#why did my brain have to fizzle at these two specifically? the world (me) will never know | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

9r7g5h · 2 years

Text

Rewind and Retry Part 1

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Boku no Hero Academia

Rating: T

Genre: General

Summary: He must have taken enough damage to knock him unconscious, and that was why he was now remembering this of all things. Because why else would four-year-old Deku be looking down at him, hand outstretched, offering to pull him out of the water?

Words: 4117

Parts: P1, P2

AN: I'm new here (I haven't even finished season 3 of the anime yet, and I'm watching the first movie tomorrow with two of my people. We're making katsudon together! :D), but I've fallen in love with this show, and I've fallen hard. I have a ton of fic ideas, and I'm looking forward to writing them as I continue to learn about the world and the characters. I'm sorry if people seem out of character or if I get things wrong, since I'm not caught up yet, but this one especially didn't want to wait since I did have one specific scene spoiled for me. Hopefully you all still enjoy! I'm just glad to be here!

Disclaimer: I do not own MHA.

He had no fucking clue what was going on.

He knew what had happened - Tokoyami had caught wind of a group his agency had been after for a while and called in for backup. He had been the closest, the warehouse the group had claimed as their own right on the edge of his patrol. Feathers had filled him, Dunce Face, and (annoyingly) Deku in after the extras appeared, and the four of them had burst in to take names and kick some ass.

A normal Tuesday, and a good way to end his shift, if anyone was to ask him.

But instead of the three enemies they had been warned about, almost triple the number had risen from the darkness, throwing quirk after unknown quirk against the newly minted pro heroes, trying to force them back into a corner to take them down. Something Katsuki had refused, point blank. He didn't care if these shitty asswipes outnumbered them over two-to-one, he knew the people at his back.

Knew that electricity, shadows, and the strong arms of his friends companions had him.

Which was what had led him to jump for the sprinklers above. He knew the water would work against him, diluting his sweat, but it would give Dunce Face the perfect conditions to take out a bunch at once, turning the tide in their favor. He might not get the credit of a final blow, something that would smart later when he was alone in his apartment, but right now wasn't the time for egos and pride.

It was about making sure they all got out alive so he could beat them later, so he could show them he was the best so he didn't have to go to another friend's funeral anytime soon. So he jumped, the explosions already building in his palms, ready to set off the sprinklers that would end this.

Except he never landed. He never landed because so many quirks landed instead, too many sensations for him to process as his body froze, muscles tensing, everything about him boiling to a halt as he felt too much within a second to spare driving him into the ground below. His palms fizzled and sparked, and it must have been enough because he felt the rain, the pure clean mist brushing over his skin as multiple voices screamed for him, the loudest (always the loudest) a terrified "Kacchan" with a hand reached out and-

"Are you ok, Kacchan?"

It's not a full grown man's hand. It's not a full grown man's voice. It's not the eyes of a full grown man looking at him, but the eyes and the voice and the hand of a small child, one firmly burned into his memory, that meets him. That's held out to him. That asks about his well being, concern and fear edging the words as he speaks.

"The brain does strange things while in danger," Recovery Girl had once said, during their mandatory first aid classes, "things to protect itself from harm. Wounds will be ignored, trauma will be funny, and if someone is knocked out, their mind might fill in the emptiness with something else. A memory, or a dream so life-like it feels like one. Why, I do not know, but it can lead to some interesting results when interacting with head injuries during rescue missions..."

"That was a really big fall! Are you ok?"

That had to explain it. He must have taken enough damage to knock him unconscious, and that was why he was now remembering this of all things. Because why else would four-year-old Deku be looking down at him, hand outstretched, offering to pull him out of the water?

Katsuki knew how this memory had to go. He knew that, last time, he had knocked away Deku's hand. Had called him useless, worthless, the same tired phrases that had somehow still managed to live into their high school days. Had continued to think that, somehow, the most genuine friend he had ever had was looking down on him just for asking if he needed help. Instead of accepting, Katsuki had slapped away Deku's hand and begun hating the boy, something he had only within the last few years been able to stop. Had been able to apologize and begin to make amends for, even if he did occasionally fall into his old habits. Even if his twist of emotions occasionally made it hard.

"Kacchan?"

He knew what he was supposed to do, in this weird dream memory his mind had created to keep itself safe. He should replay what had happened, despite the regret he now had for the action and the many that would come to follow. It was the safe route, the known, easy. But...

"I'm ok, Deku. Thanks."

A cocky smile as he took the outstretched hand, using it to help pull himself to his feet, because when did he ever choose easy? He let the other boy fawn over him, praising his strength for coming out the other side of "such" a big fall without a scrape, the others calling down their praises from the log above. Because of course they did - this was what his childhood had been like, from what he remembered.

No wonder his ego had been so large, and it had been so easy to turn against Izuku. Too many people made it easy to do so, even Izuku himself.

"You know," Katsuki finally said as they climbed up the riverbank, looking over his shoulder, "you got to me fast. It was pretty impressive. Maybe Dekus aren't useless after all."

A piss poor attempt at a compliment, no apology in sight, but still it made the other four year old gleam, his smile the brightest thing Katsuki remembered seeing. It wasn't much, it was nothing in the grand scheme of things, but it still felt good, seeing that smile. When he was awake, in the real world, that smile was often fake for the world, tinged with exhaustion around their friends, and often just gone around him, Izuku letting his hero mask fall in the safety of one of their homes, trusting their strained and slowly rebuilt friendship with this, at least. He knew others saw more, held him when he cried when he got there too late to save someone, let him rant and rage at the injustice in the world, could easily make him laugh without trying; but he at least had what he had, and that was enough. More than he deserved.

And here, in this memory dream, tiny hand holding tiny hand to pull Izuku over the last bump to get him back on the main path, his smile still the widest Katsuki ever remembered it, it was enough.

"Let's head home for today." The others agreed, though it was clearly an order, not a request. The other boys quickly fell back in line behind them, though if the other three wanted to question why Katsuki still held so tightly to Izuku's hand, none of them said a word. Instead they all just quietly marched back along the path they had blazed so many times before, passed through the hole in the fence, and slowly began peeling off as they reached their own streets to go home. A peaceful journey, all things considered, when normally their group was rambunctious and always causing trouble, but a peace that was happily accepted until it was just the two of them. The two of them slowing to a stop in front of Inko's building, hands still clasped tightly together.

"Kacchan? I should go inside now." Izuku made to let go, but paused as Katsuki gave a squeeze, his signature scowl burning into the side of the building. "Kacchan?"

"You can become a hero if you want," Katsuki finally said, using their linked hands to pull Izuku into a hug. "You'll have to train, because right now you're just a shitty nerd who's going to break all your bones and get yourself hurt if you try and become a hero, because you're too weak to protect yourself and help anyone, but if you train, you can."

And fuck, he could already feel Izuku shaking, his shoulder growing wet again as he cried into the fabric of his shirt, little hands clutching at him. Even in this made up world he wasn't good at this kind of shit, couldn't get through a single day without making him cry, because he was clearly just the worst and-

"Thank you, Kacchan." Izuku interrupted his internal scolding, lifting his head to show that yes, he was crying, big fat tears covering his cheeks, but he was also smiling. A smile wide and pure and enough to soothe the ache that had been building in Katsuki's chest for who knew how long. "You're the best, Kacchan, and if you say I can become a hero after I train, I'm gonna train the hardest and become a hero right next to you! We'll be the best heroes in the world."

"You're getting snot on my shirt, shitty nerd." And yet he made no try to move away as Izuku buried his face back into his shoulder, holding him close, his free hand rubbing soothingly over his back. "You'll also have to stop being such a crybaby, but it's ok for now. I'll protect you when you cry."

A watery laugh as Izuku finally took a step back, rubbing at his ruddy cheeks, only spreading the water and goo instead of getting rid of it. Disgusting, and yet he couldn't help his small smile, even as he refused to look down at the mess on his shirt. "I'll do my best, Kacchan. I'll see you later?"

"Of course, nerd. And who knows? Maybe Deku will be the name of a famous hero one day."

He didn't stick around for the renewed waterworks, especially as Inko opened the door to their apartment and called for Izuku, not paying attention as she waved to him as she watched him walk away from her happily sobbing child. And honestly he barely paid attention to the rest of the day. Katsuki knew he got home somehow, the house shockingly familiar to how he remembered it (though, no true shock there). It was strange, going from living alone to once again living under your parents, especially when you dropped roughly twenty years and a couple of feet, but he got through it without exploding anyone or anything, honestly enjoying the simplicity of it all.

Who knew he would have missed cartoons and snuggling with his parents on the couch? Absolutely wild, even if the old hag was still too naggy for his taste.

But going to bed, feeling exhaustion pulling at his eyes, Katsuki was sure it was a sign he would be done soon. Who fell asleep in a dream and didn't wake up in the real world? He'd probably wake up in the hospital, Deku hovering by his side like always and a doctor to rattle on long enough to piss him off. He would forget this small feeling of absolution, this slight lessening of his guilt, and life would go back to normal.

Except it didn't.

It didn't, because he woke up at five the next morning in a body that was still too small, in a room he hadn't lived in for years, with just enough control of his quirk to not set the All Might themed bedspread on fire.

It was then that maybe, just maybe, he started to panic.

Or, rather, not panic, because Ground Zero didn't panic. He left that bullshit to the extras, to the people it was his duty to save. No, if anything, he just became increasingly concerned that he was still four years old, still apparently trapped in whatever coma dream he'd been forced into.

When he woke up he was going to steal Feather's kneecaps and beat him with them. Who gave out such shitty partial information like that? How the fuck had he survived his time as a sidekick and made it to being a fully registered pro if he couldn't even use his sentient quirk to get a head count?

Shit he'd have to beat out of him later, once he woke up. Because right now, even as he did the wrist and arm exercises that had become natural to him over the last decade (?), he was only four. Physically four years old with all the memories of his mid-twenties, and the bullshit that came with it. Meaning Feathers was also some sniveling brat, and wouldn't survive a Howser blast to face yet.

If he even existed here, seeing as this was all in his head.

Damn it. He could really do with blowing something up.

Instead Katsuki slipped out of bed, careful to avoid the long since memorized squeaking portions of the house as he searched. For what, he wasn't entirely sure - for something off, for some kind of sign that this wasn't real, for a wavery patch in the scenery that would force his brain to accept the truth and force him awake. That's how it happened in the movies his idiots always forced him to watch, which was the most he could go off of. It's not like he was knocked unconscious regularly, and even when he was pulled into a rescue mission, he often just focused on getting the people to safety. He didn't stick around to ask in depth questions about what they had dreamt about when they woke up, though maybe he should start.

Might be good to know if this was common, for the future. Just in case.

But by the time his dad scooped him up and delivered him to the kitchen for breakfast, both of his parents asking worriedly if he had slept alright, the entire house had been thoroughly searched. Books had been flipped through, dust bunnies had been chased from under the couch, and he had even given himself a shallow cut on the palm of his hand, the pain doing nothing to wake him. Nothing had flickered, no one had offered him some weird colored pills in exchange for the truth; life, as far as he knew, was perfectly in order.

It fucking sucked.

Even if the first breakfast he hadn't had to make for himself in months was fan-fucking-tastic (a sentiment that got him smacked on the back of the head for swearing), it was also wrong. He didn't want to be stuck as some helpless toddler. He wanted to be back in his adult body, fighting villains to protect the city, rising through the ranks, all that jazz. He had shit to do, damn it, and lazing around in a coma while his brain replayed happy family wasn't going to cut it.

Though, it was cute when, after breakfast, Izuku's voice called for him from behind the door, asking him to once again come play.

"I should ground you for your language, you damn brat," Mitsuki growled even as she grabbed his plate and dropped a kiss onto his forehead. "But maybe Inko's brat will be a good influence on you. Get out of here, and be back in time for dinner."

His dad just smiled and slipped him a few bucks, enough to get both him and Izuku some lunch from a vendor near the park, and within a few minutes he was gone. Gone out the door, down the stairs, his hand automatically reaching for and grabbing Deku's in his own as he continued his search for the thing that would wake him from this... not nightmare, it couldn't be a nightmare with how brightly Izuku was smiling at him, something he hadn't done in years, but from whatever this was that kept him from his reality.

Even if the small warmth in his hand was nice, he still knew he would have to let it go, and the sooner the better.

So they spent the day searching - not that Deku knew, no, he just followed Katsuki close behind, asking questions and rambling into the silence when he got no response, filling the air himself. He'd always been good at that, taking what should have been awkward and making it easy, allowing others to exist within his presence. Deku had never needed an audience, just a friend or two to hear him out and, unlike him, he was content.

A closeness Katsuki was grateful for, even if he'd never show it. Because as the day wore on and nothing activated the cutscene worthy awakening he had imagined, his totally appropriate concern just continued to grow, only held at bay by the mumbling and hand.

What if he didn't wake up?

Statistically he knew it was unlikely. Even in just the few years he and his class had all been working, things had come so far in the medical field. Not everything could be fixed, no, but most limb damage could be healed, and the last person to exist in a long term coma had been decades ago. New quirks helped advance everything in leaps and bounds, and even just a few days ago people had been asking if this was the end of mortality as humans knew it.

Utter horseshit, of course, but the basis was there. Statistically, he would be up and moving within two weeks.

Statistically.

He'd always been good in school, but still, he didn't want to run the numbers.

"Kacchan, how do you train to be a hero?"

He’d almost forgotten that he had company, Deku’s constant stream of conversation cut off when he’d used the few bucks his dad had slipped him to buy them some late afternoon ice cream. Again, he’d been rewarded with another smile and a perky “Thank you, Kacchan!” before he had fallen silent, the two of them snacking in quiet. But now, by the uncharacteristic furrow between his brow, it was clear the little four year old’s brain was working hard, trying to come up with the answer on his own.

“By working out, duh,” he replied, taking a bite of his own slowly melting treat. “You don’t have a quirk to train, so you need to train your body instead. Lots of running, lifting heavy things, shit like that. You need to make yourself strong enough to keep up with the rest of us, otherwise you’ll be too easy to beat. Then you really won’t be able to be a hero.” He tried to curb his annoyance and language - he was speaking to a child, after all, even if his last memory of said “child” was him covered in blood, again, from pounding villains into dust. He’d have to wait until he woke up to see if that blood was someone else’s, though he already had a lecture prepared if it wasn’t.

He’d carried that fucking nerd home from the hospital too many times to not have one ready, though he also knew it would just be the same apologetic smile, promise not to do it again, and few weeks of Deku being extra careful before it happened all again. At least he had stopped breaking bones so easily, not that it was much of a reassurance when he was almost bleeding out from getting impaled.

Katsuki was sure he was going to go gray before 30, and it would all be Deku’s fault. Once he woke up, that is.

“Could you help me?” Again pulled out of his thoughts by the same little voice, determination etched into every soft baby feature. “Kacchan is so amazing, with your help I’m sure I could train enough to be a hero too! Maybe even as great as All Might!”

And fuck it, he had already changed so much in just a single day. Instead of being the bully he remembered being, instead of reliving the past he felt shame for, at least in his head he could be kinder. Not soft, of course, because he didn’t do soft, wasn’t actually sure if that was something he could do, but he could at least do this.

“We can start your training at school tomorrow. I don’t want to hear any whining that I’m being too mean, ok? I won’t help a crybaby.”

If he hadn’t known otherwise, Katsuki would have thought that Izuku and his mother both had a water-based quirk centered around their crying, because the sheer amount of liquid that came from such a small body should have been impossible. But it was Deku, so all he did was throw some napkins at him and tell him to eat his ice cream, that they would have to go home soon and he didn’t need him sobbing in public like a baby when they walked. Easier said than done, though soon Deku was successful, even if he was still wiping at his eyes as Katsuki led him back home.

“Remember, Deku, we start tomorrow! No chickening out on me. Got it?”

A determined nod was all he got, his poor friend almost shriveled from dehydration by the time they got home, but it was there. The same spark he had seen when they had both first gotten into UA, that same little gleam that said he was ready to become All Might’s successor - even now it existed within this four year old phantom his memory had created.

He had a good imagination, he’d give himself that. At least if he was going to be stuck in this memory dream coma for a while, which was looking to be more and more likely the longer this went on, he wouldn’t be as bored as he’d always thought he would be.

It was still boring as fuck, because holy shit being four again was its own kind of torture. Even with having been out of school for a few years, he was still far beyond anything the teachers wanted to teach him. Sure, his hands shook a bit when he held the pencils, something that annoyed him to no end (just something he would have to practice, the muscle memory lacking in this and, most likely, the quirk usage as well), but he could read and mostly write and easily breeze his way through anything they put in front of him. The only thing that kept him entertained, besides the idea of training Izuku come the break, was playing with his own quirk at the table, small sparks playing across his fingers.

He knew he couldn’t push it, at least not yet. Not that he hadn’t tried - once again awake at five in the morning, wrist and arm exercises completed, he had tried to gather the control he once had over his powers. Focusing on his pores, on the building of sweat in his palms, the muscle twitches that ignited everything; it was all there, just under the surface, but weak. He couldn’t force the sweat production, not like he could when he was older. He could sense the muscles in his forearms and his palms, could feel them move sluggishly as each tiny little spark set off in his hands, but it was nothing like the almost painful spasms that gave him his larger blasts. And he knew even if he could let off something larger than these tiny pops, his shoulders couldn’t handle it. That all had come from years of training, from building himself into someone who could actually handle his quirk and not be destroyed by its power.

Maybe he could do the same for Deku. He didn’t know how far this dream would go, but maybe, if it went far enough, by the time he became All Might’s successor, he’d actually be ready to accept it. Or at least maybe keep him from breaking himself so badly, something the poor nerd needed all the help accomplishing.

And even if it was all in his head, even if he would forget all of this when he woke up in reality, even if none of this was real, it still felt good to have Deku smile at him when he asked how his training would start. It was entirely selfish, but he had over a decade to make up for, and this small little bit of fake reparations helped.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Deku?”

Another nod, his eyes watery but determined as they stood away from the others in their class. The boys Katsuki normally played with watched curiously from the sidelines, but none of them moved to interfere.

“I’m ready, Kacchan!”

“Then get ready to die!”

He could do this, at least until he woke up.

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wizkiddx · 3 years

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cONGRATS ON 500, you deserve it more than anyone😪 and 9 with actress reader girlfriend, i beg you maam <33

AHHH THANKUUU, i didn’t know with number 9 so i just did both oops :)))

Dialogue prompts 9 = "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me"

Kissing prompts 9 = Continued kiss, even after the director yells "cut!"

request something to celebrate my 500 followers!!! (but pls tell me what prompt list its from 🤍)

****okay so just pretend that tom and y/n are in something like the love actually ending bit at the airport which also just happens to be the last scene they shooting which ik is completely unrealistic*****

summary: change is scary and it makes you question the realistic future you and tom have

/////////////////

The atmosphere on the lot was almost electric. It had been a long time coming, three months of filming, but here the two young stars were - stood in the mock up set of Heathrow terminal 2. All cast and crew were buzzing, closing a project was such a moment, a pat on the back. And hell, there would be celebrations and a half this evening.

In fact they’d been on this ‘last shot’ for the past two and a half hours, even if the actual footage would most likely make up barely 50 seconds of the films runtime. But then, thats Hollywood.

“Alright guys one last time for me-“ The collective around the director all sighed and rolled their eyes, because this director had a talent for saying ‘ last one’ and meaning twenty more. “Nono!” He laughed, hopping from foot to foot “I’m serious about this! Y/n, Tom this is it, I want all that emotion right?”

Tom responded with a serious and professional nod, whilst you struggled just a little bit more - taking a long shaky exhale. Not that Jon knew, but you were already almost flooded with emotion. Today was a big day.

This job had given you something extra special, something above and beyond a new experience and memories. It had given you the most amazing time with one of the most extraordinary individuals you’d ever met. It had brought you a home away from home, it had brought you Tom. Yes, it may only have been 2 and a bit months - but that didn’t make the feelings any less real or intense for either of you.

Hence why the directors orders of emotion where a waste of breath. You were feeling it all- terrified, excited but mainly apprehensive.

There was a reason your love life had been so pathetically tragic before Tom- dating as an actor was hard. The invasion of privacy, the constant moving about - it was impossible when one half of the relationship was in that position. So what was the future prospects like when the both of you were in the prime of your careers? Not a fucking lot.

“Right, on your marks please.” The directors orders distracted you from the never ending runaway train of thought, with a nod hurrying round the back of the corridor, ready to walk out onto the concourse as ‘Manasi’ one last time.

The scene was a simple one, you come out with your luggage- running to hug ‘ Adam’ or Tom; jump and kiss him like hes the last person on earth. Although this was supposed to be the long awaited reunion between the two fictitious characters, what it felt more like was the real goodbye between you and Tom. And that hurt.

So as the clapperboard snapped, signalling it was time for Manasi to round the corner with an excited smile, you checked yourself for a second.

You could do this.

Rounding the corner, your eyes scanned over the sea of extras, skilfully missing the massive camera shoved close to your face. As soon as you locked eyes with TomAdam, everything else melted away. Without thinking, your legs started sprinting towards the young man, who had the biggest grin on his face and opened his arms. Forcefully, you jumped into his strong embrace, tightly wrapping legs round the back of his thighs.

No words were needed or scripted, as you arched back with either hand cupping his sharp jaw line. There were tears blurring your vision but his warm brown eyes were crystal clear as you leaned toward him, momentarily nuzzling your nose against the side of his before delicately pressing his lips against yours.

It all felt so intense, this never-ending rush and heart-dropping moment as the two of you moved in sync - not over the top or cringey. Just pure care, pure love and pure happiness as the two of you melted together.

Everything just worked. It was almost dizzying, the way the whole world seemed for fizzle out, suddenly the scenario was so non-existent.

Intoxicating was what it was, so much so though you heard the director calling ‘cut’ your brain chose not to listen. Desperately you held onto the moment with TomAdam for as long as possible, till Tom arched away, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he watched you try and chase him backwards. That was until he noticed the way your eyes shone more than usual, the glint of the lights hitting the build up of tears. Instinctively he grabbed your hand and pulled you behind the corridor bit for privacy- not that anyone would’ve noticed, the crew were all to busy jumping around and cheering the completion of the shoot. And it was a cause for celebration, the project had been a little gruelling and it was a massive accomplishment to get to the end. But thats what scared you - the end.

“Hey what’s going on in that funny little head of yours lovie?” His voice was gravely and hushed as his thumb swiped just under your eyelashes, catching a lone droplet that escaped.

“I don’t want this to end.”

“ The shoot or…” He was insinuating the end of your relationship but it didn’t matter, the answer to both of those questions was yes.

Because they kind of felt one and the same. How likely was it you and Tom would be able to maintain romance on opposite sides of the world? At least when you were both tied in by contract to this specific location, it was possible. The two of you were possible.

So you only replied with a jerky nod, which made Tom let out a sharp exhale, before now cupping both your cheeks with his large and slightly rough palms.

“Heyheyhey look at me darling-“ Dragging your eye line up with a gulp, you were then transfixed into his mahogany brown irises, with little flicks of red and black. “You are the best thing thats ever happened to me. We’re going to be fine.”

“It’s easy to say that bu-“

“I’m saying it cos I know it!” He answered without missing a beat. “I love you and thats it. You’re it, okay?” Now your tears were freely spilling but they were happy tears - tears of ‘what the hell had you done to deserve the boy in front of you’. Only able to reply in a whisper because of the overtaking emotion, you just uttered 4 simple words.

“I love you too.”

His lips were on yours again but this time it was different. It wasn’t your characters reuniting in a kiss, it was the two of you, fears and worries exposed, being together. His lips moved slowly against yours because there was no rush.

You had all the time in the world with Tom.

~~let me know what u think, feedback means the world <333~~

tagging: @thefernandasantana @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @msmimimerton @thegirlwiththeimpala @hollandlover19

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #tom holland x you #tom holland blurb #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x actress!reader #actress!reader

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jordanstrophe · 3 years

Text

A Cinnamon Bun too Pure for this World, part 2

CW: Whump, heavily conditioned whumpee, offering themselves for punishment, beating and cutting implied, Whumpee trying to stay with whumper, panic attack, slapped, losing consciousness,

Masterlist

(Brain fizzled, if there’s any types, shhh, no one will notice, right?)

Whumpee sat in the passenger seat with his hands folded politely in his lap. His eyes were wide with a mix of emotions of fear, sadness and loneliness. They had never been away from Whumper this long. It felt like every second that passed of them being separated added another hit to his inevitable punishment when he finally reunited with Whumper.

Caretaker tried to keep their eyes focused, but he could see the boy trembling in the corner of his eye. “Can I ask your name?” Caretaker asked. The boy let out a shuttered breath when he was acknowledged, he was trying to answer, but no sound came out.

Caretaker sighed with a small smile. “It’s okay, I know you’re frightened. You had a rough day.”

Or was it a day? Whumpee seemed so comfortable with that man, he must have been with him awhile. Had he had a hard week? Month? Year?

“Cin...” He heard the tiniest voice murmur beside him. Caretaker let out a genuine smile.

“Hi Cin, my name is Richard.”

They pulled into the driveway, it was a cute house with a white picket fence surrounding it. Cin hardly looked up as the door opened for him, refusing to budge from the car.

“I’m... Sorry.” Cin muttered. Richard’s smile faded.

“You’re fine, it’s okay if you don’t want to stay here, you’re free to leave whenever.” He tried not to sound upset or disappointed, but he hoped the man would stay for just a little bit, until he could get on his own two feet.

“N-no! It’s not that! It’s... I never should have left the hotel!” He cried with guilt. “He... He didn’t tell me I could leave! I should have stayed right where he l-left m-me!” He blubbered, his tone crashing into tears as he covered his face from shame.

“Sweetheart...” Richard’s face fell.

“H-he’s going to c-come back for me, right? If I just s-stay... Right where he left me. He’s going to come back. He has to! I can’t do anything without him, he said so himself!” Cin cried.

Richard leaned against the car closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Cin, I’m so sorry, but he’s not going to come back for you.” He said. Cin’s cries grew louder and more helpless with his words. “But he wasn’t a good man, was he? Didn’t he hurt you?” He asked.

“No! Only when I deserved it! He was... He was-” His voice disintegrated as he stared off blankly into space.

“When did you deserve it, Cin?”

He didn’t answer, he seemed completely lost in an ocean of a thousand thoughts and words.

“Why don’t we get inside and settle in. I have a guest room you can stay in.” He tried to give him an excited smile.

Cin looked at him as he cleaned his face off. “H-hotel?” He muttered.

“No, I’m not taking you back to the hotel, it’s not safe there.” He extended his hand to him, as Cin’s hand instinctively shot out, wedging his wrist into Richard’s hand. He looked shocked he even did that for a stranger, but it was too late now as Richard shifted so he was holding his hand instead of his wrist.

A soon as the front door open, there was a fluffy golden retriever waiting to greet them at the door. Her tail swishing back and forth even faster when she saw Cin, who instantly perked up and beamed with excitement. He started making a high pitch squeaking sound that Richard hoped was a good sign as he collapsed on his knees to greet the dog.

“This is Daisy! She’s very friendly.” Richard smiled, Cin was already all over her with hugs and pets, ruffling her fur as she could hardly sit still with happiness.

Richard let out a chuckle, “I’ll make some tea for us, do you want anything specific for dinner? Are you allergic to anything?” He asked.

Cin froze as he blinked up at him with nervous eyes. This was a test, right? Should he be honest? He was afraid if he lied he would get caught anyway and make things worse.

“I can’t hav-... I’m allergic to fish.” He admitted. “Got it! No fish.” Richard said, disappearing into the kitchen. Cin was still locked in place, not sure what to do, until he quickly snapped to his feet.

“Wait! I can make dinner!” Cin called, bolting over to follow him. “But you’re a guest! I got this, you just sit down with tea and take it easy, mmaky?” Richard smiled, taking his hand and placing a warm teacup in it.

“Eh?” Cin blinked down at the cup in his hands. He was a guest? “But-.. But I can’t do that, I have to help! Please, I can do this! I can be useful!” He pouted.

“Alright! Alright, you can help, I appreciate it.” Richard chuckled, as Cin visibly relaxed with a relieved sigh. Cin did everything he was told, and executed quickly and flawlessly. He moved like a bullet anytime he was asked to grab this, put that away, add this. When he had nothing to do, he stood there like a stick soldier waiting for the next order.

Richard put two full glasses and other things onto a tray. “Can you bring this to the table?” He asked. For the first time, Cin didn’t move. “You.. Want me... To what?” He asked, his head curiously tilted to the side. “Tray? To the table?” Richard asked. Cin looked genuinely scared of the tray sitting innocently on the counter. “It’s okay if you don’t want to!” Richard added.

“No! I can do it.” He said with his voice trembling. “Are you... Are you sure? I can ge-” “-No! I can do it.” Cin mumbled as Richard raised an eyebrow. He tried to continue chopping vegetables while watching Cin with the corner of his eye. His hands were already trembling as he slowly placed them on each side of the tray. He braced himself as he lifted it, his heart jolting as he watched the glasses wobble dangerously. He turned his body around to the table, as soon as he got half way there, pain spiked through his left hand as it gave away. He let out a yelp as the tray hit the ground with both glasses shattering to pieces, scattering across the kitchen.

Cin slowly peaked his eyes open to see himself standing in a sea of broken glass. He couldn’t feel his hand anymore, or hear a thing. He only stood frozen with wide eyes looking at the awful mess he had made.

n.. o... no.... I didn’t... It was... no... an accident... didn’t mean it...

‘I’m sorry’ His mouth moved, but no sound came out. His eyes widened when he realized there was no air in his lungs.

‘Cin, breath’

His eyes twitched when he finally heard something.

‘Cin, breath!’

Breath? Breath what?

“CIN! TAKE A BREATH!”

He gasped into reality when he felt a strike against his cheek, the air filling his lungs almost felt wrong. He blinked awake, he was laying on the ground in the living room in Richard’s arm.

“Why weren't you breathing!? Cin! You just... Stopped breathing! You scared me to death!” Richard cried, his face pale with terror.

“I’m sorry.” He rasped, finally, words coming from his lip. He sat up as Richard helped him, still supporting his back just to make sure he was okay. He was light headed as the room spun.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Richard asked.

‘I’m sorry...”

“Cin, are you okay ?” Richard asked sternly, grabbing his shoulder.

“I’m sorry...” He muttered with a blank expression. Richard‘s eyes fell to his hand still clutched to his chest. He gently slid his hand in and took it, turning his palm around. There were inch long scars in the middle of his hand in multiple places. Robert’s heart dropped to his stomach when he realized what happened. It wasn’t because Cin didn’t want to pick up the tray, it was because he couldn’t.

‘Cin... Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” Richard asked, as Cin’s hand immediately retracted and hid into his chest. He looked up at him with glossy eyes.

“Because I didn’t want you to think less of me.” He sniffled.

“Why would I think less of you?! When did this happen?” He asked.

“About a year ago...” He muttered.

A year. He had been with that man for well over a year?! He stopped when he noticed Cin had been moving. He glanced up to see Cin had tugged his shirt off and set it to the side with his back turned to him.

“I-I’m ready.” He mumbled sadly, already beginning to cry silently as he hid his head in his arms against the floor. His back was colored black and blue from uncountable bruises and marks running down his arms. He looked as if he was thrown into a mixer.

Richard opened his mouth to panic, but now it was his turn to be breathless.

Cin waited for the belt or the rod to be brought onto his back. Usually his punishments had something to do with his stupidity as he realized he was probably going to be cut with the glass shards he littered the floor with. His skin crawled and shivered at the thoughts... Please just the rod... The rod was the easiest to ta-... What was he even thinking?! He didn’t deserve the rod, he deserved an appropriate punishment. But... The glass hurt so badl- His thoughts were interrupted as two arms wrapped around his chest, lifting him into his arms bridal style.

What... What is happening? He had never been carried like this before...

“No no no no this is too much.. Way too much for me.” Richard mumbled under his breath. Cin looked up at him with confusion as they both looked at each other like they were crazy.

Cin jolted as he was laid down into a soft plush bed and bundled up in blankets.

“Nope, I am in waaaay to deep over my head.” Richard continued to mutter under his breath, his face wide as if he had seen a ghost.

“S-sir?” Cin asked with confusion, looking up at him with big eyes.

Richard plastered a fake smile on his face as he brushed Cin’s wavy ash blonde hair from his eyes as he blinked.

“You’re alright sweetheart. I’ll bring you some dinner and a drink in a moment, okay? Just lie down and rest, you need to recover.” He said with a tone death voice.

‘Recover? R-recover... From what?” Cin asked with a tilted expression. Richard didn’t answer as he mindlessly walked out of the door, gently closing it behind him.

Richard gasped as his chest fell onto the table, his hands gripping into his hair. He hardly felt he was ripping hair out as he heaved for air. His back... That poor man’s back... It was unreal, inhuman, disturbing, horrifying... He collapsed his head on the table as he tried to shake the image from his mind. He had gotten himself buried into way more water then he could tread.

He would bring him dinner and a drink and get some much needed rest... He would call the hospital and police first thing in the morning, they were much more qualified at taking care of him then he was.

Cin was having an absolute blast getting comfortable in the new bed. It was so soft! So plush, so warm, it was like floating on a cloud! He stretched his arms over his head as he rolled around making the blankets wrap around his body over and over again. He froze half way as his eyes shot open.

He hadn’t gotten punished yet. He didn’t get beaten, belted or sliced. What.. What did that mean? That meant his punishment was on hold until tomorrow, correct? Why wait so long unless... Unless this Richard man had to set something up for him? He... He broke two glasses! There must some horrible punishment waiting for him when he wakes up and-

He froze when the door opened again, Richard stayed true to his word and set a plate and cup down at the desk and quickly left.

Cin shot up in bed as he looked down at the plate. The cup left for him was in a plastic cup instead of the glass one. He quickly drank the whole thing in one go, before looking down at the dinner

He didn’t deserve it...

It was late in the night, only the stars and moon in the sky were lit as Cin tiptoed across the living room floor. Daisy had noticed him awake and happily jumped around to greet him as he tried to shush her.

“Shh! I’m sorry, but I have to go.” He said sadly, slinking to the floor on his knees as he laid his head on her soft fur one last time. He quickly got up and slipped out the door, closing it behind his before Daisey could try and follow him. She stopped wagging her tail as the door shut, looking up at it with confusion, before spinning around and running into Richard's room.

She jumped up on his bed and licked his face until he squirmed awake with a groan.

“Hmmph... Daisey, noooo.” He tried, not even sounding authoritative. She let out a bark as he jolted, sitting up and trying to push her off the bed. She continued to bark and bark anxiously as Richard finally gave in and climbed out of bed. Daisy started running around the house in a panic, going from Cin’s door, to the front door. Richard blinked as he came to a realization and slammed Cin’s door open, revealing a perfectly made empty bed, the plate on the desk left untouched and a note sitting in the middle of the bed. He squinted as he flicked the light on and took the note~

Thank you for everything and I’m sorry

I’m going to go back to the one person

who can put up with me

Richard instantly bolted, throwing his robe and grabbing his car keys as he was out the door in a flash.

Tag list: @grizzlie70 @alien-octopus @lave-whump @amethysts-sideblog @pyromilka @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight @yet-another-heathen @princessofonward @whatwhumpcomments @milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @sillypizzazineoperator @as-a-matter-of-whump Tagging prompt list one last time before switching to a specific list <3

o(^∀^*)o Thank you for reading!

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #conditioned whumpee #whump writing #whump stories #my brain fried #My eyes hurt #ow

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alittlebitgoofy · 3 years

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if i had my way i would be yours - chapter six (taywhora)

here we are, the final chapter. it's time these girls get their feelings together, it's weird having finished this fic I devoted a lot of time, planning and energy to but all things come to an end, I've got another big taywhora fic in the works so enjoy!!

thanks to @goodemornting for betaing :)) ao3 link

A’whora felt a weight atop her as she awoke.

It was warm, an arm wrapped around her waist comfortably tight. Her tired brain tried to piece together the prior night as she melted under the warmth. Her brain felt like mush, the pleasure of being under another person keeping her too busy to think too hard about it.

But she hadn’t talked to any girls last night, she’d mostly spent time with Tayce. Sure, they’d gotten a bit drunk, but surely she would remember chatting someone up and getting them in her bed.

Wait. Getting drunk with tayce. Her roommate Tayce... Oh.

Shit. Oh god. Well, It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to—

But it was so soon. She was Tayce’s first experience with a woman. She’d offered to, gleeful at the opportunity while cautious about not wanting to take advantage of her. She didn’t take advantage of her, they were two consenting adult roommates who happened to hook up. It came back to her quickly, now. How Tayce had kissed her. The way Tayce had cuddled up to her after, a warm mix of giddy and tired. Maybe this wasn’t so bad? She’d only be able to tell when Tayce woke up. A’whora finally glanced at her phone to check the time. 9 A.M. The fatigue in her body reminded her she had only gotten to sleep around 3, letting Tayce’s soft breathing lull her back to sleep. She’d deal with all this after a little more rest. It wouldn’t hurt to enjoy it for just a bit longer. Tayce’s reaction was a lot less calm. She felt someone’s presence next to her as she stirred awake, failing to remember a thing before she opened her eyes to see A’whora with her arms wrapped around her waist. It was warm, almost suffocatingly so. The realisation that any movement would likely wake the blonde up dawned on her. Either Tayce would carefully wriggle out of her arms and risk waking her up or stew in the position and wait until A’whora woke up. Either way, they’d have to address this, and she didn’t know if she was ready to. Part of her was freaking out, how could they have gotten into this position? Would she regret it? This was her best friend, who she spent the better parts of all her days with. Tayce knew that if A’whora went cold on her again, she wouldn’t be able to cope for long.

But A’whora was next to her, asleep but still cuddled up with her. She would probably just make a dirty comment and shrug it off, right?. Though her mind screamed in what could happen the other half of her senses melted into the embrace of her companion. Her mind couldn’t help but stop racing while being engulfed in her companion’s embrace. A’whora had shown so much affection the previous night it was hard not to. “Tayce?” A’whora’s eyes cracked open blearily, tilting her head in tired confusion. A dopey smile grew on her face as she noticed the position they were in. She looked beyond silly like that, but it still made Tayce’s heart skip a beat. “Morning to you, too.”

Tayce shook her head at the laugh A’whora let out. She was clearly aware of everything that had happened, just plainly unaffected by it. Tayce envied the ease she took this with, her brain and heart conflicting with every action she made. “We fucked, huh?” “Yeah, we did,” Tayce spluttered at the forwardness, feeling her cheeks heat up. Of course A’whora would have no problem talking about the sex she’d had with her roommate the night prior. The blonde didn’t seem phased by her reaction, pulling her arms tighter around her body and bringing herself into Tayce’s side. “You’re warm.” Her words were followed by a content sigh, A’whora looking blissful as Tayce returned the affection, her arms looping around the smaller woman to pull her in tight as she could. “You’re such a softie.” Tayce tried to sound jokingly insulting, but any power to her words fizzled out as soon as she felt A’whora’s head on her chest. She melted into speaking loving words, holding the girl that caused her so much heartache like nothing had happened, as if it was second nature. They stayed locked together, the outside world not a concern in the embrace of one another. Though Tayce eventually shifted, her stomach roared with a ferocity that sent A’whora spiralling into a fit of hiccuping laughter. “Do you want beans on toast?” A’whora settled down enough to speak, a smirk still playing at her lips at the interruption of their moment.

“Depends how you make them.” “Like you taught me. The ketchup, the cheese, the salt and the pepper and the butter.” The blonde laughed; Tayce was so specific about how she made her beans on toast. There was a method to it, she’d taught it to A’whora the instant they moved in together and made her come to love the breakfast almost as much as she did. “You’ve learnt well.” Tayce patted her on the back like a proud parent, before sliding herself out of the bed to follow A’whora into their kitchen. She missed the warmth of it. But the idea of food was more than enough to coax her out. --- There was something heart-warmingly domestic about making your roommate breakfast, the meaning changed dramatically with whatever was going on between her and Tayce, but A’whora tried to keep her thoughts up.Tayce was still around, she hadn’t freaked out and ran so it could be worse.

Tayce was too busy entrapped in her thoughts to spare the blonde much more than a sideways glance. Her thoughts were buzzing even as she was trying to silence them. It was a mix of things, fear for whatever this could mean or couldn’t mean but also comfort, she’d been with someone she trusted with her life and she’d not made it awkward. A’whora’s affectionate side was a welcomed addition, the way she’d cuddled up to Tayce left her feeling lighter than ever. The way her eyes crinkled as she laughed at whatever dumb comment Tayce has made was euphoric.

God damn, she was in deep.

She somehow managed to look attractive, sat there with her hair messy in one of Tayce's baggy shirts she’d flung to attempt to cover herself, preoccupied with shoving beans in her mouth after she’d served them both breakfast. Tayce tried to focus on eating her own, though her eyes never quite left the blonde. Something about her was magnetic. She couldn’t help but look at her and feel her heart squeeze with how much she adored her.

“You just gonna stare at me or are you gonna eat? Your food is getting cold!” A’whora pouted slightly at the lack of attention Tayce was giving her food. God, Tayce wanted to kiss that pout off her.

“Hmm? You should be taking it as a compliment, I never normally put someone above my beans.” “Wow, she thinks I'm better than beans on toast. How romantic.” A’whora scoffed, she knew that it was some kind of warped compliment, something Tayce didn’t want to actually say but imply through something humorous to shelter the realisation of the true meanings of her words. Though she did get it, Tayce held her highly, over most people even. It made her hopeful, maybe they stood a chance if she cared that deeply? They ate with a few more quips, the atmosphere too easy for what they’d done the night prior. A’whora was thankful for the lack of awkwardness though her roommate was the other end of the spectrum. She had far too many thoughts and had to spill them to someone, maybe it would be good to give Bimini a call?

God, this was a lot to deal with.

---

“Bim? I need help, asap.” Tayce rushed out as her friend answered the phone, more than ready to spill everything to someone. She felt like A’whora, unable to keep any secrets without telling at least one person. Oh god, A’whora was going to tell someone. “You two didn’t get into a fight again, did you?” Bimini asked cautiously, not ready to deal with that trainwreck again. At least Tayce was more likely to admit her own fault but trying to reason with her would take too much energy. “No! The, uh, opposite actually.” The hesitation in her voice was way too obvious, the vulnerability threw Tayce through a loop. At least she knew Bimini wouldn’t bring it up to anyone. “You two fucked? Finally.” Bimini laughed down the line, it felt like inevitably they’d hook up especially after Tayce came out. The way they looked at each other? Nothing platonic about that, in Bimini’s humble opinion “Yeah, what the fuck do I do?” Tayce sighed, putting her phone to the side as she put her head in her hands. Why was this so complicated? All these feelings, it was so much to deal with. “Have you two talked about it? How’s she acting?” “She’s been pretty good, nothing odd, I guess. We haven’t talked about it really, just acknowledged it happened and then she made breakfast.” “Wait, she made you breakfast?” Bimini paused, Tayce could hear the cogs whirring in their brain. Tayce narrowed her eyes, trying and failing to figure out what she meant.

“Does that... mean something?” She hesitated. Surely it couldn’t be that important. Making breakfast for someone wasn’t that deep. “She’s showing you how much she loves you!” “It’s not that deep, I was just hungry,” Tayce laughed, the idea was absolutely ludicrous. She’d just acted on Tayce’s stomach growling, like any sane human being would.

“It’s A’whora, her love language is gifts and acts of service, y’know. She adores you and does things for you to show it, you know she does.” Bimini followed up, knowing Tayce was silently admitting defeat when she didn’t answer. As much as she didn’t believe it, it made sense. She’d offered to buy food when she messed up, often doing things if Tayce was tired. She’d always chalked it up to A’whora being a bit dramatic, but it made a little too much sense to just be a coincidence anymore. “God, what… what the fuck do I even do in this situation?” Tayce sighed, groaning at the amount of things this could all mean and how she should approach it. Who could even make sense of these things? It was a nightmare. “I’d say talk to her but you avoided that last time.” “I can’t just tell her, what if it makes things awkward?” Tayce spoke softly, unsure of what could happen and too afraid to take a huge step. All she wanted was A’whora but she couldn’t risk losing her after what had happened last time.

Bimini paused, hearing Tayce so hesitant was strange.

“This is why it took you 22 years to consider you were into women, isn’t it? You’re useless with girls.” Asttina chimed in, jumping out of nowhere to surprise both Tayce and Bimini. “Asttina! She’s going through a lot to cut her some slack.” “She needs to hear the truth, you need to talk to her or this is just going to become more of a mess.” Asttina sighed, Tayce didn’t want to admit she was right but she knew. They’d talked it out last time and it went smoothly, A’whora wouldn’t just turn cold on her if they were having a discussion. Her shoulders slumped in a small bit of relief, hoping that it wouldn’t be so scary, perhaps.

She could end up with the person that she wanted, the one no one could ever compare to.

Maybe that was worth the risk? “Alright, you have a point. I’ll talk to her. What’s the worst that could happen? We’ve already fucked, there’s not more to it.” --- A’whora knew something was up with Tayce.

She was too in her head about anything to do with feelings, especially in the wake of her recent realisations and just attempting to converse with A’whora. The way they had acted last night would set her right off. She needed a second opinion, though she suspected Tayce was calling Bimini or Asttina out of panic again. The duty thus fell to Ellie, she knew how to keep her friend's mouth shut.

“Hey bitch, what’s up?” “I fucked Tayce.” A’whora got straight to the point. Ellie spluttered a laugh, her cackles crackling through the phone speaker.

“You two shagged? Fucking finally, we’ve all been waiting.” A’whora huffed, unimpressed by the reminder of the constant jabs about sexual tension between her and her roommate. It wasn’t like she was unaware of everything, but it was mostly her profound ability to repress her feelings and Tayce being so affectionate, at least she thought it was before all of this. “Yes, but you can’t tell anyone,” She paused, “Especially not Lawrence.” “Why not? She’ll hear about it anyway, God knows you can’t keep secrets for shit.” Ellie huffed back. The pair of them were horrible at keeping things from people, Ellie almost always ended up spilling things to Lawrence when she had the chance. “Not the point, how did this happen?”

“We were tipsy and everyone else had partnered off, you were too busy making out with Lawrence, and Bim and Asttina were uncomfortably close to going at it. We went home and things escalated and she... ended up in my bed naked.”

“Do you make a habit of hooking up with your friends?” “No, only the tall ones. Which is exactly why you won’t tell Lawrence. She doesn’t need to know about what we did that time—“

“No one needs to know.” Ellie interrupted, desperately trying to steer the conversation away.She knew bringing it up would be the best way to buy Ellie’s silence. They’d never told anyone about that night and planned to keep it that way, alcohol did a lot to a person and almost shagging your friend is one of them.

“Anyway, she’s a bit.. off now, I guess. Not bad or anything but she just seemed to be processing everything very slowly. How do you deal with that?” A’whora questioned, exasperated. Tayce was always a bit of an enigma, it made navigating everything needlessly difficult but she didn’t blame her. It was a lot to deal with realising your own sexuality and coming to terms with it, she had every reason to be shaken at anything happening between them. “You deal with it by not crushing on the most emotionally unavailable person you know.” A’whora wanted to get defensive— Tayce wasn’t emotionally unavailable, she was just.. complex. She wasn’t one to be super outward with things, she liked to keep to herself when something was bothering her and not make a big deal of it. Though it served no help to the current predicament, only to show how whipped she was for Tayce.

“No, you torture your friends seeing you pine for years when it’s clear that you both love each other.” “I know you mean me and Loz but that’s you and Tayce, hen.” Ellie laughed, anyone with eyes could see they were a little closer than most friends. It was cute at first but neither of them acted on anything and one of them not realising her feelings until recently made it painful to watch. “She’s not in love with me!” The blonde huffed, “I would’ve known by now if she was.”

“She’s in love with you you’re just too dumb to see it.” Even Ellie saw it, the way Tayce looked and acted around A’whora was way more loving and tender than she’d ever been with any of her friends. It was like she was the only person to exist, everything in the world that Tayce loved rolled into one person.

It would have been cute if it wasn’t so painful to watch her not realise her own feelings. “Like you were with Lawrence?” “Yes but I have a girlfriend, now go get your welsh hound.”

---

“Aurora?” Tayce poked her head round the door to her room, visibly nervous.

Oh god. Real name, Tayce looked awkward, shit was about to hit the fan.

“Come in, what’s bothering you.” Tayce settled next to the blonde on her bed, her nerves were clear as day from her body language. The way her eyes darted to anything other than A’whora, her finger restlessly tapping her leg. She looked uncomfortable, though there was a determination pushing her though it. The way she sat up so straight like she had something to do, no matter how much it ate her up inside.

“Nothing. I mean, it’s not bothering me, I just want to talk.”There was the usual denial, Tayce knew it wouldn’t fool A’whora, it rarely did and she couldn’t fake it at the minute, not with everything on her mind “I know what you mean but saying it like that is very unnerving” A’whora laughed nervously, she wasn’t the anxious one but the way Tayce was acting made her hesitate. “It’s okay, I'm not going to kill you.” Tayce eased the tension with a joke, delighting in how A’whora smiled at the joke, wide enough for her dimples to show. “Alright come on talk to me then.” “I think i’m in love with you” Tayce blurted, mouth moving too fast for her mind to catch up.

Oh.

That was. Sudden, Tayce felt frozen, A’whora’s eyes trained on her. What did she do? No lead up, just said it. It wasn’t that hard but she shouldn’t have said it. The shock was written all over her face, it made Tayces stomach twist, a sinking feeling engulfing her as the worst case scenario seemed to come to life.

“You’re in love with me?” A’whora echoed, her voice soft with some emotion Tayce couldn’t catch on to, something meant to be comforting, hopefully.

She couldn’t reply, any words caught in her throat, fizzled out by the time she opened her mouth. What was she meant to say? She just said the scariest words she could’ve ever thought of saying. Her heart ached for her best friend in a way she never considered possible until a few weeks ago.

“Tayce…” A’whora trailed off, Tayce’s stomach churning more by the second.

She couldn’t make eye contact fearing what she might see on her face. She felt movement, A’whora coming closer to her. Was she trying to console her? Then she felt her face gently lifted up to meet A’whora’s eyes. Something shifted in her expression as she saw Tayce’s meekness, soft smile lighting up her features in a way that made Tayce’s heart flutter. She didn’t hold back, pulling her into a passionate kiss.

Tayce regained herself, kissing back as she felt A’whora melt into her. She felt more confident, taking the lead, her hand running through the blonde hair as her roommate moved closer, taking place in her lap.

They broke apart, a goofy grin growing on A’whora’s face as she stared at Tayce, eyes shining in wonder.

“I’ve been in love with you for years.” she murmured, feeling euphoric after the progression of events. Tayce cocked her head in puzzlement.

“Years?” “Years. How could I not? You’re gorgeous and the most positive energy I've ever met. Nothing is ever boring with you, there’s always something going on or that you can make interesting. There’s something magnetic about you, I can't leave you alone. We clicked so well, no one ever got me as well as you did and I think about how lucky I am we even became friends, Tayce.” “You’re such a hound.” Tayce laughed, visibly taken aback. She didn’t know how to react, that was a lot to process all at once but it made her feel on top of the world. The euphoria rushed through her, a grin growing larger on her face by the minute.

“Is that your way of saying you love me?” A’whora knew what she was trying to communicate, her face saying it all, she looked happier than she’d ever seen, apart from the time she’d bought her a personalised tin of baked beans, that was one of the few times Tayce had cried in front of her.

“It is, you’re a hound but you’re my hound.” The brunette wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into her lap to cuddle into her back. “Oh? Your hound? Sounds decent, I'll take it.” The wamrht in A’whora’s tone contrasted from her words, turning around to pull Tayce into another kiss. She knew this was going to be complicated, nothing was ever easy between the two of them but with enough communication it would work, they cared too much about each other to not try. Maybe this whole mess had been worth it, cuddled in Tayce’s arms like nothing else mattered, just the two of them against the world like it always had been.

#taywhora #rpdr fanfiction #if i had my way i would be yours

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meliorist-midoriya · 4 years

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doki doki todoroki

synopsis: where todoroki’s first love blindsides him and he feels like the whole class is leaving him out of the loop.

word count: 1.8k

genre: fluff, fluff, and more fluff

warnings: just todoroki being a clueless baby

a/n: hello! aaaa this is entirely self-indulgent, but it’s my first post! i saw “doki doki todoroki” float around here somewhere and then this happened hjsdhjdhj. anyway, hope you enjoy!

He brushes it off the first time it happens, wrote it off as adrenaline from today’s sparring.

He brushes it off the second time. It was just a harmless scare after all, no shame in that.

He brushes it off the third time, the odd timing soon forgotten in favor of resuming his studies.

Todoroki doesn’t see the correlation for a while. How it was after seeing your exhilarated smile in the middle of a hard fight, after hearing you laugh once Mina startled him, after watching the triumphant smile on your face grow once he explained the problem to you.

He notices it the fourth, fifth, sixth time. Understandably, he’s confused. No amount of education or training would’ve prepared him for this. Nothing would’ve, other than hard-earned experience that he never got. Looking it up (as he found himself doing a lot these days the more he socialized) only earned him the definition of tachycardia and a grocery list of possible diagnoses ranging from anxiety to heart disease.

So much for the internet.

The ringing of the lunch bell pulled him out of his “research”, and he filed the thought away for later as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Later becomes three weeks.

Todoroki’s lost count at this point of how many times his heart suddenly went haywire, thudding against his ribs and sending blood rushing through his ears. How is world suddenly narrowed to just you whenever you spoke to him, and how he wanted to hear your voice again even though you had just stopped speaking. He finally drew the line once Midoriya pointed out his state of disarray at lunch.

“Todoroki-kun, are you sick? Your face is really red,” Midoriya had his chopsticks halfway to his mouth when he paused at the sight of Todoroki staring listlessly at his soba. Unbeknownst to him, Todoroki was too busy listening to you laugh at whatever Uraraka and Iida were talking about to focus on his soba. Hell, he couldn’t focus on anything lately and he had no idea why.

“Hm? Oh, yes, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” No. He doesn’t voice this, and instead lets his Quirk pull the heat away from his cheeks for him as the air chills around him. Midoriya keeps watching him like he doesn’t believe him, but returns to his own lunch anyway.

“Hey, Todoroki, pfft- you have to listen to this. Iida just-” You don’t wait for his answer. You don’t have to. Todoroki finds himself hanging on to your every word anyway, smiling to himself (oh, the tiniest smile compared to yours. He doesn’t think anything will compare) as you struggle to recount your conversation without dissolving into giggles, Iida admonishing you for your loud laughter with an embarrassed flush.

Whatever this feeling is, he doesn’t mind, but he would like to know. He doesn’t notice Uraraka and Midoriya curiously watching the exchange, food forgotten. Nor does he notice Mina giggling with Hagakure as they nudged each other over the seats, dragging any of the class they could into their little whisper circle. The bell rings, and he already wishes you could’ve continued the story.

Later, you promise. He holds you to that.

Kaminari slings an arm over his shoulders in the locker room as they change into their hero costumes for afternoon classes, with Sero on his other side, and he stumbles from both shock and the added weight on him, his boot half-dangling from his foot.

“So, Todoroki-kun~” Kaminari’s lilting tone floating in from his right immediately sends his guard up, and he stared at him warily.

“How’s spring feeling for ya?” Sero continued from his left.

“…Isn’t it autumn right now?” Why were they talking about spring in the middle of October? Todoroki was too busy staring at Sero like he’d grown a second head to notice the collective silent groan ripple through the locker room.

“Oh my god, he really is clueless,” Kaminari whispers, Sero nodding along with a dumbstruck expression. He side-eyes them as he tugs his boot on the rest of the way, unamused. Clueless about what?

“Will he be okay?” It was Sero who spoke this time, completely ignoring the fact that they were having a conversation right over his head.

“I don’t know, man, he should be, right?”

“I’m literally right here. Did something happen?”

“A-Ah, nothing, nothing, just… checking up on you, you know?” As socially inept as he was, even he could recognize from a mile away that Kaminari was a terrible liar.

“…Why?” Okay, now he was really confused. He looked around the room to see if anyone could give him any hints, to no avail. Kirishima was too busy facepalming to notice his confusion, Ojiro was suddenly very interested in tying off his gi, and both Tokoyami and Bakugou were completely ignoring their antics. In a last attempt to figure out what the hell was even going on, he turned to Midoriya… who was trying to desperately look anywhere else other than at him. Something was up, and if Kaminari was involved, he didn’t have a good feeling about it.

“Y-You know, uh…” Kaminari was floundering for an answer, and sighed in relief once Iida came in to announce that they had five minutes to be ready. The pressure disappeared off his shoulders and Todoroki finished putting on the rest of his costume, the deep sense of unease tugging at the corner of his mind. There was something he wasn’t picking up on, and it felt like everyone but him knew.

He brushed it off to focus on class. Today was sparring day, after all, and Todoroki was partnered up with you. Maybe he’d see that smile again. The thought of it made fire lick at his fingers during the spar much quicker than usual.

He wasn’t disappointed, his heartbeat pounding in his ears even as the adrenaline fizzled out.

Tomorrow morning finds him face-to-face with a grinning Mina and an overexcited Hagakure outside the classroom before class starts, along with the answers to his plight way sooner than he expected. They had called out to him and, before he knew it, he was cornered against the window with their too-wide smiles beaming up at him, hungry for the romance gossip they had been chasing after all year. Or, well, he was pretty sure Hagakure was smiling, at least. Mina, on the other hand, resembled the Cheshire Cat too closely for his liking.

“You like Y/N, don’t you, Todoroki-kun?”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t?” To say he was confused was an understatement, but there’d been a lot of that lately so he just came to accept it. “Y/N is a good person with an impressive Quirk, so-”

“No, not like thaaat!” Mina wailed, and Todoroki blinked owlishly at the two girls as they both lamented the “densest pretty boy of UA”. Their words, not his. Did… did he say something wrong?

“Like what, then?”

“Ro-man-tic-al-ly!”

Todoroki bluescreened.

“Ro…man…?”

“Like, do you always end up looking at her whenever you’re in the same room?” Hagakure was practically vibrating from excitement, “Do you always want to listen to her or be near her? Or does your heart go ‘doki doki’ whenever you’re with her?!”

“Doki…doki?” Todoroki‘s brain, still rebooting from earlier, struggled to process the onslaught of information Hagakure was slamming him with. So far, however, all the answers he came up with were ‘Yes. Yes. A million times, yes’. “I… guess something’s been wrong with my heart lately? I looked it up and it said it was nothing to worry about, so-”

“Something’s not wrong, dummy! It’s love! And Y/N likes you back!” Mina exclaimed, and both her and Hagakure squealed as they celebrated finally having their first taste of high school romance, clasping hands and cheering.

“Doki doki Todoroki!” Hagakure cheered, Mina parroting her as they rode the high of their excitement. Meanwhile, Todoroki stared dumbly at the two girls in front of him, the dots slowly connecting in his mind. Everything was happening way too quick. And you liked him back? Wait, is that-

“Is that why Kaminari and Sero asked me how I was yesterday?”

“Ugh, that Kaminari~! He can’t even be subtle!” Todoroki could hear the pout in Hagakure’s voice, and Mina sighed and nodded in agreement. Well that answers that, at least. Now for the other million and one questions he had...

“So… what am I supposed to do now?”

“Confess!” Came Hagakure’s immediate response.

Well, that makes sense. Now that he has a grasp on what he’s feeling and he knows that you feel the same, it’s only logical that he should make them known.

“Okay, where is she?”

“In the classr-”

“Nuh-uh, hold it,” Mina stopped Todoroki from barging into the classroom, and he stared down at her, confusion mounting. Wasn’t she super excited just two seconds ago? What happened now?

“Minaaaa!” She ignored Hagakure’s impatient wail and poked him in the chest.

“You can’t just go in there and confess in the classroom in front of everybody!”

“…Why not?” He just had to tell you, so better sooner than later, right?

“Oh jeez, okay, um,” Mina pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to think of a way to explain this to easily the densest person she had the pleasure of knowing. And she knew Kaminari, for Christ’s sake, “It isn’t as romantic if you just go in there and blurt it out in front of everybody, and it puts her on the spot too, would you want that?”

No, you hated being put on the spot. He shook his head and Mina sighed in relief.

“Okay, so, what you’re gonna do is…”

“Did you need to talk to me about something, Todoroki?”

Ah, there it was again. Could you hear his heart beating out of his chest from where you stood?

Classes had ended for the day and Mina had instructed him to confess after school at a specific spot (much to Hagakure’s chagrin, but she eventually agreed that it would be more romantic this way. Not like he knew what romantic looked like.) So, here he was, veering off your usual course from the dorms to this spot Mina had pointed out to him. It was where the trees broke just enough so the sunset could peek through the leaves. As inexperienced in, well, everything as he was, Todoroki had to admit Mina knew what she was talking about.

“Todoroki?”

The words he was told to recite sailed out the window the moment the time came, the light of the sunset casting you in a warm glow and God this wasn’t fair-

“…I like you.”

Oh, shit. Did he say that? Okay, yeah, he did. Oops.

He almost regrets it, but then he sees your lips bloom with a smile and the world goes quiet.

“I like you too, Todoroki.”

You crushed him in a hug and Todoroki wrapped his arms around you, smiling as he felt your own heart racing against his. His heart beating a mile a minute didn’t sound too bad anymore.

As long as it beat for you.

#bnha #bnha imagines #mha #mha imagines #boku no hero academia imagines #boku no hero imagines #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reade #todoroki fluff #todoroki fic #todoroki oneshot #bnha oneshot #mha oneshot #doki doki todoroki #from the typewriter

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pi-cat000 · 3 years

Text

BNHA: something sad (Grief)

Summary: The last time Katsuki sees Izuku alive the other boy is rushing to save him. A ‘the Sludge Villain incident gone wrong’ AU.

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo

Fandom: My Hero Academia

WARNINGS: Major Character death, swearing, heavy angst. destructive behaviour.

(Additional part here)

(Grief- Katsuki self reflects and visits Izuku’s grave)

Katsuki knows he has a volatile personality, probably inherited it from his mum, and enough attitude that he has steamrolled his way through life without much difficulty. Things annoyed him easily and he got irritable at the drop of a hat. He has enough self-awareness to recognise that as a flaw, even if he had never seen it as much of a problem.

There was a difference between irritation and anger. Deku had always made him angry, inducing a burning hot sensation that ate at his insides. Now Deku was gone and he couldn't turn any of it off. It was like the world was suck behind a filthy pane of glass that he couldn’t smash through no matter how hard he tried.

Katsuki watches the head of his Kamui Woods figurine bend at an odd angle as the plastic began to superheat, having been exposed to a string of minor blasts. He had been slowly working his way through his figurine collection as both quirk training and to take the edge off his anger. Melting this figurine was particularly cathartic.

“Perhaps we should look into getting you some new hobbies.”

Katsuki shifts his focus to glare at his father who stands at his bedroom door, an expression of worry pulling at his features. No surprises there, worry was his father’s default response to anything Katsuki did these days.

“Not interested.”

“Something to get you out of the apartment,” his father continues to which Katsuki narrows his eyes. He wouldn’t be in the apartment if he had any say in it. Both his parents know this.

“Some physical activity where you’ll be able to let loose without having to worry about property damage. I have a colleague whose brother runs a kickboxing studio. I can make arrangements for you to spend time…”

“I said, I’m not interested,” he grumbles, returning to his current distraction.

“Well, I want you to think about it,” his dad instructs, “It would do you a lot of good and it’s something you’re passionate about….”

The figurine Katsuki is holding begins to blacken, colours melting away under his tiny, controlled bursts. There is an unhappy sigh from his father and the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall. He growls and the figurine explodes with a small Bang. Melted plastic is flung across his walls and floor.

He knows what his dad is trying to do…

How many times had he begged his parents for better training opportunities, for karate or boxing lessons, only to be denied due to money restraints? Outside of a few judo lessons he had received as a birthday gift from Inko one year, any combat training he did he had been self-taught.

Now he’s no longer interested, his parents are practically threatening him with extracurricular activities.

It’s fucking annoying is what it is.

He reaches for another figurine only to find that he has none left aside from his limited edition All Might collection. He lets out an angry breath, trying to rid himself of his restless irritation. It doesn’t work, and he ends up standing so he can pace back and forth, listening to the pop, pop, focusing on his tingling skin as sparks run up and down his arms. It keeps him distracted for all of two seconds.

Usually, he would be at the library studying, or going on long runs and working on his physical conditioning. Sometimes, he would meet up with a few of the loser-extras from school and they would visit an arcade. Recently, he had taken to wandering through the streets around his neighbourhood, waiting for something to piss him off enough that his mind would white-out in pure rage and could forget reality for a few seconds. Obviously, that had become a lot harder after several run-ins with the local police had had him all but permanently grounded outside of school hours.

This is what he wanted… he remains himself. His plan to piss people off enough that he received some iota of punishment was working like a charm so, of course, it sucked. He hated it, but then, he hated all the alternatives as well so what did any of it matter.

Katsuki ends up with his ear pressed against the door, listening for activity in the living room, waiting for an opportunity to make a break for it. He needs to be careful because Aunt Inko is visiting and the last thing he wants is to see her stupid, sympathetic smile.

When it sounds like the coast is clear, he creeps out, stealing down the hall. Muffled voices from the kitchen are all the encouragement he needs to beeline for the door and slip out before anyone can spot him. He’ll be in trouble for this later. He’s counting on it.

The hot summer air is a welcome change from the chill of air conditioning. There is the loud buzz of cicadas, chirping away in the sticky heat. He picks a direction and walks, not caring that he is wearing the sweatpants and the black singlet he had slept in. If someone has a problem with his presentation, he is more than willing to throw down.

Unfortunately, the relief being out of the apartment brings is short-lived. Today, a feeling of discomfort follows after him which has nothing to do with the heat. A bubbling frustration that bites at his heels as he stalks the streets. It is that feeling he has come to associate with times when all his rage burns away, leaving him numb.

He doesn’t plan to stop at the florists, he just sort of does.

He turns suddenly into the store before he can properly process what he is doing. The chime on the glass door rings and the sickly-sweet smell of the store has his nose wrinkling. Before he can chicken out and retreat, he walks to the counter.

“How much?” He snaps at the older lady in overalls manning the register, pointing at the nearest bunch of white flowers. He has no idea what type they are but that wasn’t the point wasn't it?

“Ah,” The woman squints at him, taken back “That depends how many you want?”

“I don’t care” He smacks the few yen he has on the counter, “However many that’ll get me. Don’t rip me off.”

The woman nods slowly, “Do you just want these specifically? You don’t want to add some more colour to the bouquet? White is a bit of a dower colour.”

“Whatever is cheapest…just make it quick.” He is already regretting coming in.

The woman hums, pulling out a roll of paper, beginning to place and wrap the flowers Katsuki had pointed to.

“Who are they for if I may ask?”

“No.”

“Oh? A special friend maybe,” She begins to tease.

“He’s dead,” he snaps abruptly, “and he’s not my friend. Just give me the damn flowers.” Why did people always make this shit more difficult than it needed to be?

The old hag is silent after that, awkwardly finalising his purchase which ends up being an assortment of white flowers with a few smaller yellow and red ones scattered between. It almost looks pretty and it is sickly-sweet smelling, just like the store.

He tries no to think about his destination as he walks with renewed deliberation. He doesn’t think about it right up until he is practically walking into the low stone wall nearest the gate. The shock of seeing the place has him freezing in place, breath catching. The last time he had been here had been during the funeral.

There are lines of thin, tightly packed, gave markers, rising horizontally on sets on uneven steps. There is barely room for people to pass between them on the narrow, flagstone path. Trees are scattered throughout the space, providing patches of uneven shade. The noise of the cicadas is louder here, almost oppressive in its throbbing hum. For a moment, all he wants to do is walk up to the nearest stone and blow it all sky high. Then he would be sure to flatten every marker in the place until the land was a barren waste. That would get him arrested for sure. The thought passes quickly, and his eyes slide away from the cemetery to his flowers. They don’t look nearly as nice now he has almost strangled them with an unintentionally tight grip.

He breaths out, resisting the urge to set something on fire. Slowly, he walks up the steps, passing the small temple at the entrance. Deku is buried further in, his stone modest in size when compared to the others.

“Deku…” He grows out a greeting when he arrives and it gets caught in his throat. The stone, obviously, does not respond.

Before he can accidentally blow them up, he carefully places the flowers next to the small pile already adorning the small stone. There are more offerings than he expects to be there. He recognises a few of the names from school. One larger bunch looks especially expensive and elaborate, monopolising most of the limited surface space.

‘From Yagi Toshinori’ the card attached reads. Katsuki doesn’t recognise the name.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised, he didn’t know shit about Deku other than their shared ambition to be a hero.

“Deku…” Why the fuck is he having trouble talking, “You’re...” He stops.

“You’re a fucking moron,” he manages to spit.

“I didn’t need you to save me.” The anger is burning so hot that its almost unbearable. Pop, pop, his hands fizzle. “I didn’t want your help.”

BANG! He makes sure the explosion is directed away from the stone and up into the sky. The small shock wave it produces rustles the flowers and nearby trees. All the cicadas stop chirping at once, plunging the area into an eerie quiet. His legs feel shaky and he is practically vibrating with anger.

“What did you think a quirkless idiot could have done!”

Save his pathetic life while the real Heroes watch him suffocate from the side-lines? His brain supplies an answer. It was all a big joke wasn’t it? The bastards had all watched Deku die. That was what a Hero did apparently, wait for backup while someone died because it was safer for them. Safer for the Hero.

His legs give way and he falls to his knees, curling his hands into fists, jaw locking up. Finally, the haze of anger falls away and his mind quietens. Everything was painfully clear now. People didn’t care when Katsuki yelled, swore, and hurt other kids, because his quirk was amazing, making him amazing. What a joke. If he hadn’t had his quirk, then the Slime Bastard would have had nothing to work with, and Deku might still be alive.

“I’m…I’m fucking sorry okay." He had always treated Deku like shit and he doesn’t think, if their positions had been reversed…he doesn’t think that he would have even thought about saving someone like himself.

The truth stings. He slams his fist into the flagstone next to him and he watches it crack.

"I’m sorry…”

He was lucky…that’s all he was… He wasn’t special… he was just an average human with a good work ethic and a garbage personality who just happened to have a powerful quirk.

He wasn’t a hero…well, not one like Deku had tried to be…like Deku had been…

He didn’t even want to be a hero...not anymore...He doesn’t know what he wants.

“Damnit…” the words have no heat behind them. The explosive rage that had been burning continuously in his chest for the last week simmers, snuffing out like a candle. There is a hole where his anger had eaten away at something fundamentally him, leaving empty space.

Katsuki leans forward, letting his head thump against the stone.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #boku no academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugō #major character death #Sludge Villain incident gone wrong #angst #all the angst #coarse language #swearing #anger and grief #visiting graves #katuski has a sad time #something sad au #fanfiction

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geminimoonbeamx · 4 years

Text

And the snakes start to sing

A/N: Okay, so my anxiety since this entire Covid-19 situation came to light has been...pretty deteriorating to say the least. It’s funny(which it’s really not),The only thing I can think might help is to dig back deep into my writing. I really want to live in the fantasy worlds I can create in my head right now. So I will.

Warnings: Some angst(it is during the Marauders era), cursing, SMUT, and I feel like I should add this here- I wrote this as self therapy so this reader insert def has some specific looks and traits, if that bothers you I understand, but also I warned you so...

Summary: Sirius Black and Y/N steal a tender moment in the middle of the war. Marauders Era. Young Sirius Black(Ben Barnes) x Plus Size Reader

The way you slam your body into mine reminds me that I’m alive,

But monsters are always hungry darling- and they're only a few steps behind you.

Finding the flaw,

The Poor weld,

The place where we weren't quite stitched up right- Richard Silken

Part l

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

You mull on that fact as you sit in the driver's seat of the muggle car, gripping the wheel, skin pulled tight across your knuckles. You’re shaking - vibrating from deep in your core with so much velocity that it makes your teeth chatter. Your muscles ache as you try to regain control of your body, of your breathing- the only thing keeping you from completely crumbling is the focus that you have on the road in front of you-

Even then you don't really see the asphalt, dimly lit by street lamps that seemed to be few and far between the further you drove.

All you can see is that alley.

Dark, dank and frigidly cold, the death eaters that weren't supposed to be there, but who had seemed to show up in puffs of smoke. In three’s- and then four.

Five.

Six.

You hadn’t been able to keep count.

Faster than you, James and Mad Eye could take on.

For a moment, everything had been lightning speed. Time passed fast, in a blur. Blood and screaming. Spells, violent spells that you’d never uttered before thrown left and right, by both sides.

You'd watched bright green flashes pass by like shooting stars, almost grazing you. Illuminating the corridor in razor sharp rays.

So close that you could taste them.

Death tastes acidic. Bitter. Fizzles on your tongue and sticks to the back of your throat.

You still swallow around it even now, hours later, as you drive.

You’d forgotten how much you hate muggle travel. You’d much prefer to apparate, but James is in no state. He sits beside you, slumped in the passenger seat, clutching his side and wincing at every bump. Having grown up with his pure blood parents, there's no way he could have driven anyway, didn't know how. Perfect Potter isn't capable of everything, turns out.

That's fine, you’d assured him. You needed to be able to focus on something before the very little part of your brain that was still loosely wound, unraveled.

You hadn't shared that part, but you think he knows.

The radio crackles and a muggle band plays lowly.

The car makes its way down the long winding roads in silence. Shock settling over the two of you like a heavy blanket. There’s nothing that can be said- no words that could describe the ice that still ran through your veins or that could balm what had happened.

When you hit a particularly nasty pothole, cajoling the car roughly he hisses through his clenched teeth.

“Sorry’, fuck, I’m sorry” You apologize, righting the wheel in a tight jerk to the right, pressing on the brake. “Are you okay? Still bleeding?”

He’s damn lucky that that Confringo charm hadn't caught him directly, but still. When he’d flown into that brick wall, he’d done it with a bone crunching thud. You knew a few of his ribs were broken, his skin rubbed raw and cut open.

“M’fine. Moody did what he could- stopped the bleeding. I think. It stings like a son’va bitch though” James sounds tired, gravely. Voice void of that usual mirth it carried- his chestnut skin pale, clammy. “Drive faster- hopefully Dorcas is already back”

He’s right, Dorcas has healing hands. She’d whip up an ointment, utter an incantation, and he’d be good as new. You step down on the accelerator, foot heavy and mind eager to get somewhere that feels safe, even the trees you pass by feel like they’re watching you, waiting to leap at any turn.

Would you ever feel safe again? After looking into those eyes, seeing that face-

———-

The ride takes hours,

Your mind zones to dark places,

The two of you reach the current makeshift safe house.

———

Protective charms line it heavily, Dumbledor himself had drawn them

To the naked eye, you pull up onto what looks like an old decrepit factory in a row of old decrepit factories- all concrete and broken glass windows. Gritty rust covered metal high beams and caved in ceilings, the tires crunch on the gravel out front- you can barely put the car in park before you’re overcome by a sea of red-

Red hair, soft hands. Vivid green eyes.

Lilly comes bounding out, long legs propelling her forward fast.

“Y/N!” She shrieks as you climb out, you don't blame her for how she runs to James' side of the car. He looks far worse than you do, you think. But then again you haven't seen your reflection because the glance over she gives you is horrified.

“I’m okay, just get James! Lets get him inside” You hurry, your legs feel heavy as you meet her on the other side of the car.

It’s begun snowing again, fat flurries falling from the inky night sky, cold enough to start the shaking again. Your hands are uncoordinated paws, good for nothing and yet you help Lily, take one of James arms around your own shoulder as she takes the other, the two of you supporting him - dragging him towards the entrance.

“Gideon! Go find Dorcas!” She yells for one of the fiery headed Prewet twins who are spilling out of the building. Merlin, they look similar- she could be their kin. “Mad Eye was able to send us word about what happened in London! We’ve been waiting for you! I’ve been so scared- thank bloody God you two are even alive”

“We’re okay-“ you start, trying to calm your friend down. She seemed like she was two seconds away from blowing a fuse and well- you were one of the few who knew about her condition. You weren’t so sure complete emotional breakdowns were good for developing fetus’.

“Only because Y/N. She saved my life. She saved us all back there” James is barely conscious and defining not coherent.

You hadn’t saved, you’d killed. Innocent people included.

Lily is staring at you past James' bowed head and you can’t see her eyes.

Not when James is dragged in and whisked away by Dorcas who is already whisking something in a bowl, her braids piled atop her head and her deep eyes worried- yet sage. Calm, as she calls to you from over her shoulder. “That gash on your forehead is nasty! I’ll get to you next”

You hear them laying James down on the makeshift kitchen table and for some reason your feet are frozen in place. You can’t follow. Don’t care to see the chunk that was taken out of him back in the alley.

In the alley. In the snow; cold and frigid. Voldemort had appeared from the shadows and raised his wand high and you knew you were going to die, even though you weren’t ready to. Didn’t want to-

“Y/N” you raise your eyes-your mint and her emerald meeting somewhere in the middle. Lily’s are worried, the almond shape exaggerated.

You wonder if yours convey how far away you feel. How close you are to drifting right out of your body and floating up- somewhere quiet.

Because everything was too loud now- everyone bustling in and around you. Emaline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, Frank Longbottom- where was Marlene? And Sirius?

Had the night been as bloody and brutal for them as it had for you?

“Go” you croak at her “Go with him, Lil. Mending bones hurts like hell- I’ll just- I just need to-“

She looks torn, and you imagine she is. Her best friend is quite obviously on the verge of a panic attack and her fiancé is bleeding out on the kitchen table.

“Go” you insist once more, squeezing her forearm through her maroon cardigan, trying to encourage her.

You don’t inculpate her for James taking precedence, she all but peels herself away from your side to go sit next to him, to grasp at his hand as Dorcas covers his wounds in dittany and he grunts loud and pained.

You stumble backwards, not wanting to see anymore blood for the moment.

Maybe ever.

No, focus.

You force your brain not to check out yet as you limp back into the open space that seems to be slowly but surely filling up with other members of The Order.

People talk over each other and it's hard to get anyone to answer your questions.

When Remus, Shacklebolt and Peter walk into the fort, all looking disheveled but uninjured- you finally start getting somewhere.

Peter’s speech is fast and broken and nervous- you keep telling him to slow down. You can't manage to understand what he's saying.

“Fuck, Peter! Merlin just shut up- shut up for two seconds. Remus, what happened?”

Edgar Bones and his family were killed, but everyone else was still intact- just scattered. Trying to find their way back home, back to headquarters or any local safe house.

You gape at Remus, as he tells you the news. His voice is sturdy even though he looks like he might keel over at any moment, which is why you’d always sought him out, since you were kids. Remus was in a constant state of suffering, and yet he was nearly always the most clear headed person in the room.

His eyes though- they always did betray him. You can see it in the amber iris. The horror. The sorrow. The fear.

Edgar Bones was dead.

Edgar, and his husband, and his two children- he’d show them to you once. Opened the silver locket that was ever presently around his neck and two smiling waving dark haired cherub cheeked kids waved back from the photos inside.

Bile rises in your throat and you stare up at Remus, still just trying to process it all. His mouth is still moving and is certainly forming words, but the loud whomping in your ears keeps you from hearing them.

You’re all going to die, the thought is sharp and ragged and cuts up your brain.

“Oh”, is all you can manage. It’s a whisper, the most you can force. Remus reaches for you and you easily avoid his big scarred hand, stepping away from it before it can land on your arm.

You choose to ignore the hurt look that flashes briefly on his face.

Kingsley Shacklebolt starts listing off the known locations of other members then. Dumbledor is delivering the news to the Bones, Feniwick is held up at Hogwarts- there had been an attack in Hogsmeade. Four Muggle borns had been killed in the street. Sirius and Marlene along with Alice Longbottom have made fort at the McKinnon’s cabin, a known safe house, stuck for the moment as most are.

“Mad Eye’s gone to rally with Aberforth. I think they’re trying to track the Lestranges- that’s w-who ambushed us tonight”

By the look they give you, you know they know those aren't the only people who you’d crossed wands with.

“You know who is on the move, we heard it- he’s angry cause’ of what happened back in London. What did happen? Is James okay?” Peter questions and you really do feel bad for snapping at him, for telling him to shut up. He's just scared, for himself and for his friends.

You know how much Peter cared about James.

“He’s fine, he’s in the kitchen getting mended by Dorcas- Lily’s with him”

The rest of it, the story that everyone seems so eager to hear, you hold back. Tight lipped, chest heavy. The stout blonde man looks like he wants to ask more, go forward, but he just nods and scurries into the kitchen.

That’s fine. James’ll relay it all to his friends, to the Order.

And everyone will know just what you did.

Your stomach rolls threateningly.

————-

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

First- you soar on it. It carries you through, you can’t feel pain or time as it curses through your bloodstream. But then,then, after your body’s flight or fight checks off, it makes you crash. You stumble down from the high- pain throbbing and world going molasses slow. Your stomach churns and your head pounds from the whiplash like stop.

You empty what feels like your soul into the porcelain toilet of a spare bathroom that you’d barley found before you started spewing. It’s violent, your whole body convulses with every gag, and it seems to go on for an eternity even though you can’t even remember what and when you’d last eaten.

You choke on bile a bit before you stumble over to the sink, turning on the creaky faucet and putting your mouth right in the stream.

You’d been able to stand the questioning and the looks and the pricing for just about a half an hour before that familiar wave of anxiety that you’d managed to keep at bay overwhelmed you and sent you running.

A breakdown was very much due. You’d rather no one bare witness to it.

Not even Lily who’s threatened to plow down the door at least twice now.

When you connect eyes with yourself in the mirror you almost look away. The reflection that stares back at you is alien. The woman feels so far away- that you raise a shaky hand, touching the glass. Trying to convince yourself that it’s real.

That you’re real.

There’s blood, mostly dried, that has run into your eye from the cut in your hair line that’s really more of a sloppy open bruise and you rinse it off, scrubbing with your fingers til’ it hurts. The blood won’t come off, your hands stained red. Blood everywhere. Your blood. James blood. That Death Eater’s. Those muggles that had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time-

Your breath goes choppy again, sobbing on air as you think about it. You just need the red to be gone, you’ll feel better once it’s gone.

In the corner of the mirror, you side eye the shower behind you.

——————

Part ll

The rooms in this place remind you of the girls dormitories back at Hogwarts.

Or maybe you just miss the girls dormitories back at Hogwarts.

You bet it’s the latter, because the only thing similar is the fact that there’s a row of beds. There’s no Lily laughing, or Marlene painting, or Mary dancing. All of those things feel so distant now, memories that you never thought to cherish but that you now hold on to with claw like ferocity.

You’d do anything to be fifteen again, cooped up in the castle on a sunny afternoon.

Instead you stand in the middle of a drafty room, your skin raw and flushed from the blistering temperature of the shower, the ends of your curly hair dripping down your back as you clutch the towel that someone (Lily) had left outside the bathroom door to your body.

You sit down on the bed where your nap sack had been dumped- the extender charm you’d put on it had been a bitch to get right, but you're grateful for it as you dig around it’s never ending contents- able to find a clean cream colored sweater and leggings.

You're shimmying the clinging black fabric up your thighs when there's a knock at the door.

You sigh. You can’t keep putting her off. You’re being a shitty friend when she’s trying to be a good one, and you know it.

“Come in, Lily. I’m dressed” You call, back to the door as you drag the towel over and through your hair, frowning at the curly untamed state, before beginning to twist it into some semblance of a bun.

“Actually, not to disappoint you but it’s just me”

The voice is deep, silken. Familiar. Distinctly masculine, and definitely not Lily’s.

You turn fast, and hopeful. Your eyes wide when they land on the tall figure that looms in the doorway.

“And I was hoping you wouldn't be dressed”

Sirius stands there, his slate eyes combing over you, a small grin tugging at the left side of his mouth. He looks a little tired- the fine lined wrinkles on the outer corner of his eyes and the bags under them both deep, pronounced. He obviously hasn't shaved since you’d last seen him, weeks ago. What had been a shadow was now dark scruff. His hair is scraped away from his face, tied in it’s usual knot at the back of his neck and he’s donning his signature worn leather jacket. He looks so familiar that it almost brings tears to your eyes. Standing there, being crude and handsome and real.

You felt so foreign in your own skin that seeing him so solid is a relief that you can't quite explain. He’s a strong boulder, a rooted tree, that you can tether yourself to.

You want to tell him that. That you didn't realize how much you needed him until that moment. You kind of hate that realization because needing Sirius Black was stupid, so stupid.

“What are you doing here?” Is what comes out instead. Wrong, you always say the wrong thing when he’s around “I thought you we’re stuck at the Cabin”

He doesn't look offended, but he does look concerned, as he closes the door behind him. “I was. I was able to slip past them though.'' He shrugs, casually, as though he hadn't risked his life leaving the McKinnon’s.

He was always so blase about everything. It drove you absolutely bonkers.

“I’m taking it you did that on four legs?”

Ever since you’d learned about Sirius, James and Peter's Animagi sized secret, everything made sense. You knew they weren't lucky enough to get away with all that shit they had back in school. Definitely not smart enough, either.

He shrugs again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard as he sits down on the bed that you had claimed for the night as your own. He's so much taller then you that even sitting in this position, the two of you are almost eye level.

“I heard what happened, I wanted to make sure you guys were okay. Plus, once my cousin got her pound of flesh she took off- left Crabbe and McNair in the forest. Fucking idiots couldn't find their own noses in a mirror. There’s no IQ test for up and coming Death Eaters, is there?”

Of course he’d heard. You can't meet his gaze- that intense stare that he’s been giving you since he’d walked in. You don't know what to make of it, don't really know how it makes you feel.

But then again none of that was anything new. There was no label to slap onto what you and Sirius had started, onto what you felt for him. Marlene had accused the two of you being fuck buddies, but that wasnt it.

You’d have to have been friends before it for that to be accurate, which you weren't.

You weren't even sure that you were friends now.

All you knew is that you were glad to see him, even if that happiness was laced with confusion.

“I suppose not. Your cousin isn't the brightest bulb either. She’s just cunty enough to be through most of the time” You’ve always despised Bellatrix Black- ah, no, she’s a Lestrange now isn't she? Figures she’d marry one of those fucked up inbred brothers. Trash congregates with trash.

“True. She always was committed to being cruel”

“She needs lend some of that commitment to brushing her hair regularly”

Sirius snorts, shaking his head a bit. You’re good, so fucking good at deflecting “You know Dorcas is still looking for you. She wants to check out your head”

“It’s a shallow cut, I’m fine” sounds hollow even to your ears and his small scoff is honestly what you would've given him if the roles were reversed. “I am” you start stronger, trying, really trying “I’m just...tired. I’m rubbish at combative spells- I know you remember me in D.A.D.A. I could barely pass my Newt. It took a lot out of me, is all”

Sirius lets you ramble, which is a nicety for him because you can see that he’s fighting himself from cutting you off. Sirius doesn't take bullshit, can't stomach it.

“You went head to head with Voldemort tonight and you’re trying to tell me that you’re ‘rubbish at combative’ spells? What the fuck, Y/N?” He says bluntly, grabbing you by your wrists as you try to back away, holding you steady, not letting you run away. “It’s just me. Talk to me”

The vulnerability you feel in that moment is only just weighed out by your stubbornness as you stare right back at him, teeth clenched, unwilling to break that eye contact. He was calling you out, almost challenging you.

“What do you mean what the fuck? You what the fuck, Sirius! I don’t know what you want me to say-” You’re defensive, your hackles are raised and your voice is razor sharp.

“What happened?”

“Oh, bugger off. Don't act like you didn't talk to James before you came up here. You know exactly what happened”

“I want you to tell me what happened- no, don't look at me like that. I’m not the others, I’m not- I’ve told you everything. All the ugly that I’ve seen, that I’ve done. I would never judge you, and what you were forced to do tonight? That’s not something that anyone is going to judge you on” His voice is too soft, it doesn't match the strong grip of his long fingers around your wrist.

Doesn’t match the rough way he usually fucks you or the lukewarm looks he gives you when the two of you are in public.

You tug on his hold, if only to make sure he won't let go.

He doesn't.

Tethered, your brain again supplies that word for the feeling of security he gives you.

“I killed three people tonight, I think. I don't know- it was all so fast, everything happened so fast. We were just supposed to be gaining intel, you know? And then out of nowhere they were swarming us, Sirius. Blocking is in. James got hit right before Voldemort apparated in and I- I knew we were going to die. So I- I just blew everything up” Tears are rolling down your face as you recount the events. You don't know how to describe to him how cold it was, how scared you were. You’d never experienced fear like that “I didn't have control of that spell, I’d read about it, but I had no idea that it was going to…”

The fucked up part is that you knew it might. You knew that it could incinerate everyone and everything. Including you and James and Moody. But in that moment...that desperation you felt out weighed it all.

“Hey, hey look at me- we’ve all been there. You did what you had to do. You dont think we all throw out spells that we have no fucking idea how to use In the heat of the moment?” You didn't realize that you’d said that last part aloud, but confessing to Sirius had gotten all too easy these last few months.

He made your lips loose, lowered all your inhibitions without your permission. You hated him for it. Craved him every moment that he wasn't around for it.

This war was turning you to stone. Cold and rigid, but You didn't feel like you had to be marble hard when he was around.

“I could've killed us all. I killed those muggles- fuck. They didn't know- they didn't do anything” You’re sobbing again, soft underbelly exposed. He could gut you right now if he wanted to. “They were innocent”

“Shh, C’mere” He pulls you in between his spread legs, lets go of your wrists in order to envelope you in his gangly arms, to squeeze at your thick waist and shoulders as he holds you. “You didn't kill them, Y/N. James said it was the counter curse that Voldemort used that hit them- think about the positioning. They were on the same side of the alley that you were- crossing that street, they got hit with a curse that was meant for you”

You shake your head, burying your face in the soft thin skin of his neck because he’s wrong. You know he is. James was out of it, pain clouding his senses. You knew what you did.

Sirius doesn't argue it further, just lets you cling to him. Allows your cries, ugly and snotty, to shake you both.

He lets you get it all out- until you're hiccuping on the last of your tears. You're completely slumped against him, pretty much sitting in his lap as he supports all of your weight. You’d be more self conscious in that moment if you had any energy left to be.

“It was so horrible. There were...pieces of people. Everywhere” You shudder because you can still see it. Like you're still there.

Sirius’ arms tighten at that, squeezing you to him for a minute. A hug within a hug,

“There are casualties in war...it sounds fucked up, and it doesn't make any of what happened tonight better, but it is what it is”

He’s not nice, not really. He gives you the hard truth that you don't want to swallow. They aren't the pretty words that you want, but they are what you need.

War is ugly, and up until tonight, you’d been willingly ignorant to that fact. You’d heard the horror stories of what Voldemort and the death eaters had done, and were doing, but you'd never experienced any of it first hand.

Seeing changed everything.

No one, from either side would come out of this clean. Everyone and everything would be blood stained, tainted.

It’s a heavy realization, that the world you were fight for would never be the same.

You pull away from Sirius then, grabbing his hand and losing your fingers with yours when he goes to grab, to keep you close. He watches, dark brows pulled together, as you lie down on the lumpy old bed, head resting on the singular flat pillow.

“Lay with me? Please?” You give his hand a tug, tac on that pretty please at the end.

Like it’s necessary.

Like he wasn't planning on staying since the moment he’d walked through that door- you could have thrown a fit. Hit him, hexed him, and he still wouldn't have left you. “I’m so tired”

He stands from the bed and you make a small hurt little sound.

“I’m not going anywhere, hush” He smiles, canine grin and crinkled nose as he sheds his leather jacket, combat boots and scratchy dark jeans coming off next, leaving him in a long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of threadbare black boxers that had seen better days and definitely were sporting a hole or two.

“Lumos Nox” with a flick of his wand, the lights in the room go out.

The bed really wasn't big enough for two people, but you made due. Sirius all but laid his entire long lean body on top of yours, acting as a sort of human blanket.

“Oof, bloody hell, Sirius!” you tease, squirming under him for a minute but loving every inch of him pressed down on top of you. You felt secure, safe. So different then you had in the car when you’d wondered if you’d ever feel this way again. You twine your arms around him, giving him the room to nuzzle his face into your bosom, nosing at the soft fabric of your sweater as your fingers bury themselves in his thick onyx hair.

He’s all but purring as you scrape your nails against his scalp. He’s not really a big scary dog at all, no. He’s more pussycat than anything.

The silence is peaceful, his head rests on your chest and everything smells like him. Sandalwood and cigarette smoke, and something sweet that you could never quite put your finger on. Dark and sensual and overwhelming. It always sticks to your clothes, after nights like this. You know you'll smell him in your hair for days.

Sometimes it’s still mind boggling that this is where the two of you had ended up. That you got to have him like this. You remember the days that you would pine for him, years one through four at Hogwarts had been hard on your fragile little heart. Too young to fully understand that boys like Sirius didn't look twice at girls like you.

And he hadn't.

The girls he dated, and Merlin was there a slew of them, had been beautiful in a way that you just...weren't. You’d never have a thin nose or mile long legs. And so you dropped the torch you carried for him, let the flame die out until all that was left were low simmering, angry, embers. Because fuck Sirius Black for not wanting you.

Even now, you wonder if he really does.

Want you.

Yes, the two of you had shown each other your bleeding hearts, had let each other see the dark, odd, ugly puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit into the persona’s you publicly displayed...but you wonder all the time if it wasn't just...trauma bonding.

Clinging to the only available warmth during a blizzard, trying to find someone to weather the storm with.

Without this war, without the two of you being forced together by the horrible things that were being done, that you were doing, would there even be anything there? The two of you weren't James and Lily, weren't destined to be together, to get married and live happily ever after. Your love, if that's what it was at all, wouldn't survive the war like theirs would.

“Your going to hurt yourself” Sirius’ words are muffled as he speaks them into your sweater.

“Huh?”

“You’re thinking too hard. I can practically hear the muscles straining in your brain Y/L/N” You tug on his locks at his statement, lightly enough to not cause pain- even though you knew now that he liked that.

“It’s nothing” you insist.

The last 24 hours has been hard enough, you aren’t about to fuck them up further by questioning feelings, stirring up the inevitable end of this...thing.

“”It’s something” he’s an insistent pushy tosser.

“I’m just wondering why you came back tonight, is all” you try to keep a casual cadence to your tone, but still.

Sirius props his chin on your chest. The room is dark enough that you can’t see him, but you can feel him studying you “When I heard about what happened and then found out that it was you and James that’d been there...I knew I had to find a way to get here. The two of you-“

There’s a long gap of silence. You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat hummingbird fast in your chest as you wait for him to continue.

“- Are my best friends. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost one of you. And then I hear that I almost lost both of you at the same time? It was fucked. I don’t know what I would’ve done if...I’d things would’ve gone differently”

You know this is hard for him.

Sirius is just about the most emotional person you’ve ever met- he feels everything so intensely, it’s alarming really. And yet he can’t ever voice those feelings in a way that’s not screaming or drunken declarations.

His parents had really done a number on him.

“We’re friends?” Your question might sound stupid, but really, you were curious. You never thought he wanted you as a friend.

“Blimey, Y/N, are you serious?” He sits up even further, voice laced with disbelief as he rests his elbows on either side of your head, his face hovering above yours now.

“I’m just asking! I never knew, and you’ve never said. Don’t be a dickhead about it” Is your barbed reply.

He lets out a barking laugh and you can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. Probably some mixture of the two.

“I told you about my father breaking my fingers when I refused to learn the piano” He sounds...guarded. You hate it, that you caused that. His guard to go back up. You should’ve kept your big mouth shut. Your right hand planes up and across his biceps. Resting on his shoulder.

“I know. I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry, just know that I would never tell that to someone that I didn’t consider a friend. That I didn’t care about”

See? Emotional. So emotional. It’s like it bubbles up within him, always threatening to overflow. You could never guess when the next outburst would be.

“Well that’s good, I guess I consider you a friend too. I never did before, when we were kids, but now I don’t know what I would do...without your friendship”

Friendship is a deceitful word, a mask of something else that was far too big for either of you to attempt to tackle.

“I don’t know what I’d do without your friendship either. I never want to find out. I really did lose it a bit when I heard about what you did. Ask Marlene. She said I was overreacting”

This is a confession- it’s I love you without the strings. It’s I need you without the commitment.

It’s not fair, to either of you and it’s messy and doomed.

But it’s beautiful, all the same.

“I bet you were” you give a watery chuckle, and he presses his forehead to yours, nudging your nose with his.

“Maybe just a bit, but if we would’ve lost you tonight, I would’ve-“ he breathes deep through his nose “I don’t know what I would’ve done. Hunted them all down, probably”

It’s hot, no, physically hot. You’re burning up, his words striking a match and lighting an inferno inside of you that’d laid dormant for years.

“You can’t leave me anytime soon, got it Y/L/N?” His mouth is less than an inch away from yours, his words feel feathery against your parted lips.

“Mmhmm, I’ve got it” you're breathless already, on the verge of whining and Sirius is just a man, only human. How is that not supposed to drive him mad

“Good” he grunts out fast, before slamming his mouth to yours. He’s not slow like he’d like to be, like he knows you deserve. His kisses are hungry and wet and consuming and you just part those pretty lips and whimper into his mouth, begging him to keep going. To keep taking, so he does. Bracketing his hands on either side of your face, using it as leverage to fuck his tongue in and out of your mouth as his skin hips slot between your fatty thighs.

You pant into each other's mouths as tongues explore the places behind teeth, and Sirius hips find a rhythm that matches his tongue.

“Fuck” you pull away with a gasp and Sirius just drags his spit wet mouth down, across your chin, down your neck. When he sucks an earlobe between his teeth you mewl, legs coming up, your feet propped against the back of his thighs as you pull him closer, nestling him even deeper into the center of your thighs.

He very much likes being between your legs, as he’s told you that very fact before.

It’s warm and you’re plush and soft all over, his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, hips, belly as yours muse his hair, slipping the elastic out so that the tendrils fall freely, long enough now to curtain the two of you, brushing against your cheekbones.

It’s needier than it’s ever been, and when Sirius tugs off your sweater impatiently he literally groans as his hands map out your bare skin touching all the places that usually make you flinch. Rolls and stretch marks- it’s like he needs to feel everything. When he cups your large breasts, one in each palm you full body shiver. He paws at them, thumbing your nipples until they pebble under his touch, before his mouth takes over.

His tongue swirls around the hard buds sloppily. Too much spit, less teeth that usually are biting and sharp. He’s suckling, all over, marking you up, taking his time.

“Sirius, please” your whines are high in your throat and almost pitiful as you fist his hair. He hushes you gently, suckling turning to open mouthed kisses, before he pulls away, stripping his shirt off, in one elegant sweep.

His torso, long and lean- yet toned and sturdy is on display then and honestly you kind of want to turn the lights back on just to look at him for a while.

Usually, Sirius loves to tease. To draw things out at an almost painful pace. It’s maddening. But not tonight.

No, he’s helping you peel your leggings off your curvy calves, then stripping himself of his boxers quickly.

Things are different- somethings shifted. Everything feels all consuming, passionate, both of you are gulping for air as you rut against each other, rubbing and writing. Trying to press as much bare skin together as possible.

He presses two fingers inside of your wet cunt as he rubs his scruff against the sensitive skin of your neck and you keen, high and loud.

Instead of shushing you, he reaches blindly and clumsily for his wand. “Muffilato”

He really is a great multitasker- he manages to cast the silencing charm as he crooks his fingers inside of you, padding at your g spot and making you wail brokenly.

“That’s it, pretty. You can be as loud as you want, go on love” he coos in your ear and holy shit sex with Sirius has been good since it’s inception- but this is something else.

Maybe it’s because of what you’d experienced earlier- all of those negative emotions being combated by all of these good ones but fuck. It felt so good.

He fucks you with his fingers, two and then three and you’re sobbing even before he kisses down your body. Lips scorching and brandishing. When his hot wet tongue slithers between your lips, zeroing in on your clit you’re done for.

It’s embarrassing how little time it takes for your body to tense up, for you to clench around his pounding digits.

“S-s-shit- oh fuck! Sirius!” You grapple at his shoulders, yank at his hair as you convulse, lost to the orgasm that rips through your chest like a bullet.

He works you through it. With little licks, and then soothing words as he pulls his fingers out of you. Your legs fall even farther open and you feel like a well wrung out dish towel.

He’s still being so sweet, as he situates you both on your sides, spooning you from behind. He nuzzles at your still wet curls and really, you’re almost asleep at this point- but not so out of it that you’re unaware of him hard against your lower back.

“Sirius” you mumble, reaching behind you, your short chubby fingers wrapping around his cock. It’s so perfect in your hand- skin hot. Rock hard and velvet smooth.

He groans low at the contact, stills your hand with his “No, it’s okay. I just wanted to take care of you”

You frown at that, whining- and not a happy one “But I want you inside of me”

“You’re barely coherent right now- you’re gonna’ fall asleep any second” he counters back, although you can hear there’s little fight in his strained voice.

“So fuck me while I’m asleep. I want you. We can do it just like this, gonna feel so good” you’re exhausted, but you’ve never wanted anything more. You rub your ass against him, you can feel the tip at the top of your crack and he’s breathing raggedly into your hair.

“Fuck woman. You’re insane” It’s a laugh, or maybe a moan as he grabs the back of your knee, raising it, giving him access to the wet hot flesh between your thighs. He hisses as he guides himself inside of you, and you both sigh when he bottoms out.

Hells, this angle is so good. You get to be completely lazy, just laying there like a doll and taking it as he holds you close and pumps his hips.

The room is filled with wet slapping and breathless panting.

There’s no way you can come again so soon, you’d never been one of those multiple orgasm kind of girls- Sirius gives a strong thrust, the tip of his cock brushing your cervix and sending shockwaves down your tailbone.

Your nails dig into his forearm as you gasp. You’re totally going to come again. Everything is hypersensitive, molten fire, pleasure so bright it’s almost pain as you hold onto him.

“God- you feel so bloody amazing” Sirius’ mouth is right at your ear, you can hear how close he is, that stutter in his breathing “I’m not gonna last- I can’t- fuck. It’s too good”

“Come inside me. Please. I want- fuck I want you closer. Never want you to stop. Want you like this forever, Please” It’s your own words that tip you over the edge for the second time. Thinking about Sirius being close like this, forever. You want him, balls deep inside of you for the rest of your life. You’d never really had an orgasm that was completely internal, your neglected clit not responsible for the tightening of your walls, for the screech that leaves your throat.

Sirius curses, chokes on a loud moan, and then stills inside you. Grabbing you, holding you still as he buries himself to the hilt and empties himself in hot spirits into your womb.

He feels shaky and uncoordinated as he tries to regather himself. Merlins fucking beard- he’d never come that hard. Ever. He swears he’s still feeling the shock waves minutes later when he’s finally able to move.

He breathes in through his teeth and you let out a squeaky mewl as he pulls out.

“Sorry, I’m sorry” he kisses your shoulder soothingly.

Never want you to stop

The words that you’d spoke in the throws of your pleasure ring in his head as he manages to locate that towel you’d used earlier and clean both of you off. It’s half assed and you’d both certainly need to shower before you but back on clothes but at least he’d tried.

“You still awake?” He whispers to you because you’ve gone so still, your body loose and your breathing even.

You make a noncommittal sound, half of an ‘mmhmm’ and he chuckles, managing to get the blanket up and around the both of you before curling himself back around your body.

He’ll let you have the only pillow, that’s fine. You’re so plush and soft anyway. One big pillow, really. More comfortable than the expensive peacock feathers his mom used to fawn over when he was little.

You’re out like a light, and yet Sirius’ mind is going a mile a minute.

I want you closer

You’d almost died, less then twelve hours ago. James has told him how close it had been for both of you. How narrowly you’d escaped death's grasp.

Sirius presses his face onto your back, off centered from the nape of your neck. You smell like your shampoo here- blackberries and sweet lavender.

He had ran, lungs heaving and paws aching through the woods around the McKinnon Cabin. Desperation fueling him. He’d been so scared. The moment he’d been out of sight, he’d appirated to this safe house. He’d only been here once and could barely conjure the image in his head, but he’d still done it.

He could’ve gotten caught, he could’ve been splinched.

Even now, he doesn’t care.

He can pretend that it was out of concern for his best friend, and yeah a big part of it was. James was his brother. The only family he had left and seeing him to make sure he was safe and okay was important to Sirius…

But in the dark, with his arms wrapped around you and the smell of you all over him, he can admit that he’d snapped in a way that he never had before. When he’d heard that you’d been the one to lift your wand and fight, that Voldemort had thrown curses directly at you…

He was terrified.

Not much scared him these days- and that was the sad truth. He was brave to the point of recklessness, he’d always prided himself on that fact.

But the idea of losing you? That he was scared of.

Want you like this forever.

Please.

Another thing that Sirius Black was scared of? The fact that he wanted you forever, too. He wasn’t made for love, not the kind that he knew you wanted. Not the kind that he watched his friends partake in.

He’d let you down eventually, he knew it, and with as smart as you were, he knew you knew it too.

But not tonight.

Tonight he’d hold you, breathe you in, and pretend that there wasn’t a war waging in the world outside.

————

Many years later, while he lay on the dirty stone floor of his Azkaban cell- he stares wordlessly at the ceiling and remembers how you smelled of lavender and blackberries. How you’d giggled like sunshine and fought like hell.

And he remembers, most, how much he loved you.

Alright guys! Thank you for taking the time to read this massive one shot! I hope you enjoyed it. As always I ask that you comment, and reblog if its possible. Love you all!

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@peacefulwriter88 @jalapenobarnes @jaamesbbarnes @gifsbysimplysonia @brieannakeogh @allaboardthereadingrailroad @all-about-sirius @spidey-babe-parker @propertyofpoeandbucky @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @autirobo @louisianaspell @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @hufflepuffing-all-day-long @threeminutesoflife @writeturnlove @benbarnesescape

Well, that was painful lol. I’ve been feeling really angsty with everything that’s been going on in the world- so I decided to lean into it. I will be writing some fluff pieces soon too, to cope with this quarantining, so keep an eye out.

Okay so we all have the time I thought I’d write a kind of long author's note down here. Harry Potter is my all time favorite Fandom(and fun fact, was the first fandom I ever wrote for) and I definitely don’t give it the love it deserves here on my page.

Sirius Black *chefs kiss while sobbing* That man taught me how to love. He was my first true male character love.

My Fan-Casting has always been a little different then everyone else’s, but lately I’ve really tightened up my dream cast and I love it so much so I thought I’d share(obvs, please feel free to imagine whoever you want in these roles):

Sirius Black: Okay this is probably the only casting I have that is like OG dawn of time Sirius fan cast. BEN BARNES IS SIRIUS BLACK. He always will be to me and nothing will ever change my mind. I imagine Ben with like some Harry Styles mannerisms when I write my Sirius.

James Potter: Chance Perdomo. James Potter was brown and that is that. Chance won me over as Ambrose in Sabrina. He’s so cheeky and thoughtful and arrogant and perfect.

Lily Evans(Potter): Sophie Skelton! This is actually a pretty popular cast for her which makes me so happy because Sophie is so perfect for Lily. I could never get behind the Karen Gillian wave. Sorry.

Remus Lupin: Daniel Sharman- I recently came across a post with Daniel as a young Remus and omg my life is changed for the better!

Peter Pettigrew: Okay so I feel like Peter is so hard to cast- but when I think of Rowling’s book desript of him I always come back to one actor. Jonah Hill. I feel like he would tear this part uppppp. Also he’s plus sized unlike all the other actors I always see people fc him with.

Marlene McKinnon: Okay so idk where this came from but I’ve always seen Marlene as Latina? Like always. Her fc has jumped around for me but has recently landed, hard, on Ana De Armas

Dorcas Meadows: Ashley Blaine Fearherson!!! Dorcas is cannonly black which I fucking love because she was so bad ass that Voldemort’s bitch ass had to go take her out himself. A queen. She’s always been a fave of mine

Alice Longbottom: Florence Pugh! She didn’t make much of an appearance in this particular one shot but I love her!

Frank Longbottom: So I know Nevilles like really white in the movies, but I’ve never been able to get over Diego Luna as Frank. Sweet sunshine man.

#Sirius Black #sirius black x plus size reader #sirius black x reader #harry potter #ben barnes #ben barnes x plus size reader #Sirius black x plus sized reader #billy russo #billy russo x plus sized reader #Jilly #james and lily #james potter #lily evans #marauders #wolfstar

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susoftjockau · 4 years

Text

The Plan - Part Three (Ophelia)

Ophelia had a simple home. Well, an apartment. From what Connie could tell — through the rambles she endured and how Ophelia would stumble into the living room with a giddy languid nature — is that she stayed with her mother, kept the chores three-fourths on her, and she loved baking.

And baking was a pastime that made itself very apparent.

In the small kitchen, cornered by a bookshelf and a stack of beanbag chairs, the cabinets were filled to the brim with flour, bags, chocolate and white chip sacks, and cocoa powder en masse. The oven had trays with baking paper already in place — dabs of cookie dough, other pans filled with chocolate mix under the searing orange through the compartment window. Connie never knew someone's enthusiasm for baking could outweigh how logic for working in such a small kitchen. She noticed the surfaces, the amount of ingredients just for it, where only a few packages of vegetables, eggs, and a cheese slab made their home inside of the main contents of the apartment fridge.

How long had this been going on? Was it a passion? A hobby?

"You hanging out fine?" Ophelia, smile dazed and ready, lounged right next to her on the couch as music from her radio fizzled with pop and R&B. Both of them had their hair held up by scrunchies — a precaution, knowing how it wasn’t that tasty finding hair in one’s own baked goods "You look sore, or whacked out, or something."

The word choices put her off for a second, but she answered, "I'm okay. I'm just surprised you prepared all this just to hang out." She rubbed her neck. The preparation was an understatement. The cheerleader, while cooking, would cradle the mixing bowls like they were children, keeping everything in-check, peering at a wrinkled notepad decked with sticky notes on an open space between the utensils and ingredients; she got Connie involved from the very beginning, leaving her to help with measurements, pouring powder and sugar and cracking eggs till they covered their fingers in batter. It surprised her they could clean themselves up so well in the aftermath, but the main shocker came from the passion, the fixed wanting for it.

"Aw man, it's nothing. Well, actually, cooking's pretty gnarly stuff when you come down to measurements and everything, but I wanted to make you feel okay with me." Ophelia grinned at her, flexing her bicep a bit — she didn’t know why. "Cause when you think of cheerleaders, what do you see?”

Connie blinked at that. “Well, I’d expect them to be talkative and charismatic.”

“But have you seen those old flicks where they were seen as bimbos or the cruelest sons of bitches in the world?”

“Erm.”

“Heathers. Mean Girls. Glee. Bring It On. Romy and Michele’s Highschool Reunion. Pretty in Pink. Always perceived as the promiscuous bunch, the mean ones, the rowdy socialites?”

She pressed her lips. She did see those stereotypes before. In fact, she still saw the cheerleaders in that way; it wasn’t out of malice, but it was hard to relate to a talkative bunch of people like them without drowning somehow. “Yeah.”

Ophelia nodded to herself, clicking her tongue. “People always see cheerleaders as preppy mall types, so I wanted to ease you out of that with something nice, so why not baking? It’s something that I’m into, no doubt, but isn’t it just nice to focus on an activity where you’re busy and the only goal was to just chow down or be satisfied — to be happy with one’s progress rather than speak much and make it a lil’ awkward?” Eye contact. “Ya’ feel me?”

She had a point. It definitely did get her to ease up over this whole ordeal, especially at the waft of chocolate and vanilla. It had a quality, charming overall, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe it was the ease of something calming and focus-oriented? Something she could just work on without allowing her brain to focus so much on something that could leave her anxious and terrified? It probably was that. Maybe. "Well, I had fun with it," she couldn't help a smile, just a small one. "I haven't done baking in a long time so it’s a nice recap."

"Then when the oven’s finished, feel free to chow down on the grindage." She leaned more into the cushions, the smell of old wood and flour becoming a bit more intoxicating — a dance of two worlds, of homely delight. "We deserve a good day's work."

It took hours of batter creation, but it was worth it. "All right, I will." But there was a question on her mind. Before they started their entire process, she always wondered why they didn't touch the brownies under the baking paper — the one that laid aside from the rest, the wafting of a keen smell that made her lick her lips at the thought. It was the usual smell of chocolate, but with a specific drift in it that left her intrigued over why such a platter was left alone. "But why didn't we just eat the ones you'd left alone?"

Ophelia looked at her. "What?"

"The ones near the microwave. Were they for your mother or?"

"Oh, don't eat those."

"Why not?"

"They're edibles."

"Oh."

Well, that explained everything. However, the fact that Ophelia indulged in that type of drug wasn't something that made her feel...quite reassured, to be frank.

"It's not like I take this stuff like it's crack or something," the cheerleader piped up, voice going a tad higher. She looked relaxed before but now there's a wearing plagueness — probably from her own reaction, which didn't help the sliver of guilt. "I only take it when I have to relax. If I can give you the skinny about this whole deal, I just take CBD if the stress spikes; recreation is just that, keep a schedule on me so I don't just," she made a hand motion, a little explosion (sound effect included), "get into the weird statistics people like to harp about."

“Oh.” Statistics. The type schools would always harp about over the safety of ‘the youth’, even if they go a blind eye to many other things and become hypocritical of their own stances. “You won’t be part of it.”

Ophelia hummed. She left her body reclined, eyes closed to the world — a little beat in her shoes still there with its small rocking back and forth, pressing against the coffee table. “I keep myself healthy. I know the risks, it’s not like I’m an idiot. So I’m glad ya’ think so too.”

There was still uncertainty, but yet, there was the question of how far Connie could question this. Ophelia was responsible; Steven kept telling her back at the taco truck that she was a tank; always exercised on the daily and kept her own visual schedule to make sure her habits were intact rather than crumbling from lack of strong will. She saw the workout cords up on the walls, the dumbbells at the door. She couldn't just notch her as someone who didn't know what she was doing. It felt unfair to peg her like that at all. “I’m sorry about that. I’ve never considered that, I’m just—”

“Not use to recreation?”

Connie gazed at her. Then gave a relieved sigh. “Yeah, I’ve never had the opportunity to take these types of drugs. Never had someone tell me that they used it before, edible or otherwise.”

“And, don’t want to assume much,” Ophelia asked, “but you’re thinking I’m going to peer-pressure you too, huh?”

Silence. Then a nod.

“Well, no worries on my end, Constance.”

“It’s Connie.”

“Connie.” She coughed to herself, giving a nervous chuckle. Ophelia looked more relaxed, however, something Connie could look at as a good thing, better than just awkward chit-chat on a couch with nothing really that simple to fawn over. “I only give the edibles to people who want to go to the max on this stuff, and that’s that. I’m not going to be that weird guy who forces it at a dead-end party, basically any PSA villain that’s falling off the deep-end; it’s all up to the person and nothing else.” Her voice softened more, almost motherly in its tone. “The people who’ve done this do it than just for pleasure, sometimes it’s hard to cope with the fact we have tuition up the wazoo and sometimes we can’t handle the anxiety of problems we can’t handle. I could go on and on, but who needs a lil’ preaching in this day and age? Not me, even if it’s fun.”

She could finally feel herself calm down, relaxing into the cushions like a weight had been pulled. Ophelia wasn’t going to do anything wrong. She harbored a soft personality; she wasn’t going to coerce her or be intimidating about the whole thing. She was just Ophelia, and Connie was Connie. She didn’t have to be weird about it anymore. “Thank you.”

The cheerleader raised an eyebrow. “Why are ya’ thanking me?”

“For...educating me.” It was a simple answer. Nothing else had to be said.

Ophelia rang up in a giggle, eyes cracking open from their rest. “No problem.”

A ding went off. After a moment, both of them turned and peered at the kitchen entrance — the smell of chocolate so thick in presence, enough to overwhelm and please the senses. "Welp, the brownies are done." She stood up, bringing out a hand to her. "Ready to get stuffed?"

Connie smiled up at her finally. She grabbed her hand, allowing herself to be pulled up onto her feet. "I’d love to."

And maybe she could bring some courage to try out the edibles. But for now, she was okay as is.

- @morkthebork

#steven universe #fic #su #su au #connie maheswaran #The Plan #year one

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taylorroger-s · 4 years

Text

the great pretender // billy/four x reader

a/n eyyy first 6 underground fic!!!! this is for @billytheskywalker’s challenge! the quote i chose is “on and on, does anybody know what we are living for?” and it fit the 6u vibe so well i just had to. also i have NO IDEA how crime statistic analysts work. i also don’t know where this came from? i didn’t want to get myself in too deep so there is potential for a part two depending on how this goes. also I have a pretty hefty 6u story in the works so stay tuned

masterlist here! // part two here!

warnings: cursing, existential crisis, lack of logical reasoning from all parties

enjoy :)

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“i’m so fucking done with this.” you were dangerously tempted to flip the table. what started out as an intimate date night with your boyfriend of three years had quickly devolved into a tirade about the pointlessness of life. your life for specifics.

the restaurant was nice. too nice. a crystalline chandelier hung from the ceiling, dark wood flooring reflected the dim lights, and white clothed tables sat at even intervals in the large dining room. what a way to make you feel better, right? cal meant well, but today your patience had run out. the fancy dress clinging to your frame and stiletto nails only added to the collected façade. and that was all it was, all you had ever been. a façade. you were just playing at being content with your role in life. but you were done with the pretending. there was so much pain and suffering in the world that you had the privilege to ignore, and you were over with letting it not bother you.

“with what? babe, you’re not making sense.” cal murmured, doing his very best to calm you down. you had always been volatile at best, and he had perfected the art of calming you down, but you had snapped. the single feather to break your back came in the form of a poorly attended event that you had spent months organizing. for once, you were confident that you would make a difference. but it didn’t come to pass, and you had finally lost hope in your so called purpose.

you were on your feet now, nails digging into the annoyingly silky table cloth. the twin wine glasses on the table shook as the fabric curled around your fingers, slowly pulling the table settings closer to your rage. your hair had come undone from repeated touching, only adding to the emotional unraveling eating you alive. so much bad in the world that you had no power to change.

“who gives a shit! i can’t deal with it anymore. on and on, does anybody know what we are living for? it’s all just bullshit.” people at neighboring tables began to throw looks your way, ranging from anger to sympathy, which only pissed you off further. even the waiters looked concerned. cal was nearly quivering with embarrassment. it did nothing but fuel your passion. what was the point of it all if you couldn’t leave some mark? what was the point of your life, of anyone’s?

“you’re overreacting. just sit down and lets finish dinner.” he placed a warm hand on your wrist, attempting to use the feel of his soft skin against yours to drag you back down to earth. the poisoned, miserable earth. so much suffering all around you, and there you were, eating overpriced portions of salad and complaining about your privileged life. it hardened your heart just enough. you drew your hand back, crossing your arms across your chest. cal looked so hurt that it almost made you break, but then your eyes flicked to the watch on his wrist, the ridiculously expensive glass of wine next to his plate. more useless waste. you couldn’t stand it anymore.

“no. just… no. i’m done. this life we’re living is just so pointless, you know? we have no fucking power out here. we can’t change the world like this!” you could feel the murmurs and eyes of the other restaurant patrons bore into your back, their judgement heating your skin to a nearly unbearable degree. one man in particular seemed invested in your outburst. he wore sunglasses even in the relatively dim restaurant, blonde undercut contrasting with the impeccable suit he wore. he spoke in hushed tones with the people at his table, still watching you carefully.

“who’s to say we can’t? please babe, i promise we can change the world. together, remember?” ah yes, the whispered promises you had made during a much simpler time, even if it was not too long ago. it was an empty promise back then and it was even more so now. you were never good at staying put, and the limit of your anger been reached. the box of all the bad things the world had to offer had overflowed, and you couldn’t pretend to be okay with it anymore.

“i’m sorry, and this isn’t fair to you at all, but i’m done. i can’t live like this. i need to actually do something with my life. and this is exactly what has been holding me back.” you grew quieter, rage morphing into determination. you now knew what you had to do, grabbing your clutch and the thick coat hanging from your chair. cal rose to his feet, reaching out for you again. you drew back, pushing your chair in with a sense of finality.

“y/n, please, i love you. don’t go.” cal pleaded with you desperately, clearly confused. you felt sorry for him. it wasn’t his fault. he was all any woman would want in a relationship. but you didn’t want to string him along for longer than you already had. he deserved someone who wanted him. you weren’t that someone. you heard the whispers from the blond man’s table grow quiet, another one of his party turning around to watch you.

“goodbye cal. i wish you the best. but this is where i have to leave.” you held your chin as high as possible, holding back the tears that yearned to fall. the pressure in your throat rose until you couldn’t stand there anymore waiting for the tension to break. you turned on your heel and strode to the door, subconsciously plotting a path to walk by the mysterious man and his equally mysterious friends.

“wait-” cal called, but you could sense the hopelessness in his voice. when you made up your mind, not heaven nor earth could stop you. with every step, you stood a little taller, knowing you were a few feet away from walking out of the restaurant and walking away from a part of the life you hated. you stopped for a moment right in front of the man, making eye contact despite logic screaming to not encourage him. his sunglasses had slipped down his nose, exposing the most beautiful green eyes you had ever seen. you struggled to force your next words out with his intense gaze on you.

“no. it’s done.” you could just barely hear cal choke out a sob behind you, but you were too focused on the mystery man. he carefully licked his lips, making sure you were watching. a haze started to cloud your mind as the moment stretched onward, his eyes stripping away your common sense. but the little amount you had left urged you to move, tearing your attention away from the gorgeous blond and forcing you to walk out the door.

the cold night air hit you like a punch to the gut, and you took a handful of deep breaths to steady yourself. it was done. you were free from at least one part of your past. but there was so much more holding you down. if only there was a way to erase it all.

you sat down on the curb with a huff, forgetting the thin fabric of your dress and the wildly painful heels you had forced yourself into. maybe this was a mistake. you didn’t even have a plan for what a life of freedom would bring. you wanted to leave some mark, but what mark would that be? what could you possibly do? where was something that you would fight for? but a smooth, accented voice broke your moping before you could spiral too far.

“you seem a little tense, love.” you knew without even looking that it was the frustratingly handsome man from inside. of fucking course he was british. just your luck. you clenched your fists tight against your side, sharp nails digging into the soft flesh of your palm.

“fuck off before i make you.” you hissed, even though part of your brain wanted to turn around and walk right into him. but the pride you held kept you from succumbing. it wasn’t like you to have such an immediate pull towards another person, but there was something about this man that intrigued you like no other.

“compelling offer, but i have an offer of my own for you. you said you wanted to change the world. we can help you do that. all you have to do is die.” he made it sound so simple. oh yeah, just put a bullet in your brain and change the fucking world. any attraction you had for him began to fizzle out. he had to be insane, right? death was… death. as in, erased from the world dead. buried six feet under dead. soon to be forgotten dead. he was acting like death was just another stage of life.

“oh yeah, why didn’t i think of that? just die!” you were nearly hysterical. what insanity was this boy spouting? and yet, something in his voice drew you in further. he didn’t seem to be encouraging an actual death… at least that’s what the side of your brain already entranced by him thought.

“you’re full of shit, you know that?” the logical part of your brain screamed against his magnetic pull, but you still turned around slowly to face him, breath catching in your throat from the devastating look he gave you. his sunglasses hung from his button up shirt where the top buttons hung open, collar fluttering in the nighttime breeze.

“humor me. do you know what happens after you die? freedom, that’s what. no past or future to hold you back. you will finally have a chance to make a difference..” now he was just starting to confuse you further. he might be actually insane, you wondered to yourself, eyes narrowing as your skepticism grew. his bright green eyes locked with yours, not showing even the slightest hint of dishonesty. he seemed convinced that what he was saying was the truth. however, you weren’t won over quite yet.

“wait wait, how does dying have to do with this?” you stood up, stepping back up onto the sidewalk until you were no more than a meter away from him. your question was warranted, and you were going to get an answer. holding your chin high, you took a step closer until you could see the scar stretching from his eyebrow to his temple. it only added to his dangerous mystique, and you found yourself wondering what on earth caused it.

“cutting off all connections is the only way. we won’t be remembered. but what we can accomplish will.” so now he’s talking about more people like him? you broke your gaze with him, looking over his shoulder to see the five people he had been sitting with leaning against the wall. they all wore similar dark, sophisticated clothing and seemed immensely dangerous even from a distance.

“who is we?” you muttered, still looking at the group gathered on the other side of the sidewalk. the person nearest to you gave you a wicked smile, and you quickly looked back up at the blond man just in time to see him lean into you. your breath hitched as he drew closer, senses overwhelmed by the smell of smoke on him. his lips brushed the shell of your ear and you did everything in your power to keep from melting.

“come to this address tomorrow night if you want a reason to die.” he whispered just loud enough for you to hear over the steady wind, effectively capturing your mind completely. at that moment, you would probably do anything he asked. his hand came up and took yours, a sliver of paper passing from his palm to yours. as he pulled back, you curled your fingers protectively around the paper, never taking your eyes off his own bright green ones.

am i actually considering doing this? you screamed at yourself as you slipped the paper into your clutch. this was 100%, totally, ridiculously insane. but you couldn’t seem to find a solid reason not to go where he wanted. he kept his gaze on you as he backed further away, eventually turning and returning to his group. you could only stand there and watch as they threw you cautious glances. there seemed to be a minor argument going on between a handful of their team, the two women with them standing to the side and rolling their eyes.

while you continued your existential crisis, four, one, and three bickered over your usefulness. seven watched with furrowed brows, peeking over the top of his sunglasses. four was determined to get you on the team. he had been following you for a while, watching you with the rest of his ghosts as they infiltrated more government meetings. what first caught his eye was your looks, but billy soon saw the restless energy you had during all of those events, how your practiced smile cracked during every bit of pointless chatter. he could tell you wanted an escape. and he wanted nothing more than to give it to you.

“four, what in the fuck are you thinking? you’re exposing our whole shtick to this random chick having a nervous breakdown!” one loudly whispered, almost hissing at four while they faced off. they both were too headstrong to back down. three clapped four on the back, leaning into his shoulder. their group wasn’t exactly conspicuous, and you were keeping an eye on them while waiting for a cab. “mate, i swear she is an asset! three, back me up.” four was almost pleading with one. it felt like an argument between a father and son. four couldn’t quite grasp why exactly he wanted you on the team so bad. you were well connected and had a job full of important information they could take advantage of, but it was nothing one couldn’t dig up himself in time.

“nah man, i might be with one on this. sure, she’s cute, but what can she do that we can’t?” three just shrugged, clearly uninterested in the conversation. four glared at him, but continued his defense of you.

“she’s rich. also, she works in crime statistics for the fbi. she knows all the crime hot spots, all the places police target. she had the passwords to get us into their directory.” four counted off his reasons to want you on the team, casting a glance over to where you were standing. his face fell when he realized you were gone, suddenly and anxiously doubting whether you would even show. one didn’t seem to notice and just continued arguing.

“first, i’m the rich one. second, i’m also the information finder. third, how the fuck did you discover all this?” one’s voice was steadily growing in volume, and it took multiple dirty looks from five and a kick on the heel to get him to quiet down. despite their attempt at disguises, the ghosts weren’t exactly inconspicuous, and two & five were acutely aware of the attention they were getting on a saturday night in a popular part of town.

“doesn’t matter. all i know is that she is gonna show up. you can make a fucking veto if you want, but i swear she can help.” four sacrificed some of his pride and folded his hands in front of him, turning up the pressure on one. he knew that it was a little insane to pick you from a crowd without consulting one or any of the other ghosts, but four had faith in you and your potential.

“you damned millennial… fine. but if this fucks us over i’m gonna beat your ass so hard that you won’t be able to sit for a week, kid.” one hissed backed, finally breaking. four grinned, leaning against the wall with a smug smile. his heart skipped a beat at the thought of you joining the 6 of them.

“deal.” one just rolled his eyes, walking to stand next to seven. after a few moments of charged silence, one sighed, clapping his hands to get the group’s attention - an unnecessary gesture.

“alright cleavers, back to the haunted aircraft shell.” he turned on his heel and started walking to where their car was parked, the rest of the group filing in behind them, talking in hushed words. four ended up next to seven and slid his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. a few passerby spared them a quizzical glance as they walked, but the six ghosts soon disappeared into their car and pulled onto the road. as if they were never there.

“you sure about this billy?” seven muttered, keeping an eye on the back of one’s head. blaine himself had a soft spot for four, but this seemed to be a rash decision with little foresight. four just squared his shoulders and smiled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“sure as i’ll ever be.”

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part two…? lmk if you’re down

permanent taglist: @elle-boll

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fablesrose · 4 years

Text

Of Kings and Shadows XXIII

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: It’s a little short for the time it took, sorry!

On Wattpad –> Here

Masterlist

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The mind is a tricky place.

Effortless to become lost in, easy to meddle with, hard to break, difficult to control, and nearly impossible to put back in its place.

The mind requires both precision and respect. Neither can be given as a gift, only learned. Usually, they are developed together along with the ability to penetrate the mind. Wanda was given the ability without the required time for respect. Perhaps deep inside she knew it, that that was why Loki was placed in charge of the mission of Y/n's mind. She was still sharpening her magic's blade to be a steel knife. Loki, on the other hand, was sharper than obsidian.

That's why in the heat of battle, the Avengers were put in charge of keeping the opposing agents at bay and away from Queen and Loki while also defending themselves from attacks. It is well within Loki's abilities to multitask with mind magic and dueling, but this was a special case. Loki hung closer to the back and threw up a shield for good measure. He put minimal attention to the battle around him with occasionally taking out an agent if needed.

The rest of his focus and energy was put into exploring the folds and shadows of what used to be Y/n's mind. The surface was worryingly dark to him, not at all what he imagined the original Y/n's mind to be.

He dug deeper and found it somewhat difficult, every mind is different and has a different 'texture' and consistency, but Y/n's functioned differently than anyone he had ever seen. It was like it was actively trying to keep him out, with half a moment of pushing through sludge, to falling forward suddenly with thin and lightning-fast decisions of battle. It was puzzling, usually only those with mental abilities are able to protect themselves or even sense someone was infiltrating the mind unless the infiltrator specifically makes contact. As far as they knew she didn't have any mental magic, but he pushed through to see what was bouncing around in there. He was able to get far enough to start seeing flashes of assignments and missions that were numbered many times more than they had ever thought.

Some were horrific and brutal. Some were stealth with her blending with the shadows like she was born there. It was fascinating... and almost nauseating. Eventually, he had to refocus himself on what his actual mission was: make contact, try to see how much of the old, the good Y/n is still in here, and find if there are any weaknesses they could use.

He repeated her name over and over to himself to keep him on-mission. As he did so the pattern around him changed as if she was only then made aware of his presence.

A voice spoke to him that sounded only vaguely familiar, 'Y/n is not here.'

Loki realized he must have mistakenly projected his thoughts into telepathy instead of privately. At first, he wondered if he remembered her voice incorrectly since it has been so long since he's heard it, but the dark and almost unnaturally smooth quality told him otherwise. He believed her--partly--he believed that he was not talking to Y/n. 'To whom am I speaking then?'

'I've gone by many names as I'm sure you've seen on some of those files. Around here they just call me Queen. Y/n seems to think that I've evolved and have always been here, she calls me Noxy. You may call me what you like.'

There was a spark of hope at her words, 'So Y/n is here.'

There was a pause, 'She won't be for long. I'm actually surprised that she's lasted this long. Existing anyway. Not surprised at the state she's in.'

That was all it took for Loki to dig deeper into her mind, leaving whatever abomination was controlling Y/n's body to try to find something, anything to stop the rampage and hopefully save the woman he would like to call his friend.

He went farther past the missions, the strategies, and manipulation 101. He was about to give up on trying to find Y/n and start scavenging to find weaknesses when he approached the far reaches of her mind. That's when he began to hear faint traces of music. He followed it to a small corner that didn't reflect the dark sludge around him. It was colorful and light, but he didn't fail to notice the fingers of dark shadows invading the area, causing it to fade and turn a bit grey.

The rhythm of decisions being made now made sense. The brain does not have the ability to truly multitask. Instead, it switches back and forth between tasks quicker than we can register. Her mind wasn't trying to keep him out, her mind was just switching between this Noxy character and Y/n.

The song seemed familiar, but the lyrics being sung hardly made sense.

He tried to reach out to her, calling her name, but nothing seemed to snap her to pay any attention to him. It was just that snippet of a song playing on a loop and scrambled flashes of pictures, memories, all of them incoherent.

Blinded by the light...

revekjsmed up like a dochewekf.

Ansldkjthor rumner in the night!

He would be lying if he said it didn't scare him. Not even his own thoughts were ever this disarranged, and he has been called mad far more than his fair share of times. It became abundantly clear that he wasn't going to get through to her and he began to lose the small spark of hope that he got before.

Loki did the mental equivalent of sitting down with a huff and tried to think of what to do next. This was becoming more difficult than he had hoped. As he sat there he really paid attention to the music since that was the only thing Y/n was giving him.

He must admit that it took longer than it should have for the song to click and that maybe Y/n was trying to tell him something through it. It nearly broke his heart that even when she didn't have all of her pieces put together that she was still trying to give them something to work with. Something to beat her with.

At least, that's what he hoped she was doing. He kinda wanted a deep moment.

Loki snapped back to the battle outside of his mind and smacked his head for all of them being so stupid, including himself, but he wasn't going to say that out loud.

"Stark!" Loki yelled through the comms, throwing himself back into the battle.

"What? What have ya got?" Tony continued to blast at black spears being launched at him and Hydra agents that kept coming and didn't seem to have an end.

Loki flung daggers with deadly accuracy while slicing down any agent that came into his path, "What is the opposite of darkness?"

"Really? You're gonna give me riddles? Light... Light is the opposite of dark."

"And if there is enough light?"

"No darkness at all."

Loki nodded to himself, "Do you think we can get enough light?"

There was a pause while Tony did some calculations, "I don't know, but we can damn well try."

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

I had that feeling when you're zoned out and someone calls your name but you don't notice until five minutes after the fact? I was so focused on the song... It was so important. When I snapped out of making sure the song kept playing, something was different.

I couldn't put my finger on it--figuratively or literally--what exactly was different, I mean, I'm the only one who could rearrange things in my little corner, so maybe I was just going crazy. More crazy anyway.

I spent a moment puzzling over the strange feeling before I felt her body succumb to waves of exhaustion out of nowhere. I hadn't felt that kind of exhaustion in a long time, but I knew what it was all too well. It reminded me of the lightroom.

I was scared, I hadn't been in the lightroom since Noxy took over, but maybe something changed.

I finally decided to see what was going on in the outside world and I wasn't sure if I was going to like what I saw. I didn't want to see the stark white walls and the electric shocks. I tentatively paid attention to what was going on and a bittersweet feeling overcame me.

Noxy had her hands out and tried to shoot her spears of darkness at the Avengers... and others I didn't recognize. The pitch-black material that made up her weapons became smaller and smaller, not flying as far as they normally would, and some even fizzled away at her fingertips. I could tell that we didn't have the energy to keep the fight going.

The reason why is that everywhere I could see there were lights shining on me. Lights from the building behind me, some sort of aircraft above me had a spotlight trained on me, and every Avenger that was able had some sort of light fixed on me. They weren't perfect. There were shadows that Noxy was pulling energy from, but they were small and the sheer force and brightness of the light coming from Thor's lighting, Tony's repulsors from both of the suits, even Cap had his shield reflecting light at me, it all made it so the shadows weren't enough.

Nevertheless, the light wasn't enough to drop us.

Since she could draw upon the shadows, Noxy pulled out a gun and a whip from her belt.

All at once, I could hear everyone I had ever met, including myself say, "Kinky."

I didn't remember ever seeing it before, let alone using it, training with it. For a moment I felt like Indiana Jones with the bullwhip at her side. I could see it wasn't perfectly smooth and that there were bits and pieces of shiny material woven into it. I instinctively knew that it would be extremely painful to be hit with.

Noxy cracked it easily and began to advance towards the heroes. She only took two steps before there was a sharp prick in the neck. Noxy pulled out what looked to be a horse tranquilizer. Her eyes snapped to the direction it came from to see Clint crouched in a tree, bow slung across his back. He emptied the barrel in one fluid motion and shot a loose salute in our direction, but despite the lightness of it, there wasn't a smile on his face.

I could feel her body begin to shake as it became difficult to stand steady. She raised her gun to shoot at Clint, but her hand was trembling too bad to take aim. Noxy dropped the whip to steady her gun, but her eyes drooped in exhaustion. My already limited range of sight began to shrink even more and then the world became dizzy, I became dizzy? I wasn't sure anymore. The one thing I did know was that as I was falling to the ground it felt like there was a whole new presence in my head. It was soft, hardly noticeable, but before I could figure out what was going on, we blacked out.

#lokilaufeyson #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki x reader #Avengers #avengersfanfiction #avengers x reader #clint barton #tony stark #Steve Rogers #wanda maximoff #Of Kings and Shadows #chapter 23

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franklyshipping · 5 years

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The Cutest Arrogance (Part 5) ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

Ooooohhhh I left it on a cliffhanger last time, but rest assured, everything will come together in the final part of this mini-series! The previous part can be found here aaand.....LET'S DO IT!

'......Wilford.'

Anti was wide eyed as he looked up at the grinning Wilford Warfstache, and Anti couldn't help but be embarrassed at how Wilford had caught him so off guard. He was definitely getting better at his poofing, which was one of the many things that the glitch admired about the vivacious Warfstache. Not only were his magical and reality altering abilities something to marvel at, but Anti found himself admiring specific things about Wilford like....the way he threw his head back when he belly laughed, or the way his eyes sparkled when he was listening to someone with excitement....or the way he tickled someone with such ruthlessness. As you can imagine, amidst Anti's inner thoughts, post his initial exclamation, he'd just simply been...staring at Wilford. Wilford himself chuckled as he looked down at Anti with a rather amused smirk, and he reached forward to boop the glitch's nose affectionately.

'Well fancy bumping into you glitchy-pie!'

Anti face scrunched up at the boopage, and he considered giving him a growled threat about such immature displays....but c'mon, who doesn't like to get booped? He ended up only giving Wilford a half-hearted glare, before thinking to himself....and then deciding to flex his biceps as he replied.

'These babies don't maintain themselves bubble-butt! Are ya hopin' to follow in my glorious example?'

Anti waggled his eyebrows, and giggled when he saw Wilford grin happily at the sound of the nickname. Anti knew that Wilford liked them, no matter how goofy they were, so Anti always went to town with them. Wilford was also grinning at the sight of Anti flexing his glorious arms; he pressed himself against one of the walls of the corridor, dramatically fanning himself as he crooned.

'Oh stop I beseech you, I fear my heart and loins cannot handle it!'

Anti, internally, was somewhat flustered by Wilford's words, which is a little strange given how it wasn't so uncommon for Wilford to make such flirtatious outburst. Anyhow, externally he snorted and played along by gasping in exaggerated, gentlemanly shock.

'Oh you poor thing, I know I am magnificent but I had no idea it would affect you like this! Allow me to escort you to your studio where you may take rest!'

Wilford grinned, knowing that Anti's statement actually meant ''I want to sleep on one of your comfy couches bitch''. Wilford, if not famed for his facial hair, was famed for his comfy squishy couches. Everyone loved his couches, including Anti, who would find any excuse possible to go and curl up on them. Of course, Wilford obliged, ending off their playful role-play with a giggle.

'Oh thank you sir!'

Anti snickered as they now ambled together, Wilford naturally slinging his arm over the glitch's shoulders; not that Anti was going to complain since he secretly was a big lover of that sort of wordless affection. Not fancy schmancy words, just good old initiation...which is a little ironic I find since he could never bring forth the confidence to give that much affection himself. Anyway, soon enough Wilford was clamouring out his thoughts.

'On the subject of things about you that make me absolutely weak at the knees....I saw our darling Yandere just now, looking like they'd exhibited quite a lot of exertion.....they tell me you've been enacting your vengefulness. I'm impressed.'

At Wilford's new words, Anti blinked in surprise before grinning and looking to the floor. Despite the teasiness in Wilford's tone, Anti could always tell when the man was being sincere, and right now he was. Anti felt something flutter in his abdomen at being complimented by Wilford, and he soon looked back up at the moustached man with gleaming eyes and appreciation in his voice.

'I swear you're just tryna destroy my hard-assness at this point Warfstache.'

That made Wilford laugh and wiggle his moustache with his soft mirth as they found themselves entering the studio, Wilford just thought that Anti was beyond adorable. They both flopped with equal lazy synchronicity onto the squishy lilac, two-man sofa. At which point, Wilford gave Anti a gentle squeeze on the shoulder amidst his reply, just to solidify the fact that he did really mean all the things he was saying.

'All good things deserve praise! Although, there's one thing about your revenging that I just can't quite get my head around.'

Anti's appreciative grin morphed into a curious one as he cocked his head at Wilford.

'Oh yeah?'

Anti's eyebrow was raised too, it was raised as an invitation for Wilford to pose whatever query he had bouncing around in his California Girl-esque brain. Of course, Wilford had no hesitation. He spoke slow as he leant into the back of the couch, his eyes searching Anti as he spoke.

'You've gotten revenge on Silver, Host, and Yandere all because they observed your....embarrassment. But, since I'm the perpetrator...why haven't you gotten revenge on me?'

Anti froze. Legitimately froze. Buffering videos and Elsa eat your heart out, this was what being frozen looked like. Anti's lips were slightly parted, and even his eyes didn't move, it was like he'd somehow short circuited. Which is an accurate metaphor due to how on the inside he was completely consumed by panic. There was a reason. A very good reason...and it was a damn embarrassing and humiliating reason. So, when Anti's exterior remembered it existed...Anti just deflected.

'Cuz it would be unfair, duhh! You were winning a bet fair and square, so any revenge wouldn't be justified.'

That made sense....yeah, yeah that made complete and total sense, there was absolutely no way that anyone of sane judgement and process of thought would find anything to nit-pick in that, right?

...

Enter Warfstache.

'Bullshit.'

Wilford was frank with his reply but teasing in his visage, lips curling into an amused smile as he analysed how Anti had transitioned from being frozen, to downright being a fizzling form of fidgets. Anti as blinking rapidly as colour came to his face, this was not good this was not good oh fuck he couldn't let this get out.

'Wha-?'

'That is bullshit.'

Wilford elaborated, he was not about to let Anti try and deflect again. Now he shuffled in closer to Anti on the couch, peering into his face when Anti tried to avert it out of pure meekness. Wilford was encapsulated. Since when did Antisepticeye get so meek, AND bad at lying? There was something to uncover here, and if there was one thing he had learned from being headhunted by a passionate, promiscuous detective, he learned how to coax things from individuals. With Anti....you had to rile him, and you had to rile him good. You had to make the words burst out in an uncontrolled frenzy, and so that's what Wilford was going to do.

'I know you're hiding something. You've never needed to justify yourself for anything in the past, so why start now with me, hmm? What's so different? You just scared because you know how bad I can get ya back glitchy?'

He made his smirk arrogant, he made his voice crooning and taunting, using every annoying tactic he knew like proximity and just simply pointing out the fact that he KNEW Anti was hiding something, and he couldn't get away from it. Needless to say, this affected Anti marvellously. The words just burst forth.

'Alright fine, you wanna know so bad?! I fucking like you, okay? And th-the thought of tickling you and seeing you all squirmy and blushy and squealy and happy because of me is flustering as fuck! I know I'd just have a breakdown right there and then and embarrass myself and confess in front of you, and it would be humiliating! So....yeah....there it is....'

Anti quickly went quiet, trying to hide how in his whole exclamation he hadn't even stopped to breathe. So he breathed now, but it was sporadic and reflected the uneasy anxiety that was building up inside of him. Anti expected rejection, I mean, what chance did he have with the strong, influential, charismatic Wilford Warfstache? The most charming, mentally unstable, beautiful, psychotic man that he world had to offer? So, you can imagine Anti's surprise, when Wilford descended into meekness himself.

'....you like me?'

Wilford's eyes were wide and full of hope as his mind raced. He'd gone so quiet because he had to make sure, he had to make sure that this was real because if this wasn't real and he said something wrong then he just wouldn't know what to do with himself. Wilford really liked Anti, and it was at this point that realisation hit Anti in the face like a goddamn truck. He had been such a fucking idiot, keeping his feelings to himself....because as he looked to Wilford's warm, happy face....joy outshone anxiety.

'Yeah....you're uh...well, you're really hot.'

WHY THE FUCK WAS THAT THE FIRST THING TO COME TO YOUR HEAD YOU SHALLOW TWAT?! Anti got angry with himself. Then he thankfully calmed down a little on the inside when he realised that Wilford had spluttered and giggled at his words, evidently liking them from how pink his face went. Then Anti felt his own giggles building up inside him when Wilford flipped his hair and purred.

'Oh stoooop....but keep going.'

Anti giggled hugely and gave him and shove, dammit he was a cheeky shit. He was his cheeky shit. Anti was about to oblige and rattle off a series of charming, and probably inappropriate, compliments and comments he had stored away, until Wilford's eyes suddenly widened.

'OH MY GOD!'

Wilford had let out a gasp of joy, and soon Anti's head was cocked in curiosity once again.

'What?'

Wilford grinned at Anti with the most smug and gleeful expression even known to mankind.

'I JUST REALISED! I'M SAFE FROM GLITCHY TICKLES FOREVER!'

Wilford burst into cackles, giving Anti an arrogant wink as he threw his head back with mirth. Anti's face reddened when he realised what Wilford meant, and his mind went back to his confession. Then....something hit Anti. He had been too flustered and nervous to tickle Wilford because of the fear that his feelings for him would be revealed....but....said feelings were all out in the open now. There was nothing to hide anymore. There was....nothing to fear anymore. Anti's feral gaze suddenly drifted up and down Wilford's form, which shook with mirth. Anti growled under his breath.

'Are ya quite sure about that?'

Wilford rolled his eyes as he looked back to his sweet glitch....and then his stomach did a somersault. Oh that was a look. That was a look of a predator that had just realised its own strength. Wilford meanwhile really did well at mirroring the look of some sweet prey that realised that it had made a mistake....and was utterly screwed. How silly of him to assume that there was something in this world that could repress Antisepticeye for any true length of time.

'Ah.....Anti d-dEAR!'

Wilford shrieked when Anti lunged forth and made quick work of straddling him, all the while he bared his teeth in wild excitement as ideas and techniques and tickle spots flew through his head. Oh the possibilities, oh the free time; Anti was certain that this feeling of exhilaration was as close to heaven as he was going to get. All Anti wanted to do was to feel and play with every ticklish nerve that Wilford's body had to offer.

'Yes bubble-baby?'

Anti's voice was over-sweet on purpose, which didn't help Wilford as he wriggled and tried to collect himself. Nor did it help that the moustached man was already smiling from feeling Anti's fingers softly roaming and ghosting up his torso.

'N-Now a-ah....s-since we have j-just r-revealed our feelings, m-m-maybe we should....m-m-maybe wehe shohould....'

Wilford was a mess of voice breaks and warbling stutters as his eyes flicked between Anti's devilish fingers and devilish eyes....everything about him was just beautifully devilish. Wilford was so flustered that he couldn't even finish his thoughts, which allowed Anti to interrupt with a soft chuckle. He eased Wilford's arms above his head as he purred with glee.

'Hmm? We should what? Get more....closely acquainted? I entirely agree...'

Wilford tittered at Anti's wording, feeling warmth pool in his tummy as Anti's teasing fingertips traced down to his biceps...and lingered. Can you blame Anti though? Wilford Warfstache was ripped and Anti was going to show his appreciation for that as much as he was able.

'God you're so muscly, how is this even fucking possible....'

He growled with a mixture of disbelief and admiration in his voice as Wilford trembled, just letting out streams of light giggles as he gazed up at Anti. The glitch's determined expression made him smile even wider, and kept him stammering away of course.

'I-Ihihi w-w-wohohork ohout a-aha lohot I g-guehehess....'

Anti smirked, deciding to curl his fingers into claws against Wilford's shirt clad skin; that got the poor man letting out the sweetest squeaks as Anti purred.

'Soooo dedicated and firm....'

Anti decided to keep just curling and uncurling his fingers against the tender areas that were Wilford's biceps, and despite them not being pinned, Wilford couldn't bring his arms down. He just couldn't. He knew if he did then they would just be pinned anyway, and he wanted to cling to any scrap of freedom and composure that he had left....but lets be honest, it was all just diminishing. Wilford was a flustered, giggly mess of a man being teased by the man he cared for and he already couldn't handle it.

'S-Stahahap yohohour t-t-teheasing thihis is sohoho meheeean!'

'Ohoho, you think this is mean?'

Anti cooed tauntingly, adoring how such simplicity already had Wilford crumbling. He was making MANY mental notes. Now though, he decided to take his sweet love off guard. He sneered and without warning dragged his ''claws'' down into his hollows, firmly down his ribs at a careful pace, down his sides, and then over his lower belly. They never stopped or hitched against Wilford's baby-soft skin, and the diabolical action made Wilford shriek and clamp his arms down in shock. He'd never been tickled with such a motion and right now he was the definition of shook.

'HOLYFUCK-AHAHANTIHIHI DOHOHO NAHAHAT!!'

Anti chuckled and stopped with a playful grin, but the halt was only to allow him to slip Wilford's hands under his knees so he could pin those pesky limbs.

'Oh quit your fussing ya lil baby, it's not like it's gonna stop me from what I've got planned.....'

Wilford gasped softly as he recovered from the first of Anti's onslaughts, and now he was shaking his head and gazing up at his sweet devil with pleads of his lips and whimpers in his throat.

'N-Nohohooo oho nohoho.....'

Poor Wilford, Anti was not to be swayed. Not that Wilford entirely disliked the experience of course....though he'd never proclaim such a thing aloud. Now, Anti set about slowly pushing up Wilford's shirt, and soon Anti's eyes were fixed upon Wilford's quivering, bare abdominals. Hot damn. Anti's blunt nails skittered over the tempting muscles as Anti licked his lips and spoke huskily.

'Now what do we have here? More working out?'

Wilford squeezed his eyes shut; seeing Anti look so hungry for him like that was giving him chills that he could NOT handle. He whined through nervous giggles.

'Leheheave m-m-my ahabs ahahalone!'

Wilford was a wriggler and a desperate squeaker, reacting to every drag of a nail or a finger, and Anti loved it. He wanted to see the pretty reactions up close too, so he leant down to Wilford, getting them nose to nose. It was the feeling of Anti's warm breath on his face that made Wilford open his watery brown eyes, and he shivered with happy bashfulness at the sight of Anti's piercing chasms of black. Oh how he loved the darkness.

'I'm just scoping out my new play area honey....this is all mine now after all.'

Wilford couldn't help but grin, since he knew the possessiveness was part of Anti's playfulness; Anti's smirky-grin was proof of that. Anti's words still affected him though, and he was just about to stammer out an attempt at defiance....but he ended up squealing it out when Anti's hard, curling claws returned.

'NOHOHO YOHOHOU CAHAN'T OHOWN ME IHI'M AHA STROHONG IHINDEPENDENT MAHAHAN!!'

Anti's fingers curled and uncurled firmly against Wilford's muscles, which in Anti's eyes produced the most deliciously stunning belly-laughter and deep mirth that he'd ever seen in his entire life. He sneered at his Wilford's defiant words, and maintained the clawing as he replied.

'Says the man letting me feel and tickle torture him as much as I desire....admit it....you want my subjugation.'

Anti crooned evilly, and Wilford somehow became more frazzled inside his mind that even HE thought was possible. Wilford was thrashing and letting out the littlest hiccups as he felt Anti's deft fingers playing with the curves of his flesh like a hyper child with modelling clay. Wilford knew he had to gauge mercy somehow...in some way.

'NAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAHA IHIHI'LL GEHET YOHOU FOHOHOR THIHIS!!'

.....threats are always a good start, right? Well, that is if you want to get you ab muscles squeezed by the cruel digits of Antisepticeye as he snarled down at you with ruthlessness and sadism. Wilford figured that he'd have to elaborate on his threat, if he even managed to get his words out.

'Oh? And what exactly do you think you can threaten me with, hm?'

Wilford wailed and cried out in earnest through the malicious tickling, tossing his head from side to side in his insane mirth....before blushing and just deciding fuck it, it's worth a shot.

'AHAHAHAH IHIHI'LL WIHIHITHHOHOLD KIHIHIHISSES!!!'

Anti's cheeks.....burned. And mercy came for Wilford Warfstache. He gasped and shuddered, smiling slightly in triumph as he let out a few soft coughs, getting his breath back amidst the embarrassed silence that Anti had caused. Oh was he embarrassed....because Anti knew that if he couldn't kiss Wilford Warfstache, it would damage his goddamn quality of life. He gazed down at his recovering Wilford, whispering softly.

'You wouldn't....you-.....you don't have the restraint....'

Anti tried to sound confident but ah....yeah it didn't work. Anti was so embarrassed that Wilford thought that this would be a good way to punish him....and he was absolutely right. At Anti's words, Wilford smirked and giggled rather giddily.

'Oho don't Ihi?'

Anti gulped and jumped when Wilford suddenly yanked his arms free from Anti's pinning, and the glitch squeaked with flustered speechlessness when he was pulled down nose to nose with Wilford by his t-shirt. As Anti squirmed with fresh colour in his cheeks, Wilford's voice descended into a gentle purr.

'Let me ah, put it this way. If you agree to have mercy on me, for today, then I shall never ever ever withhold kisses or any kind of affection....because....'

Wilford paused, contemplating...then he met Anti's eyes.

'....you're right.'

Anti felt like he was being hypnotised, thus meaning he felt he could only reply in the softest of voices.

'I-I'm right?'

Wilford nodded, then tentatively reached up to cup Anti's face, stroking one of his cheeks as he spoke the most beautiful words that Anti had heard in a pretty long time.

'I need you to agree because....to not be able to give you affection would be as much a punishment for me as it would be for you.'

Today was a day of confessions it seems. Anti was smiling by this point, feeling completely enamoured by Wilford's gentle touch as he eagerly nuzzled into the man's hand like a small cat would. Anti somewhat mewled like one too.

'Mmm....f-fine....I-I'll have mercy today....'

Wilford smiled back at him....and then waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Nothing more was said. Nothing more needed to be said. After Anti let out a few noises of bashfulness, they'd leant in to one another. The kisses were pecks, and slow ones at that. Soft kiss after soft kiss happened between them, and with every touch of their lips there was an agreement, a promise being made. They agreed that withholding such perfect affection....would be absolutely impossible.

HOOOOPE YA GUYS LIKED THIS LEMME KNOW IF YA DOOOO WOOOOOP I LOOOVE YOUS! XX

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youknowmymethods · 5 years

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Content Creator Interview #6

Hello again and welcome to our sixth interview. This time, it’s the turn of @ashockinglackofsatin to put @sunken-standard ‘s writing under the microscope. Together they chat about the early days of the Sherlock fandom, how music can influence writing, and why the I Love You scene helped end sunken’s own great hiatus.

For those who don’t know me: I am @ashockinglackofsatin on tumbr, satin_doll on AO3. My test subject...erm, sorry - interviewee - is the notorious sunken_standard, probably most famous for her two epic, novel-length stories Longer Than The Road That Stretches Out Ahead and Fumbling Toward Ecstasy, which can be found on AO3 (along with her other wonderful stories) and should be required reading for anyone aspiring to write fanfiction.

You should know, first off, that I’m crap at doing interviews, which I discovered years ago when I had to interview musicians and various personalities as a job. I didn’t last long at that job.

So here is Kat’s Idiotic Interview with @sunken-standard.

satin_doll: You’re very good at writing Sherlock’s emotional cluelessness without making him seem like an idiot or an ass. Can you talk a little about the way you see Sherlock’s character that allows you to do this?

sunken_standard: Thank you :D So the answer to this is going to carry through to some of the other questions, but basically, I write Sherlock as a version of myself. I feel a kinship with the character, a highly intelligent person surrounded by idiots and so, so frustrated by it, but even more frustrated by his own brain and the inability to control it. Probably autistic, just like I'm probably autistic (and I don't want to get into it but I'm not trying to co-opt an identity here or anything; I've tried to get a diagnosis and found out that's just not possible with my current healthcare options).

Anyway, one of my probably-autistic things is being hyper-aware of other people's emotions, but also having trouble identifying them and the appropriate responses. At times I do lack empathy, like I honestly can't understand why someone is feeling what they're feeling because I wouldn't feel that way in the same situation and it doesn't make sense. Sometimes I can empathize so much that it's overwhelming and I just kind of short-circuit, especially when it comes to grief or loss, and I end up being insensitive or just not saying or doing what a normal person would.

So basically, I approach his responses to other people's emotions the way I would my own, only stripped of female socialization and self-awareness.

satin_doll: How much do you draw on your own life and experiences in your fics?

sunken_standard: For scenarios and specific scenes, not a lot. For emotional and sensory experiences, more. I haven't done very much or lived to my full potential, so it's not a very deep well on either account. Every now and then anecdotes or details creep in (like Mars Cheese Castle and the “call me Daddy” during sex thing [which, for the record, was skeevy as fuck irl]), but most of it just comes from nowhere or stuff I saw on TV.

satin_doll: Both “Longer than the Road…” and “Fumbling Toward Ecstasy” are novel length stories. “Road”, however, is written without breaks/chapters. Did you ever consider breaking it up into parts or chapters? How hard was it to keep it all in one piece and how long did it take you to finish it?

sunken_standard: When I write, I usually just start and then go 'til it's done or I burn out. I got through three or four chapters' worth of FTE (and was on the verge of giving up until maybe_amanda convinced me not to). Since the story wasn't nearly finished and I wanted to start putting it out into the world (mostly because I have no patience, but also because I knew there was a window to stay relevant and a large number of people were looking for a longer, meatier [cough] post-TFP fic), I decided to start posting what I had and just write as I went because I was, in hindsight, probably hypomanic and I was keeping a good pace at that point.

I dunno, I think there was a lot more of that long-format thing happening in fic back then, where you'd have a 40k piece that only had breaks because of the word limit per post on LJ.

As far as how long it took, I don't remember. I know I started it February of that year and had probably a good 75% of it finished (all written at a tear, over the course of probably ten days or so, because when I was still smoking actual cigarettes I could and did do 3-5k words/ day), but then I dropped it and went on to try other ideas. I went back to it when those other stories fizzled, and I finished it in maybe another 2-3 weeks with editing and beta reading. I had some real problems with the ending and it was never good enough for me, but I just got to a point where I was sick of it and it was good enough.

So basically, it's harder for me to work in chapters than it is one long piece. There's more discipline to a chaptered work; each chapter is its own story, in a way, and each one needs to end on a certain kind of beat. I still don't feel like I have a knack for it, and I think if I did anything long like that again I'd have to write most of it without breaks and then shoehorn them in where I could later on.

satin_doll: You took a long hiatus from Sherlock fic after S2, and came back for S4. What was it about S4 that sparked your writing again?

sunken_standard: I don't really know. I mean, the ILY was a big thing, but I think S4 gave me more to work with for the kind of things I write (all the angst and inner monologue) than S3 or TAB. I had mixed feelings about S3. I didn't like Mary much for a long time because she was one of Moffat's women (and anyone who's seen my tumblr knows how I feel about that), but I finally unclenched after a while because I like Amanda Abbington a lot and Mary was preferable to Sarah Sawyer (who I'm more ambiguous about now, but really didn't like for a long time because there was something about her that I read as smarmy, though now I see her reactions as more subtly uncomfortable and kind of like “what's going on/ this is weird/ John's a nice guy but is everything around him always this weird?”). Anyway.

I did try writing a bit after S3, but I never finished any of it; I didn't really feel like there was a place in the fandom or much of a community at that time, either—at least, not like what I had been used to from the early days. The tribe that existed wasn't my tribe (any of them). I think I need a certain degree of shared enthusiasm to motivate me to keep writing. Like, I have a lot of ideas for fic in other fandoms, but they're dead or never existed in the first place. And I know I'll have some audience for the small fandoms and people will read and kudos and everything, but there's no one around to geek out with or bounce ideas off of, so it just isn't as appealing. If I'm going to be miserable and alone while writing something, it's going to be something I can at least make money off of, y'know?

satin_doll: Do you edit as you go or finish the story first and go back over it to edit?

sunken_standard: Edit as I go. When I get stuck, I break that cardinal rule of writing and go back over what I've written and nit-pick it to death. It's a bad habit, but at the same time, small changes have led to big developments in the course of the story later on. I mean, I think sometimes this is why I have so many unfinished things, but I've tried just writing through and that doesn't work for me either. Once I get to the end of something, I've already made most of big cuts and done a lot of the reworking, so the beta polishing isn't as labor-intensive. I'm one of those people that when I feel like something's finished, I don't want to have to go back to it again. And if I didn't edit as I went, it would kind of feel like redoing the whole story and that's extremely unappealing to me. It's kind of like baking—it's always better if you clean as you go, rather than waiting until the cake's out of the oven to do the dishes and put stuff away (which I do when I'm low on spoons, but it ends up seeming like double the work).

satin_doll: Do you proof it yourself or rely on someone else to proofread it for you? I’m talking technical details here, proofing as opposed to simple beta reading.

sunken_standard: Mostly proof myself, since I edit as I go (and proofing is inevitably part of that when the mistakes just jump out). My beta catches everything else (and she's amazing; I misuse words and just legit don't know spelling differences for a lot of things [stationary vs stationery] and I'm not great with grammar and prepositions because I'm an ignorant fucker with no education).

satin_doll: When did you first start writing? When did you first discover that you COULD write?

sunken_standard: I remember writing stories as a kid, but I burned them all when I was a teenager so I don't even know what most were about or anything. I do remember that I wrote one when I was in like 4th or 5th grade that was ST:TNG self-insert fanfic and I think the plot was me working with Data to bring Lal back. I know it was Data, because I had a huge crush on him as a kid. I really thought I could grow up to write ST:TNG novels at that point.

And as for CAN write—jury's still out on that one. Ask my 12th grade English teacher, who laughed in my face when I told him I was thinking of pursuing English so I could be a writer. But before that, I had some other teachers that used to give me A+s on my creative writing assignments (despite all the spelling and grammatical errors). In 11th grade, I had a really great teacher, Mr. Lansing, who turned me on to the good parts of American lit and really encouraged me to read (and write) what I liked, not just what other people told me I had to. He encouraged me when I applied for the Governer's school, too. (The Governer's School is this program in PA for kids who excel; it's like a summer camp for the elite nerds. They have a bunch of them, each for different areas—math, science, medicine, I think one that's like history/ government/ civics, and then one for the arts. For creative writing, they take a total of 20 kids—10 for poetry and 10 for prose. I tried for the poetry category and made the first round of cuts and went for a regional interview (with about 50 other kids, so like maybe 150 kids state-wide); long story short I didn't make it. I was the first alternate, meaning if somebody couldn't attend, I would get their spot. #11 out of 10. I was so crushed, because it basically reinforced what I'd been told by other people—I was a big fish in pond too small to even piss in and there were always going to be people better than me. I was already mostly checked-out when it came to academia and aspirations; after that there was just really no point to keep going.)

Anyway though, I did write bits and pieces here and there even after school, thinking one day I'd get my shit together and write my own Confederacy of Dunces and then off myself (it's still a viable plan). Then, in 2008 I was recently unemployed and everything in life was shitty, so I wrote a big happy-ending fic for The Doctor and Rose. It was kind of the right bit of media at the right time that inspired me. More about that later though.

satin_doll: What/who do you think has had the biggest influence on the development of your style?

sunken_standard: I've been asked this before, and I always feel like I'm a little pretentious and I trot out the same names (both fanfic authors and book authors), but I had a realization a while ago that I'm always missing one person—Vonnegut. I think he's got this kind of no-bullshit way of saying things that still manages to be poetic and delicate and that's what I most aspire to.

I think a lot of my style is influenced by film, too. Some influences are probably Todd Solondz, Richard Linklater, Kevin Smith, and John Waters, as far as the way I approach the reality within the story. I think I tend to focus on a lot of the same things—the weird, the mundane, the mildly uncomfortable—but I don't go nearly as far in any direction. I think even the way I string scenes together and the shifting of focus within my scenes between action, dialogue, and inner monologue are influenced by cinematography. I always say I'm just transcribing the movie in my head, so I mean, there's bound to be some kind of influence.

satin_doll: You’re noted for the banter between your characters, humorous and otherwise. Do you have rules/profiles for characters that establish their voices for you? Are there things, for example, that you think Sherlock or Molly simply would never say/do or would always say/do? How structured are these characters in your head when you start writing?

sunken_standard: It varies slightly from story to story/ universe to universe, but I think I have patterns for the banter (and I have a different set for Sherlock and John, and Sherlock and Mycroft, but there are common threads throughout). As for comedy, it's not quite straight man/ funny man, but I tend to default to Sherlock being more literal and deadpan and Molly being more expressive and emotive. I use the scraps of the dynamic the show's given us and just build on that. It's kind of formulaic, actually: Sherlock does a not-good thing (degree of severity varies), Molly reacts with a blend of annoyance and amusement while going along for the ride.

I have a kind of mental file for things I think would be out of character for each of them, but sometimes I like to try to find a way to get to one of those things and slip it into a fic organically. One of the reason I liked doing the one-line prompt fics so much was that so many of them could easily have been intros to the kind of fluff that makes me gag; I'm no fool, though, and I love me some low-hanging fruit, so I just adjust it to my tastes. I'm a never-say-never kinda gal. Mostly.

That being said, there are a lot of things that I think would take a lot of doing to make them be in-character. I don't think they'd ever use pet names for each other unless it was through gritted teeth or with at least a bit of irony (like how I used “yes, dear,” in FTE, and I think in some of the universes in Ficlet Cemetery). I can't see Sherlock ever doing housework unless it was for a case (though dishes and sanitizing surfaces are an exception, because both those chores are tangent to the kind of cleaning up after oneself one does in a lab setting, and imo that fits with his logic). I can't see him being very affectionate in public, except under rare circumstances when he might do an arm around the shoulders or a guiding palm to the small of the back.

And as for structure, I think they all start with the same scaffolding, but in every new universe they get draped slightly differently according to variations in backstory or tone or genre or whatever. Or like, they're already sculpted, but the lighting changes. I think that as I write, they take on different nuances and acquire more depth, though. Like it wasn't really until a few chapters in to FTE that I got a fuller picture of the Molly I was writing, even though I had the rough idea of her backstory from pretty much the beginning. Same with Longer Than the Road, too. As I come up with details of someone's past, I experience those scenarios and it makes me rethink and fine-tune everything about them in what I've already written, and adds more texture as I keep going.

satin_doll: You’ve listed a playlist for “Longer than the Road…” Do you write to music? How much does music inspire your writing? Does every story have a playlist?

sunken_standard: It's funny, but I don't listen to music nearly as much as I did even 5 years ago. Not sure why, honestly, maybe something to do with my mental health and overstimulation? So I don't write to music much anymore. Not every story has a playlist or songs attached (I don't think any of the FC stuff does, at least not in any significant way), but it seems like my best work is inspired by music in some way.

FTE didn't really have a soundtrack, but I listened to a lot of the music I had in common with the version of Molly that I was writing—very 90s alternative and pop rock. Lots of Pulp (which I picked as Molly's favorite band because I think they're Loo's favorite, or one of her favorites). For the proposal, I had “Dreams” by The Cranberries on a loop as I wrote. There's just something musically about that song that's full of anticipation and the wavy kind of guitar (I don't know the music terms and it's been so many years since I was into anything instrument-related that I'm not even sure how the sound is made, like a whammy bar or wiggling their fingers on the frets or whatever but anyway) just has this kind of wavering emotion that makes it feel like it's on the cusp of something. And also it's the big romance song from every coming-of-age thing ever, and so just hearing it is like an auditory shorthand for breathless, adventurous romance, at least for women of a certain age (namely, my age, and I'm only a year younger than Loo/ Molly). There was another scene—I can't remember what it was without rereading the fic—that I spent like three days listening to nothing but “The Way” by Fastball. It might have been the thing with the drink testing and then the sex on the sofa and the cake baking. (As an aside, I just started listening to the song and immediately got hit with a sense memory of night-wet spring air blowing in my window, because that's what the weather was when I was writing to this and it gives me a weird yearning pull in the back of my throat, like nostalgia almost but something else in it. Like, did you ever hear a pop song that taps into some deeper part of the human experience, both musically and lyrically, and you just feel like there's some universal truth in it that's too much to totally grasp? That's how I feel about both of those songs. Anyway.)

Another story that had a few songs attached was Stainless, Captive Bead. Radiohead's “Creep” was what they were listening to in the tattoo parlor, and a lot of the sex bits were written while listening to Nine Inch Nails' “Closer” (look, if it's set in the 90s and there's fucking in it, I'm going to find a way to relate it to “Closer,” because that song is just dark sex and angst set to synthesizers and a high hat).

Also, sometimes when I write I listen to ambient noise stuff, cityscapes or rain or whatever fits the tone of the piece and my mood. I can't listen to anything for too long, though, because I get listener fatigue and I burn out faster.

satin_doll: Have you ever considered self-publishing your stories as a book or series of books?

sunken_standard: I've tried to file off the serial numbers on the Girlfriend series, but it was harder than I thought it would be so I back-burnered it. I still like to think that one day I will, it's a life goal, but if I put too much pressure on myself I only make it worse and nothing gets done.

satin_doll: You seem to have a detailed backstory for every character in your stories, from Janine to Molly’s mother. Do you work these out beforehand or do they just happen in your head as you write?

sunken_standard: Both? I kind of touched on it earlier, but I usually have an idea of the backstory, the bones at least, and then as I write it gets richer. I have multiple headcanons for every character, so I just start off with one of those. Like I have five different families for Molly, all things I was coming up with when I was writing other stories. Hell, I've got like five different Uncle Rudys (most of them highly unpleasant and most likely triggering).

I have a habit of just sitting and thinking about a character, like “what would make them this way?” armchair psychoanalysis stuff. And if I can establish a plausible-sounding backstory, I have a better foundation for introducing non-canonical traits or details. I think that's the downfall of a lot of fic authors—they just write a canon character as they would an OC and expect us to play along without demonstrating any internal logic. Maybe I'm just picky; there's certainly an element of that, too.

satin_doll: How detailed is the story in your mind before you start writing it? Do you work from plans and outlines with every story?

sunken_standard: It all depends on the story. Sometimes I have a whole series of detailed scenes just waiting in my head to be written out. Sometimes I only have one thing and I just keep going. I say I use an outline, but it's not a proper outline. More like a collection of notes and bullet points of what I want to happen and what kind of beats I want to hit. I usually keep it at the bottom of my working document so I don't have to switch to another doc to look at it if I need to.

satin_doll: Where does a story begin with you? What constitutes the “urge” to write? You once mentioned (in a comment reply I think) that you know the ending of the story first and then write the rest of the story to get there. What do you do when a story goes off track? How do you get it back to the way you planned it, or do you even try to do that?

sunken_standard: (I don't know why my document formatting went tits-up here, so I'll answer 1 & 2 both here)

So stories are a visceral kind of thing. I always have ideas. Seriously, give me a theme or a title or something and I can spit out a summary and details in as long as it takes to type it out. But actually crafting prose (can I sound more pompous?) is best likened to the urge to poop. Classy, right? I said it was visceral. Really though, it's that same kind of state of heightened awareness/ arousal (in the strictest medical sense of the word, not sexual arousal), something is happening and if it doesn't things are going to get weird and I'm going to be very uncomfortable for a very long time. Also, like pooping, if it's not ready, no amount of grunting or straining is going to make it happen, and it might even make it worse in the long run. As you can tell, I've been very, very constipated for the last year.

Anyway.

Stories going off track... a lot of the time I just let it happen because it's taking me to a better place than where I thought it was going to end up.

satin_doll: Quote from you: “I spend way too much time thinking about who Molly is as a person. Writing porn and comedy both have their appeal, but I really like sitting down and thinking about what makes any given character tick and how they might feel about what's happening around them. 30s and single has so much baggage to it, even if all the women's magazine articles and whatever-wave-we're-up-to-now feminist thought pieces say it's a myth or a stereotype or whatever. It's a truth we don't want to be true because it's not fair. I mean, it's not the thing that solely defines any woman, but it's there, just like cellulite and brand new and worrying moles and our favorite brand of whatever suddenly being discontinued (or significantly changed) because some marketing person decided it was too 'old.' But anyway, such is life. And I like putting that in fic.”

Do you write character studies to use as a reference for your stories, or just wing it for each individual piece?

sunken_standard: The character study is dead, isn't it? Like, as standalone fic. Never see them anymore, which is a real pity. I used to write them (or, well, start them, heh) before I took a break from writing/ fandom, mostly to try to get some of my headcanons down in some kind of usable way. But I haven't really written a character study (in prose, at least) since 2012 or so.

So when I write, I keep two documents open—the working copy that's a first-through-final draft and a “notes/ cut bits/ things to work in somehow” document. In the notes document I usually keep any character details (backstory or how I want them to react to something later, whatever). There are themes I go back to over and over, like a cluster of traits I reuse in some fashion because I think they fit the character (Mycroft and disordered eating, Molly as a middle child in some fashion, John as the child of alcoholics, etc.), so a lot of that just lives in my head. Any bits of characterization specific to a story go in the notes doc for that story, while any generic thoughts or something that I think I might want to use later gets stuck in another document full of random ideas, snippets of dialogue, jokes, AUs I'll never write, that kind of thing. I've got a few of those docs from different writing periods. They're mostly just a way to externalize a thought so I don't lose it; I hardly ever go back to them for anything.

satin_doll: What was your first involvement with fanfiction? Where did it all start?

sunken_standard: I started to answer this in another question; basically, fanfic's been in my wheelhouse in one way or another since I was a kid (Star Trek novels are fanfic, period). I discovered fanfiction back in the days of eXcite searches and webrings while looking for translations of Inu Yasha manga scans; I stumbled upon an English-language fancomic/ doujinshi called Hero in the 21st Century and it was so well-written, funny and poignant and well-researched I was just drawn in. I still think about it and the author's other works to this day. I did pick at the idea of writing myself, sometimes even put down scenes or outlines and did hours of research, but never did the thing.

And then, in 2008, the stars aligned and I started a thing. Journey's End spawned a ton of Doctor Who fic, and that was good, because I could just kind of slip mine in there and I probably wouldn't get a lot of criticism or attention. So I wrote like two chapters without any idea of how it was going to end, and I submitted it to Teaspoon and an Open Mind (which was the Doctor Who fic archive at the time; it was curated/ moderated and where you went when you wanted to read something you knew would be good, or at least conform to certain standards, unlike The Pit [which is still garbage today]). And I got rejected. My grammar and spelling were awful (I didn't even have spell-check in whatever program I was using) and they said the whole thing had good bones, but I really needed to work on the English before they'd look at it again. Getcherself a beta, they suggested, and I think they had a forum where writers and betas could connect. So I got myself a beta and she stuck with me for like 30 chapters, answering questions and keeping my characterization on-track and basically re-teaching me the rules of written English. I tried to email her a few years ago to thank her again, but her email bounced back. Her name was Julia and if she sees this, thank you Julia. You're a wonderful person.

Anyway, I wrote lots in that fic universe for like 2 months, then got another job and tapered off. I abandoned it completely after a year. Life got in the way of a lot of things, and the next time I was really inspired to write anything was a couple years later, for Supernatural. I only put it on my LJ, never posted to a community or anything, and no one read it. Literally, I don't think the post got any hits at all and for sure no one commented. I sometimes think about putting it on AO3 just because. And then Sherlock happened and here we are.

satin_doll: Do you think writing fanfic has hurt or hindered your original work? Why or why not? (that looks like a high school test question - sorry!)

sunken_standard: Lol @ test question :D

I'm not really sure, tbh. On one hand, I only have so much creative energy—it's definitely a finite resource, and a scarce one—and devoting it to fanfic diverts it from any original work. On the other hand, all writing is practice. The only way to improve is to keep doing, no matter what it is. So in that sense, fanfic's certainly helped me to find a comfortable voice and a prose style that works for me. There are still problems to solve, figuring out the best approach to a scene or story from a technical standpoint (stuff like tense and perspective and all that), so I'm always learning something as I go. Mixed bag, really.

satin_doll: What was it about the Sherlock/Molly dynamic that got you started on a piece like “Longer Than the Road…” What did you see there that made you want to explore it in such detail?

sunken_standard: So I always talk about how Sustain was my come-to-Jesus moment with Sherlock and Molly. Here's something I've never told anybody, not even maybe_amanda (because I was kind of ashamed, but not for the reasons people might think): before ever reading Sustain, I started a story that was Sherlock/ John and Sherlock/ Molly. I had it roughly outlined and a few pages written, but I just kind of lost the feeling of it and it was starting to get problematic for character motivations, yada yada, so into the scrap heap it went. It had a passing similarity to Sustain because of a platonic-sex-for-pregnancy element (hence why I never talked about it), but the major difference was that it was going to end up as a kind of polyamorous arrangement, Sherlock loving both of them and having a kind of co-parenting triad. In mine, John wanted a baby, and Molly wanted her own baby, and Sherlock thought “best of both worlds!” and why do IVF when you can write awkward angst-fucking instead. But yeah, I never finished it.

Anyway, I always saw something there, but I couldn't make it work in a way that was consistent with my own characterization of Sherlock until after Series 2. Even in Series 1, he looks at her with a kind of fondness and a sort of bewilderment that just lends itself to nerds in love. At the time (and even now, tbh), I kind of attributed that to BC having a crush on Loo (and oh man do I have theories, which are gossipy and gross and not the kind of thing I usually even bother having opinions about, but have you listened to the S1 commentary and some of the interviews around that time? there's something more there) and that kind of just spilling over onscreen and it working for the editor because it makes BC look sexy.

I mean look, I make no secret of the fact I started off shipping Sherlock with John almost exclusively (though I'd read just about anything), and after S1 aired it was just a different time. I get really annoyed when people talk shit about the pairing and the people who still ship them, because most of them weren't even in the fandom at the time and didn't have the same experience as the OGs. When Series 1 aired, hardly anyone knew who BC was, and Martin was just the guy from The Office and some other shows that were kind of unremarkable; most of the fandom was composed of old-school ACD Sherlockians and a few stragglers (like me) that got there from Doctor Who or were just general mystery/ thriller fans that got sucked in. We had a different perception of it because we weren't led into it by Star Trek or Hobbits or MCU; the characters didn't have that baggage attached for us. A lot of us already had a perception of Holmes and Watson as some shade of gay, so it was no great leap to see the very obvious romance (and yes, they all called it that in interviews at the time) onscreen as a romantic one. Martin, when asked, said basically that he'd play the next series (S2) however they wrote it, and if romance was there he'd go down that road. Whatever, I don't need to defend it because people think what they think anyway.

Anyway, getting back to the actual question instead of a million tangents and rants, I think I saw a lot of the things that have since become like backbone tropes of the pairing (even in canon, with the whole “alone, practical about death” thing). Their interactions in S2 were great; everything hinted at more than what was on-screen. And I really liked the idea of exploring the dynamic that was pretty much already there, as far as Molly having both a crush and self-respect and Sherlock suddenly having to rely on this person (that he picked because she was reliable to begin with) who's a friend, but also kind of a stranger in the way that a lot of the people we consider friends are (at least, friends made in adulthood; work-friends, church-friends, club-friends, gym-friends). Past that, I really saw the potential for character growth stemming from their interactions, but not like her humanizing him or whatever; both of them gaining insight about themselves, with the other person (and their relationship) as a vehicle for those realizations. I think I could have done better on that front, but hindsight blah blah.

satin_doll: How familiar were you with the Sherlock Holmes character before the BBC series aired, and what made you want to write about him?

sunken_standard: So I wasn't very familiar at all. Just what was in the general cultural lexicon, maybe a few episodes of the Granada series on PBS as a kid, a few of the stories that I just couldn't get into when I tried to read them because I hate Victorian prose (hate it, everything about it, I won't read anything written before 1920 or so because I just hate it [Wilde being the singular exception, but I even get bogged down by him]). Oh, and the RDJ movie, which wasn't really Sherlock Holmes to me, but just like a Victorian-era action movie. After S1, I just devoured canon (though, full disclosure, I still haven't read all of it, probably only about 80%), then moved on to other adaptations and canon-era fic and pastiches, read a bunch of extra-canon material on the internet. So as far as that goes, I'm very much a poseur and newbie in the greater Sherlock Holmes fandom. At least I did my research?

Anyway, it really took the modern adaptation and BC's performance to make the character resonate with me. The aspects he chose to play up—the frustration and impatience and frantic mental energy—just hit a nerve. He really channeled the “gifted” experience (which I suspect was just a lot of BC himself bleeding through). Finally I could use a fictional character to bemoan how stupid everyone around me was and sound like a complete asshole and be completely in-character! The heavens smiled upon me.

Really though, I was initially attracted to how cerebral it was and how smart the fandom was overall. It was the early fandom (and I mean early, like days after episode 1 aired) that drew me in, at least to a participatory (vs. consumptive) level. Lots of very clever, very educated, very queer people having these deep, insightful discussions about everything (sometimes only tangentially related to the show). When I did start writing, I didn't have to dumb anything down; the challenge was to sound smarter than I actually am. And, I mean, I got to dredge up a lot of my own emotional baggage from being a perpetual outsider, which is always cathartic (and probably not very healthy, long-term, because it's not resolving anything, just exploiting myself, but that's a can of worms).

satin_doll: Are you more drawn to Sherlock or Molly as a character, or both equally? Why?

sunken_standard: Sherlock, I think, for the reasons described in the last question.

I don't generally identify with female characters in fiction, since my own identification as female is tenuous (and in general they're poorly written and poorly realized, but that's another story). I mean, I can draw from my own experiences as a (mostly) female-shaped person with female socialization, but I have a hard time intuiting feminine and it's harder for me to write a “normal” woman.

Paraphrasing something I read in an interview with another fic author I admire, writing a woman is always a self-portrait, and how much of yourself do you really want to reveal? Since I don't know how to woman correctly, I'm always afraid I'm going to slip up and hit the wrong beat for what a normal woman is and end up ruining the characterization. I do manage to channel a lot of my own frustrations with men, relationships, being a single and childless woman over 30, and the patriarchy into Molly's character, though.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I really love Molly (and always have—I was one of the first to use her as a main character and not just a punching bag or a punchline). I love her sense of humor and her job and her fashion sense, all of it. She's not one-dimensional. It's just easier for me to write Sherlock than it is to make decisions about who Molly is.

satin_doll: You are “internet famous” for Longer Than the Road (rightfully so!) What about that story do you think is so affecting for fans? How has “Road” influenced subsequent work you’ve done in the Sherlolly ship?

sunken_standard: You know, I'm really not sure why it seems to resonate with people. Maybe the homesickness or the exhaustion that comes with impermanence (and I mean, we all feel that on an existential level, everything's always changing and it's faster every year, just existing is like trying to walk in an earthquake). Or the healing/ recovery aspect of it (I tried to balance both sides, the affected and the caregiver). Or maybe I just wrote it at the right time (when there wasn't much else out there) and people kept coming back to it because it was familiar.

As for how it's influenced subsequent work... I'm sure it has, but I don't know how, exactly. I still think it's the best thing I've ever written and the closest to something literary I'll ever get, so in a way it's an albatross (no one ever wants to be reminded that they already peaked). I get frustrated when my newer work doesn't live up to the standard I set for myself with it. That frustration doesn't make me a better writer, it just makes me tired, so everything I do now is paler.

One thing it did do was cement my characterizations of Sherlock and Molly and the dynamic between them. I tend to write them a certain way and don't deviate from that, and that all has roots in the push-pull, love-hate thing I established in Longer Than the Road. I can't write Molly without a degree of contempt for Sherlock and I can't write Sherlock without a degree of shame and contrition in his feelings toward Molly.

satin_doll: How does feedback affect what you write? How important is it? Is it more important that a reader “get” the point of the work or just that they like it? What kind of reader do you write for?

sunken_standard: I try not to let feedback affect my writing. I mean, I only get positive feedback, really, so it's a high. I'm not trying to brag or anything; I count myself lucky that I don't get the shit others do (though I honestly think anybody that posts on The Pit is opening themselves up to it because it's a garbage dump, but I've never liked the site, so). I try not to let it go to my head or anything though.

I also try not to let it influence the direction my writing takes; I might do a comment fic or write a silly HC or something, but I like to keep my substantial pieces pure, so to speak. Though sometimes a comment sparks something and a whole other fic grows out of it, so I fail there, I guess. Sometimes it's a lot of pressure when people say they want to see more of something, or want me to write a kind of specific scenario, so I usually just don't, and then I feel bad about not giving nice people what they want and it starts this whole weird spiral of guilt and obligation and then swinging the other way and getting (internally) belligerent over not owing anybody anything. I uh, have a complicated relationship with my work being acknowledged in any capacity.

As for people “getting” it... I don't know if they really do or not. Sometimes I get comments and I can tell they're definitely on my wavelength and they picked up on an allusion or a detail or just saw or felt everything in the scene like I did when I was laying it out. Once in a while I get a comment that has a different interpretation than what I was trying to get across, and that's really cool because it makes me re-examine my own work and see it from a different perspective (which I think makes me stronger for the next thing). It's really validating when someone “gets” it, but at the same time, I write to entertain other people (as well as myself), so as long as they like it, I feel accomplished.

It's cliché, but I write for an audience of one. I've tried to write outside my taste and it doesn't end well. Sometimes I write tropes that aren't my bag (like the Wiggins “the Missus” thing, or kidfic/ pregnancy), but it's kind of like a nod and wink to people who do like it, rather than outright pandering. At least, that's what I tell myself. Sometimes you need to try on every bra in your size, even the ones you know you hate, just to make sure you're getting the right one, y'know?

satin_doll: Do you think fanfic has changed since you began writing it? If so, how?

sunken_standard: Yeah, but I don't think it's a good or bad thing. And it depends on where you look and what you consume.

In the last like five years, Tumblr's purity culture has shamed a lot of kink back into the closet, I think, and people (in my fandoms, at least) aren't really writing on the edge. I see darkfic, but it's about as dark as the night sky over Hong Kong. I think people are afraid to go really dark anymore because they don't want the backlash from a generation fed on a diet of pink princesses and promise rings. And I think everyone's desire for happy-ending escapism has ratcheted up because the real world is shit and TV shows are all playing Russian roulette with surprise deaths to add drama (thanks, The Walking Dead, for making that element so ubiquitous that the rest of the mainstream picked it up and ran).

On the other hand, I'm not seeing near the amount of badfic as I used to. It was never as much of a problem on the old platforms and AO3 (compared to The Pit), but there were always some. I mean, there are still lots of turds out there, but they all seem a bit more polished these days. As far as the English goes, at least. Maybe my fandoms are just maturing.

I think people interact a lot differently now, too. This is going to kind of tie into the next question, but the types of feedback are different now and I think authors have changed what and how they produce to kind of chase the dragon of positive feedback. Like, when I started, most public archives (read: not just one author's own website with all their fic, like you found in webrings a lot)—both completely open and curated—had some way to submit comments and allowed author replies. There was really no other way to let an author know you liked their work. I mean, some sites tracked numbers for bookmarking features or hit counts, but those weren't as... active(? I guess), they weren't really participatory for the reader.

Then AO3 came along and started the kudos thing (which people still bitch about because they think they get fewer comments; like be happy you get anything, ya fuckin' ingrates). Kudos count became a de facto rating system, thanks to the sort feature. Whenever I start reading for a new fandom, I pick a pairing, pick a rating, and sort by kudos. Sure, popularity isn't the best way to find good fic, but in any decent-sized fandom you can assume that the stuff on the first page is going to be written to a minimum standard. Anyway, one of the ways to game the system a bit on kudos is to do a multichapter fic; I've seen works that are like 80+ 200-word chapters (don't get me started on omnibus fic across fandoms). They aren't the best fic by far, but they pick up kudos every chapter, often from guests that are just people not signed in or on a different device. I'm not knocking it, exactly, since it front-paged me for more than one fic. Part of me still feels like it's disingenuous, but I also recognize that I should pull the stick out of my ass. Anyway, the kudos count was kind of the death of the one-shot longfic (which, when I wrote Longer Than the Road, was a pretty common format).

And now, it seems like the Tumblr fic culture is writing ficlets (under 1k words) and posting without a beta (and I do it too). Fic consumption has become a social activity. Reblogs aren't always about one's personal taste, they're a social signal of group affiliation. If you don't reblog certain things, you're suspect and given a wide berth. Woe betide the poor fucker that crosses party lines and posts one of the verboten ships. And I mean, this isn't just one fandom, I've seen complaints about it from all corners—Supernatural, Star Wars, MCU, Steven Universe ffs. I think when you have predominantly female spaces, you're always going to have an element of Mean Girl culture, y'know? I'm probably going to get my fingernails pulled out for being misogynistic or some kind of -phobic for saying that.

Whatever. It's true that a kind of hive-mind develops and all kinds of tropes and HCs get repeated until they become fanon. I mean, that kind of thing's always happened, but the whole culture of Tumblr forces you to identify yourself and your group affiliation by what fanon you subscribe to, probably because it's harder to find your tribe without dedicated community spaces like LJ had. With Tumblr, you basically have to trawl tags until you find your echo chamber.

I'm old and I fear change.

Tumblr ain't all bad, though. It's very collaborative, kind of like the old-school round-robin fic people used to do. Authors and artists riff off each other and a lot of really cool stuff comes out of these casual collaborations. And I do like the prompt lists; I remember kinkmemes and prompting communities back on LJ, but it feels more off-the-cuff and spontaneous to just give someone a numbered list and let them roll the dice for you.

You know what else has changed? We're kind of in a new era of epistolary storytelling with memes and shitposts; stories emerge that aren't prose (though might contain a prose element). I mean, people did mixed-media epistolary in 2008, but it was a lot harder then (create graphic, hand-code into text piece, hand-code all the italics and bolding and font changes to denote various media types, if you're really a wizard add in-line text links to audio clips to add ambiance). It's a lot easier to add a new thing on each reblog now, like someone does a video, followed by a 3-panel comic sketch, followed by a ficlet, and then a gif, you get the idea. I like it; it's just a shame that it's so ephemeral. Maybe that's part of the charm, though.

satin_doll: You’ve talked a bit about your experience with LiveJournal in the “old days”; what other platforms have you used in the past? Which ones did you like best?

sunken_standard: I went into it a little in another question, but I first posted fic to A Teaspoon and an Open Mind (www.whofic.com). Honestly, I don't remember much about it. I'm not sure, but I don't think they had a richtext editor at the time (2008) and I had to hand-code some or all of it. I vaguely remember having to do HTML for italics and paragraphs. I know I had to do that on LJ sometimes because the formatting from whatever word processor I was using at the time did some hinky shit sometimes on a copy/paste.

Next came LiveJournal (and DreamWidth, but I really only used that to back up my old LJ blog). It wasn't better than Teaspoon, just different. Teaspoon is niche, only fanfic and only for one fandom (well, one universe of fandoms, really, with all the spin-offs), where LJ was all kinds of stuff under one roof—personal blogs, communities with various intents and levels of participation, fanfic, fanart, gossip blogs, you name it. I liked the friendslist view thing; it was like proto-Tumblr. And you could talk to people on the threads; even personal blogs were like a forum.

I joined AO3 in 2011, after waiting like six months for more invites to open up, but I didn't post anything there until 2012. I'm really happy with it as a platform for posting fic. I like the editor and I like the tags, ratings, and sort features. I never even considered posting to ff.net because I'm a snobby fucker (and they can blow me with their whole “adult content ban” that still continues to be selectively enforced). Anyway, I preferred having my fic on AO3 before I even left LJ, since I didn't have to split my stories into parts because of character limits.

And then Tumblr took over and I kind of hate it, since you can't have conversations anymore, it's like leaving passive-aggressive post-its and there's no editing something once it gets reblogged, so typos and bad links and all that are always there. And even when the original is deleted, the reblog keeps going, which I really hate from a creator's standpoint (though the archivist/ curator part of me likes it because it doesn't get lost in the ether [the recent purge notwithstanding] like so much of the early days of the web did). Tumblr's really bad for posting anything but ficlets and links to fic on other sites.

satin_doll: What would your ideal fanfic publishing platform be like?

sunken_standard: Honestly, AO3 is just about as close to ideal as I can think of. I just wish you could directly upload images instead of having to do code jiggery-pokery to link to something hosted elsewhere. I've tried a million times and followed all the tutorials in an attempt to add the cover art to Longer Than the Road (gifted to me by @thecollapseinwonderland), but it just never works. It shows on the preview, but not on the live version and it's frustrating because I'm computer literate, goddamnit. Anyway. And I mean, in an ideal world there would be better ways to find quality fic to my taste, but there's no real way to add a rating system (like 5-stars) independent of kudos without discouraging authors (and I mean the potential for abuse and bullying is just too great).

Additional reader questions from @ohaine:

Stylistically, Longer than the road is quite different from the other fics at the top of the AO3 Sherlolly ratings; stream of consciousness at the beginning, and the nested internal thoughts. How much of that was a deliberate departure, and how much was you just channelling the story as it came out of you?

sunken_standard: At the time I was really influenced by a Sherlock/ John fic (I can't remember the title or author, it was 7 years ago, but I feel bad about forgetting). It was originally on LJ and their journal was a lightish blue color and the font was small (if anybody remembers this... there was something with an EKG and I think something with shooting up blood as a romantic gesture?). It was Sherlock POV and the author had a really unique way of presenting internal monologue. Anyway, at that time there was a lot of experimental writing going on on the slash side of things, it was great. To be perfectly honest, I hadn't read a lot of Sherlolly fic at that time because what did exist (as far as happy-ending/ happy-for-now stories vs like darkfic/ angst) was really, really not to my taste (the exception being Sustain). So it was only deliberate in that—even when I wasn't being experimental—I didn't want to write Harlequin books.

I wish a story like that would just come out of me. I mean, to a degree it did, but doing the thoughts and sub-thoughts was work. I mean, I've always been a brackets-and-footnotes kind of person because I like reading it, but the way I did the thoughts was more like writing HTML than a regular rambling narrative.

I think I read recently (maybe on a blog post?) that Riders on the storm was the original inspiration for Longer than the road. Was the scene in the storm your starting point with the story, or where did you begin?

sunken_standard: That was the first scene I wrote; at that time I had a really nebulous idea of the story. The imagery was really clear in my head, though the very earliest concept took place in the desert—the classic American image of the road going on forever and rusty sands and the heatwaves rising up off the asphalt. I'm not sure how it morphed into North Dakota, I might have seen a picture of lightning over the plains or something.

So after S2 aired, I just kind of sat and chewed it over for a month before any really strong ideas emerged for a story. I had to find the internal logic for the kind of plot I wanted to write—namely, them on the lam together. Making Sherlock have a breakdown seemed pretty natural at the time; in ACD canon (and many, many pastiches) he was always having them and going off to the country to recuperate. But he was supposed to be dead and he was all over the tabloids, so it's not like he could just move to some sleepy little village and hope no one recognized him.

I thought about sending him to Europe, using the places ACD Holmes went after Reichenbach (and I did start more than one with them in Florence, a few incarnations of which were Molly/ Irene wanklock PWPs, I actually think one of the Rusty Beds stories came from that, but I digress). The only problem with Europe is the language barrier; I thought it was too convenient to make Molly fluent in another language (she might have some conversational Spanish from a holiday or something, but that's it), so I had to make them go somewhere where English was common enough. I also didn't want them too far from the UK; I wanted Sherlock to be able to get on a plane and be back within half a day (I realize this isn't the reality of flying, but deus ex Mycroft, so). So Asia, Australia/ NZ, and even South Africa were out, leaving Canada, the US, or parts of the Caribbean. I didn't want them to by happy, so they didn't go to the Caribbean. Canada's great, but it's too nice and they also don't have deserts. America it was; it also really added some background tension because I think a lot of non-USians have a love-hate with us. Movies are okay, music too, and of course the tech and consumer innovations, but everything else is garbage and we're all just rude, ignorant, obese Yosemite Sams. For someone like Sherlock, I think the US is the last place he'd want to go (even though canon ACD Holmes was really into America). And I mean, write what you know, so that was that sorted.

Once I got them here I needed them to do something; I wanted to tell a very intimate story, and that would be boring if they were just living in a 2BR cape cod in Jersey. And I mean, what city would really suit Sherlock? Where could he have a life that wasn't London? Anyway, the inside of a car is just about as intimate as two people can get, and the greatest tradition in American literature and film is the road trip, and that was when I knew I had a solid foundation for a story. After that, it just kind of flowed as I planned the route.

Perfect, not perfect-perfect is a beautiful, brave piece that I think has a real air of authenticity to it. It was a very tough read, purely because of the journey the characters are on, and I wondered how difficult it was for you to write? Was it catharsis or an emotional black hole?

sunken_standard: You know, I'm not really sure if it was either catharsis or black hole. A lot of the particulars and even the emotional places in that story aren't mine, but an amalgam of some other friends' experiences with polyamory. My own experience with it was pretty shit and pretty unremarkable, but I learned a lot about the human heart and how some people can lie to themselves because they can't let go of their ideals and their identities (I'm also still a little bitter), but that's got nothing to do with the price of tea in China, so moving on.

Since a lot of those experiences weren't mine, it wasn't raw, so it wasn't very hard on me, personally. I think I wrote it in like three days? I don't think I wanted it to be a slog, so that's why it's in present tense and very sparse and matter-of-fact. Dispassionate, even. There are times when I'm writing really emotional stuff that I'm disconnected from it (which is a fuckin' mercy, because most of the time I'm right there going through it, over and over for days sometimes until I get the scene right and can move on to the next thing), and this was one of those times. I was writing this alongside the Girlfriend series, so there was some overlap there; I'd already done the emotional labor for everything up to Mary's death and I was thinking of different angles of approach for later installments of the series.

The most “me” part of it is near the beginning, writing my way around the bisexual experience from someone else's point of view. I don't have a lot in common with any of the characters; they're a higher social class, urban, products of a more liberal culture, yada yada, but there are some things that are just kind of universal and misunderstood about bisexuals, the stereotypes that we have to contend with and end up internalizing.

Oh, and the perpetual alienation is all me, too. Molly's feelings of being left behind are mine, how I felt every time friendships drifted apart or when female friends got married and then had kids. So a lot of the fatalism and insecurity are me projecting how I would feel or react. I kind of like depressed Molly, more than the perpetual ray of sunshine/ cinnamon roll at least.

*********

Many thanks to sunken_standard for taking the time to answer these questions!

And many thanks and much love to OhAine for all her hard work putting this project together! It’s been fun and enlightening!

Next week, Friday 29th March, it’s the turn of @ellis-hendricks and @geekmama

#content creator interviews #sherlolly #Sherlock #ashockinglackofsatin #sunken_standard

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larriefails · 5 years

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+ seasurfacefullofclouds*tumblr*com/post/183771544610/sea-sometimes-i-just-think-what-if-they-hadnt

I really shouldn’t be wasting my time addressing this mess, but I just… can’t help it. I’m gonna take the shortest possible break from studying to drag this. If I fail it’s your fault for sending this link and you’ll be the one explaining it to my mom!

“I think the boys lost a huge opportunity.”

None of the following text addresses how she starts it. What huge opportunity did they lose? If this is the first sentence you write on a long ass text, I at least expect an explanation s for why you said it. What opportunity?

“They were signed and worked as employees, initially, without creative or financial power.”

Yeah, no brainer, since they were 16/18 with zero musical experience other than performing at weddings and their high school musicals and were all from middle class families. Imagine if these guys had been given the creative reins of Up All Night

“It seems that Sony/ Syco had no confidence in their longterm potential as artists (whether individually or as a group), so the corporate tactic was to wring as much out of them as possible within the time frame of their contract.”

That’s a whole lot of assumption, what’s it based on? Why does it “seem” that way? What part of Syco’s strategy hinted at them not seeing long term potential? With boybands, labels tend to be more focused on the financial gain they can squeeze off them in the immediate, sure, but that doesn’t mean that they see no long term potential. In fact, I would argue that these corporate people would have to be terrible at their jobs for that to be the case. Name one boyband with even mild success, ever, that’s not still giving bucks, whether as a group or as individuals. One. Just one. New Kids On The Block? Westlife? Backtreet Boys? Justin Timberlake? Take That? The Jonas Brothers? Seriously… one. This is a ridiculous statement that isn’t backed up by reality. Of course most boybands have a shell life and their initial success fizzles out. Most of them won’t even bring a fraction of the cash 10 years in, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t still money to be made. It’s not that Syco didn’t have confidence in their long term potential as artists, it’s that they knew that boybands are usually like fireworks, and they were right..

Current numbers for all their albums according to Wikipedia (because I cannot be bothered looking for music specific sources, send them if you want)

Up All Night 4,754,434 X

Take Me Home 4,966,424 X (UP!)

Midnight Memories 4,607,667 X (DOWN!)

Four 2,698,500 X (DOWN!)

Made In The AM 1,935,300 X (DOWN!)

They went from almost 5 million albums certified to under 2 million. Touring went from theaters with Up All Night, to arenas with Take Me Home, to stadiums with Where We Are, but by that point, it started to decline as well:

Where We Are total attendance 3,439,560 people in 69 shows, about 50K average X

On The Road Again total attendance 2,337,938people in 80 shows, less than 30K average X

Boyband audiences grow out of them and move on to different artists. A label squeezing all the money they can get out of the first few years is just the smart thing to do, but that doesn’t mean that there’s no money to be made afterwards or that there are no long term plans. This statement is simply idiotic, not surprising given who it comes from

“In the meantime, both Irving Azoff and Sony recognized Harry’s potential as the traditional boyband breakout star, as well as his relative youth, vulnerability and ambition. They knew he had the star quality, if motivated in the right way.”

I’m convinced she doesn��t reread what she types because here she contradicts her statement from before

It seems that Sony/ Syco had no confidence in their longterm potential as artists (whether individually or as a group)

and

In the meantime, both Irving Azoff and Sony recognized Harry’s potential as the traditional boyband breakout star

So which one is it, Sea? Did Sony not see individual potential or did they see it? You can’t use “in the meantime” for a sentence that contradicts the one that comes right before

Syco is owned by both Simon Cowell and Sony Music. If Sony saw potential, then so did Syco, because Syco is part of Sony

Also this had me cackling “as well as his relative youth” .. what was “relative” about Harry’s youth when he met Jeff Azoff? He was nineteen. That’s not “relative youth” that’s just youth. Otherwise you should be mummified, Sea. I’m not pointing this out for any other reason than the fact that she clearly tries to embellish her sentences with pompous adjectives without care for what they actually mean

“On the other hand, Louis had a differing view of what the band could accomplish within the framework of what they’d signed. He wanted the boys to learn about the creative aspects of music-making (songwriting, recording, performing, producing) as well as the business aspect. They all knew they were being used as money machines— but Louis wanted to look behind the machine.”

Don’t get me wrong, I adore Louis, but… what evidence is there of this? That he wanted to write more? That’s not what he said over and over. Louis explained that he didn’t feel he had a place in the band, that he felt like he wasn’t paying his due, so to speak, so he wanted to make himself important by writing. This whole “Louis was the brains of 1D” is nothing more than Larrie Lore. There’s absolutely nothing to back this up at all. This backstory to his songwriting isn’t backed up by Louis himself

And he only talked about songwriting, he never talked about producing, or recording, or performing. I just really wanna know why the real Louis isn’t enough and why they have to fabricate this entire new persona for him. He opens himself up and tells the world what his insecurities are and you just erase them and replace HIS STORY with your new version. For no reason other than because it suits your conspiracy better. It’s sick

“I’m sure they all independently wanted this, but as we learned from Savan’s interview, Louis was the instigator, and he was willing to make himself the bad guy in order to get what the band wanted, to stir up bad feelings.”

No, you completely stripped Savan Kotecha’s interview from context. Savan doesn’t say that they’ll never have any creative input. He specifically says “in the beginning” LINK to Savan’s podcast

“Yeah, I think, like, it was a lot in the very beginning. And I’ll take a lot of blame for some of the stuff in the very beginning. They were a manufactured boyband. That’s what it was. They weren’t all hustling musicians trying to make it. They were on a TV show and, and we purposefully, and I was open about that. Like ‘you’re gonna hate hate the music that you do in the beginning.’ Like, I was open about that. You’re 17, 18 year old boys, you’re not supposed to like what a boyband does.”

I’m not going to transcribe the whole podcast here, you should listen to it, it’s not that long. But basically, he explains that, because he met them during the X Factor days, it was harder for him to go from seeing them as those reality show kids to people that actually knew a thing or two about music. He says that he directed them to Julian Bunetta (who took over as the overall creative director of the albums) and that it was easier for Julian to work with them rather than being authoritative because Julian didn’t have that bias of meeting them so young and inexperienced

He admits he was wrong for seeing them that way because he thinks they’re all incredibly talented now and doing amazing things. What Sea here fails to point out is that for this same album that Savan talks about, he wrote with Harry, and he had this to say about it, in the same podcast that’s used as proof of the opposite

“So, with Harry, it was really interesting. Harry always, especially since album two, you really saw he’s a really fucking good writer. Like, we did a song together, like for the third album, the only thing we did for the third album, and the song “Happily” which I’m really proud of, and I think he is, as well. He was, it wasn’t like that thing, where like, writing down for the artist, he was like fucking great, like bringing ideas. So that was cool to see.”

So how does this go with Louis being the instigator? Savan doesn’t say that at all. He doesn’t imply that. What he plainly says is that he didn’t see Louis in that role

But I think, especially, with like one of the particular members, it was hard to see that person, and like take that person the way he wanted to be seen, and he became, like, the loudest voice of the group. And at that point, I just told the label, it became kind of like unhappy for me to feel like, ‘why’s he doing that?’

There’s a lot of projection and a lot of reading between the lines of this podcast. And this is used as fodder for a lot of the Lore in the conspiracy of Louis being sabotaged (it’s the basis of most Rads theories). Louis didn’t sacrifice himself like a lamb so the others could get creative input. Read the quote from Louis himself that I pasted before. Louis wanted to make himself important because he wasn’t getting many solos and he was insecure as to what his place in the band was. It’s not only stripping Louis away from his own words, but it’s also stripping all the other four from their artistic wants and needs. You think Niall, the Niall that scrapped a whole album and started from scratch didn’t want creative input? You think Zayn didn’t want it? You think Harry didn’t want it? Liam who wrote almost as many songs as Louis? Of course they wanted it, they just went about it differently. Louis has said several times that he has trouble holding his tongue, I think he’d be the first one to admit he probably could’ve handled things differently here. He has that personality, and as a fan, you don’t get to take that away and replace it with something that you find more palatable. You don’t get to make him Jesus, crucifying himself so the others can be free of sin. You don’t get to silence him when he admits to his own faults and takes ownership of his flaws. And you don’t get to change history

Savan’s mistake was not loosening the reins and for having a prejudice about Louis. And he admits to it. No part of this podcast and no quote from Louis indicates that Louis sacrificed himself for the creative input of the band. these are the facts

Savan had a hard time giving up control, true, but he was also willing to work with Harry

Savan had a (wrong) prejudice against Louis

Louis wanted more writing freedom because he (wrongly) believed that he wasn’t earning his keep in the band

All your other conclusions are nothing more than bullshitting from reading wrongly between the lines

And I’m gonna say something controversial.. they were still green in Midnight Memories. Look at this

That’s the aggregated score of the main music critics all over the world, it isn’t just one biased review. As fans, we love the album because we love the band and that’s that, but it was the worst received by critics. Five points difference with Up All Night, that is a lot by Metacritic standards. A steep decline of nine points from Take Me Home. I think Midnight Memories could’ve been better if they had more of a companionship when writing because most of its flaws come from poor lyrics, at least in my subjective opinion

“Louis thought the contract would end at some point, and then they could use what they had learned— the industry contacts they had made, their new knowledge— to either continue with 1D on their own terms, or to do whatever they wanted individually.”

Bullshit. What do you even say to contradict something that’s a complete fabrication? There’s not a shred of proof of any of this. Louis has never talked about any of this. No one else has ever talked about any of this. These words put together have no meaning other than them sounding cool in Sea’s head

“Challenging the industry’s endgame isn’t something that industry tolerates lightly.”

And see, this is where we completely lose track of reality. Savan was talking about them wanting to write more and divide the voices in tracks and that sort of stuff. Louis was talking about wanting more songwriting credits. Neither of them (nor anyone else) talked about contracts and beyond 1D and terms and challenging the industry’s endgame

This is why I went into so much detail and was so nitpicky on what Savan said and what Louis said, because Larries/rads take “Louis wanted to write more and Savan didn’t have faith in him so Louis cuss him out” to “Louis pushed the whole band and made them open their eyes to the malice of the industry and it’s because of that he had to be PUNISHED”

“Sony knows One Direction was lightning in a bottle. They’ve tried numerous times to duplicate the boyband formula, but have failed. No one else is One Direction.”

Bullshit. I mean, One Direction was unique, and many (all labels, not just Sony) have tried to replicate the boyband success since them and failed (I’d argue that BTS is not that far off, selling out Wembley and all that), but Sony has seen success in a lot of other artists from a lot of other genres since 1D, they’re not bleeding without it

“Instead, Sony’s best bet (if they were going to lose 1D) was to shift the lightning to Harry Styles, with the help of Irving Azoff— an industry titan. It seems foolproof.”

Another conspiracy. Irving and Sony came together to push Harry. Bullshit. Harry nearly signed with UMG just before signing with Columbia. He had a major offer from Apple that pushed Columbia’s offer to be higher. What would Sony gain from partnering with Irving and pushing Harry as a solo mega star when they weren’t guaranteed to have him sign with them? More so, Columbia’s CEO was another guy when Harry met Jeff. Sony’s CEO was a different guy. There were shifts all over their boards. A label doesn’t take one of their biggest current acts (One Direction in 2013) and risk their current profit, making moves they wouldn’t otherwise make, in order to potentially get profit four years down the line

What Sea is saying here is that Harry was pushed as the front man of 1D in 2013 in order to have him as the breakout for Sony later. That’s not a strategy anyone with a brain would agree on. One Direction was selling FIVE MILLION ALBUMS A YEAR. Why would they mess around with that just to get a breakout star that they had no idea they’d even sign in the future?

Was Harry the frontman? Yes. Was there a push for it from within? Sure. But that’s not how this works. You know who was the frontman when 1D was formed? Liam

Look at the amount of solo shots he has, even a shirtless one..

These snapshots were taken on the same day, October 6th 2010

Liam had 5 thousand more followers than Harry, that’s 30% more. The reason is that Liam had already auditioned for the X Factor in 2009, and he’d made it through until bootcamp, where he was eliminated. When he came back in 2010, he was already sort of known, especially for the X Factor audience. The X Factor pushed him as the face of the band because of that

THAT is how it works. They pushed a frontman because it was convenient for the band AS IT WAS HAPPENING, not in an unknown potential future. For whatever reason, Harry took more with the public, and because the people running the show (and the labels) aren’t stupid, they went with it. Harry became the center of more photoshoots, and he started sitting next to the host in talk shows, and stuff like that. In that sense he was “pushed” but not because of some weird “he’ll be the breakout star” conspiracy

This is what you sound like

Every single band has that one more popular member with fans. Every label pushes that member more to the forefront when they notice. This has the effect of making that member even more popular, and on the circle goes. It has nothing to do with “future breakout star” conspiracies

“And it still may be. The way that Louis’ personal life has been slowly degraded over time, with negative media coverage, their portrayal of him as a cussing, drinking, fighting, partying, dissolute has-been who pines for his glory days, is an image that even the fandom now believes. He’s required to constantly relive this image and bring up in interviews, the son he helped conceive in a moment of hard partying (whereas he’s been with Eleanor for seven years with 100% effective birth control).”

The fact that you believe you’re a fan of Louis’ is frankly, the worst insult you could hurl at him. We don’t see Louis like that, the world doesn’t see Louis like that. YOU may see him like that, but that’s where it ends. Niall cusses and drinks more than Louis. Liam parties more than Louis. I don’t think anyone particularly sees any of the 1D guys as beefers. No one sees him as a “has been” he’s twenty seven for fuck’s sake. He’s not pining for his glory days, he just liked being in One Direction

Who “in the fandom” believes that? And don’t bring up random haters because random haters believe Zayn is a meth addict and Liam is an idiot who can’t read. Random haters don’t represent “the fandom”, if you can even call 1D stans that anymore

What part of what you said is Louis “required to constantly relive” in interviews? What regurgitated version of his interviews did you consume? I could start guessing that you mean what he said during promo for Miss You about how he was partying to mask the pain of missing Eleanor, but that’s giving you too much credit, trying to decode the absolute bullshit that spouts off your fingers. Obviously that’s not what Louis said in Miss You promo, but I’m not even gonna try and guess, you decided already that Louis is being sabotaged, so you’re looking for it, and you’re gonna see it in the most innocuous of his interviews

“Sony couldn’t have done a better job if they tried. Harry, the star of their choosing, has fans rushing to defend him whenever the disparity in image and opportunity is even hinted at. Louies usually go quiet— because even pointing out this fact earns one the moniker of being a “Radical.””

All members have former 1D members have “fans rushing to defend” their faves when someone says one word seemingly negative about them. It’s called stan culture. You personally just receive more from Harries because he’s the only one you pick on, you absolute moron

And the words immediately after are proof of that “the disparity in image and opportunity is even hinted at” what disparity? There’s “disparity” among all of them, they all had different sets of opportunities because they have different goals and strategies. Harry’s goal wasn’t radio and chart single success, it was album and touring, so he and his team went for that (but you judged his success throuh radio and chart single success anyway, skewing his results, of course). Niall and Liam went for the former. Louis had an incredibly difficult time because his mother passed away right as he was starting his solo career, and he has the added difficulty of being the eldest of many siblings and having a child in a different country. Reducing his personal life issues as nothing but noise and pretending that Louis’ actual problems were, instead, artificially created by TPTB is incredibly demeaning for the strength of character Louis has shown and it pains me that he has “fans” like you

You’re called Radical because you believe in the conspiracy that Louis’ life has been manipulated and his opportunities cut short so Harry could have his chance. Aside from the fact that it’s an insulting thing to say because of all the reasons I described, how would it even make sense? Louis is Harry’s competition? If Louis is put down then Harry thrives? How? How does that work? Are they the only two people in the music industry? Is this Apple Music vs Spotify? If Irving and Sony quash Louis, Harry rises because he’s the only competitor left? Do you not think that if the music industry truly worked that way (putting one artist down to lift another up), which, let’s be very clear here it doesn’t and it never has, The Rolling Stones and The Beatles were both super successful at the same time… do you think that Louis would be Harry’s only rival to defeat? Or even just the other members of 1D? Where does that put fucking Ed Sheeran or Justin Bieber or Shawn Mendes or Charlie Puth or The Chainsmokers or Halsey or Ariana Grande or..

Harry, Louis, Niall, they’re white men. They’re not black women going into a business ruled by males. They’re not Cardi B and Nicki Minaj, having to dispute the entire audience for a black female rapper. White men make it in the industry all the time. The media will pit them against each other and so will fans because it’s fascinating to watch a rivalry, but more than one, two, three, ten, white males can make it at the same time. Go back to the Rolling Stones and Beatles example

“If there’s any doubt that Louis has been singled out, just look at who Simon Cowell keeps by his side, despite the fact that Louis was specifically mentioned by Savan as the pain in corporate’s ass.”

Back to this conspiracy. Savan didn’t “specifically mention” Louis as “a pain in corpirate’s ass”. Savan complained TO corporate that Louis was being a pain in HIS ass. His own specific ass. And “corporate” told Savan “kay then leave?”, then they hired someone else to do Savan’s job, and allowed Louis to write as much as his heart desired. How is this making any points for you? It’s actually the opposite! Yeah, Louis is Simon’s protege, which is a great position to have…??? And Louis has spoken plenty about how much he likes Simon??

“Who got to do America’s Got Talent? Who started an imprint under Syco?”

This is such a self drag. “Who got opportunities!!!” Uh, Louis..

“Who got Rusty Eslamifar and Simon Jones as a package?”

Louis hired them. His family is still close to Russell, and he still chooses Simon Jones, so.. another self drag

“Who had to do TXF for six months? Who sent out an email to fans about his girlfriend?”

Who has lots of siblings? Who has blue eyes? Who’s from Doncaster? Who doesn’t like avocado? Who - oh, sorry, I thought we were just naming random facts about Louis, yanno given the fact that none of what you’re describing is a problem for anyone other than fucking Larries

“Incidentally, the interaction between Simon and Louis on TXF was weird as hell, as were the interactions between Louis, Rob Stringer, and Simon at the Hollywood Walk of Fame. You could cut the strain with a knife, like two cats with the mouse they’re torturing while making it look like play.”

Are you like, okay? I mean, that’s a rhetorical question cuz I know you’re not but I mean… wow

“I think the band lost its chance when Sony executed its plan.”

Here you go back to the first sentence that you never explain, and you still… don’t explain it. What chance did they lose? They made five records that sold millions worldwide and they did two stadium tours. Zayn didn’t wanna continue, neither did Harry, so they stopped. Once again, I’m not even gonna try and guess what you’re implying here… Zayn leaving was a stunt? Harry wanting a break was Sony’s plan? God, who cares about anything you say? You’re a certified nutjob. You’re making conspiracies out of EVERYTHING. Why am I wasting my time?

“I don’t know what choice Harry had, but we are made to think that he’s hsppy with all of it. I think the way that his image rolled out shows us what they planned to do and what they promised him— with comparisons to The Beatles, Bowie, Prince, Freddie Mercury, Elvis— not lightweights lol.”

You’re doing that thing conspiracy theorists do where you act like what the media says about an artist or celebrity is all concocted by the “team”. Harry was not compared to any of those people by anyone in his team. That was the media

Like, this is my problem with everything Sea says, she just says it as if it’s a forgone conclusion but she doesn’t back any of it up with anything. She doesn’t elaborate her conspiracy theories, she just jumps to the conclusion as if it’s obvious, treats everyone that realizes how ridiculous what she’s saying is like an idiot (and patronizes anyone that dares question her thought process), but never actually explains why she’s reaching such conclusions

“The band lost its chance when Sony executed its plan” What chance? What plan? How did they execute it? You didn’t talk about any of that or define any of those terms in any part of the long ass text I just posted, and I would know because I’m reading it bit by bit. You vaguely said that Louis fought for more creative control (debunked), that Harry was pushed as the frontman so in the future he could be the breakout star (debunked), that Louis got punished (debunked), but you never connected any of those dots, so I’m left here having to debunk a theory that you didn’t present. I can debunk the individual dots that you presented, but since you don’t actually connect them I’m left scratching my head as to what you really mean, and I find myself in this position of saying “do you mean that…”

With this part in particular, I’m left asking myself, do you think Harry decided to leave 1D because he wanted to be compared to Bowie by NME magazine? Like, how… what?

“His sound is relatively unique in the market right now, and they are spending lots of money building Harry’s career, connecting him to Fleetwood Mac and so on.“

Because Niall’s sound is so mainstream, right? Because there’s no money being put into his or Liam’s careers, right? What’s “and so on”? What are they spending all this money you’re claiming on Harry’s career on? Are they bribing Fleetwood Mac? Did they buy him a spot inducting Stevie in the Hall Of Fame? Or maybe they bribed the Recording Academy to have Harry perform with them at Musicares last year (too bad they couldn’t use that money for an actual Grammy, I guess). You don’t ellaborate further, so what’s this “and so on”? Of course there’s money invested in Harry’s career.. That’s generally how it works. Labels put money upfront so the artists can get them more money back in return. How is Harry such an anomaly? What does Fleetwood Mac have to do with it? Gah, I hate you so much

“I think it’s complicated. Azoff and Stringer are people who hold all the power. I’m not sure if Harry turned them down, the boys would be any better off.”

If Harrry turned what down? Having a solo career? Because that’s what he has with “Azoff and Stringer”. So no, of course “the boys” wouldn’t be “better off” if he had turned a solo career down. His career has nothing to do with Liam or Niall Louis’. Once again, I’m here having to guess if I have to debunk something you didn’t (have the guts to) say

I have a feeling that in this long ass text, what you leave between the lines is that Harry was told “we’re gonna make you the breakout star” and he said “sure”. And something something 1D is over something something Louis is punished something something. But that’s impossible to debunk because you don’t present it. You don’t even say it in as many words, let alone explain how you think Sony pushed Harry to be the breakout star or how it affected 1D. You kind of just vaguely hint at a few things

Just so we’re clear, I could absolutely destroy every single one of those arguments if you presented them, it’s just that I can’t do that if you don’t even spell them out. And you don’t spell them out because this way you get to live in a limbo between Larrie and Rad, when you’re, in reality, just fully rad. As long as you don’t spell out your bullshit arguments, you can pass off as being a “critical Larrie” (which isn’t actually any better than being a rad in the real world non-conspiracists live in, but it’s slightly more popular in conspiracy land, and gets you less hate from your peers). If you spelled out these bullshit theories, you’d get a lot of hate from the cult you’re still a part of, so you just vaguely hint at them. You’re able to garner support from the Rad group (just look at the people reblogging this specific post), while not being subject of attacks from the Larrie group. I’d call you smart if I didn’t have evidence to your incredible lack of intelligence all spelled out in this very text

“TPTB are going to do what they want anyway— and find their next Harry Styles, or Shawn Mendes. It’s difficult. Trying to understand it, even if it threatens prevailing head canons and a happy ending, is valid— not radical. Being curious about the truth is the least one could do to speak up for Louis”

This conclusion has nothing to do with any part of this text. It is very, very radical to believe that Louis is being sabotaged in order for Harry to have a bigger career. You’re not curious about the truth, you’re absolutely twisting it to fit your conspiracies. And I can GUARANTEE YOU that Louis wants you far, far away from him and his music

#seasurfacefullofclouds #larrie fails

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