#but I didn’t want this to just keep sitting in my WIP folder

[thatsrightice]

Hi, please have this thing I wrote on February 23rd, SIXTEEN DAYS before Part 8 came out where we saw Crosby neglecting his own wellbeing.

how do I know I’m still not hallucinating?

words: ~2k

main themes: entirely self-indulgent, Croz doesn’t take care of himself, POWs are back in Thorpe Abbotts, Croz & Bubbles, Croz & Rosie, basically implied Croz & everyone, the very definition of hurt/comfort

summary:

Harry Crosby becomes so sleep-deprived from constantly overworking himself that he hallucinates seeing friends who have gone down. He startles the first couple of times because they look exactly the same, as though not a day has gone by since he last saw them. He quickly recognizes them for what they are, soft smiles reminding him to get some sleep. Amidst a particularly stressful couple of weeks organizing missions to shuttle POWs out of Germany, the hallucinations become more frequent and he's not sure how much longer he can take it.

Harry Crosby becomes so sleep-deprived from constantly overworking himself that he begins to hallucinate seeing friends who have gone down. He startles the first couple of times because they look exactly the same, as though not a day has gone by since he last saw them. He quickly recognizes them for what they are, soft smiles reminding him to get some sleep.

He looks up from the map in Group Ops and Bubbles is leaning against the table listening intently, nodding and smiling in encouragement like always. He could have sworn that it was the Bucks who nearly ran him over with a jeep. One time an entire group of them were in the Flying Mess, laughing and pounding on the table as Curtis spun another one of his tales. He stops and listens for a moment before promptly turning around and heading straight for his bunk, all with a smile on his face.

He finds comfort in their presence, a hopefulness that they’ve found the path to Valhalla. He can’t help longing to join them but knows that his work isn’t done here yet.

And so he pushed on.

It’d been a long week for Crosby. Even after they’d shifted away from bombing runs towards supply drops and shuttling POWs, there was still plenty of work to be done and little sleep to be had. That’s why he’s not surprised when he passes Bucky standing with an arm around Buck’s shoulder. Crosby does nothing more than give a polite smile and a tired nod; he was already on his way to bed.

Of course, suddenly those two, along with some others, just keep showing up around base no matter how much sleep he gets. They all look a little worse for wear but Crosby decides it must be some sort of projection of how he feels. They try to talk to him but he can’t respond. To get diagnosed with Combat Fatigue and sent home after he’s been so unbelievably careful about not letting anyone find out about the hallucinations for so long would be a disgrace.

It all comes to a head after he’d been awake for far too long even by his standards. He discovers his chance and slips out of Group Ops for a brief moment of reprieve. He jumps into the front seat of his jeep taking off down the road. He drives to the Flying Mess without even really thinking about it and takes a seat at an empty table with nothing but a coffee in hand. He tells himself that coffee here tastes better than whatever shit they serve at Group Ops.

“What? The food here not good enough for you anymore, Croz?” Bucky grinned, taking a seat at the table across from him with Buck at his side. Crosby said nothing, eyes cast down as he stared into his cup. The table began to fill with more old faces among the likes of Brady, Hoerr, and Hambone. Murphy and DeMarco, too.

“Bingo’s too good for us now that he’s runnin’ with the high mucky-mucks,” Ham teased.

“Croz!” Bubbles greeted cheerfully, taking a seat on his left side. Though he finds himself surrounded, it’s like there’s a buffer between them, no one coming close enough to touch let alone brush against him.

“Hey Bubbles,” Crosby mumbled softly into his cup as he took a sip to avoid looking at the man.

“So he speaks,” Buck drawled, raising an eyebrow and smirking at him with that all-knowing look of his.

“You know, Croz,” Bucky began, pointing at him with his fork.”In the Stalag they got us eating nothing but spuds and slop.”

Crosby recognized it as a reminder to eat, but he wasn’t too sure he could stomach anything solid. He used to find comfort in their presence, but as of late, it felt as though his chronically optimistic demeanor was turning against him.

He set down the cup and bowed his head, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to quell the building emotions. The table goes quiet.

“Croz? Are you-“

“Major Crosby will report to Group Ops,” the Tannoy called, echoing over all corners of the base. It was like a switch had been flipped and he was immediately running on autopilot.

He downed the rest of his coffee and quickly strolled through the mess to his jeep. He remembered walking into Group Ops and holding a conversation with one of his assistants, but everything faded to black as he walked up the handful of steps to his office.

Bubbles is sitting at his bedside when he wakes up, staring down at his hands. He let out a shaky exhale and focused his eyes up at the ceiling.

Bubbles’ head shot up.

“What the hell happened, Croz?” he scolded. “You’re dehydrated, malnourished, sleep deprived–”

Crosby doesn’t have the energy to fight it anymore and allows himself to look at Bubbles, to truly look at Bubbles for the first time since the hallucinations had begun. He examined Bubbles’ face closely. He looks over every wrinkle in his brow and every freckle on his cheeks.

“God, I miss you,” Crosby rasped. Bubbles’ face fell.

“I’m right here, Croz,” Bubbles reassured. And now that Crosby could see his face in full view, vision no longer blurred and the room no longer spinning, the other man looked as awful as Crosby felt.

“It’s not fair,” he babbled, staring up at the ceiling and blinking away his tears. “It should have been you here and not me.”

“Don’t say that,” Bubbles chastised.

Crosby swallowed a sob. “I can’t do this, Bubbs,” his voice cracked.

“Hey, it’s almost over,” Bubbles soothed, scooting his chair forward. “We’re so close, Harry. We just gotta stick it out a little bit longer.”

Crosby shook his head, tears falling down his face. “I'm sorry, I just- I can’t do this anymore, Joey.”

“I am so incredibly proud of you, Binger, and don’t you dare think otherwise. You are the smartest, most selfless person I know. You give and you give until there is nothing left,” Bubbles spoke firmly. “But you're not in this alone, alright? There are so many people outside right now who care about you and are worried sick; Blake and Doug and Rosie. The Bucks, Ham, Brady, Murph, and DeMarco. We’re all here for you,” Bubbles grabbed his hand.

Crosby couldn’t help but jerk out of his grasp, staring in fear at his best friend.

“Harry? What’s wrong?”

“You touched me.”

“Do you not want me to?” Bubbles questioned, concern and worry replacing his confusion.

“You’ve never been able to touch me before,” Cdosby fiddled with the edge of the blanket.

“Course I have,” Bubbles smiled softly, moving to sit on the edge of the hospital cot.

Crosby reached out and hesitantly placed a hand on the other man’s cheek. When his fingers made contact he couldn’t help but throw himself at Bubbles. “I thought you were gone,” he cried. His arms were wound tightly around Bubbles’ neck, the other navigator’s arms circling his waist. “I thought I was hallucinating. How do I know I’m still not hallucinating?”

Bubbles was too shocked to speak and Crosby took that as his queue. He spilled everything and Bubbles listened, rubbing the man’s back gently as they embraced. He hid his face in Bubbles’ neck, crying and apologizing profusely for ignoring them all. Bubbles whispered reassurances while he wept, murmuring promises that no one was angry with him. Bubbles was equally mortified that none of them had done anything to step in. They watched from afar as the navigator worked himself to the bone. They kind of picked up on the fact that he was ignoring them, but they were too afraid of interrupting his extremely busy schedule. Bubbles began to tear up as he replayed every interaction he’d had with Crosby over the last couple of weeks. He couldn’t help but blame himself for not doing anything sooner.

Bubbles pulled away, thinking carefully as Crosby’s words sank in. He separated from the man and came around to the other side of the bed. He put Crosby’s arm around his shoulder and helped the man stand up. He led him to the window.

“Do they look like hallucinations?” He questioned, gesturing out the window at the grounds out front.

A group of men occupied the space in front of the hospital. Douglass stood close to the front door of the hospital deep in conversation with Blakely. Blakely took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair before securing it back on his head. Buck stood with his hands on his hips, looking out across the base. Murph was sitting on the ground leaning against the tree beside Hambone. DeMarco and Bucky stood a little off to the side throwing a ball back and forth with Meatball darting between them.

“Blake and Dougie don’t,” Crosby answered, seemingly avoiding the subject. Bubbles sighed, resting his head against Crosby’s as he became lost in thought.

Crosby glanced down at Bubbles’ watch and nearly jumped out of his skin. “Bubbles, I need to go. I’m flying with Rosie today,” he quickly pulled away from his friend and stumbled towards the bed.

“Croz, no!”

Crosby and Bubbles grappled, Crosby fighting with all of his remaining energy as he tried to escape Bubbles’ hold. A jeep screeched into the grass off to the side and Bubbles was incredibly thankful for the pilot’s timing.

“Croz! Harry, look!” Bubbles grabbed Crosby’s head and forced him to look out the window. “He’s right there.”

“Rosie?” Croz murmured questioningly. His struggles slowed as he watched the pilot hop out of the jeep and make a beeline for Douglass and Blakely, faces pinched.

“Blake rang ‘im up a bit ago, said this would probably happen.” Bubbles explained. “You want me to bring him in? You have to sit down, though.” Crosby scrunched his nose, face flushing slightly out of embarrassment. The navigator nodded, allowing himself to be helped back to the edge of the cot.

He watched Bubbles exit the infirmary, craning his neck to look out the window. Much to his relief, he watched Bubbles jog out the front door towards Rosie, Blake, and Doug. Bubbles put an arm on Rosie’s shoulder as he talked, the others making their way over. Rosie nodded and immediately turned to go towards the front door, but Bubbles remained outside talking to the others. As Bubbles continued to speak to the rest of the flyboys, Crosby could tell exactly when he broke to them why he’d been so distant. Before Bubbles even finished, Hambone broke off from the group and stalked back towards the tree, shaking his head. DeMarco crouched down, busying himself by burying his hands into Meatball’s fur. Bucky’s face twisted into a frown, eyebrows drawn tight together and looking ready to argue. Buck put a hand on his shoulder, still listening intently but not looking any more pleased than the others.

Crosby slid down in the bed onto his back, the shame of everything starting to overwhelm him again. He brought his arms and covered his eyes with the back of his hands. The door swung open, followed by soft, but quick footsteps. The bed dipped and a hand carded through his hair. He dropped his hands down to his stomach and peered up at the pilot with lidded eyes. Rosie smiled and Crosby could only blink heavily.

“Go to sleep, Croz,” Rosie murmured. “Everyone’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Everyone?” Crosby mumbled. He glanced up towards the window, but all he could see was the blue of the sky.

“Everyone,” he reassured. His voice was firm and all-encompassing, leaving no need for any follow-up questions. Yet, Crosby still needed to ask one more.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

#not my best work but I needed it out of my system #this is entirely self indulgent #sorry it’s just not as thorough or well thought out like it’s very cheesey #but I didn’t want this to just keep sitting in my WIP folder #let me know if I should post it on ao3 idk if I will because it’s not very good #masters of the air #mota #harry crosby #Harry Crosby needs a hug #Harry Crosby needs help #Croz and Bubbles #Croz and Rosie #Croz and Everyone #ft many of your fave flyboys! #fanfic #Olie can see the future #I SWEAR I WROTE THIS BEFORE PART 8 #BUT I WAS WORRIED EVERYONE WOULD THINK I WAS LYING #mota musings

[noforkingclue]

Desperation

Summary: The end times are near and Crowley has come to you with a proposition.

Author's Note: decided to publish this as it was sitting in my WiP folder for too long and since I've also started re-watching Good Omens I thought now was as good as time to publish it!

You always knew when Crowley and/or Aziraphale were in your flat. Call it an instinct that developed from knowing them for over thousands of years. Which was why it was so surprising to see Crowley standing in the middle of your flat without any prior warning.

You paused when you saw the demon standing there and you carefully shut the door behind you. He twitched at the sound but didn’t turn around. You slowly made your way towards him, nervous about what was going to happen. You frowned briefly at the unfamiliar feeling coiling in the pit of your stomach, it had been years since he had made you feel like that.

“Crowl-“

“Everything’s fucked.”

You blinked at Crowley’s sudden outburst. While you’d heard him swear before it wasn’t that usual. You winced as you heard the sound of cracking wood and looked down, realising that he was gripping your table so hard that he was splintering the wood.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggested, worried about your friend as well as the future of your table. It was an antique after all.

“Have a cup of tea and tell me what’s happened.”

“What’s happened?” Crowley let out a bark of laughter, “What’s happened is the world’s ending and Hell knows that all of this,” he spun around and waved his hands about, “Is because of me! I misplaced the antichrist and now they’re coming.”

“Oh.”

“So I’m leaving.”

“That’s sensible.”

“And I want you to come with me.”

You froze, midway through making that cup of tea you promised. You looked at Crowley out of the corner of your eye. He walked over to you and put a hand over yours, forcing you to lower the kettle.

“It isn’t safe anymore,” he said, “Everything is going to get destroyed. Hell and Heaven are going to war and it isn’t going to be pretty. We can escape. Be safe.”

“What about Aziraphale?”

Crowley, who had rested his forehead against your shoulder, tensed behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you against him.

“He think he can stop this,” he muttered, “He isn’t coming.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly you were spun around and pushed roughly against the counter. You gasped in shock and Crowley tilted your chin so you were looking directly into his eyes. It was the first time you had properly seen him and you could see the desperation etched across his face. His sunglasses were gone and you were forced to look into his yellow eyes. He grabbed your chin and forced your head in place.

“Come with me,” he said quietly, “It’ll just be the two of us.”

“But what about-“

“Shh, don’t think about him.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Crowley seized the opportunity to press his lips against yours. You squeaked in surprise as Crowley wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you roughly against him. You put your hands against his chest but found them trapped between your bodies. Crowley broke the kiss but remained close. You felt his lips brush against yours and he said,

“Just think about me.”

“And the world.”

“We’ll be safe.”

“We’ll be on the run.”

“We’ll have each other.”

“And Azira-“

Crowley covered your mouth with a hand. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

“I thought I told you not to think about him.”

He removed his hand and brushed your cheek with the back of it. He smile softly and his gaze dropped back down to your lips.

“If Zira thinks that there’s hope then there must be.”

“So you’re choosing him?”

Crowley shook his head and gave you a bitter smile. He stepped away and you gave him a pained look. You took half a step towards him but he put his hands up to stop you.

“I understand,” he said, “one last hurrah.”

“Crowley-“

“It was fun while it lasted.”

“We can still beat this.”

“No we can’t.”

And with that you were once again left alone with only your hope to keep you company.

#fanfiction #good omens #reader insert #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader

[lil-ms-darkness]

A Treasure Not Worth Finding - Bigby Wolf x Goldilocks!Reader

A/N: Okay, so here's the next part! Sorry it took so long, I had it sitting in my WIP folder for quite some time, just needing to be edited and instead of editing it, I started working on my manuscript. But, it's here now! Slightly based off Faith from TWAU video game. The music playing in the apartment can be anything you want, as it's technically YOUR apartment haha

Content Warnings: Mild angst, description of death and dead bodies, perceived reader death.

That about does it, hope you enjoy! Feel free to comment if you'd like

Lil_Ms_Darkness

“See you again, soon.” 

That was the last thing she’d said to him. Her voice was soft, light and her eyes matched. It unnerved him, but it was also a welcome sort of discomfort, a kind that he’d come to appreciate. After he caught the asshole trying to poison Snow White - weirdly enough, it was Leland Mouse, of the Three Blind Mice, glamoured into a man [Y/N] wouldn’t recognize, nor would she have suspected to be one of the mice. She had helped him find the perpetrator responsible for trying to take Snow White’s life, purely for greed and satisfaction of being the one to kill the Deputy Mayor for not prioritizing his cases, and for not bowing to his whim when he wanted. And, as she had asked, Bigby had returned to visit her. But, it didn’t become a consistent thing. He mainly visited for information, and was met with some kind of story, a conversation, a muffin or a slice of banana nut bread, she’d offered him a brownie once but he’d denied it. 

He hadn’t expected to see her again so soon, especially not like this. He had gotten a call from Jack about a body dumped into a back alley dumpster. He was nervous, having seen only a leg hanging out. 

Bigby arrived on the scene quickly and found the dumpster, a leg hanging over the lip with the lid flattening it. He grabbed the edge and lifted the lid open, looking down to examine the victim. He felt his mouth fall open in surprise, shock, and pure white hot rage. It was her. 

“See you again, soon.”

He carefully fished her out of the dumpster and laid her down on the rough asphalt of the street, hidden in the darkness away from the street lights. Her hair was soft in his hand as he held her head to lower her.

Now, he looks down at her face, her once golden hair is messy and pale as it cushions her head like a pillow. Her eyes are half lidded and lusterless in death, her skin lacking the warmth- her hands clenched tightly in fists. He notes the deep purple and black bruising on her throat, so thick that it couldn’t have been a cord. He crouches next to her, noting the various wounds around her body- she had fought back. 

He closes his eyes for a moment before he hears footsteps shuffling towards them and he looks up, spotting Jack at the mouth of the alley. The blonde man approaches him, a solemn and uncomfortable look on his face. 

“Any luck?” He asks

Bigby sighs and looks at the body again, 

“Did you see anyone around when you found the body?” The words felt like bile in his throat as he speaks them

“No, I didn’t.” 

Bigby isn’t surprised to hear that, Jack was about as observant as a thumbtack. He examines her hands, noting the clean fingernails, but there is bruising underneath- someone made sure to clean up any DNA traces. 

Damn

He takes a closer look at her throat, finding the rope burns in between the bruises and the broken veins underneath. He can feel his claws threaten to elongate and he actively keeps them retracted, turning his attention to her face, his eyes linger on her swollen, bluing lips. He can’t help but feel guilty, wondering if she’d been murdered because she was helping him. Whether it was to keep her quiet, or for some other reason, he’ll be sure to get to the bottom of it. He will find the bastard that did this.

 Bigby looks back to the body and notices her clothes now. She’s dressed in her Trip Trap uniform, an emerald green dress that was similar to Holly’s, with black wedge heels secured with a strap around the ankle. She had told him how she loved the dress, because it was high quality material without being too expensive and felt nice on her skin, but he can’t recall what material. Now that he can touch it, it’s smooth under his rough hands, thick but not scratchy at all- and it’s dirty from the garbage she was thrown into. 

“What were you doing over here, Jack?” Bigby asks, cautiously. 

“I was coming to visit a friend of mine.” Jack says, shifting from foot to foot.

“A friend?” 

“He said he was going to give me $1,000.”

“What a generous friend, what are you up to?”

“Nothing, honest!” Jack holds up his hands in surrender. 

Bigby looks from him, down to the body, then Jack again. He doesn’t have time to deal with the get rich quick fails of the century.

“I need to go see Holly, she should be working tonight, and Jack? Stay out of trouble.”

Bigby walks down the concrete steps to the heavy door of the Trip Trap, pushing it open and stepping through. Holly stands behind the bar, dressed in her brown dress. She lifts her gaze to look towards the door, preparing to greet a customer, but her face sets into a flat glare when she sees Bigby. Gren glances over his shoulder towards the Sheriff and shakes his head, looking back to his small glass of rum on the countertop. 

The sheriff approaches the bar and looks at Holly, 

“I’m not here to start problems, I just need to ask you some questions.” He says, simply and sits down at the bar a few seats away from Gren.

“You’re always here to start a problem, even when you don’t try to.” She digs her nails into the bottom lip of the bar. 

Bigby shakes his head, “When was the last time you saw [Y/N]?” 

“She was here for her shift the night before last. Why? What do you want with her?” Holly’s eyes narrow.

“She’s dead…” Bigby wills his face to be emotionless, as he watches Gren drop the glass to the counter, tipping over and spilling onto the bartop as Holly stares at him with wide eyes. Bigby couldn’t hope to understand what she was feeling- first, her sister was murdered, and now her friend was dead, the friend who was working with her so that she could grieve. 

“How?” Gren growls, fists clenched tightly on top of the bar

“She was strangled.” Bigby says, impassively, but inside he is anything but. Inside, he is raging and tearing apart all of New York to track down the next murderer, because who knows who may be next. And if [Y/N] was a target, with how likable she is- was- who knows who else may be on a list. 

“DAMNIT!” Gren  stands and turns on Bigby, who only regards him with a stoic guise, “How many have to die before you do your damn job?!”

“I am doing my job.” It’s all Bigby can do not to slam his face into the bar- his patience is fading, and quickly. “I’m trying to find the person that did this, and I’m starting by finding out the timeline of when she died, and where she was taken from. If she hasn't been here since two nights ago, then there’s nothing else that I need.” He stands and Gren steps in his way. Bigby squares his shoulders.

“Knock it off,” Holly snaps, and Bigby looks her way. She sounds sad, “just go, Sheriff. I need…need to figure out what to do.” She sighs and walks out from the bar, vanishing into the back room. Bigby notes a missing attendee-

“Where’s Woody?” He asks, still looking towards the room Holly escaped to for a moment longer before looking back to Gren’s fury laden face. 

“How the hell should I know?” He growls, “I ain’t his dad.”

“For someone claiming to want me to do my job, you’re making it awfully difficult.” 

Gren’s eyebrows twitch and his jaw sets, Bigby prepares to dodge a punch, but it doesn’t come, to the Sheriff’s surprise. “He hasn’t been here in a couple days. He left with [Y/N] after her last shift.”

Bigby’s not surprised that Woody left with her, but the fact that he left with her the same day she was last seen….

“And he hasn’t been back since?”

“No.” Gren bites out through gritted teeth, “Now if that’s all you need, get the fuck out.”

Bigby walks out without much of a fuss, and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He lifts one and lights it, walking down the street towards [Y/N]’s apartment.

He walks down the hall and stops in front of [Y/N]'s door, but something isn't right. He presses his ear to the door- music? 

That can't be right..[Y/N]'s time of death was hours ago, why was music still playing? 

He hears shuffling, and his teeth grit together. He grabs the doorknob and very slowly turns it- it's unlocked. 

He throws the door open and rushes inside, seeing the silhouette and diving on him. He shoves him face down into the carpet, wrists behind his back. 

"Hey hey hey!! GET THE FUCK OFF ME, WOLF!" 

The Woodsman

"Not until you tell me what you're doing here." Bigby digs his knee into the big man's spine as he squirms. 

"I was helping [Y/N]!" 

"Don't lie to me, Woody!"

"Fuck you, I ain't lyin'!" 

"What's going on- Sheriff! Get off of him!" Small hands grab Bigby's shoulder and he turns, ready to push them back; and he stops. 

He climbs off the big man and stares- 

"[Y/N]?"

"You listen here, Sheriff," she warns, her honeyed eyebrows furrowed in concern and anger as Woody stands up behind her, "out there you might be Sheriff Bigby Wolf and think you have to be mean to get your way, but not in my home! If you lay a hand on my guests again, you can forget about my offer to help you!" 

She's angry, so very angry, he can see it in her eyes, in the way the wrinkles between her brows crease her skin. The fire in her eyes. But she's here, standing, yelling, breathing.

"We found your body," Bigby says, carefully and the crease between her eyes lifts. "We all thought you were dead. And I came by to see if you'd been murdered here. When I saw Woody-" 

"You thought Woody killed me?" She frowns, incredulously, "He'd never." 

Woody puts a large hand on her shoulder. She looks over at him, then at Bigby again. 

"I'm not dead..." [Y/N] muses. 

"Clearly." Bigby huffs and can feel pressure forming behind his eyes. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes when her small hand covers his holding the pack. He looks at her. 

"I'd rather you didn't smoke in here. What with my work and all..." She says, quietly. 

Woody snorts and Bigby considers lighting one anyway- 

"Bigby does whatever he wants." He grumbles. 

Woody was right. Bigby did do whatever he wanted. But one look into her kind eyes and he resigns with a sigh, tucking the pack back into his pocket. He feels naked, and uncomfortable. He ignores it. 

Woody casts him a quirked browed look and Bigby ignores that, too. 

"[Y/N], where were you last night?" 

"Home? Asleep?" She shakes her head. "I finished dropping off orders early, stopped by the store to pick up some more fabric and flour, then came home and went to bed."

"And you, Woody?" He asks, moving his gaze to the bearded man. 

"I was at the Trip Trap."

"Really? Because Gren says he hasn't seen you in a couple days.."

"Bigby," [Y/N] warns and he casts her a cold look, warning her in turn not to interfere with his investigation. He watches her brows slacken a bit as her expression becomes one of concern. He looks back to Woody. "Let's try that again, where were you?"

Woody sighs,

"I was with a woman..." He grumbles. 

"Who was it?" 

"Can't a man keep his personal affairs personal?" 

"Not when he's a suspect in a murder." Bigby says and folds his arms. 

"I told you already he didn't do it." [Y/N] pipes up again and he ignores her completely. She was kind to him, but she is trying his patience. 

He looks at her, "[Y/N], a woman is dead. She could have been you-"

"But she wasn't.." she interrupts, her frown deepens, her look of concern deepening the wrinkles in between her brows and on her forehead. 

"-but it could have been. Doesn't matter that it wasn't, a woman is dead. Dead and gone. And I need to find the one responsible. Now you offered your assistance, but so far you've only made my investigation harder. Either keep it down, or I'll take him in to question him at the Business Office." 

Her eyes widen and she looks at Woody, then Bigby again. The hurt in her eyes was clear as day. She steels her expression and nods, once. She looks at Woody before she walks over and sits on the love seat, legs folded and looking out the window. 

Bigby feels a little guilty, but only a little. He shoves it aside and focuses on the task at hand. 

Woody looks at [Y/N], then Bigby again, a look of anger in his eyes.

"You're a piece of shit, Wolf."

"I hear that a lot, now who were you with?"

#twau bigby #twau #fanfiction #bigby wolf x reader #x reader #wolf among us #bigby wolf #telltale games

[physalian]

Writing with Executive Dysfunction (or how to lower the barrier of entry)

So you want to write a book, but all you have is a cool one-liner, a niche super power you want to explore, and the blurry image of a love interest with a two-syllable kind of name. You don’t know where to start, what to tackle first, how to jump in the deep end.

Can you write the ending first? What if you want this really cool gimmick in a fight scene but can’t write action to save your life? Do you start in media res or with a prologue, or with the character starting their daily routine? Do you write the villain’s POV first?

Or do you start with an outline, character sheets, a title, summary, your themes and motifs? How many pages and pages of worldbuilding notes should you have built up before you’re good to tackle the first page? You’ve heard time and again the critical importance of the first three sentences. The first chapter if your audience is generous.

The pressure mounts to be unique, but not try-hard, descriptive but not flowery, intriguing, but not confusing, all in the first hundred or so words. You sit there staring at the little blinking black line on your blank page… and the idea gets shelved for another day. It collects virtual dust in the backlogs of your computer, forgotten until you have to clear out space on your hard drive and stumble across unspent potential.

Everyone and their dog has their own bits of writing advice and I’m sure I’m about to echo tips that have been around the block once or twice, but there are a few I don’t see talked about enough.

Whether you suffer from severe procrastination, fear of failure before you even begin, the overwhelming limitlessness of choice, or just can’t sit down and dedicate any time to see what happens, this list might be for you.

1. Write Every Day

This is nothing new, but I’m going to tackle the implementation of such a habit over why it’s important. You already know why it’s important. Writing every day doesn’t demand a full page of a Word doc, or 200 words before you can get up and do something else. Sometime a witty dialogue exchange comes to mind while you’re doing dishes – write that down.

Or you saw a cool name for a character in a commercial – write that down.

Or you had a dream about your characters in a high-octane street chase – write down the synopsis.

Personally, I use Apple Notes. It’s free, I can log-in to iCloud through a browser and keep writing, and my phone is always with me. I have dedicated folders to sort which notes belong to which concepts.

Disclaimer: Apple Notes is meant for exactly that: Note taking. I take it to the extremes, but it’s not a word processer. It’s not meant for anything more strenuous than putting virtual pen to virtual paper.

I build up so many variations of scene ideas and concepts for character arcs that my ‘notes’ for any given book can be as long as a full-length novel. Most of the time, admittedly, those ideas get outdated fast as I move on to bigger and better things, but the point is this: I never would move on to better things if I didn’t have somewhere to start.

I have a personal grudge against OneDrive for a sync failure losing 20k words of a WIP, so most of my writing is done through Google Docs and saved to Google Drive. It’s not the most powerful word processor, but you don’t have to worry about formatting until the very end and can export later. It’s free, like Apple Notes (assuming you have an iPhone), and the smart phone app for Google programs works phenomenally better than the MS Word app – so once again, the barrier for being within reach of places to jot down ideas is lowered. My phone is always with me.

It doesn’t have to be digital – carry around a journal or a notebook or a legal pad if you want. Whatever gets your creative juices flowing. The point is to have somewhere to take all the ideas you have in your head and get them onto paper the moment inspiration strikes.

2. Writing is Supposed to be Fun

The dreaded writer’s block, scourge of authors everywhere. You’ve reached the point in your manuscript where you’ve caught up to the epic adventure you’ve written in your head. The little writer in your brain has gone on strike and you’re left in the doldrums of how to transition from one chapter to the next. One idea to the next. One scene, one line of dialogue.

Answer: Skip it.

Unless you have a hard deadline to make, writing is supposed to be fun. Your best work comes when you’re passionate about doing it, not when you’re holding your fingers hostage to put something on the page or else.

When you start getting frustrated, walk away. When you get stressed, walk away. The manuscript will still be there once you’ve slept on it for a day or two and you’ll be glad for it. Or, write a different scene. Write a hypothetical scene (more on this point later). Write anything you want and come back to the hard parts later. The gaps will fill eventually, and if they don’t—consider what about that transition or scene is so hard and consider axing it entirely. If it’s frustrating for you, it’s probably boring or unimportant to the reader.

3. Script it

My favorite writer’s crutch is to make a skeleton of the scene I want to have, fill it with dialogue, and move on. The pretty thematic narrative can come later. It’s halfway between an outline and a first draft and, for me, someone to whom dialogue comes easier than narrative, this is another barrier removed to letting creativity flow.

I don’t have to think about dialogue tags or movement of a scene or how exactly I want to structure a sentence or describe the setting. Scripting lets me sus out the pacing of a given scene, test run a conversation I have in my head to see if it might really work before investing all the time and effort of a fully fleshed out first draft, only to erase it all later.

You can do this mid-narrative, too. If you just want to skip over a couple lines that aren’t coming naturally to you, script a vague sense of stage directions until you get to easier narrative and come back later.

When I say scripting, mine look something like this:

Character A (ChA): [position within the setting, tone of voice, any notable gesture or action that enhances the dialogue] “Dialogue.” [specific dialogue tag, if necessary] … (often a paragraph break) … “Dialogue.” Character B (ChB): “Dialogue.” [emotion, reaction, details about the setting that are now important, new revelations by the narrating POV] … “Dialogue,” [action. Tonal shift. Movement] ChA: “Dialogue.” [action] … (scene continues)

In practice:

… ChA: [kicks back against the wall of the room, arms crossed. Annoyed, waiting for ChB to speak first, but they don’t] “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to leave?” [head tilts, still waiting on an answer ChB isn’t giving] “All you had to do was ask.” ChB: “You were having fun,” [quiet, wringing their hands in their lap on the edge of the bed] “You wanted me there. So I was there.” [huffs, flips their hair back. Not sure how many times they’ve had this conversation. Will always hate parties, not going to suddenly like them just because ChA is there] “You can either have me there, or make sure I’m comfortable. You can’t have both.” ChA: “So now I’m the bad guy.” [foot thumps on the floor like a judge’s gavel] …

Scripting also lets you fill a scene with multiple new characters before you figure out their names or descriptions, tagging their lines with the bare minimum. I often test out entire action scenes (which I loathe writing) in script form, so I know I’m satisfied with the pacing, blocking, and amount of movement before I lock it in and write the first draft of actual narrative. It also forces you to make sure your characters are taking actions and not just sitting at a table like talking mannequins.

Transitioning from script to narrative can be mighty tedious sometimes if you try to fit in chunks of narrative in the exact places you left on your initial pass. Fictional prose is organic, so let it breathe.

Maybe you let a character monologue for too long, or they have too much movement in a scene that becomes unnatural and clunky. Or the entire scene ran away from you because the conversation was just that good. Whatever the case, a script, bare minimum, gets your foot in the door.

4. Write Fanfic

I like sci-fi and fantasy. I also like taking my sci-fi and fantasy characters and throwing them into ‘fanfics’ to test out relationships and start to get a feel for what makes them unique from the rest of the cast.

Sometimes the setting changes to something mundane, sometimes it’s a hypothetical scene that the current pacing of the narrative just doesn’t have room for, or it’s a flashback you’ll never include but want to have written so it’s concrete when you reference it in the present.

It also helps you fall in love with your characters when you can write them without consequence, doing whatever, doing whoever, saying whatever, going wherever. In fanfic, their personalities can start to write themselves and you discover them as you write them. And, hey, sometimes you come up with a concept so good, you change the entire real narrative around to fit it.

All your attention doesn’t have to be on the story you’re actually writing.

5. Keep All of Your Deleted Scenes

I keep so many of mine, the ‘deleted scenes’ doc of one book is 40k words longer than the actual manuscript, filled with numerous variations of the same scene written over and over again in vain trying to keep something that no longer works.

Keep them for several reasons:

It reminds you of how far you’ve come.

You can pick through the bones for bits of dialogue and setting descriptors even if the majority is trashed.

You remind yourself of what didn’t work before, so you don’t fall in that same trap again.

If you change your mind, all you have to do is copy-paste it back in.

6. Remember First Drafts are First Drafts

Let the word spew flow forth from your fingers and don’t look back and start questioning every decision and all its flaws until your creativity tank starts sputtering on empty. It’s supposed to be messy, it’s supposed to have plot holes and typos and inconsistencies and things to fact-check. If you start hyper-fixating on making sure your manuscript has absolutely no errors before moving on to the next chapter, it will never get written, and you’ll convince yourself you’re a terrible writer.

Writing is easy. Revisions are hard. Just as storytelling doesn’t have to be linear, neither does the writing process. If that critical first line just won’t come to you, stuff a mediocre one in its place and move on. Write the ending first. Write all the romantic entanglements first. Write the big climactic argument first and figure out how the rest falls into place around your beautiful centerpiece.

But remember: You do, at some point, have to write the hard stuff. Hopefully, when the time comes, you look at all the rest you’ve written and are proud enough of your progress that those daunting scenes that looked impossible before become much more approachable now. Do it for your future readers who want to know how it ends. Do it for your characters. Do it for you.

#writing advice #writing a book

[dispatchvampire]

Accidentally In Love (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FemaleOC

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness right now, potential for smut later. A little blood, canon levels of violence potentially. Plus size female OC, body descriptions.

Rating: PG-13 (right now for language, but look for this to change)

WC: 2600-ish.

Summary: 

Echo's living a normal life in NYC, a 911 dispatcher, the most excitement she gets is from the calls she takes. And then love comes crashing in one day when she's riding her bike through Central Park.

Steve and Bucky weren't looking for anything on their daily run around the park besides fresh air and exercise. The streak of purple eye candy on a bike that lapped them pretty regularly was a nice addition but not mandatory, at least until some impromptu roughhousing results in some civilian casualties in the form of the most beautiful woman either of them had seen in a long, long time.

A/N: AU, Post CACW, Bucky’s Chill and we have always lived in the Tower. Just call this a throwback to the found family, everyone lives in Stark Tower fics.

This is supposed to be a super-fluffy love story. Still undecided if I'm gonna keep this one going but posting now for giggles and grins. It's got some CSI:NY characters crossing over because why not.

I'm just messing about and playing in my WIPs folder. Not Beta'd: we die like men! (honestly, I tried but if you catch something I missed, let me know)

Chapter 2

Blinking, Echo arrived back on the current plain of consciousness in a very bright room that smelled vaguely of antiseptic and orange slices. Blinking, she groaned a little as she took in her varying pains that hadn’t been evident before, including the stiffness in the elbow where her IV was installed. 

“There she is.” 

She turned her head toward a voice she recognized very well. Lindsey Messer, Danny’s wife and her friend from the job and her building, sat at her bedside holding her hand. In her pants suit and fuschia blouse, wearing her work badge, it was clear the tiny blonde had come straight from the crime lab. “Hey Linds. I hope Danny didn’t make you worry. I’m fine. My head’s too hard for any lasting damage.”

The blonde snorted and slid a plastic cup with a straw in it over to her. “That’s what I told them.” 

It was good to know her friend had her back. “What am I doing here?”

“They said you had a concussion and lost consciousness at the scene. Apparently you hit your head when you went into the stream by the bridge. Plus you got some stitches in your nose and chin and have a hairline fracture in your wrist.”

“Oh.” It was so much worse than she feared. Looking down at her wrist she saw the bandage and closed her eyes on a sigh. “Well, this sucks.”

“It does,” Lindsey agreed. “It seems you have some interesting friends, though.” 

Echo sipped her cup of water as she mulled over the strange transition. “We have the same friends, Linds.” Working in law enforcement made for a large extended, and occasionally dysfunctional, family, and since they hung out together, the majority of the people in their lives were shared friends and acquaintances. 

“Funny, because I don't remember you bringing those two superheroes you crashed into on the bike path today out for drinks with us.” She leaned back in the chair, looking nonchalant as she pulled a bottle of water from her purse to sip. 

Superheroes? What? “What are you talking about?” Shifting to sit up further in bed, she found herself tired and reclining back on the pillows behind her. She had one thing she wanted to make clear, though. “And I didn't crash into anyone. I ditched out so I wouldn't crash into anyone.” 

Lindsay smiled slyly. “You’re too nice, that’s why you crashed.” 

Looking around to make sure there were no little ears to overhear she snarked at her friend, “Vaffanculo,” complete with the associated hand gesture. 

Of course that's the moment when Danny decided to come into the room carrying a bottle of water and some white daisies he laid on the table next to her drink. “Ay, yo! You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asked with his ever present grin. He’d clearly cleaned up and changed into one of his signature tight t-shirts and jeans. He made hipster chic look good with his wire-rim glasses and skinny jeans.

Rolling her eyes hurt but she did it anyway. “Whatever, Danny. When do I get outta here?”

The thin man winced and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well, see that's the problem. Both the girls have ear infections, and they’re with my mom right now, but there's nobody to look after them for us, so we can look after you. And well unfortunately, between us and Flack, Donnie is going outta town with Trish for the weekend. So the docs wanna keep you overnight.”  

“But…” she whined pitifully. The idea of spending the night alone in the hospital sounded as appealing as shaving her legs with a dull razor and lemonade shaving cream.

Lindsey’s lips twitched. “You know we have toddlers, right? We’re immune to such things,” she laughed.

Lower lip in full pout, she replied, “And that's just unfair.” Echo reached onto the table and then rummaged around in the sheets over her before reaching into her bloodstained bra and the pockets of her bike shorts. “Where's my phone?” Surely she could find someone to look after her at her place so she didn’t have to stay in the hospital.  

Danny cringed as he grabbed the other visitor’s seat in the room. “Yeah, about that... your phone’s out getting fixed right now. Unfortunately it and your sunglasses met the creek bed and experienced a similar fate as you.”

“Oh no.” She winced and reached up to touch the bridge of her nose involuntarily as her hopes for escape dwindled in front of her. “This is bad.” 

He nodded, conceding her point. “Yeah, yeah it is, kiddo.”

“So, I have to stay.” It was a statement of resignation more than anything and she was beyond displeased, but knew two things: first, this wasn’t her friends’ fault, and second, she couldn’t do anything about this.

“Unfortunately.” Messer nodded again. Seeing her dejected expression, he rushed to assure her, “Just for tonight though. They’ll let you go in the morning. Hopefully your phone will be back here by then, good as new.”

“Wait…” Her mind was still a little fuzzy, but Echo was pretty clear that phone insurance wasn’t nearly that prompt. “Who's got my phone?”

Lindsay looked at Danny with a pointy glare. “You didn't tell her?” 

“She just woke up! You were here!” Danny held out a hand hoping to show that he was unarmed and not one to take her fire. He pulled the chair over to the bed to be closer to Echo. “Do you remember the two guys you crashed into?” 

“I didn't crash,” she corrected, rolling her eyes coming much easier this time.  

“Your face and bike would disagree,” he supplied diplomatically, with only the barest hint of a grin.  

“Whatever.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, assessing. “You really don’t remember?” 

Shaking her head hurt, but she tried anyway. “Help me out here, Messer. I got nothin’.” She had vague recollections of the two hot guys from the path, but considering she saw them daily, those were not memories she trusted. “Were those the ones you and Flack had your guns on?” 

Lindsay's eyes grew very large and she pinned Danny down with a very pointed glare. “You had your gun on Captain America and Sergeant Barnes?” 

“It was a very fluid situation,” he gritted out through his clenched jaw. “It took a minute to get it all untangled.”

“I'm sorry, what?” The headache that had been dancing around the edge of her vision grew to full force causing her to rub her face. “What? That doesn't even make sense.” How in the fried fuck did the fricking Avengers figure into this? “How—? What—? I don’t understand—”

Danny cringed at her questions and pushed to his feet. “Well I think we've done enough damage here. Linds will get the girls and we'll see you tomorrow morning.”

Echo’s eyes popped open as she reached for him when he stepped away to put the chair back. “Wait! No! You don't get to just drop a bomb and leave like that.” 

Likely attracted by her beeping monitor, the nurse came in to see her blood pressure spiking. “You have to go now. The patient needs her rest.” 

Lindsey and Danny leaned over for quick hugs before heading toward the door. “This will make sense in the morning, E, okay? You’ll be fine,” he assured her. 

She whined again, dropping her head into the pillows. “Okay. I'll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, you will,” he replied with his trademark toothy grin. 

Right before he and Lindsey walked out the door, she asked, “Hey, who has my bike?”

“Hopefully that’ll be here with your phone.” 

The way Danny’s smile turned secretive before the nurse closed the door was concerning, but her head hurt too badly to really give it too much thought. Honestly, she was tired again and since it seemed she had nowhere else to be, she figured it was a good moment to take a nap. 

“We should have brought the bike up.”

“And put it where, genius? In the hallway where it’d just be in the way? In here? It’s a hospital, not a subway platform.”

“I just think—”

“And that’s your problem right there, Stevie.”

“I just don’t want her to think we took it or anything.”

“Steve. Really. Come down off the cross; we need the wood.” 

Echo woke to the sound of grumbled whispers and some sort of mechanical noise. Her dark eyes opened to the overly bright room, only to slam shut again at the vision before her. It was clearly a concussion-generated hallucination, because there, seated at her bedside were the two sexy mofos from the bike trail. A flimsy wisp of a memory danced across her mind of the blond one fetching her from the creek by picking her up, but… that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be; she was too heavy for that. She hadn’t been picked up since childhood, and certainly was not one to invite the casual touch of strangers.  

Cracking her eyes open the barest hint, she watched the two men, giants, both of them, arguing back and forth softly beside her. She’d never given thought to their size before beyond their muscles, considering her bike gave her a height advantage, but damn if they weren’t enormous, still dressed in their too-tight t-shirts and jeans that encased their thighs closer than clingwrap.  

Her soft whimper at the sight brought their argument to a halt as both of them reached for her hand. 

“Hey, beautiful,” the longhaired one greeted her with a soft smile as he delicately touched her fingers. His own fingers were cold, and when she looked to see why, it appeared they were made of some kind of metal. In her mind, she’d always assumed it had been some kind of tattoo when she’d seen him in passing, so the metal was a bit of a shock. 

“Howya feelin’, sweetheart?” the blond one asked as he laid his hand over her same wrist. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, just absorbing the absurdity of this moment. “Best. Hallucination. Ever.” 

Her eyes snapped open at a bark of laughter followed by the mostly silent wheezing giggles that overtook Hotness 2. He threw his head back, shaking out his unbound hair in full chortle, a bubbly infectious sound that made her feel like she’d been infused with sunshine. The way his nose crinkled made her want to hug the hell outta him. 

“Babydoll,” he choked out as he brushed away tears from his cheeks before patting her knee with a warm smile. “We’re as real as it gets. I promise.” 

Blondie’s grin at his friend was a mix of affection and unruffled resignation. “Ignore Chuckles over there. How are you feelin’?”

“I’d feel better if I knew who you were,” she said softly. It was a strange feeling, a sensation of familiarity and absolutely no idea why she might know them. Not that she didn’t appreciate the attention, but it was disconcerting that they seemed to know her and she had no active memory of them beyond their occasional encounters on the trails and paths in Central Park.

“I’m James and this is Ste—Wait, you really don’t remember us?” The brunet went from amused to stricken in a breath when she shook her head, his free hand—it was a metal hand—scrubbing down his face and pulling his features taut before clapping his hands. “Right then. I’m James—my friends call me Bucky, and this is Steve. I ran into you on the trail yesterday.”

Eyes rolled to the ceiling, the giant blond then directed an annoyed glare at his compatriot before folding her hand in both of his massive paws. “What Buck means is he ran into you on the bike path. By the Glen Span bridge.”

“Oh! Jeez!” Thinking back, all she could see in her mind was the blue shirt and then everything goes kind of hazy until… “Guns? My friends had their guns on you?” 

They both held their hands up, shaking their heads. “A misunderstanding. It all got sorted out pretty quickly, despite Smartass over here trying to get us killed,” James grumbled in Steve’s direction, even as a smirk curled around the corners of his mouth. 

The blond winced at his friend’s description of the events but didn’t correct him. “Anyway, we wanted to come and apologize for all the upheaval we caused for you.”

“And your stitches and things,” the brunet added as he tucked his long bangs behind his ears. Looking down in his lap, he jerked as he noticed the bag by his feet. It was purple and glittery and had tissue paper sticking out of the top and he pushed it into her hands like it may be virulently contagious. “Here. From us.” 

Immediately suspicious, Echo held the bag at arm’s length. “Okay? What is it?”

Steve rolled his eyes with a little huff of impatience. “Telling you ruins the surprise. We went to the trouble of wrapping ‘em—”

“Well, Wanda did,” Buck leaned over to stage-whisper conspiratorially. 

“We went to the trouble of having ‘em wrapped,” the blond corrected with an impatient glare at his friend, “so open it.” 

A little embarrassed at having their eager eyes track her every move, she dug past the mountain of glittery paper to pull out a shrink-wrapped, brand new Stark Phone in the signature red and gold box which she set on the bed next to her. Everything about this situation was so goddamn weird, it was hard to make all the pieces fit together in her head with any kind of coherence. 

“Tony promised me he got all your stuff transferred over,” Steve offered eagerly as he poked the box a little closer to her. 

“Pictures and things,” Buck clarified over his friend’s shoulder. They both seemed greatly invested in her taking the gift.  

She held the box up in one hand while pawing through the bag with the other. “Okay?” Her fingers brushed against another box, this one textured and obviously expensive cardboard and almost as hefty as her phone box. 

Echo’s eyes widened as she pulled out the black box with the distinctive gold writing on it. “Is this…?” she trailed off as she observed the two men closely. Steve nodded encouragingly, so she opened it, almost afraid of what could be inside. Inside was a hard leather case, with gold lettering that matched the exterior box. “You got me Versace sunglasses?” She couldn’t decide if she was happy or mildly horrified. 

The blond nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yours were in pieces from where I stepped on them getting out of the water.” His cheeks flushed as he looked more than a little ashamed. “Tony assured me that you’d be okay with the replacement.” 

“Stevie’s underselling it. Stark said you’d appreciate the upgrade.” 

Upgrade? Shit… she was a city employee and made nowhere near the kind of money that this pair of sunglasses cost. They were likely more expensive than all the clothes in her closet. “I… thank you?” 

“Here.” James nodded at the bag next to her. “There’s more in there.” 

At the expectant looks on their faces, she set the black box aside and turned her attention to the bright yellow envelope just inside the bag. “‘Sorry we broke your stuff, please accept these replacements with our humblest apologies,’” she read, wary of their hopeful expressions when she finished. “'Replacements?' Plural? There’s more?”

#avengers fluff #avengers fanfiction #avengers fanfic #avengers marvel #avengers fic #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers fanfic #stevebucky #beefy bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #beefy bucky #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes reader insert #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes au #stucky fic #steve and bucky #stucky x female reader #stucky x plus size reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x plus size female character #steve rogers fic #bucky fanfic #stucky #stucky fanfiction #bucky fluff #steve rogers #bucky fic

[steddiecameraroll]

WIP Weekend

Here's some more of that hoarding fic that was sitting in my WIP folder for 8 months. Yes I've got multiple WIPs happening. What's it to you? Sorry, I'm getting defensive because it feels like they're haunting me.

Surrounded Myself with your Ghost

“Ohhh my god,” Robin’s hand covers her mouth as she looks around Steve’s house.

Steve sees Sam nudge the woman, who tries to pull it together quickly.

“I know,” Steve sighs. He hasn’t felt this much shame in decades.

“What happened?”

“I just- I don’t know,” and it’s true he doesn’t know.

It was never like this until Eddie got sick. When Eddie was moved into their bedroom, Steve felt like he needed to collect every piece of Corroded Coffin memorabilia that existed. He wanted to make sure Eddie got to see how much he’d changed the world and how important his music had been to his fans. He wanted his last remaining time on this earth to be surrounded by as much love as possible.

But it didn’t stop once Eddie was gone.

Eventually, Steve started buying things he knew Eddie would’ve loved, such as paintings by artists Eddie had mentioned over the years or guitars he’d always wanted to own. Then Steve started to find things that reminded him of their relationship from the early years. He’d bought a couch that looked exactly like the one they owned at their first apartment and pushed into his already overflowing office.

He could’ve put it in their bedroom but hadn’t stepped foot in there since Eddie passed. It looked exactly the same as it had on the day Eddie took his last breath, on the day that the nurse who had been taking care of him came out to tell Steve that he was gone. Steve had only left to refill Eddie’s water pitcher, but in those few minutes, he missed his husband’s last breath.

The nurse tried to reassure him that many patients ‘wait’ until their family members are gone to let go. They don’t want to hurt their loved ones, so they hold on just long enough until they feel like it’s ok to finally say goodbye. However, the explanation didn’t help to absolve Steve of his overwhelming guilt.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Robin’s voice sounds more accusatory than Steve is sure she means.

“It’s embarrassing,” he shrugs.

“Shit,” she moves, and suddenly Steve feels her arms wrap around him. “I’m sorry. I miss him too, you know? We’ll go through it all. I’m here to help.”

“There’s-“ Steve clears his throat, trying to stop the tears building. “There’s something I need to tell you both.”

“What?” Sam rubs her hand across her dad’s shoulder while he keeps Robin close.

“I-I can’t find him.” His stomach churns after he admits what he’s feared to say out loud for years.

#cw deceased eddie munson #There are flashbacks inbetween the present scenes which have been fun to write #But I want to torture you with the sad stuff instead #senior citizen steve harrington #stobin #steddie #my writing #fic wips

[skz317cb97]

The Final Straw

Stray Kids x afab reader (a little Bang Chan x reader)

Word count: 4400+

A/N: This has been sitting in my WIP folder forever so I finally polished, and finished it! I hope you all like it!

Summery: What happens when enough is enough and you finally have to tell the boys what's been happening in your relationship.

Warnings: Strong language/cursing, violence, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of injuries, self loathing/self doubt. (If any of these things can be triggering please do not read and if I missed anything PLEASE let me know!)

That was it. The last straw. This was the last time you were calling Lee Minho to come get you because your boyfriend Lance, correction, ex-boyfriend Lance’s temper got out of control. It was the last time you were letting him put his hands on you. Every time before you called Minho to come get you, you would beg him not to make a big deal out of it and to not tell the other guys. Especially not Chan who was wildly protective of you. It wasn’t going to be that easy this time. All the other times you were able to placate Minho with excuses. ‘It was just an argument’ ‘he was getting loud’ ‘he was saying nasty things so I just wanted to leave.’ The truth was he had slowly been getting more physical with you for a while now and for whatever reason when he apologized you believed him, you would accept it and go back. Every time he said it would never happen again you would actually believe him but you told yourself after this time it would really never happen again. You weren’t listening to his empty apologies and excuses anymore. You were worried about when Minho got there though. Usually, everything was easy enough to hide. Long sleeves that covered bruises on your wrists and arms left by too tight a grip or a little color corrector for a bruise by your eye or on your cheek when he slapped you. No one would know the difference. You had gotten quite good at hiding it. The guys would never know, you made sure of that. Not this time though. This time your bottom lip was split. It was swollen and from the top of the fullest part of your lip to almost the dip in your chin was a cut. Your eye was turning a sickly greenish yellow, sure to be a black eye later and on the opposite side of your face was a bruise and a cut on your cheek. The black eye and cuts had come from your ex’s ring when he decided an open-handed slap just wouldn’t cut it this time. So there was no hiding it. You were waiting in the lobby with your hood pulled up and a bag of clothes when Minho pulled up. He put the car in park and got out to grab your bag for you. You tried to keep your head down, your hood pulled tight. You tried to keep him from seeing your face but when he got a good look at you Minho’s face went ridged. He tossed your bag in the back seat, turned on his heels and headed towards the building door. You ran to him with tears in your eyes and grabbed his arm pleading with him.

“No Minho! Don’t! Please let’s just go!” Minho looked at you. He wanted nothing more than to give Lance a taste of his own medicine but you looked exhausted and scared. Unwilling to be the one to further the distress you were already in he nodded and turned back towards the car. Minho opened your door and helped you in before getting in the driver’s side and heading towards the dorm. The car ride was quiet for the most part aside from the radio playing softly. Minho would steal a glance over at you from time to time but your eyes were closed and you were appreciating the feeling of the cool window against the bruise on the side of your face. When you opened your eyes again you realized how close you were to the dorm and started to get antsy. As if he could read your mind Minho spoke up.

“The rest of the guys are at the gym and the studio. I was the only one off for a doctor’s appointment today so don’t worry about getting bombarded.” You let out a sigh of relief knowing you didn’t have to walk into a room full of men that, while they would have your best interest at heart, would want answers as to why you looked the way you did. Answers you weren’t sure you could give, that you weren’t sure you had.

“Thanks Minho.” He quirked his eyebrow at you as he pulled into a parking spot.

“For what?” You leaned over and hugged him tightly once the car was stopped. He hugged you back.

“For always knowing what I need even when I don’t.” Minho pulled back and gave you a tense smile.

“Well, if I always knew I’d have seen what was going on before now. I should have.” You shook your head as you felt guilt creeping up on you for keeping your friends in the dark about what had been going on with you.

“No Minho you couldn’t have. I was foolish and made sure of that.” Minho looked at you seriously.

“The only fool in this situation is Lance.” He said bitterly.

“You’re like my little sister Y/N. I’ll always do what I can to protect you. Right now, I don’t want you to worry about explanations, not for me and not for the guys. I know they can be a lot at the best of times let alone in a stressful situation and I don’t want you to worry about THAT right now. Let’s just get you up to the dorm and settled. We can worry about what to tell the guys after.” Minho grabbed your bag as you got out of the car and you both made your way up to the dorm. When you walked through the door your heart plunged to your stomach. You saw very familiar shoes by the door. Someone was home already.

“Minho? Is that you man?” CHAN. You really weren’t ready for this. You looked at Minho with pleading eyes but he wasn’t sure how to help in this situation. There would be no getting you past Chan to the spare room without him noticing you AND the way you looked. Before you both could even try and think of any way to keep Chan from realizing you were there, he rounded the corner and saw you.

“Oh! Hey Y/N I didn’t know you were…” Chan’s words stopped short when he saw the cuts and bruises on your face.

“Oh my god! What happened?!” He walked towards you his hands outstretched. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes already. How were you going to explain how stupid you’ve been for allowing this to happen? Before you could try and get words to form Minho’s hand came up to the small of your back and gave you a gentle nudge to walk on past Chan.

“Go get settled Y/N. I’ll make some ramen while you do.” You listened to Minho and took the opportunity to do just that. You walked past Chan your eyes downcast as you did. Chan’s hands fell back to his sides and you felt his eyes follow you, worry and confusion etched on his face. While you unpacked the few things you brought in the spare room Minho started grabbing a pan and filling it with water to boil as Chan followed him into the kitchen.

“What the hell is going on Minho?” Chan’s voice was firm but Minho could hear the worry he was trying to hide. Minho shook his head.

“You need to give her a minute Hyung. I didn’t know you were home already and she’s not prepared to get into it just yet.”

“Get into what? What happened? Why can’t you just tell me?” Minho gave Chan a serious look.

“Because I don't even know the whole story and it’s not my place Hyung. Please be patient. When are the other guys due back?” Chan let out a huff of air frustrated with Minho’s vague answers.

“Maybe an hour or so I guess. Why?”

“Because you know as well as I do they’re gonna be worse than you when they see she’s here and the state she’s in. I want to make sure she’s as ready for that as she can be before they get here.” Chan nodded. He could definitely understand that. He grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and headed towards the spare room you were currently in as Minho continued to start your ramen.

“Chan Hyung!” Chan turned and Minho looked at him seriously.

“Don’t pry, give her time.” Chan shook his head in understanding and went on. When he got to your door he knocked gently.

“Y/N? I have an ice pack. May I come in?” You opened the door and allowed Chan to enter. He handed you the ice pack and you turned away from him as you put it against your bruised eye.

“Thank you.” Your voice was small and you wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Chan had never seen you like this. You were always smiling and confident, laughing. It tore him apart inside seeing you like this and as much as he wanted to ask questions Minho’s voice echoed in his head. ‘Don’t pry’ ‘give her time’.

“You’re welcome. Minho is starting the water for your noodles now. Why don’t you get showered and into something comfy before the guys come home and use up all the hot water?” You nodded. No words and still unable to bring yourself to look Chan in the eyes. You set out a big t shirt and some sweat pants before heading towards the bathroom. Icepack still pressed against your face and Chan made his way back out to the kitchen. You were still in the shower when the rest of the guys came piling in the dorm about thirty minutes later.

“Who’s in the shower Hyung?” Hyunjin asked as he flopped into the nearest chair. Chan and Minho looked at each other and Minho answered.

“Y/N.” Felix squealed in excitement.

“Oh! Yay! Are we having a movie night?!” Chan shook his head no.

“I don’t think so Felix.” Felix’s face fell into a pout. He loved movie nights with you, they all did. If you weren’t there for a movie night then why? When you came out of the bathroom you had one towel wrapped around your hair, another around your body, steam following you out. You looked up and saw all eight of the guys standing there looking at you. The six that had not yet seen you saw your face, hair tucked away and nothing to block any of the cuts and bruises. All their faces fell with concern. Not a single one was able to say anything before you turned and rushed to your room. Tears falling from your eyes as quickly as they welled up. You weren’t ready. Not yet. You hadn’t even had a chance to tell Minho what happened. You still couldn’t look Chan in the face. Now they were all there looking at you with those eyes. Those ‘poor thing’ eyes and they didn’t even know what happened yet. How were you going to do this? You heard a light tapping at your door. You sniffled getting ready to tell who ever it was to please go away.

“It’s me. I have your ramen.” It was Minho with your soup. You hid behind the door and opened it letting him in. When he saw your tears, he sat your ramen on the side table and pulled you in for a hug.

“Take your time. Eat your food but then I think you should come out and that we all should discuss what happened today. When you’re ready. I really think it will help if you get it all off your chest.” You nodded into Minho’s chest and wiped your eyes. When he left you could hear him and Chan out in the living room with the other guys.

“Look I know you all have questions. Trust me, I have the same questions but bombarding her before she’s had a chance to collect herself isn’t going to help.” Minho continued what Chan was saying.

“We only got here a bit before you guys came home so give her a moment. You all stink. Take your showers make some food and give her some time.” Everyone listened and did what Minho told them to do including you. You took your time. You got dressed, ate, dried your hair, and thought long and hard about exactly what you were going to say. You tried to not to let thoughts of how disappointed they all would be, disappointed for you to allow something like this to happen, to cloud your judgement. You tried to tell yourself they loved you and wouldn’t possibly blame you but you blamed yourself so it was hard to not imagine those scenarios. When your noodles were gone and you finally heard the shower stop and things start to settle in the dorm you decided it was now or never. You mustered up all the strength and courage you had and left your room for the first time since the guys had gotten home. When you walked out into the living room all the guys were sitting together quietly talking about their days. Chan noticed you first. You finally forced yourself to look at him and he gave you one of his tight-lipped smiles and patted the empty spot between him and Minho on the couch. You rushed over and nuzzled into his side, holding onto his arm, burying your face into his shoulder. Minho grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and threw it over your shoulders. You sat there a moment with your face hidden by Chan wondering where to start. When you looked up you saw everyone’s eyes on you which you were more prepared for this time. You took a deep breath.

“Okay…. I don’t know how to go about saying this or where to start.” Chan grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours giving it a reassuring squeeze. You could feel the tears pricking your eyes already and you hadn’t even gotten into anything that had happened yet. You looked down at Chan’s hand laced with yours and started picking at the cuticles of his fingernails nervously. Minho wrapped his arm around your shoulder trying to reassure you that you were safe to speak here.

“Lance…he…” You didn’t think the room could get any quieter than it already was but all the breath seemed to stop as soon as you uttered Lance’s name. The air got thicker as everyone was certain of  the next words you were about to say.

“We’ve been fighting a lot for a while now, todays was especially bad. He was calling me names and screaming, throwing things, breaking things. It all escalated so quickly and before I knew what was happening, he had me pinned down and…” The words were coming out so fast and you sobbed when you went to take a breath in. You felt Chan tense next to you. He was using all his will power to keep himself in control, to stay calm for you, when all he wanted to do was walk out of that dorm, find Lance, and beat him to death. Instead, he leaned over, planted a kiss on top of your head, and squeezed you tighter. You knew they all knew what you were trying to say but you still couldn’t bring yourself to say the words ‘Lance hit me.’ You cried harder and buried your face in Chan’s hoodie again. Felix, sitting on the floor directly in front of you, grabbed your foot and started rubbing it, skin ship the only thing he could think to offer to try and make you feel some kind of comfort. Hyunjin, also sitting on the floor, scooched closer and rested his head against your other leg as Minho rubbed circles softly on your back trying to calm you. Changbin was sitting in a chair across the way fuming, anger just radiating off of him. He was always so reserved with his emotions, especially his anger, but now he had pure hate boiling inside him. Hyunjin and Jisung both were fighting to stop the tears in their eyes, unable to understand how anyone could do something like that to you. Seungmin, always a level headed person, was the one to speak up first.

“What’s important is that once things got physical you got yourself out of there Y/N.” Minho’s eyes met Seungmin’s. He had no way of knowing for sure, you hadn’t told him otherwise, but Minho had a good idea from all the other times you had called him that this was not the only time. He shook his head at Seungmin. When the realization hit Seungmin he bit his tongue but the words already hung in the air.

“Unfortunately, Seungmin I wasn’t that smart. Today was not the first time.” Just like that Minho’s fears were confirmed. Everyone’s hearts sank. How could they not have seen it? How could this be going on under all their noses and not one of them notice? Chan was beating himself up inside of course. He was supposed to protect you and he hadn't. He felt awful. Then your intrusive thoughts started coming out like vomit. You couldn’t stop the words that were forming in your head from coming out of your mouth.

“He kept saying it would never happen again and I believed him! How could I be so stupid?!! How could I believe someone that would do something like this to me?!!!” Your voice was getting louder and louder but you were only yelling at yourself.

“Maybe I deserved it if I couldn’t see what was really happening! I deserved it for believing such an obvious lie!”

“NO!” Changbin who had been completely silent in his chair up until that point yelled as he stood from his seat fuming.

“No! You did not deserve that! Don’t ever say that!” He wasn’t trying to yell AT you. He just wanted you to stop saying such awful things about yourself. To stop saying such horrible, untrue things. You froze for a moment, in shock by his outburst. Changbin was always so sweet and soft spoken with you. You couldn’t recall anytime he’d ever raised his voice at you so when you heard him shout it broke the last bit of the damn that had been holding you together. You clung to Chan again and utterly broke down as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. Chan shot Changbin a look and Changbin stood there, he instantly regretted raising his voice at you. He wasn’t mad at you of course. He was pissed at Lance and upset you spoke so poorly of yourself when they all cared so much for you.

“Y/N… I’m… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…” Chan put up a hand and shook his head as if to say ‘it’s okay’. He knew better than anyone what Changbin was feeling, Minho too. They both wanted nothing more than to do to Lance what he’d done to you but they understood at this point it would do no good. It would help nothing; it especially wouldn’t help you.

“I think it’s best we all take a moment and cool down.” Minho suggested. As soon as he did Changbin made a b line out the door of the dorm with Minho hot on his heels. The others got up and started cleaning up the kitchen from dinner. Chan sat on the couch with you, holding you until you thought you couldn’t possibly cry anymore. When the tears finally stopped you stayed in his arms taking deep breaths trying to even out your breathing being somewhat soothed by the sweet smell of his cologne.

“You know Changbin didn’t mean it. Yelling at you I mean.” You shook your head. You knew.

“I know. I also know I really didn’t deserve that. Just sometimes my mind tricks me into thinking that there was something I did wrong, something I could have done to achieve a different outcome but I know that’s not true really. It was Lance, not me.” Chan shook his head in agreement to that as he squeezed you closer to him. Just then Minho burst back through the front door.

“Hyung! We have a problem!” Chan moved you aside quickly and got up from the couch to meet Minho by the door. He was out of breath trying to keep his voice down not to panic you while trying to get words to come out.

“Changbin... we went outside to get some air and… Lance! He showed up looking for Y/N!” Chan looked over his shoulder at you. He saw your face, you heard. You shook as you made yourself as small as possible on the couch, hiding yourself in the blanket Minho had put on you before.

“Hyung!” Chan’s attention flew back to Minho and he continued.

“Lance started saying horrible things about how he knew he’d find Y/N here. That he knows she’s sleeping with one or all of us. He was calling her terrible names and Changbin.... he attacked him. He is down there beating the shit out of him right now Hyung! I couldn’t get him off him alone! I need your help!” Chan slid shoes on quickly and pointed at Han.

“Jisung go make sure Y/N is alright! All of you stay here! We’ll be right back!” Chan and Minho rushed out the door and down to the bottom floor. When they got out to the street, they saw Lance hunched down on the ground and Changbin kicking him in the ribs.

“How the fuck. Could you. Put your hands. On Y/N like that! You. Piece. Of shit!” His words were punctuated with kicks in between.

“Someone. As good. As her!!!” Changbin climbed on top of Lance and started punching at his arms he had up trying to block his face. Chan grabbed one of Changbin’s arms and Minho grabbed the other. It took all their strength to pull him off Lance. Changbin was practically frothing at the mouth.

“If you ever show your face, if you even so much as breath her name! I will fucking kill you!” Lance stood up gasping for air, face bloody. He opened his mouth about to say something again. Chan was ready to square up this time and Minho interrupted Lance before he could speak.

“If you know what’s good for you, you won’t say whatever it is you’re thinking of saying and just leave. If I couldn’t stop Changbin alone you think I can stop both of them?” Lance looked at Chan and Changbin who both looked ready to go blow for blow with him. He scowled, spit blood on the curb and walked away without another word as Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin rushed out the building doors.

“Everyone! Upstairs NOW!” Chan yelled at the others as he tried to calm himself back down and help Minho practically drag Changbin inside.

Back in the dorm Jisung rocked you, petting your hair and cooing in your ear telling you everything was gonna be okay. That Chan and Minho were handling it and that Changbin was gonna be alright. Anything to get you to try and calm down. Truthfully you were terrified that Lance would hurt them, get in somehow and hurt you again too. NONE of the guys would ever allow that but you weren’t thinking clearly in the moment. When the door burst open Hyunjin jumped and it made you almost leap out of your skin and Jisung’s arms. When you realized it was the maknaes you only had one question.

“Where’s Changbin… Chan… Minho?” Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin looked around.

“They were just behind us a minute ago.” Your mind went into over drive. Were they hurt? Did Lance do something after the others had come back up? You clutched on to Jisung’s shirt in a panic.

“Sungie please! Make sure they’re alright!” Jisung nodded and hurried from the couch out the front door almost running directly into the other three men. Chan was trying to get Changbin to get a grip before they went back into the apartment.

“Get a hold of yourself Binnie! Going in there like this isn’t going to help!”

“He’s right Changbin.” Jisung agreed.

“You have to get a hold of yourself now. She’s in there in a panic and we need you to calm yourself and go let her know you’re okay. Do you hear me Binnie?! She needs us right now!” Changbin nodded and took some deep breaths. His breathing had evened out but his hands were still shaking when the four of them finally went back into the apartment. Felix and Jeongin had you in their arms taking over where Jisung had been before rushing out to check on the eldest of the group. When you looked up and saw Changbin you leaped from the couch and ran towards him throwing your arms around his neck and sobbing into his chest. He pulled you tightly against him.

“It’s okay Y/N, I’m okay. I’m so so sorry if I scared you.” You shook your head; he could never scare you.

“I was scared FOR you Binnie never OF you. NEVER of you! Are you okay?” Changbin melted right there unable to control his own tears any longer. Here you were, after all you’d been through and him making a difficult situation worse with his behavior and you were asking HIM if he’s okay. It just made it that much harder to understand how anyone could ever hurt you like that. You all talked a while longer and once everyone calmed down exhaustion from the day hit. Chan decided it was time to call it and for you all to try to get a good night’s rest. As you all broke off to go to your respective rooms you stopped Chan at your door.

“Chan…..” You were nervous to ask him your question.

“Yea Y/N? What is it? Do you need anything?” He asked voice still full of concern.

“Well… would you… would you lay with me? Just until I fall asleep? You don’t have to but…” Chan smiled and cut you off.

@jquellen27

“Of course I will baby girl. Anything for you.” Chan followed you into the spare room you were staying in. You both climbed into the bed and curled up under the blankets. Your back against Chan’s chest, his arms securely around you. You weren’t sure what was next or what this new beginning in your life had in store for you but what ever happened you knew you could get through it with the love and support of your boys. Knowing that, you were able to relax into Chan and fall asleep. More at peace than you had been in a long time.

Please do not repost or translate any of my works. My blog and stories are NSFW and 18+ ONLY! Minors, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked!

#potential triggers #domestic abuse #violence #skz #stray kids #bang chan #lee know #hyunjin #changbin #jeongin #yongbok felix #jisung #seungmin #skz fan fic #stray kids fan fic #angst

[urrone]

wip amnesty - jordan eberle/taylor hall

Full disclosure, I think I've posted this before, but I'm officially posting it again just to get it off my chest and out of my active fics folder. It's never getting finished. At the end I will include my notes for how I would have ended it if I had the willpower to do so. I created this document in the year of our eldritch horror TWO THOUSAND THIRTEEN so that's how long it's been muddling through existence.

--

the new normal

It’s not that Taylor hasn’t heard of Oklahoma before, of course he has, though he doubts he could have ever picked it out on a map of the US. He’s just never, like, had to physically acknowledge its existence with his own presence, and it’s weird. 

“Is it as flat as you thought?” Jeff, the intern the team sent to pick him up at the airport, carefully keeps his hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel. Bringing his truck down from home hadn’t made sense given he’s sure he won’t be here long, but Taylor misses driving already. 

“I didn’t really think about it,” he says, and that’s definitely true. Foreign places always resemble a slightly different Canada in his mind until he sees them. And it’s not like anywhere in the US is really that different, not like going overseas. 

And honestly, it does kind of remind him of Edmonton, only with fewer trees. 

Jeff laughs when he says it out loud, and starts pointing out landmarks on the way to the apartment Taylor will share with Jordan. He’s never lost this much playing time before, and he isn’t sure if it’s that or seeing Jordan for the first time since April that has him wiping sweat off his palms every five minutes. 

Taylor lets Jeff’s inane chatter ease him all the way to his new front door, on the second floor of a low rise apartment building that Jeff assures him is only a five-to-ten-minute bike ride from the arena. “It doesn’t look like a lot, but there’s some good stuff in Midtown,” Jeff says, gesturing vaguely to the road behind them. 

Taylor doesn’t know how to respond to this but it doesn’t really matter because Jeff’s already gone.

--

“Are you telling me you actually brought your dirty laundry from Canada to wash down here?” Jordan says, looking at the pile of clothes in front of the washer. “You moved down here just so I'd do your laundry again, didn't you?”

Taylor laughs and chucks the socks he'd been wearing on top of the pile. It’s almost a relief to just fall back into chirping each other like they always used to. It helps him talk through the fluttery bits in his stomach. “Yep, it had absolutely nothing to do with finally being able to play again. I got tired of washing my own socks.”

Jordan picks one of the socks up and flicks it back at Taylor's face. “It doesn’t look like you’ve washed a sock since last season.” 

Taylor bats it away, laughing around the new tight feeling that’s taken up residence in his chest. He'd really missed just being in the same room with Jordan, sitting on their mutually owned couch playing xbox, buying groceries they’d forget to eat, watching Jordan sort their dirty laundry.

“Why aren't you holding up your end then?” Jordan asks. He's given up bitching and started dumping the pile of clothes into the washer. “When's the last time you went grocery shopping?”

“Chill out, I just got here.”

“We can't eat at Earl's every day, dude.”

It's weird that he can eat at a place called Earl's in two different countries. Did they run out of restaurant names? The one down here doesn't have the variety of Edmonton’s, but their brisket is delicious, and Taylor doesn't see why they can't eat it every day if they want to. He says as much.

“The nutritionist might object.”

Fair point to Jordan. “Do you think Tubes would let me borrow his car?”

Jordan snorts. “No.”

Taylor flops down on the couch. “Well do you think he'd give me a ride to the grocery store?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether or not he's already going to the store.” Jordan flops down next to him, and it's not their awesome giant wrap around couch that Jordan’s mom bought them when they moved in, so next to him is kind of on top of him given the way that Taylor's sprawled, but Taylor doesn't mind. He likes Jordan's warm weight against him, even though it's kind of hot in their apartment, despite the air conditioning. It's weird that it's 30C in late October anywhere in the world.

“If we had Vespas we could go to the store.”

“How is grocery shopping with a Vespa different than grocery shopping with your bike?”

Taylor tries to shrug but his shoulders are stuck to the leather. “I'd get there faster?”

“Do you even know what a Vespa is?” Jordan nudges Taylor with his foot. “You still wouldn't have anywhere to put the groceries.”

Taylor doesn’t want to admit that no, he still doesn’t know. “I wouldn't get much. It's not like you're going to cook it.”

“Can't fit a lot of coconut water on a Vespa.”

“I could fit enough.” He nudges Jordan back with his knee, since his feet are currently trapped under Jordan's calves.

“Hey, Cheds.” Sometimes Taylor regrets ever telling Jordan about that nickname, but sometimes he likes that Jordan is the only one to use it anymore.

“What?”

Jordan won't make eye contact with him for a minute, which is weird because it's Jordan and Jordan has never been uncomfortable around Taylor, not even when they first met. “I just. I really missed you.”

It's weird to say his heart flips in his chest, because hearts don't actually do that, really, but Taylor might finally know what people mean when they say that, like this sick warm weird feeling right there behind his sternum. It's awesome and terrifying and he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

He waits until it passes and pats Jordan's shoulder, because Jordan's still looking weird. Which, granted, they hardly ever talk about their feelings for things other than food or hockey, but still. “I missed you too, you non.”

Jordan doesn't even smile at that, and Taylor suddenly feels like they're having two different conversations. “No,” Jordan says. “I mean. I missed. Jesus, Taylor, it was like <i>six months</i>.”

“No it wasn't, I was back in Edmonton that whole time. I mean, except for the surgery.”

“Not on the ice.”

“Well no, but—”

“Not over the summer.”

“We never spend the summer together.”

Jordan's looking at him now, but it's with the distinct impression that says Taylor's missing something big, and fuck if Taylor knows what it is. He kind of does though, because even when he'd been out with his ankle his rookie year, they'd still been around, and it hadn't been some planned thing like his shoulder where they knew it'd go through next season. 

The shoulder thing had kind of scared him, and he guesses it must have scared Jordan a bit too. He puts his hand on Jordan's shoulder again, but leaves it there and holds on. “I get it,” he says, even though Jordan's still looking at him like he really doesn't. “I really did miss you too. And playing with you. And winning with you.”

Jordan looks kind of okay with that, and he reaches up to pat Taylor's hand.

“You want to hug it out?” Taylor asks.

Jordan laughs at that and smacks his hand away and things feel normal again, but a different kind of normal. “Fuck you, turn on the TV.”

If this is going to be their new normal, Taylor could be okay with that. 

–

Practice is weird and it isn’t just because he hasn’t actually had a team practice since last season.  Jordan and Ryan have been down for a month already, since before the home opener, and Taylor hates feeling a step behind. He knows some of the guys from training camp last year, but Schultz is new and Ryan follows him around like a duckling. 

He’s also missed out on several months worth of inside jokes, which he hates almost more than feeling winded after sprints. During practice Justin hip checks Jordan and they both say “sauce” and crack up laughing. Taylor doesn’t feel bad at all when they both land on their asses and get yelled at. 

Tubes laughs at Taylor when he mentions the grocery store, but Hamilton takes pity on him. (Taylor hadn't really planned this well and asked in the locker room. If anyone chirps him about it, he's totally throwing Jordan under the bus about the laundry. Cereal is way better than socks.)

“We can go after practice,” Hammy says. “I've gotta go anyway.”

They end up driving way further north than Taylor's been before, he hasn't really made it past 23rd St on his bike, and stopped there because there wasn’t a bike lane. He figures if it isn't in the confines of downtown, he doesn't really need it.

“But you do,” Hammy says. “Because they don't have a Whole Foods down there.” He then spends about fifteen minutes bitching about the grocery store situation in Oklahoma, because apparently the liquor laws in the States are different than Canada, and for some reason that means no good grocery stores exist in this state. “It's a big fucking mess,” Hammy finishes, just as he parks. He catches Taylor giving him whatever look must have been on his face, because really, <i>grocery stores</i>. “What?” Hammy asks.

“I had no idea someone could have so many feelings about grocery stores.”

Hammy just pushes him into a parked car, and they both run when the alarm starts blaring.

–

“Did you know it's not even called KD down here?” Taylor asks, neatly arranging the offensively labeled blue boxes in the cupboard.

“I did, actually,” Jordan says, not even looking up from the TV.

“You could have warned me.”

“I'm sorry, was it a shock to your delicate nature?”

Taylor lobs one of the wet sponges on the sink at Jordan's head, and fuck yeah he's got excellent hand-eye coordination, it hits Jordan right in the ear. Jordan yelps and comes at him, and Taylor barely gets out “I'm sorry, was it a shock to your delicate ear?” before Jordan has him pinned on the kitchen floor, laughing into the tile. 

Taylor gets his hands under him and shoves up. He's got height and weight on Jordan, which has always made wrestling pathetically unmatched, especially when Jordan forgets to do shit like pin his hands. He gets Jordan wedged into the corner between the cabinets and the floor, and even with Jordan squirming and kicking his truly massive thighs around, he can't dislodge Taylor. Taylor is the fucking master of pinning people.

“Say it,” he says. It's unfortunately a little muffled because he's got Jordan's shoulder pinned with his head, and his mouth is full of Jordan' shirt. Still, it's a familiar enough routine by now, and Jordan's face is free and clear.

“No.”

Taylor presses down harder, his feet hooked over Jordan's legs and their arms tangled. It'd be horrible form if either of them had ever actually officially wrestled in any kind of formal manner, but there aren't any rules here. They're touching knee to head and it’s apparently part of the new normal that Taylor notices this time. Notices exactly how they line up, how Jordan's thigh flexes between his, how Jordan's breath pants across Taylor's forehead as he struggles. He doesn't know why he's never thought about this before, how good everything feels. He's missed it. They've had to be too careful about Taylor's shoulder for so long.

“Say it,” he says again, and hopes his voice doesn't sound as wrecked as he feels.

“You're better than me!”

“At what.”

Jordan sags against the floor and Taylor finds himself resisting absolutely nothing, and then they're just two guys, cuddling on the kitchen floor. “At literally everything,” Jordan says.

Taylor lifts his head. “That escalated quickly.”

“Fuck you, don't quote <i>Anchorman</i> at me.”

“Don't say ridiculous shit.”

Jordan shrugs and Taylor feels it with his whole torso and remembers that, oh yeah, he's still basically laying on top of Jordan, and it isn't for wrestling reasons anymore. He gets up and offers a hand to Jordan. “NHL 13?”

He laughs when Jordan slaps his hand away. “I'm gonna kick your ass,” Jordan says, levering himself up against the cabinets.

“Yeah, we'll see.”

–

Taylor's first week playing with the team for real and not just practicing involves a road trip down to Texas. On a bus. Taylor remembers taking buses to games, it honestly hasn't been that long, but the drive from OKC down to Houston is going to be like eight hours. And because he’s who he is he decides to complain about it out loud in the middle of Earl’s. “Welcome to the AHL,” he mutters.

“It's not that bad,” Jordan says.

“You're like a foot shorter than me, of course you don't think it's that bad.”

Jordan flicks a fry at him. Taylor tries unsuccessfully to catch it in his mouth. “I'm like inches shorter than you,” Jordan says. “Very few inches.”

“At least two,” Ryan says helpfully.

Justin nods. “But not more than six.”

“Fuck you both, it's not six inches.”

Taylor flicks a pickle at Jordan. Fries are too precious to waste, and he's really not a fan of pickles. “I can see over your head without even trying. It's enough.”

“You cannot.”

“I can.”

“Prove it.”

“Right now?”

Jordan gets up from their booth and stands next to it, hands on his hips. “Yes, right now.”

“You look stupid.” Taylor looks at Ryan and Justin, but they're both concentrating really hard on eating right now and are exactly no help. “Seriously?”

Justin looks up from his barbecue. “It makes Nugget really uncomfortable when his parents yell at each other,” he says, with a truly impressive deadpan expression. Taylor is forced to begrudgingly admit, only to himself, that Justin could teach lessons.

Taylor sighs heavily and ridiculously and throws his napkin down. “Fine.” He knows he's exaggerated his and Jordan’s height differences. Jordan knows he's exaggerated their height differences. Literally everyone knows he's exaggerated their height differences, and he stands up and his eyes are right on Jordan's forehead and of course he can't see shit over his head and he hates that he had to stand up and leave his barbecue behind. “Whatever, you non. Fine.” He sits back down again. “Two inches. Why were we talking about this again?”

Jordan is insufferably triumphant with his shit-eating grin. “The bus,” Jordan reminds him. “It's not that bad, so quit your fucking whining.”

“Language, Ebby,” Taylor says. “This is a family establishment.”

Jordan kicks him under the table, and it's really fucking hard actually, but then he leaves his leg pressed up against Taylor's until they leave.

–

Taylor shifts around for the millionth time in as many minutes. The bus is too hot and too cold and too cramped and too . . . everything. He's got his iPad out and has Dexter queued up but can't find a good position for the iPad and his legs and his shoulders. Jordan shotgunned the window seat on the way to the bus and at first Taylor thought that the aisle would be awesome, more room for his legs, but then Arco spread out a blanket, grabbed his pillow, and camped out in the aisle. It's a mad genius idea and Taylor wishes he'd thought of it first, but now he's got nowhere for his legs except under the seat in front of him.

“Stop squirming,” Jordan says, shoving at his shoulder. “I can't sleep when you squirm.”

“I can't get comfortable,” Taylor says, shoving back. “This is the worst.”

House kicks his seat. “Tell us again how wonderful the Oilers plane is, seriously.”

Taylor hunches down in his seat. This is the worst, the absolute worst, but he might be down here for the whole season, given the way the negotiations are going, and he doesn't really want to be <i>that guy</i>.

“Here, just.” Jordan starts manhandling him a bit. “Sit up a minute, will you?” Taylor does and Jordan pulls his leg up behind Taylor and Taylor does not at all see how this is going to be comfortable? But then Jordan grabs his shoulders and turns Taylor away from him and pulls his back into Jordan's chest, so Taylor is basically reclining in a Jordan chair. Taylor tries really hard and really unsuccessfully to not think about every point of contact between them. 

He swings his legs up onto the armrest across the aisle, basically right over Arco's head, but he's asleep and Danis is all alone across the aisle and sleeping with his face mashed against the window and obviously not using the arm rest right now.

“Better?” Jordan whispers, and it's right in his ear and that's definitely what makes the goosebumps spread across the back of his neck. He wonders what Jordan will attribute his full body shudder to, but Jordan doesn't actually ask. Also is it better? No. And yes. 

“Yeah,” he says, just as quiet. It really has no business being comfortable, because they're still two tall, muscular dudes shoved into a seat made for people roughly half their size, but somehow it is, and it’s weird that it is. 

Jordan slings his arm over Taylor's shoulder, because it's that or leave it mashed between Taylor and the seat. He can feel when Jordan falls asleep again, because his breath gets deep and even against Taylor's shoulder.

Taylor puts his earbuds in, props the iPad against his knees, and hits play. He’ll deal with how good all of this feels later.

–

It’s Justin’s idea to go see Cloud Atlas. Taylor doesn’t really like going to movie theaters, he gets bored just sitting there trying to follow along with a plot he doesn’t really care about. He relents when Jordan tells him to stop being a non and promises to buy him a popcorn and lemonade, so he gets on his bike and follows them all down the street to the theater. 

Somehow, when they all go to sit down, Taylor ends up on the end of the row next to Justin, and Jordan’s on the other end next to Ryan, and all Taylor has is his watery lemonade. Ryan and Justin do this thing during the previews where they do a thumbs up or down on whether or not they’ll go see the movie. Jordan starts giving his opinion after he sees Ryan and Justin doing it. 

Taylor keeps his thumb down the whole time and eventually Justin stops turning to ask. 

He only makes it thirty-seven minutes into the movie. By the sixth time a new storyline is introduced and he’s leaned over again to Justin to ask if that’s still Tom Hanks under all the makeup and Justin has shushed him yet again, he just gets up and leaves. He waits in the lobby to see if anyone follows him but eventually Taylor has to concede that they might not have even noticed he’d left. Or maybe they just thought he was taking an extended bathroom break.

The lobby of the movie theater is boring and doesn’t have any couches and he’s actually pretty close to home because everything is pretty close to their apartment, so he just leaves.

He bikes around downtown. There’s a little canal area near the theater and a big statue of a covered wagon. He likes the canal. It’s absolutely nothing like the river in Edmonton but whatever, it’s trying. He stops outside Toby Keith’s restaurant to tweet about the movie and laughs at Whits’ response. 

Most of the time he’s not sure if it’s Oklahoma City that he likes or his anonymity. No one recognizes him here. No one stops him on the sidewalk to ask about their Cup chances. No one laments to him about their godawful power play, or how long it’s been since their last playoff run. No one gives him their insider tips or advice on going top shelf or five hole. He hasn’t been this anonymous in a really long time. 

If he’d stopped to think about it, and he never had, obviously, he’d have assumed he’d find it lonely, isolating. The first time he’d left the country, to go someplace that wasn’t the United States, he’d gone all the way to Russia for hockey. They had people to help them around, translators assigned to help them order dinner and find their way to the bathrooms. And, other than thinking they were obnoxious tourists, the Russians hadn’t really cared much about who he was. He keeps thinking about that time, about being in the middle of a crowd of people and completely unable to communicate with any of them unless they spoke English. 

They speak English in Oklahoma but it’s the same feeling, like there’s something lost in translation between him and the people strolling along the canal. 

He’d never been alone in Russia though, Jordan had been with him. He wonders why he feels more alone now, and he kind of hates it. 

As he’s contemplating that feeling, he realizes he’s hit the highway. And because he’s hit the highway, he doesn’t actually know where he is. It should be easy just turn around and go back the way he came, plus all the streets in Oklahoma City are numbered, but he can’t figure it out. He lets Siri direct him back to the apartment.

-

That's where it ends, these are the notes:

Lockout ends and they go back and Taylor is still pissy and doesn’t know why

Jordan confronts him about it

Taylor finally says that OKC was balls but he missed feeling like they were about to start something, like they were removed from their normal lives in a place where anything could happen

Jordan calls him an idiot and kisses him

“It was like. Anything could happen there. We could have just been two normal guys. And it made me think, if we were just two normal guys, what would I do.” 

“But you didn’t do anything.” 

Taylor shrugs. “We still weren’t normal guys, even though it felt like it.” 

“What’s normal? Nothing’s normal. There’s no such thing as normal.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“So we make a new normal,” Jordan says, and kisses him. 

Okay but now that I’ve been reminded of it I need to add something in there about bonking their heads together as they kiss. 

#huge shout out to all of my hockey friends #who read this story #and offered suggestions #that i never implemented #bc i never finished it #my fic #this work is not in progress #hallberle #hockey fic

[satashiiwrites]

Hmm... for the WIP ask game either your current NaNo project, Stay, or Afterthoughts (or all 3 of them if you want lol). Your choice! <3

Sure, we can do all three.

Choices and Regrets is a 911/Buddie version/fusion of the novel Dark Matter by Blake Crouch (which is one of my all time favorite books and Apple is making into a TV series). I’m doing this fic for November’s Rough Trade using the second chances part of the prompt as well as a NaNoWriMo because I have the feeling the ending word count is going to be north of 70k. I weirdly have a bunch of November off because I’m switching jobs so I HOPE to have most of the fic written/out by the end of the month. We’ll see how i’m doing. It’s the 8th and I’m at 14K written out of a goal of 50k.

The basic premise is do you like the choices you made in your life or do you have regrets? I’m setting this in 9-1-1 post lightning strike in season 6 and ignoring almost anything canon after that point (no Natalia or Marisol). We start the fic with Buck being invited to go out for celebratory drinks with Connor as he managed to get his wife pregnant without Buck’s donation. Buck is maudlin about how he hasn’t found someone to settle down with and have kids with. He’s pining over Eddie but doesn’t want to upset the apple cart. Eddie talks him into going to have a drink and to close that chapter of his life then come back for a late dinner at Casa Diaz.

Buck is then kidnapped by a stranger who doesn’t tell him want they want from him. When he wakes, he’s in a different, parallel universe where the him in that universe made much different choices. Nobody he considers found family knows him. Meanwhile, the parallel universe’s Buck is taking his place and makes a move on Eddie who has also been silently pining over Buck (they’re two halves of the same idiot).

What will Buck do to get back home and to his Eddie? Will Eddie be happy with the alternate Buck or does he figure out that something’s not right?

The novel this is based on is a thriller but I’d also say it has a romance side to it. What would you do to get back to the one you love?

I am planning on putting Buck and Eddie through the wringer. All the angst and then some smex.

To read what I’ve currently got yeeted, read chapter one and two here on rough trade

And for a little spoiler, this is a line i’m wanting to use in this fic that i came up with a few months ago and has been sitting abandoned in my tidbits folder:

“You told me once to not go chasing waterfalls and I didn’t know what you meant at all. And i did. I chased the damn waterfalls big time and I’m in trouble and I think I need your help. That you’re the only one who can help.”

Stay is another one of those tidbit folders. It’s got… not much in it. Just a bit that i thought of randomly. It doesn’t belong to any fic at the moment. Could become a full fledged one-shot character study, could end up co-opted into something bigger. This is all in the head/POV of Eddie Diaz from 9-1-1. First draft.

Stay. Please stay with me.

Eddie’s used to being left behind by people who are supposed to stick with him. The army? He’d managed to pull his entire team out of a burning helicopter, taken three bullets and they’d forced him out, telling him thanks for his service but he can’t stay with them.

Nowhere to go but home, right?

Texas wasn’t home anymore. Home shouldn’t itch under your skin like a three day old bruise. Adjusting to civilian life after being dumped by the army… he hadn’t handled it well. Eddie could say that not that he had distance and time to reflect on that period of time.

No wonder Shannon hadn’t stayed—he’d been a mess.

Still was, actually. He’s just better at hiding it.

Afterthoughts is a series of codas I’ve been doing while re-watching 9-1-1 during hiatus. I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping up with it and most of this is angsty as hell.

Testifying in court is actually pretty rare for firefighters and if anything, Bobby usually is the one who gets put on the witness stand as captain.

Not this time though.

This time, Buck was the one who got the gun pointed at him and he’s being called to testify because even Chim didn’t hear quite everything Lola said to him.

He told the DA that he wasn’t going to be very helpful. The news camera footage should be enough to plead her out but evidently Lola’s traffic disturbance had upset some important people and they didn’t want it to become a regular occurrence so they wanted jail time.

Jail time for rescuing your marriage? The romantic in Buck actually thought it was kinda sweet—even if he hadn’t enjoyed having a gun pointed at his chest.

So Buck was being called.

As a hostile witness.

Why were they actually going to trial about this again?

Lola had been charged with a PC 647c, aka Obstructing Movement to a Public Place—also known as the freeway. It was a misdemeanor but carried up to 180 days. The DA wanted those 180 days. Was practically salivating over them for some reason. So they were calling Buck and Athena to testify.

If anyone wants to read the posted codas, I’ve broken them into fics by season. Read the completed season one here on AO3 or the partially posted season 2 here.

#wip ask meme #buddie #wips #first drafts #afterthoughts #choices and regrets #snippets #QB!

[darlingamidala]

Obianidala Week 2023

Day 1 prompt: Canon Divergence

First of all, thank you so much to @obianidalaevent for putting on this event!!! I've been waiting for an obianidala event for literally years, so naturally I wanted to post something for every day. Unfortunately due to life/work, I was only able to do one new piece for it. But thankfully, I have a years long backlog of WIPs that have been lurking in my drafts folder, so this is the perfect opportunity to let some of them see the light of day!

I wrote this scene in 2018, which is part of an AU that I was never able to fully flesh out enough to write. Basically, obianidala are together during the Clone Wars, but everything still goes to shit in RotS. Padme survives the birth of the twins, and she and Obi-wan, believing themselves to be widowed, go into hiding. You can also read this on ao3

___________

Obi-wan came out of his meditation and pushed himself to his feet. He had a bad feeling about… something. It was ominous, but elusive. But then, the last thirteen years had been full of bad feelings, and for good reason. The twins were safe, at least for now, tucked into their bunks on the ship that they called home.

He sighed as he made his way down the hallway towards the bedroom he shared with Padme. He found her sitting on the edge of the bed in the half-lit room. She was tense, curled in on herself, and looked up at him with wide eyes that glistened with unshed tears. He gave her a sympathetic look as he quietly walked over to sit beside her. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She rested her head against his shoulder, burying her face against the fabric of his shirt.

They both had nights like this, where the loss of their husband would suddenly hit them hard and the pain of what had happened all those years ago felt like a fresh wound all over again. It had been several years since he had seen Padme cry over it though.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Are you alright?” he murmured.

Padme took a shaky breath as she pulled away. She pulled her arms in towards herself with her hands curled protectively in front of her stomach as she tried to blink her tears away. “Obi-wan..” she whispered, uncertainty and… fear? in her eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

She said the word like it was a death sentence, as if she had contracted some horrible illness. And it may as well have been, for the way Obi-wan stilled, how he gripped her hands tighter as he looked away with his lips parted in a silent denial of her statement.

“It was a dream… Like the ones I used to have about my mother, just before she died.”

Obi-wan had been silenced by his own guilt about his inaction in response to those dreams.

“And?” Padme coaxed. She had always had such a way of helping where he couldn’t, when it came to Anakin.

“It was about you.”

“Tell me.”

“It was only a dream… You die in childbirth.”

Obi-wan frowned in concern as he stepped over to Anakin and placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

Padme’s hands had come up to cradle her stomach as she asked about the baby. Anakin had said he didn’t know what would become of their child.

Obi-wan opened his mouth to say something, but he still didn’t trust himself to say the right words.

“It was only a dream,” Padme dismissed with a reassuring smile, taking Anakin’s free hand in her own.

“I won’t let this one become real,” he replied with grave determination.

“You’re certain that that’s what you saw?” Obi-wan asked, having finally found his voice.

“I’m certain, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan reached up and tucked Anakin’s hair behind his ear before resting his hand on his cheek, his thumb just brushing the scar upon his brow. “Then we will do what we can to keep it from coming true.”

It hadn’t come true then, though neither of them believed their husband’s drastic measures had been to thank for that. But now… she was older, more susceptible to complications. And they no longer had access to Core-standard medical facilities; they went to Rebellion medics when they could, but mostly they relied on a medkit they kept in their ship.

Neither of them said anything, but they both knew they were thinking the same thing: Anakin’s vision could still come to pass. She may have survived the birth of the twins, but now... her odds were not as good.

“Oh, Padme...” Obi-wan sighed, gathering her back into his arms, holding her tightly as if that would be enough to save her. One hand came up to cradle her head, his fingers digging into her dark curls, much shorter now than they had been back then.

She choked out a sob as she pressed her face against his chest and brought her arms up to return his embrace, clutching at the back of his shirt.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he murmured reassuringly against her hair, absently rocking her as he stared out into the middle distance. Another sob wracked her body, and he continued to whisper empty platitudes, wishing that he could truly believe she would be okay.

He was choked up as well, a sob caught in his throat and tears threatening to well up in his eyes, but he willed himself not to cry. They had made a silent agreement when the twins were very small, that when the grief welled up in one of them, the other would do their best to give them someone to lean on, to not get dragged under as well. He needed to be strong for Padme.

Her tears began to die down, and she sniffled as she lifted her head to look at him. “What are we going to do?”

“What can we do?” he asked hopelessly.

“I’m worried about the twins,” she confessed.

“They’ll be fine,” he reassured her. That, at least, was something he felt fairly sure of. He did not want to take care of them alone; they were supposed to have three parents, and it would break his heart if they got down to one. But they were growing up. They weren’t babies anymore, and before long they wouldn’t even be children.

Anakin hadn’t been a child when he lost his mother, and it had still devastated him.

“I can take care of them,” Obi-wan promised. “I will keep them safe.” I will love them enough for the three of us. The last thought went unspoken. He wasn’t ready to commit to the idea of her being gone.

Padme slowly returned to leaning against him, until he was supporting her full weight. “Hold me,” she whispered, barely audible, and he did.

They sat silently for a long while, trying to gain comfort from each other’s presence and closeness as they came to terms with their new situation, until Padme pulled away to finish getting ready for bed.

#i’ll try to add a read more to this tomorrow i’m on mobile rn #obianidala #jeka writes #obianidalaweek2023

[angelasscribbles]

Solace: A Bad Romance One-Shot

Series: Bad Romance

Bad Romance One-Shots

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings for series: [(Riley x Liam x Max) + (Riley x Drake)] + (Riley x Rashad)

Paring this chapter: Liam x Max

Rating: NSFW 🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

Warnings for this chapter: LEMONS

Word Count:  2,059

A/N: This has been in my WIP folder since Bad Romance ended four months ago. I finally got a wild hair last night and finished it.

This takes place concurrently with Chapter 26: An Audacious Proposal. While Riley spends the night with Drake, Liam and Max grow closer and begin to form a relationship in their own right.

Shout out to @harleybeaumont who has been patiently waiting for this chapter for four freaking months lol!

My other stuff: Master List.

Max moved around the sitting room as Liam sat slumped in his favorite chair. He wasn’t pouting exactly, but he wasn’t not pouting either.

Riley was with Drake and probably would be all night. He’d told her to go. Not that she’d ever needed his permission for a goddamned thing. She’d always done whatever the hell she wanted and there wasn’t much he could do about it, never had been.

He was trying to be understanding and accommodating. It was true that Drake needed her tonight more than he did. Drake certainly needed to be with someone that he loved, someone that could comfort and soothe him. It was just dumb stupid luck that described the same person for both of them. Considering what Drake had done for her, and what he’d been through because of it, and because of him, his own inaction, he couldn’t even be mad about any of it.

But he was frustrated. Frustrated by his own actions, frustrated by the situation he’d help to create, frustrated by his own inability to keep her attention focused on him and only him. She was wild, untamable, his elusive goddess. Trying to tame her was like trying to corral the fucking wind. It only made him want her more.

“Do you want something to drink? We have your favorite bourbon.” Max’s voice filtered across the room to him.

Liam blinked as he looked up, focusing his eyes on the other man. Max was watching him closely, trying to gauge his mood. Liam sighed. He was being handled and he didn’t like it.

“Yeah, sure.” Liam said as he pulled his tie loose. He watched as Max poured the drinks then crossed the room to him. What were they to each other now? Friends still? Friends with benefits? Lovers?

“What the hell is a throuple?” Liam asked, remembering Riley’s words.

“Same as a couple.” Max answered, handing him the tumbler of bourbon as he took a seat on the couch. “But with three people instead of two.”

“Hm.” Liam regarded the other man thoughtfully.

“What?” Max looked at him in alarm, “Is that too much? We don’t have to put a label on it! If you don’t feel that way, it’s ok-“

A smile quirked at the corners of Liam’s mouth, “Max. Stop talking.”

“Sorry.” Max dropped his eyes to the drink in his hand before tipping it up and taking several long gulps.

Fuck. Well, he was certainly distracted from the Riley being with Drake issue now. Max’s demeanor set off every predatory instinct he had. He tipped his glass back slowly as he sipped the drink, focusing on his sudden arousal. His eyes stayed locked on Max whose gaze darted to him then away again several times.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Max.”

“I just don’t want to presume things.”

Liam sat up straight and leaned forward, drink clasped in both hands, “What would you like this to be?”

“I want it to be whatever you want it to be.” Max practically whispered.

“Whatever I want?” Liam’s gaze stayed fixed on the other man, heavy and intense.

Max dropped his eyes to the ground, “Yes my king.”

Liam stood and crossed the room, grasping Max by the hair and pulling him out of the chair. “Look at me, Max.” He commanded.

Max pulled his eyes up to lock on Liam, desire surging through him. That tone in Liam’s voice made him want to do anything, everything that he was told. More than wanted to, he craved it. He wanted to beg the other man to command him, but he held still, heart beating wildly in his chest as he waited for further instructions.

He didn’t need to beg though, didn’t need to say a word, Liam could see the desire to be dominated right there in those burning blue eyes. He pulled Max’s head toward him and brought his lips crashing down to meet his own, his tongue forcing its way into his lover’s mouth.

When he broke the kiss, he grabbed Max’s hand and placed it between his legs, “Do you feel that? See what you’ve done to me? What are we going to do about this?”

Max swallowed loudly, “Whatever you tell me to, my king.”

Liam groaned, “God, Max, you’re such a good little subby boy.”

“I’m your good little subby boy, Liam.”

Liam leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Yes, Max, you’re mine. I can do whatever the fuck I want with you, you know that, right?”

Max whimpered in acknowledgement and pleasure at the thought, “Yes, please use me.”

Liam released his hair as he instructed, “Go into the bedroom, take off your clothes and wait for me.”

Liam picked his glass up and took a long drink as he watched Max scurry into the bedroom. His dick was rock hard and throbbing. He’d have to get Max to the edge first because he was already teetering on it. The thought of pushing himself into Max’s well-toned, tight ass had his entire body thrumming with desire.

He quickly stripped down to his pants; shirt thrown carelessly into an empty chair. He started for the bedroom then quickly backtracked to grab his tie. Padding into the bedroom bare footed and bare chested, he clicked the door shut behind him.

Max was laying naked in the bed. In his bed. This beautiful, sexy, boy sprawled out on his bed, awaiting his instructions. Liam had to close his eyes for a moment to get himself under control. “Stand up.” He said hoarsely.

Max scrambled out of the bed and to Liam’s side. “Yes, my king? Tell me what you want. I’ll do….literally…” He stepped closer with each word, “anything…you…ask.”

“Fuck, Max.” Liam squeezed his eyes shut as his heart rate spiked.

“I mean it.” Max said as he circled Liam, kissing and licking as he went, “Anything.”

Liam stood with his eyes closed, luxuriating in the sensation of Max’s lips all over him. When Max made his way back around to the front, he started to slide down to his knees, but Liam caught him, “Nope. Stand up. It’s my turn.”

As Max stood, he found himself spun around and Liam’s tie looped around his wrists, trapping his hands behind his back. Liam tested it to make sure it was snug, “That ok? Is it too tight?”

“It’s fine.” Max responded as Liam turned him back around to face him.

Max leaned forward for a kiss, but Liam drew back, just out of his reach with a grin as he pushed Max down into a sitting position on the bed then knelt before him. He licked his lips as he looked up into his eyes. Max groaned as Liam’s tongue made contact with the tip of his cock. He thrust his hips up toward him, but Liam pushed him back down, his fingers digging into his hips and holding him in place while he playfully licked up and down Max’s length, teasing and tormenting him.

Liam took his time, going slowly, touching him gently, gradually pushing him closer and closer to the edge, methodically ramping his desire higher and higher. When Max was trembling and whimpering, Liam released him and stood up. His hand went to his own dick as he gazed down at Max with unadulterated lust clouding his eyes. He stroked himself as he commanded, “Stand up and turn around.”

Max stood and turned without question or hesitation. Liam untied his wrists and dropped the tie onto the floor.

“Good boy. So obedient.” He pressed his naked body against Max from behind, reaching around to firmly grasp his manhood. He gripped him tightly in his fist as he started to move his hand up and down, “You like that, don’t you?” He murmured before biting into the back of Max’s shoulder.

“God….yes…..fuck!” Max panted.

Liam used his foot to spread Max’s legs further apart and his other hand to work his hole, getting it ready for his use. He rubbed the lube on, gliding his finger over and around it before probing a finger inside. Max’s moans pushed his own desire higher.

“God, Max, you’re so sexy, I fucking love the sounds you make!” Liam told him as he pushed himself inside him.

Max fell forward so he was laying on his stomach on the bed, his feet still on the floor as Liam’s stood behind him, thrusting himself in and out in long, slow strokes that gradually built in intensity and strength before becoming shorter, faster and less controlled.

Max’s hands fisted in the sheets, his groans filling the room, “Fuck Liam, goddamn, yes! Fuck me baby, harder! Give it all to me, hurt me!”

A high pitched whimper escaped Liam as he pounded into Max harder, faster, his need pushing him to a frenzy. His eyes ran across the well defined muscles of Max’s sweat slicked back and shoulders, over his perfect, toned ass and he felt his balls tightened. “Fuck, Max, I can’t hold off, I need you to cum now!”

Liam slammed himself into Max even harder as he demanded, “Cum for me, Max, I want to hear you scream.”

It worked. The throbbing in Max’s center exploded as he came. He screamed, he screamed Liam’s name and a string of obscenities that tapered off into incoherent grunting as the orgasm ripped through him.

Liam thrust inside him one last time as his own release took him. He collapsed on top of the other man, their sweat mingling where their bodies touched, and nipped gently at the side of his neck.

As his breathing returned to normal, Liam pulled out and flopped down onto the bed. Max stood and attempted to walk away but Liam grabbed his arm and jerked him down onto the bed with him, “You’re not going anywhere, come here.”

Max landed on top of Liam who flipped them, so he was on top then proceeded to rain kisses all over him.

Max giggled, “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s that for?”

“I want to make sure you know that I like you, Max. I know I can be very…demanding during sex…but, that doesn’t reflect on…I mean…I do like you, for more than that.”

“I know. Liam, I like it when you’re dominating, because there’s no mistaking your desire for me. Being submissive makes me feel safe. I know it may seem counterintuitive but turning over control to someone you trust and letting them dominate you is an amazing feeling. It makes me feel loved, protected, cared for. I don’t know if you can understand…” Max trailed off.

“I can,” Liam replied, “I understand the turn on from both sides. I can be very dominating, but I have been known to give up control, occasionally. I don’t really have much choice when Riley puts her mind to it.”

“She is really good at it!” Max agreed. “You should let her peg you sometimes!”

“That’s never going to happen!” Liam told him.

They shared an awkward laugh.

“Is it weird, talking about her like this?” Liam asked, “It feels weird, but different, in a good way. Not that long ago I would have been raging with jealousy at the thought of her with you.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s a good thing.” Max responded, “I feel like it means you and I are getting closer.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Liam rolled off Max and stared up at the ceiling for a bit. Then he turned his head to his lover and asked, “Will you stay here tonight? Sleep with me?”

Max smiled so wide his face hurt, “I thought you’d never ask!”

Liam wrapped his arms around Max as he snuggled into his side. A throuple. That didn’t sound like a bad thing to him.

Instead of laying awake all night tossing and turning and obsessing over Riley being with Drake, Liam found himself entranced with the way Max smelled, the way his body moved when he stretched, the low murmur of his voice as he whispered to him in the dark.

He missed her, he wanted her in his bed, but he was content with the man in his arms, and the knowledge that she’d be back. The woman he loved always came back, and for tonight, at least, that knowledge was enough.

#bad romance #angelasscribbles #trr #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic #choices #choices fic writers creations #choices stories you play #cfwc fics of the week #liam x maxwell #liam rys #maxwell beaumont #trr poly

[mysticraven20]

Here’s an unfinished and unedited fic for Valentine’s Day 🤣

I don’t think I’ll ever complete this; but there’s no point in it just sitting in my WIP folder. So enjoy and let me know what you think would happen at the end…

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 16 years old and feeling incredibly wanted.

She stood over her desk looking at the pictures of the three guys currently trying to take hold of her heart, studying them with skills Sherlock Holmes would be proud of. She tilted her head to the left before swapping it to the right, then again, and again. Nothing was getting clearer. Perhaps she needed a different perspective?

“Hey girl, what are you –” Alya stopped at the top of Marinette’s trap door looking at her friend, who was now attempting (and failing) a headstand on her desk chair.

Walking over to Marinette, Alya looked from the girl to the pictures laying on her desk. Three pictures. Three guys. And an upside down Marinette.

“What are you doing?” Alya asked her friend.

Marinette manoeuvring herself from the awkward position before flopping in the chair with a rather loud grunt.

“Trying to decide.” She said, moving the pictures around as if the order would change her perspective. She moved them, again, and again, and again.

“Decide what exactly?”

“Who I’m going to date.”

Alya blinked once, then twice before opening her mouth and closing it again. Marinette had spoken in such a matter of fact, Alya was… gobsmacked. Was this really the same girl, who only a week ago was giving up on love?

“Your ego’s working overtime I see,” she laughed.

Marinette rolled her eyes, standing up and bracing her hands on the table; one hand either side of the pictures.

“Har har! This whole boy thing needs to end. It’s a distraction which I don’t need, so once and for all I’m making a choice and then making it perfectly clear to the other two that we’re only friends. Just friends.”

Alya picked up Luka’s picture and pursed her lips. “Luka? Really?” She turned the picture around and Marinette shrugged.

“I feel he deserves to be included.” She grabbed the photo and placed it back down beside the other two.

“Whatever you say.” Alya moved closer to Marinette, who once again was frantically moving the pictures around.

Stretching forward, the fox themed hero went to pick up the picture currently in first position only to have her hand slapped away.

“Leave.”

“I’ve just got here!”

“Not you, the picture. Leave the picture where it is.”

Alya looked between Marinette and the picture as the crazy hero girl moved them around again, this time second place swapped with first.

“You do realise you always put Luka last, right?”

“Pfft, no I don’t.” She went to swap him with second position only to stop and try for first, nope couldn’t.

“See.”

“Listen, Alya Césaire, this is an important hero business.”

“Your love life is not hero business.” Her friend snapped back.

“It is when it’s distracting me.” She moved the pictures around again. Unable to decide between one and two, Luka, meanwhile, held his solid third position.

“If this is going to work. You need to make a list.” Alya offered in support. Marinette freezing and raising an eyebrow at her friend.

“That’s a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you’re in some weird Chat Noir vs Adrien Agreste battle.”

“And Luka!”

“Marinette, forget Luka. You don’t need to add him because you feel sorry for what you did. You had no choice. Yes you like him, he’s a sweet guy. But he’s not one of these.” Alya picked up Adrien and Chat Noir’s pictures and thrust them in Marinette’s face.

“I’m still keeping him in.” Marinette grabbed the pictures from her friends hands and slammed them on the table. Once again, Alya was getting too involved. She had this covered!

“Okay, then amuse me… how many days, over the past 26 days have you spent with Luka?”

“That’s not important.” Marinette crossed her arms, pursed her lips and looked away.

“Because you know where I’m going with this.”

“Fine, I was with him on the day of Truth, and a couple of the days before that.”

“Okay so we’ll count that as four.”

“Then there was the ‘Crocoduel’ incident, oh and ‘Wishmaker’ and - um - I saw him briefly during our last battle with Chloé.”

“Okay.” Alya grabbed a piece of paper, dividing it into three sections. “So Luka, we can put at what? Four,” she began to use her fingers to count up. “Five, six, seven. You forgot the whole Bob Roth bank akuma thing. Okay, so eight. Eight times in the past 26 days. At least half of those being because of needing his help with an akuma” Alya took the pen and wrote eight below Luka’s name. “Now let’s go onto your current second position.”

At the top of the next column, Alya wrote the name.

Adrien

Marinette brought her hands in front of her body, beginning to play with them nervously.

“What’s wrong?” Alya asked, her voice laced with exhaustion already.

“I just don’t know if he should be in that column, or -“ she moved her hand over to the first, “that one.”

“For the love of all things Miraculous, Marinette! Get a grip!”

“Can’t you see that’s what I’m trying to do!” She hissed back at her friend, causing Alya to roll her eyes. “It’s making me feel insane!” The hold and pull of her hair only added to the theory. Yep, insanity was truly kicking in.

“Chat Noir is going in column one, personally that’s where I think he should be but whatever.”

“Biased much?”

“What can I say? After working with him and spending a little time out of the suit with him I can see what a cool guy he is.” Alya shrugged, scribing Chat’s name at the top of the first column, or at least Marinette thought that was what she was doing.

“My Kitty?” she read, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“You call him that, not me!”

“Traitor!”

“Anyway back to Adrien. How many days have you spent with him?”

“Well, we’re at school five days a week, two days off for weekends, but I saw him that one Saturday when I fixed his wing. So, um, 26 divided by 7 is around 4, so pretty much 4 weeks of seeing him 5 days a week which is 20 days plus the extra 1, so 21.” Marinette was looking at her ceiling counting on her fingers the different numbers before turning back and seeing Alya’s dumbstruck expression.

“That was extra even by your standards.”

Marinette nodded and pointed to the column, “write it down please.”

“Adrien. 21. Okay so last but not least, Chat Noir.”

Marinette coughed covering her mouth.

“What was that Marinette? I missed it.”

“25.” She mumbled out.

“Sorry.”

“25!” She shouted, Alya flinching at her outburst.

“No need to shout, I’m standing right next to you. Damn, you’re touchy at the moment.” She wrote 25 under Chat’s name. “Pass me your turquoise highlighter.” She held her hand out to Marinette.

“But I like pink.”

“And I like turquoise. Also, I’m in charge of this list and what I say goes.”

Marinette grumbled as she found Alya’s desired colour and slammed it into her hand. “I’m going to let you off for that, only because you’re a mess at the moment.”

“You're a mess.” Marinette retorted, causing Alya to laugh.

“Whatever you say, Bugaboo.”

“Don’t call me that. What’s next then ‘oh mighty highlighter holder’?”

“Looks.”

“Looks? Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“No, but everyone is human and it can make a difference, Marinette.”

“Fine. Luka’s cool. He has his own look and doesn’t seem to care about what others think.”

“Okay. Now imagine you’re 30. Does the look still work for you?”

“Hum, well, I’m sure it’ll change and become more refined. Maybe even more piercings, or even tattoos?”

“Does that do it for you?” Alya asked.

“It’s not my personal preference but people are allowed to do what they want with their own bodies.” She shrugged.

“So what do you want me to put down as his body rating?”

“Like out of 10? I don’t know if I like this.” She bit down on her lower lip, her hands worrying between themselves again.

“It’s for our eyes only, it’s just to help decide.”

She exhaled, shaking her head before looking at the picture again. She really did need to get this sorted. “A solid 8.”

“Really? I thought you’d go for 7.” Alya said, writing it down.

“Nino’s a 7.”

“Excuse me? I’m quite sure Nino’s a solid 10. You haven’t seen under that tee.”

“I don’t want to either.” Marinette shuddered.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“I never asked for it.”

“You didn’t, but you need it.” Alya said, writing Luka’s score before moving to the other two. “Now what about Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?”

“Which is which?”

“Choice is yours really.” Alya shrugged.

“I’d probably say Chat’s more Tweedle Dum, only because of his jokes. He’s actually pretty smart,” Marinette replied.

“We’re not on ‘smarts’ yet, so let's think about his looks.”

“Well, because of quantum masking I can’t really tell a lot about how he looks. But I know from both his stint as Chat Noir and Mister Bug his body is pretty decent. Plus he’s a superhero, and if he’s half as toned from it as I am, then yup… he’s going to look good.”

“What score do you want to give him?”

“I’m going to have to go for 8, only because I don’t know how he really looks. It would be unfair to give him more.”

Alya wrote it down under his name before looking back at Marinette. “Yet you score him the same as someone whose face you can see. Interesting. And last but by no means least, Buttercup.”

“10.”

“At least think about it first.” Alya laughed.

Marinette pursed her lips once more and looked at the few remaining pictures of Adrien scattered around her room. Maybe she was being a little haisty with the 10. She studied his body and face. Face, with that cute lopsided smile, was definitely a 10. Hair, 10. Body? Okay, so maybe he could do with eating a little more? “9 and a half.” She said decisively.

“Fine. As you wish.” Alya wrote the scores underneath Adrien’s name and then turned back to Marinette. “What do you want to do next? Healthy relationship status, or their pros and cons?”

“What’s ‘healthy relationship’ status?” Marinette asked, intrigued by what her friend was going to throw into the mix next.

“Whether you’ve argued with each other, talk it out, have fun, spend time together, get bored of each other, understand each other… you know, just things that make relationships healthy.”

“We’ll do that one next. Can we start with Chat?”

“It’s your list, M’Lady.”

“Honestly, quit it!” Marinette said in a huff, grabbing Chat’s picture from the table and studying it. Oh boy, this is about to open a can of worms.

“Myself and Chat Noir have a complex relationship. We argue, we talk about most things, we understand each other. I just think we’re still too young to understand what we want and what we need from each other.”

“Think of it this way,” Alya interrupted, “if the guys were going to completely disappear from your life forever, how would you feel?”

Marinette’s stomach dropped, and a lump formed in her throat. If they were gone ‘for good’. Memories and tears built in her eyes. This was starting to hit too close to home.

“I - um,” Marinette coughed to clear her throat, closing her eyes to regain composure before attempting to speak again. “I would be sad if Luka left. He’s a great friend.”

“Would you get over it?” Alya’s voice had grown soft, obviously understanding something had struck Marinette deeply.

“Yeah. I mean, I managed to avoid him fine after we broke up. I, oh I’m going to sound like a bitch.”

Alya smiled at her, a smile of understanding and care, helping her to carry on.

“I didn’t miss him. I had no urge to call him, or see him, or anything. I was just sad I broke his heart because he loved me.”

“And Adrien?” Alya probed.

“I was heartbroken when he left with Lila, like, I think I would eventually get over it, but it would kill me at first.”

“And Chat?”

Marinette stilled, placing Adrien’s picture down and selecting Chat’s instead. She ran a finger over his face and her voice became an emotional whisper. “He left me once.”

The statement took Alya by surprise, the girl recoiling back a little. “What do you mean? Left you?”

Marinette looked up to Alya, her eyes filled with tears. “He left me. Handed the ring back and disappeared. Actually he’s done it twice.” Alya gasped as Marinette continued talking. “I went insane. If you think this is crazy, you haven’t seen anything. I couldn’t eat, drink, or sleep. I didn’t get changed or shower. I just tried to figure out who to give the ring to; someone who wouldn’t fall in love with me. Then I had to battle an akuma and… it was hard. I missed him so much.”

“Did you find someone to give the ring to?” Marinette shook her head.

“No. Plagg took the ring to a new owner. He was amazing, his name was ‘Catwalker’, but he was a bit too perfect. He did everything I could have asked. He was professional, and helpful. He came up with plans and ideas.”

“But he wasn’t Chat Noir.”

“Exactly.” Marinette’s words pushed through the thickness in her throat, releasing a tear down her face. “It was like I could only think about him. I even thought the akuma was him. That I was the cause of it.”

“And ‘Catwalker’ helped.”

“Yeah. He did! If I knew who he was I would have recruited him for the team. He was wonderful.”

“Sounds like Adrien.” Alya laughed, Marinette moving like she’d been hit with a baseball bat.

“What?”

“He sounds like Adrien. Perfect, smart, professional.”

Her eyebrows creased together as she once again picked up Adrien’s picture, imagining him in the mask. “Maybe.” She said, holding the thought in the back of her mind.

“Or, Plagg could have just given the ring back to Chat Noir and changed the design of the suit.”

“I know Chat, and this guy, whoever he was, was not Chat!” Marinette announced, squinting her eyes as she looked at Adrien’s picture once more. It couldn’t be? Could it?

“Do you want me to add this mysterious Cat Walker to the list?”

Marinette placed Adrien’s picture down, before picking it back up and turning it around. She looked at the plain back, she looked at it upside down…she grabbed a pen and drew a mask and green hair on the picture, making a mental note to print another later.

“No,” she decided, eyes still scrutinising, “but add Cat Walker under Adrien, I think you may be onto something there.”

“Green hair? Adrien’s got more taste than I expected.” Alya nodded, impressed by this possible turn around for Adrien Agreste.

“Also add ‘Aspik’.”

“He picked what?” Alya shrieked, glaring at Marinette with wide eyes and almost dropping the highlighter.

“Alyaaaaaa!”

“Marinetteeeeee!”

Marinette snatched the piece of paper from her friends hands and wrote two names under Adrien’s:

Aspik

Cat Walker?

“Remember, this is for our eyes only. It doesn’t leave this room, and it doesn’t get mentioned outside of this room.” Marinette said, placing the photos back in order.

Alya snatched the list before Marinette could do anything else and wrote underneath Chat Noir’s name. As Marinette attempted to look over at what Alya was writing only to be pushed backwards and out of the way. She stumbled a couple of steps before her knees met her chaise throwing her backwards over the piece of furniture, a squeak leaving her lips.

“Are you okay Marinette?” Tikki flew down beside her chosen, only for Marinette to respond with a rather fake thumbs up.

The raven haired beauty pulled herself to standing and brushed off her trousers. “What’s next them ‘oh mighty Alya Césaire’?”

“It’s quite simple…what they’ve done for you. I’ve already filled in Chat Noir’s for you.”

Looking over Alya's shoulder she finally saw what Alya had written.

He puts up with all your shit without question.

“I can’t even deny it,” Marinette said, rubbing the join between her neck and shoulders. “What about the others?”

“I don’t know, it’s your life. What’s Adrien done?”

“He’s-um-” her eyebrows almost fused together as she considered what Adrien had done for her.

What had he done?

“He moved me out of the way of the akuma’s during Scarlet Moth,”

“Okay, good start. Anything else?”

“Oh, Kagami, when she was trying to kill me as Riposte, he got me out of the way.”

“That’s brave of him, saving a superhero.” Alya wrote it down in Adrien’s column.

“He is brave! And he trusts me. He dove from a building knowing I’d save him, he believes he’s always believed me about Lila, he made that speech on heroes day, he supports me through everything. Remember the hat? Even though it was made with real feathers he still wanted to wear it. And my lucky charm. He made me a lucky charm for my birthday.”

Alya was struggling to keep up, as Marinette reeled off what she could remember off the top of her head.

“What about the Valentine’s card?” She asked, Marinette taking the poem from her top drawer.

“We still don’t know who that was. He didn’t know Kagami at the time and it’s not like he’s been actively after me, I think I over read into it.”

Alya took the paper from her friend and glanced over it. “What if it was for you? But not ‘you’ you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hair as dark as night, bluebell eyes — they’re both you right? But then let’s look at this next section ‘underneath that strong disguise’ who do we know that looks like you but wears a disguise?”

Marinette bit her lip as she considered what Alya might be hinting at. Would it be too much to wish?

“He couldn’t mean…could he?” she said, praying her friend had all the answers.

“Well, let’s look at it this way. He dived off one of the tallest buildings in Paris trusting you to catch him; if he was this Cat Walker person he obviously wanted to be perfect for you, and I don’t know much about this ass picker character, but I’m guessing he went out his way to save you?”

“Over 25,000 times,” Marinette stated, biting into her lower lip.

“Woah! You ask me, the dudes got it bad.”

Marinette’s heart leapt in her chest. This was insane. After all this time could Adrien be in love with Ladybug? With the other side of her?

“Let’s move on before you go into an Adrien affected breakdown.” Alya grabbed Luka’s picture and placed it over her face putting on her best Luka voice. “Hey Marinette, you’re the sweetest most confusing song I’ve ever heard. You need to let me go so I can discover the notes of my true musical path.”

“Don’t be so mean,” Marinette snatched the photo out of Alya’s hand and lay it smoothly on the table in the number one spot, before moving it to two. Still not happy she shuffled it once more to spot three. “Luka’s a great guy.”

“I never said he wasn’t, in fact, I’m sure he’ll change the world one day, but without you by his side.”

“He wrote me a song, and defended me against Bob Roth, oh and he put himself in the way of the wasps during Miracle Queen.” Marinette said softly, looking at the picture of him on the table. Maybe Alya was right, maybe it was time to let her security blanket go.

“Which is really sweet. He’s a sweet guy. But he’s someone else’s sweet guy, Marinette. Not yours.”

Marinette nodded before picking up Chat’s photograph and holding it in front of her. Her eyes took in his huge smile, and she knew that when he had the photograph taken he was looking at her.

“Can you add Luka’s to the list please?”

“You’ll never learn to take a risk, will you?” Her friend shook her head as she scribed the notes onto the paper.

“Can I ask you something, Marinette? That moment, when you were on the rooftop and had lost all the Miraculous’, when Monarch’s face appeared threatening you and all of Paris, who was it you wanted beside you? Who did you want to hold your hand?”

Marinette switched the pictures around once more before finally releasing her grasp on them. This was the order, this is where they needed to stay.

Adrien

Adrien had been sleeping awfully. Not only were the Akuma attacks wiping it out, but daddy of the year had decided Adrien needed more study sessions now he’d stopped modelling. Oh, yippee do!

The old man was really starting to make Adrien dislike him, if it wasn’t one thing it was another, and to be honest he thought his father might be more fair once Adrien had stopped and allowed him to use his free time like a teen for a change, but oh no, that was too much for cranky pants Agreste.

[ala-baguette]

WIP Word Search Game

Thanks for the tag, @evesaintyves!  I searched through my Work-in Progress folder and wow.  Way to highlight to me that I have a WIP problem.  Gotta get some of these out into the world!  my words: sick | ghost | whisper | sweet | face

Sick- [Found (tentative title), a WIP one-shot companion piece to Knowing Where to Look] Mrs Weasley was on one of her backing stints. No surprises there. No one had the heart to tell her that they were all sick to death of eating turnovers and shortbread and Chelsea buns and lemon drizzle. They all continued to take whatever she gave them without complaint. Because at least baking seemed to keep her brain busy enough to stop her from crying. For a bit anyway.

Ghost- [Untitled Luna Lovegood Left Behind one-shot WIP] “Daddy?” Luna did not look down to see if he was listening.  She didn’t need to.  He was always there when she needed him.  So her fingers did not still, brushing the long red strokes of Ginny’s hair across the ceiling. “Hm?” came Dad’s response.  The soft clinks continued, and Luna doubted he’d looked up from his work. “Why do we never talk about Mummy?” The soft sounds of Dad’s tools stilled then.  There was a long pause.  Luna felt pain and sorrow in that silence.  Felt the comforting ghost of Mum’s presence in the room tugged swiftly away, leaving an empty loneliness in its wake.  They said black was the colour of protection, but Luna didn’t much like that.  She instead dipped her brush in blue and added a cluster of cornflowers to frame Ginny’s face.  It was the meaning she assigned that was far more powerful than superstition.  “What brought this on?” Dad asked at last “I don’t know… I suppose I’ve been missing her lately.  I would like to talk to her.  Tell her about my friends.  About all the amazing things I saw in the Department of Mysteries.  And all the terrible things I saw there.  Tell her about the Christmas party I went to with Harry.  And about the walk around the lake I took with Ginny.  It makes me sad sometimes that I can’t tell her about those things.  Sad that I lost so much time with her.” Her father was silent for a moment more, then he said, “I’ve lost time before.  It’s always in the last place you look for it.”  And the sounds of his tool continued. Luna paused to consider these words quietly.  Then nodded, satisfied. She took up another brush and added a few tiny yellow buttercups among the cornflowers.

Whisper- [Unbuttoned, unpublished and abandoned fic for the teeny tiny Sevenwaters fandom (my one and only time writing outside of the HP fandom, and wowza we're delving deep into the archives with this one. Last time this document was modified was in 2010!)] She reached up, and brought his lips to hers and kissed him softly.  Lovingly.  And like a whisper on the wind, he heard his name upon her lips.  It hurt to open his eyes again, knowing that he would be back on the rocks and there would be no green-eyed beauty looking back at him with adoration.  It hurt, but he forced himself to do so.  For what he wanted did not matter.  He was her protector.  Whatever happened, he was there to ensure her safety.  No matter the cost to his heart.

Sweet- [Untitled Parvati Patil Left Behind one-shot WIP] “Ugh.  Two whole weeks of my parents fawning over Perfect Padma.”  Sitting up straight, she batted her eyelashes, plastered a soppy sweet expression on her face, and grasped her hands together over her heart.  Adopting a high-pitched eager voice, she cried, “Oh yes, Mother dear!  Please let me help you with dinner.   Just as soon as I finish the homework for the twelve OWL courses I’m taking, clean the bathroom, and work up a budget for the Charms Club, which you may remember I’m now treasurer of.”  She let her hands drop to her lap and slumped back into her seat.  “Suck up.” “Oh, come off it,” Lavender said, shaking splayed fingers back and forth to encourage the varnish to dry faster.  With each shake of the wrist, her colour-changing nail polish changed hue wildly in confusion.  “Padma’s not that bad.  You’re exaggerating.” “Easy for you to say.  You aren’t sisters with her.  You don’t get compared to her in every little thing that you do!”

Face- [Knowing Where to Look, upcoming chapter] They were very close now, practically toe-to-toe.  He was not a tall man—half a head shorter than Gawain-- but he raised his chin and met Gawain’s eye defiantly, and he struck Gawain as anything but short.  The silence in the kitchen was deafening as they stared at each other.  Gawain felt the blood drain from his face.  His heart was pounding, his breath coming short and shallow.  But he kept his expression determinedly blank.

I find myself often hesitant to engage in these chain activities because my community is so small and I'm not on Tumblr enough to know who has has already taken part in this. So instead of tagging anyone specific, I will just offer an open invitation to anyone who wishes to take part. Tag, you're it! Your words are: Lost | Glimmer | Fall | Soft | Breath

#harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #fic wip #tag you're it #harry potter #luna lovegood #molly weasley #parvati patil #gawain robards

[trisshawkeye]

Can we hear more about enjolras and his merry men?

You most certainly can! Enjolras and His Merry Men is, as it sounds, a Robin Hood AU for Les Miserables. I wrote the first chapter of it for the Les Mis Across History event back in 2013 (I put it on AO3 later when I finally made an account). I got really into the historical research and planned out a bunch more. I had detailed notes on which Les Mis characters corresponded to which Robin Hood characters, backstories, English history, all sorts of stuff.

The problem was, I was doing this all in Scrivener, which I'd just gotten a copy of and was quite excited to use. I then realised that actually I really bounce off Scrivener as a writing and organising tool (I prefer to keep everything in one Google doc, as bonkers as that is, it's just what works for me). Also, this was at least one laptop ago and now I don't actually have Scrivener installed anywhere. All the notes are there, in the .scriv folder, they're not encrypted or anything so I could just lift them out, or reinstall Scrivener to rescue them and reorganise. I've just not bothered, really. The fic text itself is in a Google doc that I haven't touched since 2014. Oops.

Is it abandoned? Nooooooo... making it my WIP with the longest lag time between updates. I don't know when I'll actually sit down and continue it, but I just really love it as a silly concept so I want to come back to it eventually.

Here's a little bit of chapter 2 beneath the cut, for your patience, everyone. They're not using their French names here, but I think you can tell who's who.

Chapter 2 - The Guide

The Sheriff of Nottingham woke with a startled grunt to the sound of someone putting something down on the table. He snapped upright with a curse, to see that a chunk of bread had been laid on his desk. Across from him sat a scruffy servant boy, chewing on his own breakfast and swinging his legs from the chair.

“Did you stay up all night?” the boy asked.

William Brewer rubbed his eyes, mentally chiding himself for abandoning his usually solid routine of waking and sleeping. He made vague attempt at shuffling the paper on his desk into some form of order, then gave up and reached for the bread.

“Staying out of trouble, I hope, Much?” he asked, suppressing a yawn. “I haven’t seen you in a few days. I hope you’ve been making yourself useful.”

“Mmhmm,” Much replied around a mouthful of bread. The Sheriff eyed him levelly, sighed, and returned to his papers.

“Well, I will be writing a report on these outlaws this morning. I do not wish to be disturbed except for matters of the greatest urgency. I will take dinner here. In the meantime, go see what help you can be in the stables.”

Much scowled. “Can’t I stay here and help you?”

“Not unless you could either read, or tell me in great detail about the outlaw John Little, also known as Combeferre.”

Much cocked his head to one side in thought. “Well... he’s really tall, and he uses a quarterstaff. Also he’s second in command to Enjolras.”

“Where did you learn all that?” the Sheriff asked sharply.

He got a shrug in response. “Folk talk about things around a kid more than they do around the Sheriff,” Much replied with a grin. “I hear a lot, I do.”

The Sheriff of Nottingham narrowed his eyes. “You have told me nothing I didn’t already know. Run along now.” With an exaggerated sigh, Much went to obey. He had pulled open the door when he heard Brewer speak again. “Oh - but keep your ears open,” he said gruffly. Much gave him a wide grin and bolted out of the door. Despite himself, William Brewer felt a smile ghost at the corners of his mouth.

#writing stuff #wip ask game #les miserables #robin hood #my fic

[yeommijeong]

gumijeong wip posting

found an old wip in my fic folder, first written on may 18 (so before episode 13 aired ㅠㅠ)

i didn’t outline anything so i don’t know what was supposed to happen after this, but the writing was nice so i might as well share it with the class

vague idea: jagyeong goes back to his house in sanpo a month or so after he left and sees mijeong in his house, working there and keeping the place warm without him (because she misses him l;sdfsdfjkl;a). apparently it’s supposed to have smut so…… yeah they were probably going to have angsty sex………… damn i wish i finished writing this…………

word count: 854 words

enjoy!

———

On a particularly cold night, Ja-gyeong finds himself driving, driving, driving away, farther than he has in months. He doesn't get much mileage on his car in the city, certainly not now that he's caged himself to work and to the miserable apartment he calls home.

It's too clean. Cleaner than the bare house he moved into last winter. Even more devoid of life than the fields during that first winter, the only winter he spent in Sanpo.

Until now. He finds himself on the highway, driving away from the city and its lights and hustle and bustle. Ja-gyeong craves stillness. He craves a drink. Alcohol in Seoul tastes too sweet.

He doesn't park near the house. He doesn't want to announce his presence to the small sect of houses by that street in the middle of the night, not when he knows they could be waiting up for their children to get home. And he wants to walk, wants to feel the chill of a winter night by the countryside. Wants to watch out for dead animals or wild dogs, lurking in the shadows.

(Ha. A familiar image, one that he seems to be mirroring.)

Life in the shadows is exhausting. The city is exhausting. The people around him and their expectant eyes are exhausting.

Ja-gyeong much prefers manual labor in the sun, sore shoulders, and the warmth of a drink in solitude at the end of the day. He much prefers being Gu, nameless and drifting.

Hands in his pockets, he trudges along and attempts not to reminisce on the many times he's walked this path: sometimes drunk, sometimes alone, sometimes with the only person who ever saw through him.

He… doesn't know why he's here. He doesn't know why he's walking up this road, doesn't know why his steps get heavier and heavier as the roof of his old home comes into sight. (But he knows why his breath catches in his throat when he sees the warm light of the living room lamp seeping out through the thin curtains.)

Ja-gyeong's hand hesitates over the handle of the door. He owns this place until the end of this year, he knows. He knows the door is open if he wants it to be, but the shackles by his feet don't make it easy to take that first step. He decides to be true to himself, to forego the knock and take the leap as he slides open the door.

Unassuming heels by the entryway. He slips off his shoes and places them beside hers, the neatness of it filling his chest with unwelcome warmth.

Mi-jeong is sitting at the dining table, head bowed over her laptop. In another world, he could greet her with a smile, one she'd return just as freely. He could take those steps towards her without the weight in his chest digging deeper and deeper into his soul. It would be easy, comfortable, just a regular day in the monotony of this countryside that he found solace in.

In this world, she greets him with wide eyes, hand gripping the edge of the dining table. Like prey, watching as the predator stalks closer and closer.

(She doesn't see well in the darkness. She can't see how he shrinks into himself, wanting the shadows to swallow him whole so he can continue watching her from afar. She doesn't notice how all his city slicker bravado seeps out of him when he sees the sparkle of her eyes— not from joy, not from life, but from the tears he's tried so hard not to elicit from her.)

Ja-gyeong clears his throat. "What are you doing here?" he asks. Slow, low, and level— as calmly as he can, so as to not spook her, to not betray any emotion that he might not be ready to reveal.

"They… said the rent— it was paid. It would be a waste to just let it gather dust." Mi-jeong stumbles over the first few words (probably from hours of disuse, he knows). She's right. He just didn't think she would settle into the cracks he left behind so quickly.

Then again, everything's surprising with Yeom Mi-jeong. For someone who thinks he knows enough about the world, he can't seem to figure her out.

Calculatedly casual, he strolls in and looks around, like he hasn't lived here before. (Like he didn't want to die here, once upon a winter.) He motions towards the couch, a silent request. Mi-jeong nods, face blank as ever.

He sits at his usual spot, legs trembling as he lowers himself onto the couch. Even with the minimal light from the lamp a few feet away, he can tell that the place is clean. Not a speck of dust on any surface. As lived in as it was when he was here.

He succumbs to the urge to turn his head and gaze at her through the glass partition. She's staring intently at the screen, but her hands haven't moved an inch since he started staring at her. (Ja-gyeong knows— he knows— he's perfectly aware that he's the reason why.)

———

aaaand that’s it i guess :--------) just imagine the angsty sex that would come after, and then jagyeong would probably leave while she’s asleep because he’s a MENACE like that

#my liberation notes #my fic #writing struggles #i hate discovering wips that actually seem good #like girl!!! we would like to know what happens next!!!!!!!

[androxys]

WIP Ask Game

Thanks @havendance for the tag!

RULES: post the names of the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! tag as many people as you have WIPs

I recently posted a WIP Census, which lists pretty much every word doc that I have ever opened. For this game, I’m just going to list out the fics that I’ve actively worked on since compiling the census.

Oracle: Year One (currently 8.6k)

She wasn’t her. That’s what hurts. She wasn’t Barbara Gordon, she was just “the Commissioner's daughter.” She was the girl next door. She was the sweet innocent. She was easy to hurt because Batman wasn’t. She was a way to torture her father. But Barbara Gordon never gets to exist. It doesn’t just hurt, it boils. It’s lava, churning inside her. And it erupts in small ways, over and over.

Ultraviolet (Cover Me Up) (currently 1k)

When he was underwater, he could almost lose himself. In the dark of the moonlight, if he let himself sink, Bernard could forget which way was up, which way gravity wanted to drag him down. He would just float, free, untethered… until he came into contact with Tim again.

Firecrackers (currently 6.6k)

She wished she could talk to Kal-El about it. But he wouldn’t get it. It wasn’t his fault— he was too young when he left. He knew of the ceremonies, even some of the rituals. But he didn’t know what the Jewel Mountains looked like on an equinox dawn, not with his own eyes. He had never heard the hymns except through a recording.

Ghost Dragon (currently 29.6k)

Dick turned back to Tim. “I don’t want to delay you,” he lied. He wanted to delay him forever, to keep Tim perpetually one step behind so that Dick could keep up. “But if we brief the Parisian heroes, or provide any training, I’d like you to be there.”

Morality Bug (currently 1.6k)

“So…” Jean-Paul began. “You can sit down, if you like,” he said, gesturing to the couch. Bruce paused for a beat, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself if not stand ominously in Jean-Paul’s living room, before slowly folding himself down on the corner seat.

Birdseye is technically done, I just keep fiddling with the ending. I need to just bite the bullet and post it, but also I’m not emotionally prepared to have this fic really and truly be done.

And then here’s another passage from Oracle: Year Once since Babs owns my heart:

It’s been a week, and she hasn’t heard from Bruce. No acknowledgement of her trip to the Manor. Alfred had warned her, and that takes off the hardest edge of the sting. But they were supposed to have been friends. They were supposed to be honest with one another. But maybe that was the problem, that Barbara had been too honest. At the hospital, and then again at the funeral. She had done what too few people did—she told Bruce Wayne exactly what she thought about his behavior, his choices, and the way other people had to live with them.

And I feel like half the people I know in fandom have been tagged in this chain, but I’ll tag (and perhaps be double tagging, whoops!) @coyote-nebula @they-reap-what-we-sow @clearbluewaters @yuriinadress and @wildsofmarch if any of y’all want to share!

#my writing #dc comics #fic #tag game