t sure where to put his hands, but the rest of his body falls forward into Eddie’s. Though, maybe it was on purpose. An expectancy. Because Eddie wraps back fiercely, tugging, half-climbing inside of Steve’s car. Making the room for this coagulated form of welling fear and quelled calm, the body shivers and sudden blood to his cheeks, a cough caught somewhere between a sob and an expel. It’s death because he’s frightened, Eddie is in there somewhere, too.

Eddie keeps tugging until they’re comfortable in the back of his van. Him on his lap, curled inwards in the fetal position, secured warmly between Eddie’s lithe arms. Somehow containing him. He’s not strong, he’s not weak, but he’s enough to keep Steve’s pieces all mushed in together. Not completely whole, but not spiraling like thread between lengths of road.

He’s worn when he pulls back. Eyes as two cement blocks taped above his cheeks. “Thought I was dying,” he finally croaks.

With a somber gentleness, Eddie pushes back strings of his hair. Whispers, “I know, baby. You kept telling me in your car.”

“I was afraid.”

“I know, baby.”

“I think a part of me thought you were dying, too.”

Eddie hums. “Did you have a nightmare about…About having to save me?” He quietly asks. He’s never breeched the subject before, but it’s different. Today’s different. It’s death because he has to answer.

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs. Sniffles noisily. The carnage stuffed high between his brain and sinus cavity. “I couldn’t feel my hands. Back in the car. They were completely numb. But—No, that’s not right. My palms were cold like your skin. And I couldn’t hear you at first, just your ribs. And then I—“ He stops to shake his head. Tilting it down towards his chest. Plucking at the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt. He’s fully dressed in casual wear in comparison to Steve’s outfit. Still worn down to his stained Hawkins High gym shirt from early last year, the fall of his senior year, and his red tartan fleece pajama pants. “Think I was searching for you and just didn’t make it.”

“I’m here now,” Eddie simply responds. He pets again at Steve’s face. He likes to do that. Never condescending. As if part of him can’t believe he gets to touch. Or another part can read just how much Steve needs it. It’s death because he’s known. “How about I get you home? Back in bed?”

“Don’t think I’ll sleep.”

“Okay,” he mutters, nodding. “Okay, how about you sit with me today back at the trailer? I’ve got to fill out some job applications. It’ll be quiet. You can bring a few tapes from your car, play them if you like. And I’ll make you hot chocolate. Does that sound…?” Steve’s nodding before he can even finish the question. “Alright, baby. You’ll be okay, you know that? I’m here right now. And you’ll be with me.”

“I’ll be with you,” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah, sweetheart. And if you need a reminder, you can just look at me. Or…Ask me to tell you a story. You like that, don’t you?” Steve nods again. Eddie pets the crest of his head, down to the tuft of hair on the back of his neck, dipping into his t-shirt to settle his palm between his taut shoulder blades. He twitches when he fully sets his palm. “You have your thinking face on. What’s going on up here?” He asks, tapping at Steve’s left temple.

Steve swallows. “I—I’m afraid of death.”

“I know, sweetheart. That’s okay, you—“

“But I’m more afraid of everybody else dying,” he admits. “I’d die for you. I’d…I think part of me died for you.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Baby, I don’t like that.”

“I don’t like it either. But it’s true. Feels like…I feel like a lot of me has died. For everybody around me.” His voice is shameful, but flat. Tepid and shaking. “But I let it happen. I wasn’t fighting against the urge. It just—I allowed myself to experience death. Either it was my own or somebody else’s. At every turn, I was expecting to be incinerated. Dissolved. Turned over in the ground like recycled soil. I don’t—“ He sighs through his nose. Confesses, “I’d do it again.”

“I really don’t like that, Steve. Is this—Are you asking for help? What do you need, sweetheart?” He’s not sure what Eddie’s eyes look like right now. There’s an infliction, though. A steady storm of concern and mild trepidation. Hands flat and pressing as if he’s willing them to stay rooted to their spots in the back of his van.

Steve doesn’t answer immediately. Blinking and exhaling and shoving the images that haunted him into early morning to just…die, oddly. Allowing Eddie’s gentle touch to soothe his frayed nerves. He collapses further in the lap underneath him. “Don’t go. I’m not ready for you to go.”

He toys his hands in his lap now. Fingers picking and prodding at healed scabs. Hangnails that were chewed short by his fingernails. Knuckles that have scarred over and over, time and time again. “Don’t go,” he reiterates, whispering. His voice is keening. And he knows that it’s sort of childish, what he’s requesting. Tugging on Eddie’s pant let and wrapping his limbs around his ankle. Thumb in cheek and eyes wet. But though the events of the last few years have manhandled him and stretched him thin like a mushed ball of murky colored Play-Doh, he is immature still. He can beg if he wants to.

And thankfully, Eddie appeases. Pressing again into Steve. In a way, he’s afraid, too. “I won’t, Steve. I promise that I won’t go willingly. But you have to promise me back.”

“I promise,” he immediately mutters.

“Okay,” Eddie says. A default in conversations like these.

‘I have a migraine.’ ‘Okay.’ ‘Just need silent company.’ ‘Okay.’ ‘Don’t die again.’ ‘Okay.’

He holds Steve tighter. Bending in a prairie dog way to kiss his forehead. Murmuring sticky wet against the skin, “Love you, sweetheart.”

Steve sighs through his nose. This is all going to come up again and again. He’s sure of it. Later today, he’s sure. When he’s half there and half in the dark crevices, the depths of his brain, caverns without crystals. And Eddie will be there, too. As a rescue team, sent far down with nothing but a pickaxe and harsh, yellow rope. They’ll have to talk about it. What he means about doing it again, even though he didn’t die. That significant emptiness that shapes itself like craters in his chest. Or how it all coincides with facing so much with such little time, his self worth and respect like forks in a garbage disposal; clinking and whirring and dancing, then shredding and grating and screeching, and so irreversibly broken, they can’t be eaten off of anymore. And then he’ll probably have to see a therapist, explain what he told Eddie, and listen to suggestions.

For now, he dips forward until his forehead is on Eddie’s shoulder. Nose crushed against his shirt. He closes his eyes as he takes in the scent of an alive and well Eddie. A part of him wants to apologize for all this mess he’s left construed about. But knows the moment he even tries, he will soothed into much needed silence. “Will you hold my hand while you drive?” He murmurs into the base of Eddie’s neck. He’s still crumpled and misshapen, but somehow also held. Held in a way that reminds him of being a little kid. Cherished through fear in both parties. He supposes that’s what he is. Brain still exploring like he’s seventeen, before the demogorgon. A child in a sense. An overgrown weed.

“I will,” Eddie promises.

And so Steve nods. “I love you, too.” He wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, encircling barely, air still able to travel in the gap he creates where his bare skin doesn’t touch the cotton of Eddie’s shirt. Tangling his hands loosely. Not exactly grasping for something, but the suggestion of it. “I love you,” he murmurs once more. The words like white noise, but true.

He’ll say it more later. Curled on one end of Eddie’s couch while he sits on the other side. No space between them because Steve refuses to move his legs, the bottoms of his feet, socked and dry, shaped firmly to the soft give of Eddie’s thigh. In between moments, he’ll whisper the words. As a tape plays and the beats are bright and jingling, while he’s melancholy and still to the soft cushion. When Eddie mutters something indistinguishable, chewing on the end of his ballpoint pen. Over a plain turkey and American cheese sandwich, mayo smeared on his bottom lip, and Eddie wiping away the residue. A reverence focused on him like soft spotlight.

It’s death because he knows they won’t have forever.

He loves, though, and that’s enough to quell the fear that floods him.

He wades in Eddie’s soft touch. In his sticky lips. The lulls.

“I’m going to play my Beatles ‘Magical Mystery Tour’ album,” he tells Eddie. Because, much like the end of the album, love is all you need. He’s afraid. But he can be brave in Eddie’s arms, his warmth, his deserved life.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fanfiction #angst and hurt/comfort #fear of death #but still being a sacrificial bastard #eddie munson takes care of steve harrington

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applecrumbledore · 17 days

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Hey so regarding your recent post about past tense vs present tense: I would love to hear thoughts about why you prefer one over the other, if you feel like sharing?

I love your writing style, you have such a good sense of dialogue as well as making the settings feel very like... viscerally real, and your characterisation is always spot on, so I'd love to hear your thoughts on writing and how you approach it in general. I remember you mentioning once that you pay a lot of attention to smells, are there any other things you're like consciously trying to do when you write?

(this is so long sorry) hello! I love talking about writing, thank you!!

tense is very personal, but for me: my goal with writing is to be as economical with my language as possible, while still doing all the things good writing should do. I always think, every sentence should have a job. Move the plot along, share something new, convey something. that's what I like to write and read, personally.

and for me, past tense lets me do that much more easily. I feel like present tense has a very alluring way of making everything sound poetic and immediate and sexy, almost like spoken word, but for me it's always felt like a crutch, and at direct odds with the goals I mentioned above. tldr I think it's got a way of injecting false gravity, I guess. past feels like the opposite. I think it slows me down and encourages me to choose words more carefully, focus on good verbs and think about what everyone is actually doing and what I'm trying to say.

with that being said: that's 100% a matter of style and what you're trying to do as a writer!! I recently wrote a fic in present tense for the first time in a VERY long time because it felt like it suited the story, which itself was different than my usual style. the POV flowed back and forth between two characters and it was for true detective s1, so I was trying to evoke a very grimy greasy sexy violent type of thing, and I thought that present tense suited it.

BUT! right now I'm working on a fic for the show The Bear, which I also want to be grimy greasy sexy violent, and I thought present would suit it, but about halfway through I just kept reading over what I'd written and thinking, this doesn't work, this doesn't feel good, it feels like stumbling downhill. so I changed the tense (painstaking) and now it's going much better. it's funny how much it makes a difference, I think

for other things I think about-- I love that you remember my thing about smells, lol. smells are very important to me, especially bad smells. sweat, morning breath, lube and latexy condom, dirty clothes, unwashed hair, unwashed dick. I like gross stuff, I think it evokes a v unique kind of discomfort around sex/romance. getting fingered by someone who hasn't washed their hands, blood and shit on a condom after anal, snowballing. for setting a scene, I like to think about 1-2 things I can mention about an environment that would pack the biggest punch instead of describing everything. does it matter if there's a bookshelf against the back wall if there are heaps of dirty clothes on the floor? etc.

I don't know what I can share about dialogue but I love writing it more than any other part of a story. I love how people talk. I watch a lot of movies (good movies, I think) and I think it's so great to dissect HOW a character says something and figure out what else they would say.

for fic specifically, I try not to get too far from the source material. I have to be actively watching/reading something to write fic for it, and the farther I get from that, the worse the voices come out. you can see this bigtime in my spn fic. my watching slowed down around snooping and breaking things, and I don't like much of what I wrote after that. even pine sweat has weak characterization, compared to like, human hands or yesterday minnesota. a xerox of a xerox.

hope any of that was helpful. for some more general writing advice, this post has some thoughts and resources that I still stand by!

#ronWIPs #ronanswers

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frazzledsoul · 10 months

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literati fics: a frazzled curated list

So there’s been a lot of talk on my feed about “fandom coming back” (it left?) and needing to create user-curated lists of fanfic instead of relying on authors to plug their fics.

Well, this is cheating, because I’m going to plug my own fics, too, but I’ve mostly been reading literati fics for the past few years. I don’t see a lot of Luke/Lorelai fics even being written anymore (also, while I enjoy the fics, my opinions on those two are out of line with a lot of other fans) and I got really into reading lit fics about two years ago, kind of fell out of it, and fell back into in over the past few weeks. So with that behind us, this is what I have enjoyed.

Appreciation by ksfd89 : This is a post revival fic about Rory reconciling with Jess and going through the pregnancy and birth. It’s long, but it’s complete, and I have a soft spot for it as it was the first fic in this fandom that I really latched onto. I don’t think it’s on AO3 but I may be wrong.

the weight we carry by @scoopsgf: This is basically a novel of Jess’s life story, from right before he shows up on the show to a few years past the revival. I love, love, love it and am rereading it right now. It does a great job of writing in canon and also filling in the gaps when Jess was offscreen.

wrapped up in books by @scoopsgf: This starts as a season 6 fix it where Rory reconcile with Jess after the meeting at Truncheon but then (spoiler alert) Rory winds up pregnant with twins right as she graduates from Yale. I got to the end of the first part and I was like wutttttttt but the concept actually works?!? So it’s basically Rory and Jess being adorable hipster parents in NYC.

A Society Affair by Ultra: Rory has been raised in her grandparents world when she hooks up with Jess, who is Hep Alien’s band manager. I don’t see this author talked about much here, but they’re responsible for a gazillion Lit fics. Anyway, this is very cute and features a lot of the Chilton/Yale crew as supporting characters without villainizing them.

Met You At The Right Time by @windowsandfeelings: So I really hadn’t read fic for over a year until I came across this one a little over a month ago and got super hyperfixated on this ship as a result of it. Rory becomes unstuck in time the day after her mother’s wedding and starts revisiting points in her past. Makes excellent (and I do mean excellent) use of the lack of info given to us about that eight year gap between the OS and AYITL.

Harvest Moon by @mrsmess: I had heard about this fic for years but never checked it out because well, I guess I’m a moron. Rory and Jess reunite at Luke’s cabin after her grandfather dies. I don’t know why I avoided it so long because I’m a hick and have spent half my weekends at a lakeside cabin since I was a teenager so you would think this would be right what I want in a fic and yeah, it absolutely is. So again, I’m a moron for not reading this sooner. The sequels are great, too.

Starstuck by @mrsmess: Rory and Jess get stuck in a Groundhogs Day time loop the day of the firelight festival in season 4 and have to get themselves out. I loved, loved, loved this concept and devoured the story in an hour or so.

The Long and Winding Road by @stellaluna33: Rory comes to some realizations about Jess as she becomes a mom. WIP, but I’ve very much enjoyed it so far.

If you didn’t see your fic on here, well, I probably didn’t read it yet. But these are my current favorites.

Onto my fics for this ship:

The Morning After: Jess and Rory hook up in Stars Hollow in the summer of 2012, and everyone finds out about it and talks the subject to death. I’m not sure if this qualifies as a Literati fic, honestly: I was less interested when I wrote it in the actual sex itself than the blended family dynamics and filling in some of the plot holes and unexplained stray comments from AYITL (and there were a lot of them). My thinking was that it would be interesting if Jess’s complaint that Luke didn’t give him the wifi password for six months “and I lived here!” was not a reference to the distant past, but an indication that his business failed and he had to come back to Stars Hollow for a while and hooked up with Rory when she was newly freelancing and starting to unravel. I was going to write a sequel where Jess wrote a mosaic novel in part based on Luke and Lorelai’s relationship and got his shit together professionally as a result, but I never did (oops). Anyway, this exists, it’s complete, but it’s a got an unsatisfactory ending as it is canon compliant. Also, there are a lot of banjo jokes.

A Simple Twist of Fate: Jess and Rory are reeling from recent breakups of long-term relationships when they reconcile on Emily Gilmore’s living room floor (niiiiice). How will their new relationship handle the pregnancy that ensues? I’ve gone round and round on this on this blog because I didn’t realize until I wrote it what an outlier it was to have Jess deeply involved with someone else (and oh, yeah, it’s written in Rory’s first person POV. Was I high when I decided to do that? Anyway). It’s twenty six chapters of angst and ponderous conversations about miscarriage, guilt, and depression, with some fluff mixed in. Currently unfinished.

Home: It’s a fast forward of A Simple Twist of Fate. Drabbles about Rory and Jess raising their daughter in Philadelphia. I’m currently working on a chapter about the I-95 bridge collapse (what a cheery subject!)

Blueberry Pancakes: Okay, so a long time ago I started a story called Full Circle (it’s in my fic list, but I’m not linking it here because the Literati part so far is basically nonexistent). The idea was that Rory would have lots of romantic misadventures while on the campaign trail while Luke and Lorelai would go to therapy and get married and have babies and do all the conventional stuff. Rory would settle down with Jess and at some point Lorelai and Rory would be pregnant at the same time. This drabble takes place in the world of that story, which is why I’m including it here. The drabble French Fries also takes place in that universe, but Rory and Jess don’t actually appear (although their daughter does).

(Fair warning: the previous two drabbles are in a drabble list where I wrote stories about multiple ships, including Rory and Logan. So yeah, if you read the whole thing through you may get it from the other side. I’ve also re-ordered my canon compliant fics so they appear in a series, and there’s some Rory/Logan stuff in there as well, including the last fic I wrote. They are not endgame, but I haven’t written the stories where Jess wins the ship war. So it is what it is).

#literati #gilmore girls #frazzled recommends fics #and pimps her own stuff #read what you may!

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danielscarcello · 3 months

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Field of Lucid Dreams

Because I had a hard time getting my novel picked up, I decided to publish my short stories — my collection of coincidences — as a blog, hoping I would gain some traction that way. And before I even wrote a single post, a series of events proved this was the right choice.

At the library where I work, a book came across my desk, called Proof of Heaven, which was about a neurosurgeon who has a near-death experience and describes his vision of the afterlife. It was inside a box full of donated books. I stacked the donations on a cart to shelve them when Sarah, one of my colleagues, stopped me.

“Got one more for you,” she said. She handed me a picture book called Holly, which had a black cat on the cover.

As I filed away the books, I picked up Proof of Heaven and flipped through it. I found a withered prayer card tucked in the book, on page 24; someone must have used as it as a bookmark and forgot about it. I opened the card with one hand, while holding the book open with the other, and one word on the page, from this passage, happened to catch my eye.

Then, out of nowhere, I shouted three words. They were crystal clear, and heard by all the doctors and nurses present, as well as by Holley, who stood a few paces away, just on the other side of the curtain.

“God, help me!”

Holley.

Sarah had just handed me a book called — Holly. I put down Proof of Heaven and picked up Holly, and the first sentence said that last November, we lost our 14-year-old cat named Holly.

That was when Marianne came to mind. Marianne’s birthday was on November 14th. Her father died last year, after a long, grueling illness.

Instead of putting Proof of Heaven on the shelf, I kept it aside for her.

She texted me a few days later: “So I guess I have to read that book now. Last night, this lady at work mentioned that baseball movie, Field of Dreams. Later, I watched this YouTube video, and it mentioned Field of Dreams too. The crazy thing is that the video was about near-death experiences — just like the book.”

“Holy shit!” I wrote.

When I thought about Field of Dreams, I remembered this strange this little episode that took place the night before.

“Here’s another baseball coincidence for you,” I wrote. “Last night I was at Pita Land getting shawarma. I was standing in line, watching TV, and a headline flashed across the screen: ‘Jays sign new infielder Isiah Kiner-Falefa’. But I caught it so quickly that I could have sworn it said infidel, not infielder. I stood by the TV, waiting for the headline to loop back around, so I could see what it actually said. And his name sounded just like what was on the menu — Falafel.”

She sent me a laughing emoji.

“It’s interesting,” she went on. “I never get any signs from my dad, and I want one so badly.”

A few days later, it was New Year’s Eve, and I spent the night at Robb’s place. At one point, he put on the new Dave Chappelle Netflix special: The Dreamer.

Thinking about Field of Dreams, I listened to his monologue, my eyes fixed on the screen.

In your life, at any given moment, the strongest dream in that moment wins that moment. I am a very powerful dreamer. I dreamed tonight as a fourteen-year-old boy, and I’m living it as a fifty-year-old man…

This gave me such a renewed sense of determination to publish my collection of coincidences online. Even if no publisher in the world wanted my book, I would still chase my dream.

And so, the next day, I set out to write my first blog post. I closed my eyes and waited for an idea to come to me. My thoughts went back to Pita Land, and I remembered how on that morning, at work, a bunch of us were talking about obscure horror movies; someone had brought up a documentary about the Donner Party, the group of American pioneers who were trapped in the Sierra Nevada mountains and resorted to cannibalism to survive. Now, just before I saw the headline about Kiner-Falefa, I noticed — for the first time in all the years I’d been eating shawarma — one particular item on the menu: Beef Doner.

With a shudder, I started jotting all this down, wondering how I would string this together into a something worth reading. At first, I couldn’t figure it out, and so I took a break. With obscure horror movies on my mind, I started scrolling through YouTube, looking for something to watch. Then I found a channel called Renegade Films.

At random, I clicked a video called “Who Let Him Make This Movie?”. The movie, which I knew nothing about, was Babylon. As it turned out, much to my delight, Babylon was directed by Damien Chazelle — whose name echoed Dave Chappelle.

When it was over, another video on the channel, right next to the one about Babylon, caught my attention: “The Perfectly Logical Reason This Director Ate His Shoe (inspiring)”.

The director was Werner Herzog. It was about the time Herzog promised Errol Morris he would eat his shoe if he finished a movie about pet cemeteries he was working on. And, as I later read on Wikipedia, “In 1978, when the film Gates of Heaven premiered, Herzog cooked and publicly ate his shoe.”

Pet Cemeteries. Holly. The lost cat. Proof of Heaven. Gates of Heaven.

In other words, the perfectly logical reason this director ate his shoe was so that it would serve as a call to fearlessly chase your dreams. He said:

If I abandon this project, I would be a man without dreams, and I don’t want to live like that. I live my life, or I end my life with this project. All these dreams are yours as well… we have to articulate ourselves otherwise we would be cows in the field.

Field of Dreams.

My head was spinning. Finally, I read the Wikipedia page on Field of Dreams. And the first paragraph absolutely blew me away. Field of Dreams was based on a novel by W.P Kinsella called — Shoeless Joe.

The Perfectly Logical Reason This Director Ate His Shoe.

Frantically, I kept clicking all the links on Wikipedia, writing down all the connections I found — including the fact W.P Kinsella wrote a book called Butterfly Winter, Proof of Heaven had a blue butterfly on its cover, and Werner Herzog directed a movie called Fitzcarraldo, about a man determined to transport a steamship over a hill in the Amazon basin in order to build an opera house.

Field of Dreams gave us the phrase, “If you build it, they will come.”

If you build your website…

– they will come.

Finally, I jumped back to the Wikipedia page for Field of Dreams. In the movie, Ray, who was unable to reconcile with his father before he died, hears the ghost of “Shoeless” Joe Jackson tell him to build a baseball diamond in a cornfield. If you build it, they will come. Throughout the film, Ray sees the ghost of “Shoeless Joe” and other dead baseball players. Then, during a game, when the catcher removes his mask, Ray recognizes him as his father as a young man.

I stopped reading at that point, and I thought about something Dave Chappelle said:

You have to be wise enough to know when you’re living in your dream, and you have to be humble enough to accept when you’re in someone else’s…

All this time, I thought the coincidences were all about my writing, my blog — my dreams. But then I remembered what Marianne said about her father. And I knew I had to be humble enough to accept this wasn’t for me. It was for her.

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0-scorch-the-earth-0 · 3 months

Note

Ooo you’re rewriting Recalibrate?

Kinda!

Essentially, yes, but it’s not the same recalibrate from before. I’m currently working on making a slightly new title, like “Recalibrated” or “Recalibrate Me”. I want to make the fanfic I originally intended to set out to make. A story of love, grief, and the power of growing with someone by your side.

I have a good description of what exactly I’m doing with recalibrate in a recent update of the fanfic. I’ll just copy paste what’s there and put it here for y’all to see 💕💕

Also, I was rewriting Recalibrate chapter by chapter there for a little while before I got too overwhelmed. It’s rewritten up to chapter 6, with better writing and some added scenes, so I highly suggest checking that out!!!

Also also, I wrote a preface to my notes release (which will make sense after reading what is below). It felt like a very important message, so I’ll copy that too.

The update I posted in Recalibrate:

Hey there, all!

It’s been… QUITE awhile since an update. I hope this email finds you all well <3

I’m unsure how many times I’m going to make this apology. It certainly has been too many times to count. But I’ll give it anyway; I’m sorry for disappearing on this story yet again. It’s both unfair to my unwavering readers and to my characters themselves.

I could make the excuse that life has been crazy. Which in all fairness, it has. I got engaged to the person I wrote about in an update so long ago (we’ve been together for over 5 years now!), we bought our first house, I got a stable job at a library, I’ve become way more invested in my cosplaying, I’ve made tons of friends, and I’m just generally more happy now than I ever was before! Which I guess brings me to my next talking point?

I wrote Recalibrate during a time in my life where there was a lot going wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about what I was going through, but it’s safe to say a lot of it came out in my writing. I was mentally unhappy, my parents controlled every aspect of my life (I was writing and posting Recalibrate in secret, as there was a strict “no technology” rule for me in my household growing up), and the only relationship I was allowed to have (straight!) at the time quickly became toxic and made me feel unworthy to be living. I’m sure some of that bled through into the plot of Recalibrate. That coupled with my immaturity meant there were a lot of things both added and missed in the story that didn’t aid it.

For example, the seamless set-up of Zane coming to terms with his artificialness as being something to respect and accept about himself would have led to some powerful character development, but instead I chose to have an ending where he gets magic-ed into being human. Doesn’t make sense to what Zane’s character needed to learn about himself as I know it to be now. And it was also a clear attempt to give myself an example of someone who successfully does not deal with their internal issues and just waits for enough self-sacrifice to happen before they are free of what ailed them without doing any introspection on their self-loathing :D And then for some reason, I also felt the necessity to add a big bad (Morro) into the story, and I distinctly remember thinking “well all good stories have a big bad, so I have to”, not comprehending that sometimes, a story can just be about two characters having issues and growing together. These are just tiny details of what I’m talking about. That’s not even bringing about that my romance writing was, looking back on it, stunted and skittish. Unrealistic. But I can’t blame my younger self. I never knew what an actual relationship, with real attraction and love and trust, looked like until I started living on my own and met my now-fiancé. Back then, I was just trying to do what everyone else was, not realizing until later that I’m not broken and that I literally was just a gay kid trying to pretend at being straight.

This is all to say that, this morning I woke up with a sore throat and sniffles, 5 days before my 25th birthday, saw some anonymous person had left kudos on Recalibrate, and decided to figure out what had really gone wrong in my motivation and love for this story (after chugging DayQuil of course).

You might not like what I have in mind for this story.

A lot of you loved Morro, and I’ll admit I loved my characterization of him and Archer and Bansha. I liked the lore I created for them and the dynamic the trio quickly settled itself into. But everytime I went to continue the rewrite for Recalibrate, this huge plot that I had devised as a 14 year old child would stare me down and make the task feel virtually impossible. I mean, I didn’t even get half way through my planned story, and that was before I started rewriting and adding even more things.

My plans were ambitious. And they were made without knowing myself, my limits, my desires; they were made without relying on my strengths as a writer. I was trying to do what everyone else did, and I wasn’t aware yet that my best writing has always come from character focused introspection and slowly budding romance, not from action or complicated puzzle-like plots.

So, I’m thinking about getting rid of the Morro stuff. I wrote such an idea in a rewrite note back in 2021. In fact, that was the last thing I wrote, before I likely became too heartbroken or too worried about disappointing you all that I didn’t reopen my notes document until today. But in order to deliver a story that I have promised for over a decade, I think I know what needs to be done.

I have notes, so many notes, on what the story would’ve been. Sometimes, when I’d lost hope that I could ever finish the story, I’d think about posting all those notes here for all of you as a declaration of me ending my long hiatus with one last “sorry”.

But I owe younger me more than that. I owe you all more than that. I owe the fandom that raised me more than that. And I’ll be honest when I say I don’t think younger me would’ve been all too upset about me scrapping the large plot I gave myself. After all, this fic was only originally supposed to be an explanation as to what happened to Dr. Julien, written before I even shipped Glacier.

If you mourn the old Recalibrate and the plot an on-the-whole different person made, I’m deeply sorry. If seeing the notes of all that would’ve occurred in the old plot would ease your grief, please let me know. As it is currently, I’m contemplating making another A03 fic as an archive with the chapters I will be deleting, as well as with the notes that would’ve carried me to the end, had I been built for writing extensive plots. Let me know if that interests you.

From here on out, I want to write the story I intended. I want to write the story that my heart wants to write, instead of the story my brain thinks people want. These characters have been banging on my ribcage for ages, begging to be let out and finally be written to an end. I will try my best to listen to them. I hope you all will still want to journey with me.

Thank you all <3

-Matty

The Preface I posted in Ao3 along with my first revealed notes:

In creating a closure to my original Recalibrate story, I’ve decided my first entry to be on the most vital page of my notes, of which I referenced more than any other page. The “End Goals” page, I called it. This page was written on 1/20/16, which was 17 days after I posted the first chapter on FanFiction.net (A fun factoid, which I am unsure how many of you know: I was posting Recalibrate almost a whole year before moving it over to Archive of Our Own. I didn’t know about Ao3 at the time, mainly because I wasn’t even allowed to be on the internet, and barely had enough time to sneak a post on ffn, let alone research other sites I could share my story to).

The end goals served as a road map for me, the writer. And for you, the reader, I assume they serve as somewhat of a table of contents for the updates ahead. A taste of where the story was going, and where it was to end up. For some of you, this very broad summary that follows below may be all you need to sate your curiosity. It gives no exact details. No play by play. Some of you may appreciate that more. If so, I’m glad to satiate you. But for those of you who wanted to know the specific details, the “who dies”, the “how”, I will be making further updates that include chapter specific notes, overarching plot notes, and even a map I drew (if I can figure out how to attach images to Ao3 chapters, that is).

For those of you who wish to keep the story forever a mystery, I appreciate that just as equally. But I suggest you should stop reading soon, then, because for all intents and purposes, we are now entering spoiler territory. If you can even call it that.

However you wish to consume the following content, I want to thank all of you. The comments, the kudos, the support, the dms on Insta and Tumblr; it has been everything to me. I never forget each person who has reached out to me saying I got them through hard times, sometimes that I saved their life. That my writing is their nostalgia, their safe space. I can never express how deeply impacted I am that my writing had such a profound meaning to many of my readers. And, of course, beyond. I remember, way back in the day, the author of then-not-written Chips and Salsa reaching out to me and saying they were inspired by Recalibrate in some way, shape, or form to begin writing a Glacier Fanfic. Which then became the most prolific fanfic of glaciershipping in probably the history of glaciershipping.

My impact has been greater than any scope I could have possibly imagined. I will never, ever take that for granted. I’m so grateful for the role I have been able to play in your lives. I hope, of course, that you may join me on my next journey. But if not, if this is where we part, I just wanted to remind you how special you are. How much you matter. And how grateful I am for your presence in this world, and the small slice of your life that you offered to me in spending your time to read my story, and to read this.

Remember: Ninja. Never. Quit. <3

#lego ninjago #ninjago #ninjago zane #ninjago cole #ninjago glacier #glacier ninjago #glacier shipping #ninjago glacier shipping #glacier shipping fanfic #ninjago colexzane #recalibrate fan fic #recalibratefanfic #recalibrate fanfic #recalibrate #chips and salsa #chipsandsalsa

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streets-in-paradise · 2 years

Text

Troy (2004) drabble

A Breath of Life - Patroclus x Gender Neutral Reader

Requested by anon

Warnings: Mentions of injuries in the context of a close to death experience. Canon divergence, Patroclus lives (movieverse) AU.

Summary: You comfort Patroclus during his tragical return from battle after nearly getting killed by Hector.

Notes: I wrote this one in the morning and it really helped me get out from a (sort of) writer’s block I had regarding my Troy WIPS. Thank you, requester anon!! I hope you will enjoy the result, I am super happy. Over the course of the next days i will be able to complete the posting of all my delayed works because writing this one gave me the needed push of inspiration to make significative advances on those.

Tags: @mysticaldeanvoidhorse

No one could have seen it coming, when disguised in full armor he looked just like Achilles. You were the only one who did because you were who helped him dress up, then deeply regret it later. Patroclus took the expulsive trick too far and he almost died fighting Hector. It was supposed to be about forcing the enemy to retire using the effect that his cousin's presence caused, but he ended up losing control of the situation through some reckless risk.

Going from nothing to all in his first combat, he risked all just to prove his worth and the consequences got him fighting for his life. You felt responsible and the guilt was killing you, the thought of losing him was unbearable. Eudorus didn't let you be the one giving the news to Achilles despite you begging to assume your guilt. Even after what you did he still choose to protect you.

How would you have said no to Patroclus? His strong determination was one of the reasons why you were in love with him. You were used to following his every occurrence either for mischief or serious issues; It was natural for him to choose you as his confidant helper on the task of stealing Achilles' armor. Exactly as natural as it was for you to accede, tenderly assisting him afterwards to adjust it ríght while exciting his courage just to make him smile.

You called him a thousand things that would only make things worse later: your brave hero, your favorite warlord... your love. It was the worst timing for a love confession, but it came from you spontaneously due to the fear you felt about what could happen in combat. The ships had to be defended or you all could have died, but Achilles should have handled that instead of his young relative and you. Patroclus told you not to worry, but you knew hundreds of things could go wrong. He kissed you ríght before putting his helmet on, what left you wondering if that was just a calming gesture or if he was showing his retribution of feelings. Worst problems were going on in the camp at that point, it wasn't like you could have gone to ask Eudorus, Odysseus or Briseis for advice.

The actions weren't left completely unpunished, since Achilles commanded you to stay out while the boy was being healed. You would have prefered to have been beaten up, but allowed in. It was clear that your leader guessed by himself your role in the reckless plan, but his attempt of hurtful sanction didn't last for long.

" Get in, he is calling for you. " The severe voice of an angry Achilles ordered you and you didn't even want to look at him while obeying. Any attempt to vocalize an apology or an explanation for what happened would have made it worse.

Patroclus was in a terrible state, he truly looked as someone who could have been to descend into the realm of Hades. Finding him conscious was great news, but he was clearly terrified and ashamed. The crush of his spirits seemed worse than the wound on his body.

You rushed in his direction and he tried to extend his arms so he could hug you, but the movements were difficult.

" Stay quiet, what happened to you out there was no game."

A simpler idea occurred to you in order to satisfy his apparent crave for touching. Bending down to reach him, you pressed a soft peck on top of his forehead.

" I'm sorry, I was such a fool. How could I think I could have killed Hector??"

You took a seat next to him, then held his hand and began to comfort his lamentations.

" It's my fault, I shouldn't have encouraged you like that. I only wished to make you feel good, I believe every single word I told you and I wanted you to feel It in yourself. Maybe I got too far because of how much you mean to me. "

He didn't seem positively affected by those words.

" How can you love me after I failed? The entire camp and the trojans saw Odysseus and Eudorus pulling me out of the fight. I am only alive because Hector didn't want to kill a kid. "

Tears were falling down his face as he was about to make a confession he would have been too ashamed to make in front of Achilles.

" I let them drag me out, I wanted to live. That's not what a true warrior is meant to do."

You were understanding of what he meant with that, but you couldn't stand the idea of finding out your love got himself killed for glory. You were thankful of having him with you once more.

" You did the ríght thing, what you had to do. The trojans retired and the camp is safe. If it wasn't for you they wouldn't have stopped, Hector knows you are Achilles's limit of tolerance. Guess what? He also wants to live, so he left. "

Patroclus didn't seem entirely convinced, but at least he was listening to you.

" He let me go because there was no honor in killing me. All this time I have been wrong: I am not a hero, I am like Paris. I challenged someone greater than me, then the real heroes had to pull me out from a fight I was losing. "

"Menelaus underestimated Hector's love for Paris and that was his doom. If he would have shown mercy, he would still be alive. " You corrected him. " Underestimating the love Achilles has for you would have been a terrible mistake, the Trojan prince knows better than that. "

It wasn't enough, no reasoning would be until he would make you understand the real reasons behind his feelings.

" And I don't deserve that either, he wouldn't have acted like I did. I didn't have the courage to stay, I wasn't ready to die."

A brief pause caused a bit of tension before he found the words to express himself.

" I wanted to go back to my cousin, to my friends, to you. I had to see you again and tell you that I love you."

Emotion overwhelmed you, making you cry with him.

" I love you, (y/n), but now I feel unworthy of you."

Listening to him suggesting that was frustrating, so you quickly corrected such wrong assumptions.

" Patroclus, what happened doesn't change anything. You are alive and that's all I care about that combat. How can you think otherwise? I love you as much as I always did, only that now you know that. "

The reassurance speech was closed with a sweet kiss that you carefully gave him. It was like a breath of life for his spirits, making him feel so good that he began to wonder if that was the young trojan prince's secret to stand the shame of being himself. Maybe the support of the person he loved was enough for Paris even after becoming a walking, breathing joke.

" Would you still love me even if I become the center of every joke for the next days? "

" Patroclus, I am serious. You aren't becoming Paris. No one can blame you for wanting to avoid death by the hand of Hector. " You encouraged him once more. " We know his little archer brother wouldn't have lasted as long as you did on a close distance fight against someone of that skill."

The compliment made him smile genuinely. He needed some flattery and you were pointing out a real observation.

" That still didn't answer the question."

The light shade of mischievousness was a good indicator of how well your words fell on him and you were glad for that.

" I would still love you, no matter how many awful punchlines of Agamemnon's jokes could be built on you. We are going to make him choke with that dumb laugh he has. I can't wait to tell him that all what the recent events have proved was that this is Achilles' army, that he is letting him rule only because he is too lazy and polítics bore him."

You made him laugh, what in that context meant so much for both of you. It was a bit of light on the darkness of those terrible moments, hope being found in your freshly confessed love.

#troy 2004 #troy #troy fanfiction #troy 2004 drabble #patroclus #patroclus x reader #garrett hedlund #garrett hedlund x reader

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whentherewerebicycles · 2 years

Text

i am still not really here (1-2 weeks left in my tumblr/fandom break), but i need to just process the big decision i’ve made and then i need a bunch of friends on the internet to tell me that i am doing the right thing so i can fully let go of the decision anguish.

i’m moving to seattle this summer

i don’t have a job yet but i am slowly, painstakingly working on it

my sister, brother, and my brother’s wife live there, as does one of my best college friends, as does la who i am going to make write with me and also teach me about the seattle kraken (or whichever niche pair she is extremely into at the moment).

i’m feeling really unsettled and uncertain about leaving a place i’ve lived ten years and kind of half thought i might live at least another decade if not forever. i feel optimistic and excited every morning and then crushed by fear and doubt by evening. it’s the same rollercoaster every day, but i still feel that sickening drop.

but idk. the political situation in this country and in this state just has me so depressed and exhausted and ground-down these days. the dobbs decision is obviously playing a big part in my decision (i want to try to get pregnant in the next 2-3 years and this isn’t a safe/okay place to do it anymore) but i feel like uvalde was really the turning point, just the moment of total clarity where i was like: i think i need to get out of here. gun violence is terrible everywhere in this country but at least i don’t have to live in a state that worships guns. this is a bad place to be politically and climate stuff is just going to get worse.

austin feels so different than it did when i moved here. i’ve only been here ten years and i know i was part of the wave that changed it but it just feels.. i don’t know. it feels too big and too tech-y now and i just... i don’t really love it here anymore. i know that’s all true of seattle too but at least it’ll be a place where it was always that way for me, rather than a place where the culture and demographics of the town changed around me. idk. i love my people here and i loved my time here - my grad cohort is the best, best, best. but i feel like a lot of things are weakening my ties to austin and to texas and i think that means it’s time to go.

i really want to be closer to my family

i want to live in a naturally beautiful place

i want to live in a blue state

god i want to live in a blue state

i just really want to live in a blue state

i feel shitty leaving the south when i think the south needs sane people who give a shit about other human beings. i feel shitty leaving texas when i love the kids i get to work with so much and when i’ve spent so long thinking about how important it is not to abandon the state to these horrible people. but man i can’t live here. can’t raise a family here. i was emailing this week with my boss, whom i love and whose opinion i respect a lot. i was voicing some of these conflicted feelings, wondering if i was cutting and running instead of digging in. and she wrote back three minutes later: “fuck the south is my current mode. we must create our own sustainable communities and cultural worlds.”

i have a feeling ‘fuck america’ may be my own future mode so i would kinda like to live near canada for a bit and have the chance to scope it out, yknow. see if it’s a place i could take up permanent residence one day. idk man. we are living in end times aren’t we? sorry i meant this to actually be a post about pros and cons of moving and instead i guess i am just spiraling a bit about politics. that’s just being a person in america these days.

i’m going to miss my familiar places here. my places and my people and my routines and all the little things that have made this home for ten years. but it’s time to go.

it’s time to go. it’s time to go

it’s okay. it’s time to go.

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wowbright · 1 year

Text

I've gone to make this post a couple times this year and never posted it because most of my top posts were loooong. But this morning, I remembered, and just in time: This is Tumblr! I can edit a post before posting it! So I deleted the bulk of those long posts, and if you want to read them, you can click through on the little links.

Also, I wrote this little introduction!

Interesting and very relevant to post #2 that none of these are related to my fanfic or Glee, the two main reasons I am on Tumblr.

Without any more to-do:

I posted 3,369 times in 2022

That's 2,354 more posts than 2021!

516 posts created (15%)

2,853 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@coffeegleek

@lucy8675309

@thnxforknowingme

@1908jmd

I tagged 3,294 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#fanart not mine - 223 posts

#klaine - 223 posts

#signal boost - 212 posts

#gpoy - 205 posts

#ofmd - 198 posts

#to read - 194 posts

#fandom - 190 posts

#kurt hummel - 160 posts

#fic rec - 140 posts

#us politics - 136 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#this story isn't just about falling in love—it's also about trauma & grief and the role beliefs play both in creating & healing those things

My Top Posts in 2022:

Controversial take: AO3 is an archive, not a social media site. If you have no intention of keeping your fics up after you leave a fandom and are just going to delete them, maybe you should post them only to social media and not use up bandwidth on AO3.

You've already put your words out into the world. Other people have already read them, and likely downloaded them. They are no longer only your own. You cannot make them disappear from the world, so why are you trying?

Orphan your works, don't delete them.

283 notes - Posted April 8, 2022

You know those straight guys who seem really nice and awesome, but then complain about their female friends "friendzoning" them? As if being nice to a woman entitles you to her affection and her body? As if her agency, her own desires, ultimately don't matter that much?

So they're "nice" guys, but they're not actually kind or generous?

Marcus in Young Royals is the gay version of that.

He seems great at first. Just the kind of guy that Simon needs around him. Someone who's easygoing, who likes him, who supports him, who's uncomplicated and open and doesn't require much work.

Read the rest at:

387 notes - Posted November 18, 2022

Since I'm seeing anti-voting posts on my dash again, and Tumblr is even *recommending* them to me, let's be clear about this--

Voting is one of the most basic tools for participating in American government and policy. It is not perfect, but it is there.

The people who say that change is possible without voting, that protecting minority interests is possible without voting, rarely lay out a course for how those things could be accomplished.

Sometimes, they make vague promises that "activism" and "pushing for change" is what is needed instead of voting. This makes no sense. Engaging with elected officials is an inherent part of activism. Voting is a way of engaging with elected officials. Voting is activism.

No, some say. Not that kind of activism.

Okay, then what kind of activism?

Historically, the only way to accomplish change without voting is through physical force, i.e. warfare.

That's right. Warfare. Like the Civil War, or I guess what we will soon be calling Civil War I.

Read the rest at:

556 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

I was thinking about a conversation I had with a fellow writer a while back and I think it might also apply to fandom.

He was upset because his partner did not read much of his fiction. His partner was supportive of his writing in every other way--supporting his need to have space to write, asking questions about it, being a listening ear during brainstorming, encouraging him to make friends with other writers, etc. He (the partner) had never said anything belittling, discouraging, or negative about my colleague's writing.

But he didn't read much of it. The writer I was talking to wrote sci-fi, and his partner didn't read sci-fi. In fact, he (the partner) was not a big reader of fiction at all.

I told this colleague of mine something that I had decided about my own relationships: my friends, lovers, acquaintances, relatives, etc., have no obligation to be my fans. I met almost all of them outside of the context of writing. Our relationships are built on those things: common history, common non-writing interests, common social circles, common humanity. They didn't decide they liked me or wanted to hang out with me because of what I wrote. And I didn't decide to hang out with them because I thought they would read my stuff.

Read the rest at:

685 notes - Posted June 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I wish there was a way to block "cute animal videos" that are actually depicting mistreatment of animals. People physically manipulating pets to do things that they clearly do not want to be doing is not cute. People provoking irritation so that their cat or dog makes the funny sound they make when they are irritated is not cute. People making pets of wild animals is not cute.

1,538 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #long post

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nacregames · 2 years

Note

Hello! Just a fan of Morning Star here who’s dying from the inside for like a whole year. The reason I’m dying is because of my annoying curiosity literally asking the same questions in my brain every single day lol. I didn’t plan on asking because I’m sure it’s a huge spoiler but I seriously couldn’t wait anymore since it’s seriously bugging my brain. The two questions I have is…

1. Why is Camus protecting Lucifer? How did he become a Nephilim? The only reason I’m getting from him as I was scanning literally every single post lol was that he’s scared of Lucifer being evil or becoming and is honestly hoping Luci has a redemption, but like why? Where did he even come from? WHAT IS HIS IDENTITY AHHHHHHHHH 😫😫

2. Why does Raphael hate Lucifer? What is his feelings towards him? Maybe I’m just dense but I heard that you said Falito is similar to Lilith so I’m guessing some of his feelings are a mixture of possessive, jealousy, and guilt? Since he is a romance, what I concluded was that he always respected and admired Luci back in the angel days, but started harboring bad feelings when he started seeing Luci change after Lilith came along. And those feelings started abounding after Luci fell. Reading some snippets I’m guessing he’s also indecisive among Luci and his duty towards god? Idk I really want a clear answer of why Raphael shows hate towards luci and what his feelings are towards him. (Especially considering how his feelings and hatred are supposedly much more evident and passionate compared to the other angels from the demo and posts)

I know these are questions that will get answered in the books, but seeing how Morning Star is going to have three books? And the first book is only on chapter 3, and also considering how your creating two books at the same time (Here’s some 🍎 I hope your considering your mental health and stress as well, make sure not to overwork 😅) I just can’t contain my dying sanity lol. Could you pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee write down a answer under a cut with spoiler warnings? Or either have the post up for only a few days and delete it after? Even a short description? Pretty please? 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️

PS: If you really really really REALLY can’t answer those questions then may I ask these two questions instead? How exactly strong is Luci? I always thought there powers got a lot weaker after their fall and their time spent is Sheol. But seeing a lot of posts you answered apparently Luci is really strong? Even stronger then Michael? Because his powers are a mixture of grace and corruption. So how exactly strong is Lucifer? Is he even stronger then when he was a archangel or weaker? And the second question what is Raphael’s feelings of all the other romances? Just like the post you did with Lilith where you told what she felt about the other ROs/casts but Raphael version? I really want to understand his character lol. I realized this ask was really long so sorry about that. I guess I had a lot in mind😖 but thank you for making this awesome demo! I look forward to it :)))

my brain stopped working for a moment and I needed a few minutes to process this much text sakjdgskjafdgf

soooooooooo answers below

can't answer this one! sorry 🤡 but you'll find out at the beginning of book 2, promise!!

I first wrote Raphael as someone who envied Lucifer for being the favourite of everyone, including god. So naturally his hatred towards Lucifer would only grow after they "betray" everyone in Heaven who loved and admired them. But now I changed it into Raphael really having admired Lucifer and having looked up to him as some kind of "idol". The envy is more friendly and doesn't bother on jealousy like before; therefore he's extremely disappointed when Lucifer becomes corrupted. Just imagine a superhero turning into a villain, and the person who loves them the most cannot understand why they turned evil, never got an explanation and was just dismissed even tho they tried to understand. Raphael was in such a situation and he just doesn't know what to do anymore. He's really fucking disappointed. You're also right on the duty part etc, but you will find everything out later heuheueh.

My mental health hinges on a slate door hook 🥴 working on JV took such a toll on me and for some reason I'm scared of working on Morning Star (RIP). Along with the VN for the (finally) official Spooktober Jam, I'm really stressed rn ngl

Luci is very strong! They had 50 years to recover from Sheol and that was more or less enough to gather enough strength. It mostly depends on which side you're taking to determine the strength of their Grace/Corruption, but they're both powerful in general. Tho, it doesn't look good for Lucifer with the other demons trying to steal their power 🤡

Falito's feelings towards the other ROs (he's not happy at all no matter who you romance, but he can at least tolerate some more than others lol): okay I guess: Ara, Gab could've done better: Mac, Polly are you mad?!: Camus HELL NO: Lilith

#i'm afraid of long texts #also another confession: I suddenly got a very interesting idea for another wip and need to slap myself daily not to officially work on it #tho I've been making unheathy notes #ms #spoilers #ros #raphael #camus #don't mind me #i'm about to leave

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tiggymalvern · 1 year

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Burn Notice - Sam and Elsa

I've decided to make this a new post instead of a reblog, since it didn't have much connection to all the other stuff we were talking about. @darkskywishes referred to Sam and Elsa getting a happy ending in the show, and I've actually been giving this a lot of thought over the last several days, because I'm splitting them up in the fic I'm writing right now, for plot reasons (I wrote some of the relevant scene this morning). But the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that relationship's not going to survive too long after the series finale. So here's the plot of Burn Notice from Elsa's perspective. She's a successful businesswoman, owner of some serious Miami real estate. She meets this guy who's funny, charming, and canonically good in bed XD. He carries a couple of concealed weapons, but he's ex-miltary, he's got all the permits, and this is Florida, so unremarkable enough. He does some kind of freelance work that means he keeps odd hours, and sometimes he gets a phone call and takes off at a moment's notice, breaking their dinner plans. But hey, she's busy too, she understands how work sometimes eats into personal time, she owns an empire. It's actually pretty convenient - neither of them are clingy, neither of them place too many demands on the other's time, and it all works really well. After a while, it's working so well, it's not just casual fun any more, they're actually serious. He tells her a bit more about the freelance work he does with his friends - it's obvious he's not telling her everything, but she doesn't tell him all the details about her business either, it's just not that interesting. But they help out people who find themselves with problems, and it sounds like they're doing a good thing. She doesn't really get to meet these friends of his much, but she spends a lot of time running her business, so it's not a big deal. And occasionally the staff mention some odd people who turn up asking for her boyfriend, and whatever, his job is his business. And then suddenly her boyfriend and his friends are criminals? She's got the CIA and the FBI up in ALL her shit, telling her that they're murderers and kidnappers and god knows what else, and her boyfriend's telling her the whole thing's some huge misunderstanding. He tells her how much he loves her, that he and his friends need to sneak out of the US for a while, but he'll be back as soon as they've got everything straightened out. And she knows he's a decent guy, not what the cops are telling her, so she believes him. A month or two later, he does come back, and in between he got shot??? And he can't really explain much of it; he says some of it's classified and the CIA made him sign a gag order, but everything's been sorted. The CIA and the FBI seem to be leaving them both alone now, so that sounds like it's true, and she loves him and trusts him and everything goes back to the way it was. Until a year later, when the exact same thing happens again. Her boyfriend and his friends are all over the TV as the subjects of a manhunt, this time as suspected terrorists. He disappears, and then re-emerges a few days or weeks later (the show timeline's unclear there, but my guess would be closer to weeks), once again saying it was all a big misunderstanding and everything's fine now. No, he couldnt call, he was in jail. No, not the kind of jail where people get to have lawyers and visitors, more the Guantanamo kind of jail. But this second time around it sounds a whole lot less convincing, doesn't it? How could the same unfortunate big misunderstanding happen to the same people twice??? And absolutely nothing has changed. He's still keeping unusual hours, still getting phone calls that require him to drop everything and run. He still has odd friends and acquaintances, though he has less of them now because some of them are DEAD. Does she stay with him? Does she really? Does he still seem as funny and charming as when they first met? Add to that the damage to her business and her professional reputation, when her colleagues and partners are whispering behind her back about how she's shacked up with that terrorist dude from the news. And the non-zero possibility that at some point, after yet another argument when she's asking her boyfriend what the hell he's actually doing and how dangerous is it, is he going to get shot again or killed? That after one too many of those, when she's upset and wavering over whether or not to kick him out, her son might give her the full details about the time he and her boyfriend stole a drug lord's ecstasy lab truck and drove it to Miami while being shot at... Sorry. I just can't believe Sam and Elsa are going the distance. Yes, it was Elsa who told Sam not to abandon his friends the first time they were all being hunted, but that was the FIRST time. She didn't expect it to become a regular thing. She's a businesswoman, not a martyr. And she did NOT sign up for this to be the rest of her life.

#burn notice #meta #sam axe #elsa

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 year

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Hi! I hope it is not too weird to ask, but I am really trying to understand - I totally get that it is not ok to post something private about Pedro himself and treat disrespectfully him and his private life, call him daddy and seek for his reaction to it.

Although, I've seen people here that say the same but also post fanfiction/gif posts where Pedro characters can be called daddy and/or lot of thirsting takes place. You write fics yourself. I mean, is it different because Pedro boys are fictional characters and the whole point of fic is to be fictional story we'd like to imagine? It's still Pedro impersonating them and people thirst over Pedro's appearance and etc, not somebody else's, while reading those. It's unavoidable to imagine him there, playing the character.

Again, I'm not trying to insult you, in fact I actually love your writing) it's more like I question my morals, as I love Pedro for being sunshine and pretty man who brings joy, but I do love smutty fics with Pedro boys. Many people do, as I see. So I started to think about morality in this. I don't like to read fics about Pedro being a real person, it feels intrusive/disrespectful/inappropriate, as if trying to guess what's he like in bed. Just no.

Sorry for long read, but I am really curious what do you think. Have a nice day✨

Hi!

I will try to answer this the best I can. I have a weird english day today (this morning i thanked someone for his injury instead of his inquiry in a work email and I've been trying not to carve my own eyes out ever since)

I have thought a lot about morals in the last years, it's a big factor of why i stopped writing RPF (let me tell you, meeting the actual person you wrote smut about is the weirdest fucking thing ever).

I feel like in the last years the line between what is normal (boundaries!) and what is not got very blurred? It seems to me that people have no filter, get very invasive and just shout out everything into the void that has become the internet. (and media is not helping with that either)

Like I wrote in the tags earlier today the thing some years back with people finding it totally normal to share the private address of Keanu Reeves to a point that people just showed up at his house (seriously, what is wrong with people?)

There seems to be no boundaries anymore and I hope it never gets to that point with Pedro. Part of me is relieved he has no twitter anymore cause holy crap the things that must be happening over there...

I only see what happens in reblogs. I'm not on tiktok. I only follow like 60 people on here. My instagram is even more dead. And I am glad about it lol

The only place where I really "thirst" is on discord and that's more or less private. To me it's a difference if I say things in private or post them online for everyone (and the media) to see.

And with fanfiction...

Yes you could argue that writing smut about an actor's character is sexualizing the person itself too. But personally I don't think of Pedro as a person at all when I write or read about his characters. I think about what he brought to the character. Yes, they might share his face, but everything else is fiction. Does that make sense? In my head it does.

The last thing I would want from Pedro is to do anything I wrote with his characters about. I would take him out to eat a cupcake and then gift him a spa day so that he can get a massage for his back and after that a good night of sleep. It's really werid if you think about it. His characters could probably have me on my knees with a snap of their finger but Pedro would not get more than a hug lol

Pedro is just the newest person to be hyped on the internet (and with that always comes an influx of people) and after S3 of the Mandalorian things will die down again (mark my words) but i am genuienly concerned for where this will be going in the meantime

#asks #fandom

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melancholyhime · 1 year

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things ive been recalling, if someone even cares (if not its ok, bc its for me to write out and look at)

a boy from my childhood who loved me very much, his was instant and mine was slow and full of teenage shyness/awkwardness/undiagnosed autism. our friend pretended he saw a squirtle in my pool and swam away leaving us alone. the boys hands shook as he cupped my face. i remember that even now. his hands started to shake whenever he would touch my waist. he never touched me without asking or me reaching out first. he was a dork and a nerd and such a good son. 2 dogs. but my god he lied. he lied about a piece of his life i guess bc he wanted to seem cooler to me. he never had to be, and i never said i wanted anything differently. but i could never fully agree to be with him bc when i called him out in the lie, he wouldnt come clean bc it had gone on for so long. his lie was more important than telling me the truth, and it was the single door that remained closed between us. ive never been as intimately close to anyone ever again.

i said yes to a boy in college when he asked me to marry him. he asked me because we were fighting again. we were better as friends but couldnt see that bc of how much we had poured in to one another. i genuinely loved him. but i loved a lot of ppl, bc to me (always) love is not a singular definition. i choose the ppl i love and i love them different amounts and ways and quantities and reasons. he couldnt accept that: "you dont know what love is" i will never forget those words. we on and offd again for years. we didnt marry. i kept a letter he had wrote me until my actual first fiancee found it and accused me of still loving him (of course i did but again, different ways amount etc) so i tore it up to prove that i "didnt love him any more". i regret it to this day.

i tried women and polyamory bc i didnt fit anywhere. i didnt fit. no one stayed because i didnt know how to make them. i even called myself fridgid bc thats what i was right? like a broken toy that had an essential inner gear twisted out and it still worked but now it didnt do one particular function. i was pansexual, but no that wasnt right either. a partner touched me and i felt disgusted.

my last boyfriend hand made me cherry pastries one morning at the beginning of the relationship. my roomate kept telling me he wasnt good but that one act kept me attached for so long because it was so kind. and simple. and full of care. it meant he really cared (and maybe he did). he always wanted sex. i did not. he never forced himself on me but i felt so guilty that i would give it to him and feel icky afterwards. when we finally broke up we still had a few months on our lease together so instead of trying to "work it out" like he begged and i agreed to, he brought a girl home and fucked her loudly so i could hear what i hadnt given him, what he could have always had if i was just a normal loving, giving girlfriend who wanted to please her man, and then ignored me for the rest of the lease until 2 weeks before we moved out, when he apologized and asked if we could be friends.

and finally. finally. i googled the demi/ace flag. of course id seen it in lgbtqa posts but just five articles in of frantic reading tears streamed down my face because i finally found the ppl that felt the same way i did. i wasnt broken i was just made another way and the relief that i felt when i saw the explaination for everything i had saw and felt within and outside of myself.. i can never express the warmth that crept back into me that i hadnt realized i had lost bc i had stopped loving myself a long time ago bc i had been so busy trying to love others the right way and ignored myself--the worst thing u can actually do. all the self loathing evaporated. all the evil mean down talking i did to myself on the daily trickled quickly to a stop. i stopped calling myself broken and frigid, i stopped feeling i was made incorrectly, i stopped believing those people (including the evil part of myself) were right.

i am 38. it took that long.

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rainbowhairanddaffodils · 1 year

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I'm gonna post a writing thing that came up in my mind randomly as i was playing Stardew Valley Expanded. Context: I internally RP as any give OC per file of Stardew Valley. This one is Mort's file--Incident Farm. I've gone further in it than in any before, in a combination of Expanded adding a certain character as marriageable (Lance), and the Ginger Island expansion to the main game existing. Keeps things interesting.

So, Mort's been in the valley a long time. 6 years in game I think! Idk. Over 200 hours. I was just playing, talking to Mort's husband Lance, as one does, when--well, the beginning of the following appeared. You see, Mort only 'speaks' in emojis, due to his strong magical ability allowing him to do so. Well he actually spoke in my brain--well, here's what I wrote down at the moment:

Lance: “I don’t know anyone who works as hard as you do. <3”

Mort: (actually speaking) “If I don’t then the horrors—”

Mort: stops talking and dialup noises while in the background you hear Lance saying

“Horrors? What horrors? Mort? My love? What horrors?”

Finally, Mort snaps out of it with a “?”

“You said something about Horrors, my love. That if you don’t work hard then they’ll…do something.”

Mort, in emoji language again, knowing that if anyone would believe him, it would be Lance:

(I actually don’t know what the horrors are or why. This scene just appeared with that quote.)

So, further expanded, here's this. I may never do anything more with it because Stardew Internal RP is just me playing with dolls, not meant to be expanded to story, and I don't intend to.

(Lore, I guess)

Mort walked up to Lance, like ever morning, to speak with him before they started their days. Well, Lance spoke, Mort had his own ‘language’ he used with everyone.

Lance smiled. “Spring time is nice after a long winter.”

Mort responded to the affirmative, a smiling emoji coming from his mouth.

Lance sighed. “This is the first spring I’ve been with you on this farm. And I have to say, I have never met anyone who works as hard as you do, I wish that you’d take a break sometimes.”

Mort smiled, but for the first time since he’d been in the valley, words came from his mouth, and unwanted—a thought he intended to think, and though he cut it off midway through, he said, “If I don’t, then the horrors—”

Mort went silent immediately, putting on a fake smile, about to turn away, but Lance asked, of course:

“Horrors? What horrors?” Mort shook his head. “Mort, my love. What horrors?”

The look of worry on Lance’s face was overwhelming, and honestly, Mort knew that if anyone in this world would believe him, would understand, it would be Lance…

But instead, he emitted a question mark, to pretend not to know.

Lance didn’t back down. “You said something about Horrors, my love. That if you don’t work hard—then you cut off.”

Mort looked down. He couldn’t speak it even if he wanted to. Even knowing that if anyone would ever believe him, it would be Lance—

“Mort, you were honest when you told me about Krobus, and I was so baffled. Anything you say has meaning, and to actually speak it—I’d never heard your voice, my love. Did these ‘Horrors’ take it from you?”

He took a deep breath, trying to form the best way to communicate it. He managed complicated things before, but usually when prompted. This was a prompt…maybe he could manage.

Though it wasn’t in speech, he told Lance the truth.

“The Horrors…are why I came to Stardew Valley. To escape them. If I don’t keep working, keep myself busy…then they will…find me.”

“Find you?”

Mort was anxious talking about this. He knew that surely, between himself in Lance, he could defend himself and the children, but—

He was worried they would sense this.

“You know that I had a lot of raw magical ability before coming to the valley, and that Magnus took note of it and aided me in communicating with the Junimos. I took it upon myself to salvage the Community Center in hopes of getting Joja out of here, and succeeded. Gave me something to do—busy work. After that, Ginger Island opened up, but even without, this massive farm on the beach, I had plenty to do—as much as I could ever imagine wanting to.”

“Slow down, you’re getting disjointed, my love.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He took a deep breath. It took magic even to communicate this way. “Before I came to the valley, this magic was all I used. But it was the loophole I found—if I did not speak, then the Horrors couldn’t find me—at least not physically.” He took another deep breath.

“I’ll go grab a mana potion my love.” Lance hurried off for a moment.

The Horrors. What other way could he describe them with his ability to communicate? They were…well. They did horrible things. Shorthand in his brain was ‘the Horrors’. Speaking their name was dangerous.

Lance handed him a potion. “Please, go on. I hate to strain you like this, but this is important. I didn’t know you were in danger—I would have had the First Shield on it immediately!”

“I call them the Horrors because I fear speaking of them. They were…” He took a deep breath. Paused. Focused. “They are a group of people—they captured me when I showed the tiniest inkling of magic, back in the city. They turn people into monsters…horrible things. The Horrors is all I truly knew them as, but in my escape, I did learn their name, but if they find me, they’ll—”

“My love, this is important information. I promise I will stay by your side—to the very inch if I must—to keep you safe.” Lance paused. “Write it down! They can’t hear that!”

“!” Mort nodded and rushed to the kitchen table to write down the name.

“The Order of Glass”

Lance stared at the name on the paper for a long moment. “I’ve heard of them…they’re under watch…” Lance grabbed Mort’s hand. “I know exactly what they do, and—I’m so, so sorry that you—”

Mort squeezed Lance’s hand in return. “My love, you’re the only thing that keeps me from breaking, please don’t break for me.”

Lance nodded. “Right.”

Mort took a deep breath. “I don’t know if they’ll come. I never know. But I know that if they do, I have my Return Scepter to get away now. That will buy me enough time to get to my Nexus, and from there, to the Adventurer’s Guild. I have a plan…”

“You worked so hard to save up money for that Scepter, huh?” Lance paused. “My love. I will protect you, and everything that you have here. It will not be snatched from you. I swear on it.”

#my writing #not even gonna tag it as stardew i'm really only posting it here for ease of sharing with friends

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mercy-burning · 2 years

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Exposure (Part 1)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After finally opening up to your therapist about why you haven’t had sex in so long, he suggests a few new exercises to help you face your fears. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Themes and discussions of sexual trauma surrounding a painful sexual encounter, power dynamics, masturbation, dubious consent, voyeurism (unbeknownst to reader), Spencer is a perv. Word Count: 3.1k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: I feel like I haven’t posted anything in ages and I was getting really anxious about it for some reason, so I decided to cut this oneshot into two parts so that I could get something out. Plus, I know a lot of you have been pretty excited about it, so it seemed like a win! I’m not sure when Part 2 will be out, but I’ve been working on it in bits and pieces, so I hope you’ll stick around for it!

———

Waiting for Doctor Reid to show up is like waiting for Christmas Day.

Only, rather than being nine years old and excited to spend the morning opening up gifts, you find yourself on the other side of things. It's very much like you're the parent who knows what's going to happen, spending every second dreading the inevitable moment where your child wakes you up at the ass-crack of dawn, when really, you'd rather be sleeping.

Your hands twiddle nervously in your lap as you wait in his office, that fateful conversation from last week's session replaying on a loop in your brain.

"And what about your sexual relationships?"

You froze like a deer in headlights, unwilling to budge no matter how loud his horn was. Even as he asked again, your name a gentle coax on the surface of his tongue, you remained perfectly still.

"Did I... strike a nerve?" he asked.

"U—Um... I..."

"It's important that you're up-front about these things with me, Y/N... Of course it's fine if you don't feel like telling me everything right away. But if there's something wrong, I'd like to know. That way we can at least find somewhere to start. Does that sound okay?"

"Um... Y—Yeah, I guess so..."

He asked again, and you found it extremely difficult to look him in the eye.

Or... to look at him in general.

You knew eventually you'd have to talk about your sex life, but in all honesty it was shoved deep into the back of your mind during the other sessions— You know, when you were laser-focused on literally anything else while trying not to think about how attractive you found your therapist and how fucked up that was.

Doctor Reid always made sure to speak slow and concisely, which, when combined with its smooth tone and the way he looked at you with his pensive, hypnotizing eyes, was fucking deadly. And you weren't even going to mention his hands— the way they glided beautifully across the notepad he wrote in, or how they flexed and tapped on his knee or on his chin.

He was distracting from the get-go, which was dangerous. But now, on the topic of your sex life?

You couldn't dare to look in his general direction.

So, with your eyes glued on your lap, you mindlessly counted the number of tiny flowers printed on your skirt and answered the best you could.

"I don't... I don't have frequent sexual relationships."

You wondered if he would ask you to speak up, but he didn't. Instead, he asked, "How frequent would you say they are?"

"Um... Well... I only ha—ad sex once."

"Are you... embarrassed about that?"

"No."

He paused. "That's good. There's no reason to be." And after you didn't say anything in response, he continued. "How long ago was the encounter?"

You hesitated a little longer, but he didn't push it. Eventually, intimidated by the silence, you sighed and quickly blurted, "About a year ago."

There was another pause, and you assumed he was writing something down. But then he asked, "And how did you find your experience?"

"I—I'm sorry?"

He cleared his throat. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I... I don't... Why is that relevant?"

"You're coming to me once a week for counselling because you said you've found yourself shying away from other people, where a year ago you were a normal adult with normal interests in socializing and being around others. Correct?"

"Yes..."

"Every session so far, we've gone through your upbringing, your family life, school, friends, your first jobs... All up until now. Everything is perfectly fine, and yet we still can't seem to figure out why you've strayed from your habits. The only topic we haven't discussed is your sexual and romantic relationships."

You stayed silent, the flower pattern on your skirt suddenly becoming more like a dizzying optical illusion by the second.

Doctor Reid continued. "And judging your body language, I see that you haven't looked me in the eye once since I brought up sex. My guess is that something happened during your first time that—"

"Look, honestly I don't think that's relevant to my situation, I haven't had sex since then because I don't want to, it has nothing to do with this."

"It's okay if it does," Doctor Reid encouraged. He was gentle, and if you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was amused. "That's what I'm here for."

You glanced up at him briefly, seeing a soft smile lighting the air between you. It filters some of the embarrassment you're feeling, and with a sigh, you adjust in the chair and look off to the side.

"No. I didn't enjoy myself."

"Okay. We're getting somewhere, that's good. Do... you want to tell me why you didn't enjoy yourself?"

You blinked, feeling your chest tighten and your stomach churn at the memory. "It's stupid."

"Y/N, I promise you it isn't... We don't have to discuss it now if you don't want to, but it's not stupid."

Thankfully he let you mull it over in the silence for a while, giving you time to gather your emotions and thoughts. And still, without looking directly at him, you began to open up.

"He hurt me... I—It wasn't... bad or anything, like he didn't do anything I didn't want to... I just... I—It hurt. Really bad. Like, I don't think I'd ever felt that kind of pain before."

"Did he, um... Go too hard? Do you think maybe that's why it hurt you?"

You let out the loudest breath of air, embarrassment and exasperation filling your lungs with every breath you took. "Yeah, that was part of it, but like... He was also kinda big, and it didn't feel good going in at all... And I know it's supposed to not feel great at first, and I thought it would get better, but... I—It just got worse, and worse, and I felt like I was getting torn apart from the inside out, I..."

Tears were steadily streaming down your face now, your throat incredibly tight and ears pounding as you tried to find the strength to say your words.

"I... I never want to do that again."

A box of tissues was dropped into your lap after you'd gathered yourself a bit, and you mumbled a small 'thank you' as you wiped your face. Doctor Reid was more than glad to let you take your time, and you were thankful.

It was also great to know that it didn't seem like he was embarrassed for you or ready to laugh. In fact, his tone was as smooth as ever, and incredibly warm as he spoke.

"Do you think that experience had an effect on the way you socialize somehow?"

"I... Maybe. Sure, I mean... I'm at that age where the people I hang out with all want to hook up, and if we're not trying to go home with someone, then we're not having a good time. It's... It's a lot of pressure, especially when I think about the fact that people like sex... I mean, like... That was awful, and people act like it's the end-all-be-all to enjoyment, I... I don't know..."

"Sure... You had a bad experience, and it's normal to retreat after experiencing that kind of pain... But it was only one time. You never know, maybe your partner just wasn't the right partner for you."

You shook your head intently. "No. No, that's not... No."

There was a decent pause before Doctor Reid spoke again. "I want to ask you something... And this might be a bit personal, so I'm sorry if I push any boundaries..."

He waited for you to object, but you didn't, silently giving him the go-ahead.

"Have you ever masturbated before?"

Dear God, you wanted to throw up. "What?"

"Well, before you had sex... Did you ever... Explore what you like on your own?"

"Um... Y—Yeah, I guess so..."

"You guess so?"

You sighed. "Yes."

"Okay... In your exploration, did you ever try anything penetrative?"

"Do I actually have to answer that?"

"Of course you don't. If you're uncomfortable we can move on, but... I really do think this is going to help... Trust me."

You sighed again, looking at his face once more to see him as he always was— sincere and pensive and understanding. And then you continued.

"No... I've... only ever done clitoral stimulation."

"And what about after your sexual encounter? Have you masturbated since then?"

You paused. "No."

And then he paused. And you were pretty sure you knew exactly what he was going to tell you.

Sure enough, he said, "Before I see you next week, I want you to try masturbating again. Maybe watch some porn or read some erotica... Whatever you think will get you more comfortable with your body and your sexuality... And we'll see where you end up."

"Do you really think this is going to help me get over my... fear of sex, or whatever this is?"

He smiled softly at you, and despite the bad relationship you've been having with sex, it brought a low simmer to the pit of your stomach. "It's a good start."

It's a good start...

"It's a good start," you whispered when you got home that night, right before getting under the covers and turning to the collection of porn you'd had saved over a year ago.

It worked, too.

You'd expected it to take way longer than a week to get back any sliver of libido. And it was definitely hard at first, but by the time your next session with Doctor Reid came around, you'd been masturbating regularly every day.

Though, it seems his instruction may have worked a little too well.

Once you were comfortable with your own body again, you couldn't stop the images of his face as they danced in beautiful flashes behind your eyelids. Scenarios were acted out in your dreams, his presence melding with yours and replacing those you'd watched and read, and it created a new sense of nervousness once you realized that you'd have to see him again in a few days...

And now that you're here, only seconds away from the moment he'd walk through the door, your stomach twists and your heart leaps.

You almost think maybe running out the door is a good option, but then he's waltzing through it with that seasoned swiftness that only adds to his charm and makes you even more intimidated by him.

"Good afternoon, Y/N," he greets with a warm smile, taking the seat in front of you.

"Hi, Doctor."

"How was your week?"

After a pause, you clear your throat, obviously not very good at hiding anything. "Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Yep."

He only waits for you to continue. You hate when he does that...

Because it works, getting you to talk every damn time. "Still not inclined to do anything out of my normal social routine, but I'm... better."

"How so?"

Feeling his gaze on you makes your heart lurch. "Um... I'm more... comfortable... with my body, I guess..."

"So you took my suggestion, then?"

You can only muster a nod, words dying in the back of your throat and evaporating into nothing.

"You still seem... shy."

"Well, I'm talking to my therapist about my masturbation habits..."

Thankfully he seems to understand, nodding with a small laugh that aims to lighten the mood and make you more comfortable around the whole situation. After all, it is only the start of your session this week, and a whole hour and a half of awkwardness wouldn't suffice.

Even still, what he says next doesn't ease your mind much at all.

"Do you mind elaborating a little?"

"I don't know how much more elaboration you need," you half-scoff, clearly defensive over your privacy— And with every right to be so, considering most of your thoughts had been about him.

"Well, let's start with how frequent you've been with it."

That you could do. "Um... about every day for the past week?" And right before I left the house...

"Good. How many times a day?"

"Once." Twice, sometimes three...

"Okay..." He writes things down, and then pauses before asking his next question. "Have you tried any new techniques?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean other than clitoral stimulation."

"No. I—I thought this was just supposed to be a start—"

"Oh! It was. I didn't mean to frighten you, I'm sorry. I don't expect you to be ready to have sex or anything right away— You should always be allowed to go at your own pace, I hope you understand that."

"Right..." There's an awkward pause, but you want things to keep moving, so just to keep him talking, you continue, "So, um... What's the next step then?"

By the look in his eyes, you realize it was probably the wrong question—and way—to ask. Even after just explaining that you could go at your own pace, the way you spoke to him could have easily been interpreted as a newfound confidence to push forward. In your case, had it been real, it would have been false confidence.

But even still, a dim light bulb still shines.

"We're going to make sure you've actually been doing your homework. Come with me."

———

There's just something about you that Spencer can't seem to understand. It's something beautiful and alluring, and more than anything it's incredibly wrong. Because he surely shouldn't be taking you to a separate room in the building where they interview mental patients while others watch from behind one-way glass and take notes.

But here he is anyway, leading you into the room and trying desperately not to kiss or touch you...

"W—What do you want me to do, exactly?" you ask in that timid way of yours. It's almost innocent, like you truly don't understand why he's brought you here rather than confirming your suspicions, and somehow that only makes him want you more.

"I want you to masturbate. This room is soundproof, it's camera-free... Whatever you do in here will be completely private."

"Why? I—Isn't this like... This... I..."

Spencer reaches out and touches your shoulder, and when you look at him like a lost animal, he nearly crumbles to dust. "Look... It's more than okay if you don't want to, I understand... But I really do think this will help you. You're completely safe here, I want you to know that."

He's speaking to you in that slow, collected way that always gets you to open up to him, and when you finally nod and agree to do his little assignment, he smiles, though his stomach inside is doing flips and he's shooting off celebratory fireworks in his brain.

"What do I do when I'm done?" you ask.

He reaches into his pocket and gives you a pager. "You can page me with this. I'll be in my office, so by the time I get to you, you should have enough time to get yourself situated. Is that okay?"

"You're... Leaving me alone?"

The question almost knocks the wind out of him. To play it off though, he laughs a little. "What, you want me to watch?"

"That's not what I meant! I... I just mean... Anyone could..."

"Like I said, this room is completely safe and soundproof. I've booked it for your session today, so no one is coming in to use it. There is a room right next door if you'd prefer I stay closer though, just in case."

"Y—Yes, please..."

Spencer smiles and sets the pager on the other side of the room, on a small table in the corner. "Okay. Page me when you're done, and I'll give you a few minutes to collect yourself. Okay?"

"Okay," you give with a nod and a small smile. Your nerves have calmed, and maybe this helps Spencer feel better about what he's about to do, but in spite of his ulterior motives, he's truly glad you're making progress.

He leaves and shuts the door, locking it and making quick work of sliding into the small door next to it. After locking that one as well, he switches on the light and settles in, seeing that you've only just sat down on the small couch in the middle of the room.

You both lean back at about the same time, you into the couch cushions and Spencer in the spinning desk chair. It doesn't take but a single movement of your hand down to the button of your jeans to make him hard, and now he's determined to make you feel the same way about him that he does you.

It's set in stone the moment you slide the denim down your legs and spread them wide, right in front of him. He watches as you take a deep breath and rub yourself through your panties, little pieces of your hesitation crumbling away by the second, and he just knows he's going to fuck you properly.

When, he doesn't know. But it will happen, that much he's sure of.

In the meantime, he settles for fantasy. Spencer opens up his own pants and just loosens them enough to get his dick out, and all the while his eyes are trained solely on you.

He doesn't start moving his hand until you slide your panties down as well, fluttering your eyes closed the moment your finger makes contact with your bare clit. In that moment, Spencer is glad for the soundproofing, because if you'd actually heard the way he groaned out just then, he would have been doomed. He spits on his hand and starts to glide it softly over himself, matching the speed of your own as it languidly explores your body.

All he can think about is how beautiful you are... He should be thinking about how wrong this is, or how you probably don't feel the same attraction to him that he so obviously feels about you, and doing this is only making his crush worse...

But damn it, you're just so captivating, he can't stop.

And he doesn't.

No, Spencer doesn't even give a second thought to sighing out your name and imagining you in front of him—closer than you are now—with your head tilted up and your pretty eyes batting up at him while he fucks your throat. He mindlessly whispers praises in between low whines as his speed and pressure increases, and he's so close to coming.

He can hold out, though. He can wait for you. In fact, he wants to wait for you. He wants to watch you come undone before he even thinks about getting there himself.

But of course, as they say, you don't always get what you want.

It's not like it's his fault, though. You're the one who's losing yourself in a fantasy, using his name on your lips as a plea to aid you in the most intimate form of pleasure...

"Doctor Reid," he can hear you whine as you squirm and bring yourself closer to bliss.

He can't help it, then. His name falling off your tongue sets off the explosion that ripples through his insides. His hand falters, and he releases the most pathetic sound he's ever made at the mercy of a sexual partner, right as he comes all over his hand. You're calling his name again, in broken chants getting higher and higher in pitch until you're incoherent, and he's just a sticky, flustered mess.

He sits there and watches you reach your climax, still gently stroking his cock with a lip between his teeth. Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth hangs open, and your legs, while still wide, are wavering and tensing. His eyes travel down to your hand as it aids you in pleasure, and he wishes more than anything that it was his.

In fact, the thought gives him an idea for your next session...

———

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out): @starrylang @xoxospencerreid @mrsobrien888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspenceraredilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!:

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut

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chaoticparker · 2 years

Text

only you, babe

tasm!peter parker x f!reader

summary: working with your ex is terrible, your ex causing you to stay late is terrible, but seeing your ex crashing from the window is also…terrible

w/c: 2.2k

warnings: canon typical violence, ex’s/enemies to lovers

a/n: sorry i didn’t post this sooner! traveling/time zones messed up when i was planning to post this :) ALSO THIS GIF <33333

masterlist

Peter has had his fair share of embarrassing moments, infact, he would argue his whole life was one big embarrassment. From consent name calling from Flash, not to mention his all-around clumsiness, it wasn’t hard to believe that he had his more difficult moment then some of his fellow peers.

And it only got worse when he got a visit from that particular spider.

From sticking to his desk that made him sit for a suspiciously long time, to accidentally denting a couple of lockers, he was more of an outcast than before. The only place where he didn’t feel like too much of an outcast was in his Oscorp internship; yes nerdy, he knows, but at least he’s not the only nerd there.

“All right everyone listen up.” One of head scientists, Dr. Barr, called all of the intern’s to attention. “With the Conner situation and the millions of lawsuits against us, Oscorp can’t afford to make any more mistakes, so everyone here will be working alongside another intern.” Groans echoed throughout the lab. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just pipe down everyone and let me get through this. I need my morning coffee.”

“But we all have our own project we are focusing on, how will we work together?” One of the interns, Gwen, piped up from the middle of the crowd. The interns started mumbling in agreement, annoying the head scientist even more.

“You’ve each been paired up with someone who has a similar focus as you, so just, I don’t know, compromise. Any more complaints?” No one spoke up. “Good. Now, Stacy and Lin, Bennent and Ramos…” Burr started to read the names off and Peter’s mind started drifting off, wondering how his Aunt’s doing, thinking about when he can practice this new skateboard trick he’s been working on; anything other than his lab work.

“Parker and L/n, Roberts and Vargas…” Peter swore when he heard your name alongside his, his eyes locked onto yours. You had an annoyed face, one that matched his. “All right move along, get going, chop chop.”

He went over to his lab desk, which just so happened to be next to yours. “All right let's hurry this up. I’m sure you have somewhere else to be.” You said, in a clearly aggressive way. “You always do.”

He sighed and sat down at his stool next to you. “Again with the being late thing? That was one time!”

“And then you didn’t show up to our other fifty dates.” You mumbled. “Anyways, what are you studying? I’m researching how to strengthen healthy cells to nullify the effects of cancerous cells. What about you?”

“How to use different types of animal cells to help humans.” He stated simply. “Without turning everyone into lizards of course.”

You smiled while you wrote it in your notebook. “That will be easy I guess, just see how different animals fight off terminal cells and how we can use it to help people.” You looked over to see him tapping his pencil against his notebook filled with scribbles and a bunch of doodles, Peter didn't notice, his mind was elsewhere.

It seemed no one in the lab really wanted to combine projects, everyone had their head down doing their own original project instead—you and Peter weren’t an exception.

After giving a title to your project, you both called it a day and ignored the other, going back to your work. People would only talk when the head scientist came around, when Peter noticed Dr. Burr came around the corner and had a certain feeling that he was going to them.

“Hey, y/n, I finished—“ Peter slid and bumped into you, causing you to drop the vial of liquid that was in your hand, shattered all over the floor.

“What the fuck, Peter?!” You yelled, causing Burr to pick up his pace and to come over to you with even more haste.

“What was in there y/n?” He asked, stepping back when he noticed the spill, most likely worried that it was a dangerous chemical.

“Just an fermented compound that I started yesterday.” You sighed, glaring at Peter. “Now I’ll have to stay late so I don’t get too far behind.”

“You mean our project.” Peter smiled off your mistake, awkwardly laughing that was definitely suspicious. Burr didn’t care though, he just mumbled to clean it up and walked away.

“I can stay late if you want.” Peter offered as he got the dustpan and brush to clean up the broken glass. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“I’ve heard that enough times from you.” You mumbled, walking away to the supplies room to fetch another beaker.

The rest of the day didn’t go by as easily. Peter's breath ticked you off and he couldn’t stop checking his phone. But you weren’t being an angel to Peter either. You were constantly writing, and while that in itself wasn’t so bad, you would push your things on Peter's desk. And it’s not like Peter is the most organized person ever, he didn’t need to be more cluttered.

He felt annoyed first, then guilty after. He knew you got like this when you were mad, unstable as he would call it—never to your face though. Maybe unpredictable would be a better term, he thought.

When you were together and upset or angry, you would always let it be known in some passive aggressive manner. It wasn’t until he hit three missed dates that he would be on the receiving side of your anger though. And when he finally thought you were past that, here we are again.

Officially, the internship ends daily at five pm, but being the ever overachiever, that is every Oscorp intern, most people didn’t leave till six—Peter included. Normally you’d be with the bunch leaving and piling into the elevator, but with today’s events you need to stay a little longer to remake the liquid that peters so gracefully caused you to drop, making you extend your day too far into the night.

While you were dealing with that, Peter was casually fighting criminals.

“Come on guys, don’t you have lives outside of all of this? Maybe like a date or something?” Peter reasoned, shooting a web to one of the criminals then punching them in the face, taking off the mask in the process. “Ohh, maybe not with that broken nose—hopefully your mafia has good health insurance—“

“Shut him up.” One of the mob members whispered into their coat. Peter only realized this too late as he heard a gunshot and felt a spark of pain in his back.

“OH, FUCK!” Peter collapsed on the ground and tried his best to get up, raising his wrist to shoot a web but the criminals ran away before he could do anything about it. Peter knew he couldn't chase after them, not in his condition; he also knew that Oscorp was a couple blocks away that was unoccupied beside you.

He hated that he was really considering going to you for help, in doing so revealing his true self. He should’ve told you about his little side hustle from when you first started dating, but him being too anxious to do anything that could potentially damage the relationship, decided not to.

Yeah, irony was a bitch.

Slowly getting on his two feet, he thought about all of the arguments you’ve had within the past year. The one you both had today wasn’t even in the top ten worst ones. But no matter the circumstance, they all had to deal with the fact that Peter was for one, “not only physically but also emotionally unavailable”, then how he “had no time for anyone in his life”, and always ending it with him being an “apathetic whore”.

He got out his phone and pressed your contact, simultaneously shooting a web and pulling himself onto the roof. Eventually, the ringing stopped, “Hello?”

“Oh thank god you didn’t block me.” He sighed in relief, and also from his struggle getting up. “Are you still at Oscorp?”

“Yeah, because someone destroyed my work and now I have to start over.” You grumbled and Peter bit his lip. “What does it matter to you?”

“Well, I first want to start off by saying I’m really sorry-”

“Are you drunk again?” You questioned. “I can’t do any more of your drunk apologies. I’m blocking you-”

“No! No!” Peter winced in pain as he swung to another roof, slowly getting closer to Oscorp. “Look, I’m hurt, can you just get some medical supplies out for me? I’ll be there soon.”

“Peter, I was just about to go and I don’t really want your excuses.” You sighed, thinking that Peter was just playing with you and trying to get on your good side again. You’ve heard too many “I’m sorry”’s from him, but you could never really accept his apologies unless he had a legitimate reason he would cancel on you.

“Please!” He begged, mixed with a small yelp. “I’ll explain everything too, I just need you to–fuck.” His breath was heavy and whiny from the pain. It hurted to hear it, melting your heart just enough.

“Okay-”

“Leave the window open in the lab, I’ll meet you there.” The line went dead and you began to wonder why he would ask that. Did he need fresh air? But more important things clouded your mind. “I’ll explain everything.”

That was enticing, but you wanted to keep you guard up and be disappointed by his shity excuse–

“Y/N!” You heard a crash from the window and turned around to see the spider-man, clad in the blue and red suit and blood.

“PETER?” You dropped the vial that was in your hand, mimicking a similar glass breaking from this morning. You raced to him and rolled him over, confirming your suspicions as you pulled off the mask.

“Heyyy—oh.” He gripped his back in pain. “Help? Please?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You cleared a desk and helped place him on it. “I’m going to give you some anesthesia, but do you know what’s wrong before I do that?”

“Bullet, back.” He barely got out and you just nodded. Luckily, you had everything on hand thanks to Oscorp so you were soon able to knock him out and start operating on him, ripping the suit off in the process.

You were surprised that you didn’t put the pieces together beforehand. All of those nights where Peter knocked on your door with a black and blue eye, bruises littered along his arms and all through his back to his legs. You knew Peter was no cheater, but you never would have guessed that the reason he’s been so spotty with all of your dates was because he’s in a skin tight suit, swinging with literal webs, saving lives as the famous spider-man.

You hated him for those unanswered texts and missed dates, but now, you feel like a dick.

An hour later, you were sitting, watching Peter’s chest move up and down. Your hand going to hold his hand without a second thought. Peter shouldn’t be waking for another half hour, but you felt twitching in his hand and then saw his eyes fluttering. You grabbed a small flashlight and when he first fully opened his eyes you shined the light, holding it open so you could check to see if he had any sign of concussion.

He started smiling, then giggling which essentially put your worrying at ease. “Heyyyy, pretty lady.”

You sighed, relief flooding your system, but when you realized Peter couldn’t quite fully smile, you felt that worry creeping back.

“I get you’re spider-man, but you have to stop doing this to yourself.” Your voice was quiet but firm, soothing for Peter to hear.

“I think you are too scared that you’ll end up falling for me?” Peter tried gesturing to himself. “Do my bruises make me too sexy?”

You laughed, a much needed smile on your face. You figured that even though we woke up earlier than expected, the anesthesia still had that laughing gas effect of making Peter act high, but you doubted it would last long.

“Not really-“

“Here, lemme flex.” He pushed himself much to your protest. He couldn’t quite control his strength and it was a shocker how much stronger he was. “Look at these.”

He held his arms up and flexed, you had an unimpressed face which he just groaned at. After a beat of silence, he spoke up. “Does this explain everything?”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about all of this.” He gestured to himself. His voice was now slowly losing his flirting tone and now turning more quiet and guilty. “Truly.”

“I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you.” You sighed, sitting down on your chair. Peter held out his hand and you took it, something you did while you were still in your relationship. It felt like everything that needed to be said was said, and now, looking at the boy with those brown eyes and fluffy hair, all that resentment had disappeared, giving you closure that you wanted, but also a new chance with someone you thought of as your soulmate.

“Can I take you out for pizza?” Peter asked. “Like a thank you date?” Peter bit he lip nervously and you could see a little bit of blood trickle from his lip.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You smiled, squeezing his hand.

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