#but they’ve been sitting in my drafts forever

[oksfranta]

there are two types of people [x] [x]

#harry styles #niall horan #narry #stylesedits #stylesnews #apureniallsource #dailyniallnews #njhcreators #trackinghome #1dsource #tracksintheam #one direction #1d #these are not new obviously #but they’ve been sitting in my drafts forever #and I thought i’d post it just to have them two together in one post #my stuff

[jamespottersmixtape]

rosekiller microfic: goldilocks 1,632 words

a bit of soft rosekiller!! this is inspired by @myrows rosekiller art which you can find here! it made me want to weep a little when I first saw it, so naturally I had to write something haha :) ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and it's by no means perfect but enjoy!! <3

Barty has always cherished quiet nights at Hogwarts.

When the chatter in the halls finally dies down enough for his thoughts to come back to him and homework has been carelessly tossed aside to save for tomorrow.

There’s a sense of serenity to it all that Barty rarely finds elsewhere. A break that he craves most at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Sixth year courses have been—to put it lightly, beating his ass—no matter how well he does. Today, it had taken him ten tries to get the nonverbal spell to work in Transfiguration. Ten.

Usually Barty needs no more than six tries for complicated spells, less than that for complex potions. Disregarding that he still did it faster than over half the class, now he’s just fucking tired.

He groans and shoves his schoolbag off the bed, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, then flops backwards dramatically onto his pillows. The dorm room is dim, save for a few small candles on his bedside table. Cloaked in various shadows that dance around the room from the flickering flame.

Barty closes his eyes, taking a spare second to just breathe. There’s the soft white noise of the shower running in the background—Evan is taking forever, as usual—and sometimes Barty imagines he can hear the push and pull of the black lake against their walls. Lack of windows be damned.

It isn’t long before the water shuts off, and Barty feels the smallest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s just the two of them for now, Regulus off doing god knows what at this hour. So naturally, a lot of built up restraint is needed for Barty not to rip open the bathroom door. To go and take in the sight of a freshly showered Evan and gather him in his arms before he can be stopped.

He’s been in there for less than thirty minutes but fuck it, Barty misses him.

Grumbling, he goes to change into the first clothes he can find. Settling for some years old joggers and a loose tank top, the soft fabric already making him drowsy.

The bathroom door creaks open and his head snaps up, immediately catching Evan’s eye. Barty really can’t help it when his heart skips a beat.

Evan raises his eyebrows, chuckling when Barty takes no subtlety in checking him out. His hair is dry, most likely done by magic. A thin blue t-shirt hangs off his shorter frame and each step taken towards Barty casts golden shadows over his skin.

Looking like everything warm and comfortable; the smell of his shampoo in the air so familiar that it hurts.

Barty’s smirk is wicked when he tugs Evan by his shirt into a light kiss. He makes a startled noise but melts into Barty’s touch regardless, fingers cupping his chin. The kiss is short but effective in making Barty’s head go all fuzzy.

“What happened to hello?” Evan asks when they pull apart—though not very far—now standing chest to chest. Evan’s bare feet fit in between his socked ones.

 Barty makes sure to slather his words in extra charm, grinning. “Hello, gorgeous.” 

“Wow, smooth talker,” Evan deadpans.

“You know you love it, Goldilocks.”

Barty takes a blonde strand between two fingers, tugging lightly at the end and earning him a deep scowl.

“I told you that nickname is stupid.” Evan rolls his eyes but Barty catches the blush high on his cheekbones. A light dusting of pinks and reds that work to compliment his freckles. Barty pokes him on one cheek.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“Brat.”

Barty hums noncommittally, threading their fingers together. Warmth settles in his chest from the steady weight of Evan’s hand.

He leads Evan past the emerald green curtains of his bed and down onto the soft mattress. It’s a routine they’ve created over the last few months, and every time Barty wraps the covers around them it becomes harder and harder to let Evan slip back into his own bed. Something about having him in his arms means a night free of restless tossing and turning.

They lie facing each other for a few minutes, minimal space between them and their heads resting on one pillow. Quiet voices and even quieter laughs, a sacred bubble that neither of them dare to pop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty laughs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You told Cresswell what?”

Evan frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told him…that if he feels the need to keep staring at you in class then maybe I should tape his fucking eyes open. You know, that way he wouldn’t miss it when I inevitably snog you right in front of him.”

“Evan!” Barty can’t help it, his laugh is loud when it bursts from his chest.

“Well, maybe I left out that last bit…”

It takes him a minute before his laughter dies down, the quiet settling back in. “You jealous?” Barty teases, raising an eyebrow.

Evan purses his lips. “No.”

Barty stares at him knowingly.

Silence.

Evan averts his eyes.

“Mhm sure, come here.”

He drags Evan in by his waist, the pair of them fumbling around until Evan’s head relaxes in the crook of Barty’s neck and his forearm rests over his chest. Their sides pressed together, Barty smiles—fully content now.

Wordlessly, Barty ghosts his hand over the warm skin, relishing in the way Evan shivers from the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Evan’s hair brushes the side of his face and his warm breath fans across his chest, their hearts only slightly out of sync as they beat so close together.

It’s a lot for Barty to take in sometimes—the whole idea of them. Having someone so delicate, yet so utterly untouchable, be his. If anyone took the time to ask him, though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Barty knows Evan’s eyes are closed, can see the shadow of his eyelashes. He takes the opportunity to trace over his freckles; a messy constellation that follows the high points of his cheeks, crosses sporadically over the bridge of his nose.

Evan scrunches his face up, which should not be so endearing. “That tickles.”

Barty turns his head, placing the quickest of kisses atop of Evan’s forehead, debating whether or not he should just give in and lick the side of his face. Then ultimately deciding against it—Evan did just take a shower—he’ll be nice for once.

“I wasn’t jealous. I don’t get jealous,” Evan mumbles, his voice lulled and tired sounding.

“Of course not, Ev.” Barty resists rolling his eyes, Evan can’t see his face anyway. 

“Besides,” Barty continues, “If you were jealous, I don’t mind you threatening people for me…it’s kinda hot.”

Evan smacks him lightly across the chest, but snuggles deeper against his shoulder. Which definitely does not do a weird flippy thing to Barty’s stomach. Nope, not at all.

“Mm okay,” Evan yawns. Which, Barty can’t blame him. Exhaustion is slowly taking over his body the longer they lie here. At this point all he wants to do is blow out the candles and fall asleep. Keep Evan next to him the whole night.

“Hey Goldilocks.”

“Mhm…” Evan must be too tired to even rebuke the nickname.

“Reg is going to freak out if he finds you here in my bed.”

Evan huffs, not very different from a petulant child. He makes no move to get up or even open his eyes. “I don’t care.”

This time Barty can’t hold back his yawn. He shuts his eyes and allows his body to sink further into the bed. Further into Evan. “Maybe we can tell Potter how madly in love with him Reg is. Then they can finally leave us alone.”

“Payback,” Evan snorts.

They both fall asleep without really meaning to. Tangled limbs beneath the covers and hands that aren’t inclined to let go. As his mind quiets down, something in Barty feels settled. A puzzle piece slotting into place after searching and searching for the edge that matches. Evan tends to have that effect on him, he’s come to notice.

All is quiet for a while, the whole school in a coinciding state of slumber. A time when portraits snore softly and only ghosts roam the halls, the usual lively presence of magic at bay for now.

But not even thirty minutes later they’re awoken with a loud thud and a significantly darker room—Barty had blown the candles out after all—just in case.

“Lumos,” someone whispers.

Regulus stands at the end of Barty’s bed, hands on his hips and a look of annoyance on his face. His wand is now lit and shining far too bright for Barty’s liking.

“What the fuck, Reg?” he asks groggily. Evan groans beside him and tries to hide his face.

“Not my fault I tripped over your fucking books, Barty,” Regulus hisses. “And you guys are gross. You said no PDA in the dorm.”

Barty squints and gestures for him to lower his wand. Regulus does so slowly. “Yeah, well I’m a fucking liar. Let us sleep.”

It’s with a lot of grumbling and a sharp glare that Regulus turns and stalks to his side of the room. When he shuts himself in the bathroom Barty reaches for his own wand and spells his curtains closed.

He has Evan back in his arms in no time, steady and real and here. Absolutely not going anywhere, if Barty has a say in it. His fingers resume their path over his arm, tracing nonsensical shapes that neither can decipher. Before they both drift off again a thought pops into Barty’s head.

“We are definitely getting him back for this.”

#ahhhh another microfic i missed them #this is silly and self indulgent but i love them sm #so soft i'm kinda dying #shoutout to evan's freckles for being the sole inspo #and myro's lovely lovely art ofc #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #barty x evan #evan x barty #rat's silly microfics

[joesanrio]

They’re here | R.R

Summary: Ever since Nova had the baby, they’ve only gotten a hand full of visits. But now the whole family gets to see the golden baby.

Pairings: Joe Anoa’i {Roman Reigns} x Nova (OC) || Established relationship

Warnings: Uses real names, Baby cries, BabyDaddy!Joe, and that’s all bcs it’s just a big pound of Fluff.

Word count: 1047

Ratings: Fluff | 16+

A/N: I’ve been writing so much new stuff that I keep forgetting abt the two drafts, they'll come out eventually.

Part one: Want to see her? | Fluff

@bakugoumarianawrites (sorry for the wait)

———————————————————

“What did you do to my baby?” I gasp when Joe walks in holding the baby with a small mohawk, “She thinks it’s nice, don’t you Lala! See.” He coos at her making her squeal. All I did was ask him to bathe her, not be a hairstylist. “Mommy!” She reaches out when Joe passes her to me as he goes back to the bathroom to get her lotion.

“You don’t have to lie baby… we both know you had no choice.” I whisper to her before smoothing her curly hair down as she leans her face onto my chest and continues to let out a random babble.

He comes back with her lotion, and I finish getting her dressed for the day. “We are matching, you look cuter though.” I smile as I admire her in her cute outfit that’s the same color scheme as mine.

We were going to a cookout with family and a couple of close friends at Jon and Trinity’s house, “Oh look at my princess!” Joe exclaims as he picks Nalani up from the bed. “Lala!” She points to herself as he nods amused at her little voice.

I leave the room to pack her bag with all her necessities and about three toys. “She has her stuff animal, right?” I shout from the other room down the hall, “No, It’s in the living room.” I heard him reply.

“Alright, everything is ready.” I say as I toss her bag onto my other shoulder and Joe comes down the hall holding the baby. When passing the living room, I stop to grab her plush hello kitty off the couch.

“Don’t be sassy with me Nalani, you know my joke was funny.” Joe chuckles as she looks unamused at her father. She squeals loudly when she sees me with the toy, I hand it to her, and she immediately hugs it while Joe sets the alarm.

[Jon and Trin’s House 3:45pm]

“Is that Lala!” Trinity exclaims when she opens the door revealing the music and chatter of family, before she scoots to the side so we can enter. “It’s been forever since we seen her!” Jon said coming around the corner fixing his hat, before giving us a hug. “Jayla has been asking when y’all would be here, all damn day.” Jon joked, making us laugh.

We all headed to the living room where some older members of the family were at. “Oh, I remember when you were a baby, now you have one of your own!” Joe’s great Aunt smiled as we greeted her, “She’s beautiful. Looks just like Nova.” She winked at me before sitting back down on the couch.

 “Isn’t she so big now!” Trinity said as Joe placed the car seat on the corner of the couch, “Bae! Look at her dimples.” Trin said pointing at Nalani’s cheek. “She is only 7 months old. Tell them you’re still small!” I coo at my baby as she immediately smiles, unbuckling her from the car seat.

Joe and Jon already having their own conversation as I pick her up, “Girl! Your body definitely snapped back huh?” Trinity had me spin for her. “You think so?” I smile as I follow her to the outside patio, “Girl yes, your waist is like whoop while you booty is like boom!” She creates sound effects with her mouth causing me to giggle at her silliness.

After greeting everyone, I was finally able to sit down. “Auntie Nova! I can watch Lala for you?” Jayla requests as she clasps her hands together, “I don’t want you babysitting! You should go have fun.” I smile, but Jayla pouts. “Please! Look- she totally wants to go with me.” She begs as Nalani almost falls out of my arms trying to get to Jayla, “Okay, but whenever you get tired bring her back to me.” I say as we pinkie promise, and I pass her the baby. “We are going to have so much fun!” Jayla smiles before heading back in the house.

“Here…”  Joe says coming up from behind me before sitting down in the empty chair on the side of me, he hands me my favorite drink. “You look gorgeous.” He whispers in my ear with a small smile making my heart flutter, “Thank you.” I kiss his cheek before he goes off engaging in a conversation with the rest of his cousins.

“Where’s the baby?” Trinity asks coming back from the kitchen with a glass of champagne, “With Jayla.” My head tilting towards the house. “Tamina and Mercedes drove together, so they should be here soon.” Trinity mentioned as she looked at the time on her phone. The rest of the girls nodding as we began to talk about random stuff, and how much we missed each other.

--- 8:13pm

“Mommy!” Nalani cried as I tried to calm her down, she was never a big fan of loud noise when she was trying to sleep, but neither was I. “Oh my baby, I know.” I coo at her as she cries along my chest while I bounce her in my arms gently, “What’s wrong?” Joe enters the room concerned as it’s been a while since we first entered.

His eyes quickly fell onto the baby, “Why she crying?” he asked as he grabbed her from my arms delicately. “She’s sleepy but it’s too loud.” I say while looking in her bag for her pacifier, though she seems to be calming down now that she’s in Joe’s arms.

He pats her back gently as he goes to sit down on the bed himself, “See, you’re okay.” He whispers to the now sniffling baby. “Oh, so not fair.” I whisper as I playfully glare at Joe, in return he sticks his tongue out at me before grabbing the pacifier I handed out to him. “Don’t be a hater because she’s a daddy’s girl.” He places the pacifier in her mouth, “Whatever.” I giggle before sitting beside them.

Not even 5 minutes later, she was knocked out on Joe’s chest before he laid her down in the make-shift pillow barrier I created so she doesn’t roll off the bed. “She’s just like you.” Joe whispered as he looked at Nalani with small hearts in his eyes.

Nalani’s Nickname: Lala

#roman reigns #joe anoa'i #joe anoa’i fluff #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns fluff #roman reigns fic #wwe superstars #jey uso #jimmy uso #trinity fatu #the usos #wwe x oc #wwe roman reigns #wwe fanfiction #joesanrio

[simpinberry]

☾ ﾟ｡⋆ MORE BELLA RAMSEY BF/GF HCS ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

tumble deleted an entire draft i had sobbing but the show must go on 💔 as usual enjoy some simp bella content <3

you guys have never finished a conversation ever. y’all can talk for hours and i meann hours!! mostly because you jump from topic to topic without care and it just flows so naturally. i’ve noticed that bella jumps over her words in interviews and sometimes changes topic midway through her sentences so she’d probably do the same with you. they’re so cute for that fr + that’s my evidence for this thought.

super proud bf, any chance to bring you up she takes it!! speaks so highly and lovingly of you. not shy to post you on her socials, showering you in compliments. she’s so lucky to have you and needs the whole worlds to know it too!! supportive gf 4life

MUST PET CAT/ANY ANIMAL SHE FINDS CUTE. will literally make you worried when she’s home late. you facetime her just to find her sitting on the ground, cat in her lap. they’ve been there for 30 mins and simply refuses to leave cuz cat is so cute. will definitely send you photos of animals she finds cute throughout the day. begs you to get a pet together!! talks so sweetly abt having a family in the future and adopting animals together.

matching rings. she’s always playing with her rings and hands. smiles like a fool when she looks down at her hands and sees a ring with your initials carved in at the side. would give you the ring on a random tuesday but it’ll forever be the cutest memory for u.

toooo nice for her own good. definitely can stand up for herself when needed but usually opts to avoiding conflict. laughs when uncomfortable sometimes so babe you’re gonna be protective as hell over them. BELLA RAMSEY PROTECTION SQUAD RISE FR. will definitely cling to you for comfort and protection when she feels iffy/uncomfy in a situation. protect this bby fr :((

no sense of direction bf. no thoughts,head empty. bless them though, she’s so cute. without you they’re like a lost puppy fr.

bella finds it super important that they feel safe around you. being around you gives her such a sense of freedom and peace. your presence allows her to feel safe to be herself and you validate her in every possible way. she never feels scared to be herself around you <3 will always tell you how much they love you for that and definitely mentions it to those around them.

randomly spaces out and blanks when speaking. definitely will be hearing “sorry love what was it” in her British accent often enough. sometimes they’re just anxious or rlly tired but i think it’s rlly cute habit she’d have. would remember important stuff for sure but will sometimes just space out mid convo and you have to bring them back to ya :>

brooooo they’ll learn your favorite songs on guitar and play it for you. maybee even sings for you. if you can sing they’ll harmonize with you for sure!! sends you songs with, “this song reminded me of you, have a good day darling”

#bella ramsey #bella ramsey x reader #bella ramsey fluff #ellie the last of us #wlw #lgbtq #bella ramsey gf #bella ramsey head cannon #lesbian #nonbinary #bella ramsey x y/n #bella ramsey x you #bella ramsey imagines

[sapphicwithapen]

i completely forgot i made any of these. they’ve been sitting in my drafts for like forever.

anyways more fated content. they r always on the brain.

#by forever i mean like a week #also this is for my only two mutuals that keep reblogging these posts #look at my memes boy #jrwi #jrwi textposts #jrwi fated

[space-writes]

15 questions tag

tagged by @ahordeofwasps a little while back, so thank you! I'm going to fill this out for Vivien from claws, since it'll be good to flesh out and play with his character more outside of unhinged drafting hours.

interview under the cut, with a mild content warning for referenced self-harm and suicidal ideation.

Rainier's done a lot of interviews. Vivien's watched all of them, over and over and over. Sometimes, when he needs to escape his body and mind both, he’ll mouth his own answers alongside Rainier’s. It’s almost like they’re sitting together on the stupid TV sofa, under the bright lights.

“So, are you named after anyone?”

“My dead brother.” He’s always wondered what Rainier would think of that. “Is that weird? I loved him. Now it’s like he’s not dead, even though he is, and he left me.”

Rainier wouldn’t think he was weird. Rainier would understand. Of everyone in the world, he’s sure Rainier would understand.

“When’s the last time you cried?”

Vivien stares at the dark ceiling. His arms are still stinging, freshly scrubbed and wrapped. New scabs to pick tomorrow. “About twenty minutes ago.”

“Do you have kids?”

“If someone ever knocks me up, I’ll kill myself.” The thought of it makes him want to claw his insides out. There’s no-one, not even Rainier, he’d do that for. Would he adopt, though, if Rainier wanted? He’s not good with kids, they make him feel awkward and ungainly, but he thinks Rainier would be a good dad. Maybe that would work.

“Do you use sarcasm a lot?”

“I grew up on the internet, what do you think?”

“What’s the first thing you notice about people?”

“How big they are. How tall. If they could fuck me up if they decided to.”

“What’s your eye colour?”

“Dark brown.” His are darker than Rainier’s. He’s checked. Rainier’s are still brown, but they’ve got warm little flecks of honey in them, and they tint gold in sunlit photos. He could gaze into them for hours.

“Do you prefer scary movies or ones with happy endings?”

“Horror movies are better than any other kind. They show what reality feels like. They’re more real than real life.” He likes the ones that hurt—him or the characters. The ones were everyone dies at the end, or where the ones that survive are ruined forever; stories where you can’t change back. He likes the way it feels, when the terror fades the world out, when it lingers in the dark afterwards, keeping you awake.

“Have you got any special talents you’ve been hiding?”

When Rainier says no, he sounds adorably humble, ducking his head a little with a self-abashed laugh. He’s too busy being the best demonologist in history to have extra talents. Vivien knows he’s good in bed, that’s not even a question, but he supposes it doesn’t really count as a hidden talent. Not one for a morning talkshow interview anyway.

When he says he has no talents, he just sounds pathetic. If he has to interview with Rainier, hopefully they skip this one.

“Where were you born?”

“At home. I was a surprise—surprise baby, surprise birth. I never did anything right, not from conception.” He’d never say where home was, not on TV. Someone might go looking. Someone might go finding.

“What hobbies do you have? What do you like to do for fun?”

“I don’t know, listen to music, I guess? I don’t like going out for it, though, I hate crowds. And loud noise. And drunk people.” Keeping track of what Rainier’s doing doesn’t count as a hobby—that’s a calling. “I can’t really have a bunch of hobbies—they all require money and interacting with people. Is skiving off the therapy your sister keeps making you go to a hobby? Cause I do that and it’s fun.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“I wish. I want a tarantula—they’re so beautiful, so delicate, and I don’t see why I still can’t have one. It’s not like they leave hair everywhere for some other tenant later to get allergic to or whatever.” Vivien sighs, glancing at the many, many printed-out arachnids decorating his wall amongst the band posters. “Besides, I couldn’t afford one anyway. Not like Jaimie would help me pay for it.”

“Were you a sports man? How do you keep yourself in shape now?”

Vivien snorts. “I ditched every P.E. lesson I could. I don’t want to get undressed and then sweaty around a bunch of girls, or deal with a bunch of stupid bullshit because they can’t let me in the boys changing room. Fuck all that. I don’t care if I’m not ‘in shape’. It doesn’t matter anyway if I can’t get surgery yet.”

“How tall are you?”

“Like. Five-five, I think? Five-six? Something like that.”

“I’m sure we can all probably guess, but what was your favourite subject in school?”

“Biology. Seeing how things fit together, how they work—looking at the insides. Doing dissections. Three girls ran out of the class when we had to cut up a sheep’s heart, it was fucking pathetic.”

Not that he got the best results. They rely so much on remembering everything, exactly correct, and it’s not his fault if stuff just won’t stick. He knows what he needs to.

“You have what a lot of people might call a dream job—is it? Or do you dream of working somewhere other than Riess University’s demonology department?”

“I don’t want to work for those fuckers at Riess, I just want…” Vivien stares at the screen, at Rainier three inches high rendered in flat pixels. “I just want to be with you. In whatever way you’ll have me.”

---

Here are the questions for anyone that needs it!

Are you named after anyone?

When was the last time you cried?

Do you have kids?

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

What’s your eye colour?

Scary movies or happy endings?

Any special talents?

Where were you born?

What are your hobbies?

Have you any pets?

What sports do you play/have played?

How tall are you?

Favourite subject in school?

Dream job?

claws taglist: @belovedviolence @foxboyclit (ask to be +/-)

no-pressure tagging @loopyhoopywrites @zmwrites and @pens-swords-stuff

#writeblr #tag games #15 questions #oc interview #c: vivien webb #wip: claws #it's so very deeply Vivien to have half an interview of him be about Rainier #boy develop an actual sense of self that doesn't centre around the man you're obsessed with #i love this horrid little man #had fun formatting this more like a little interview story like i've seen some other people do!

[m4tthewmurd0ck]

𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ~ 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎! 𝙱𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝙱𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚛! (𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎) 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗 // 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 *𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴* 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟸𝚔

a/n: have a little midnight chapter! i hoped to post this a lot sooner but tumblr didn’t save the draft where i’d done the first 1k words (i have the whole storyline roughly mapped out but it still sucked to lose all my work), so i was like nope fuck this and then i left this alone for a couple of days because i could not be bothered to type everything i’d just lost. BUT we’re back!

     Today makes exactly 3 weeks since Margaret Carter and Brock Rumlow exposed the part of your life you’d hoped would stay hidden forever. Although you told Prince James that you wouldn’t contact him anymore, a big part of you was hurt that he’d made no move to contact you. Steve hadn’t come by the bakery either, and you couldn’t bring yourself to go to the palace gates. If you were asked to leave, you didn’t think you could handle that.

Despite feeling down and wanting nothing more than to spend your days laying in bed, you still put on a happy face every morning. After all, you and Peter still worked at the bakery every day. May and Ben both offered to work your shifts, understanding that you may want time to yourself, but you declined. The distraction of having things to do all day was good for you.

Well, mostly good for you. You woke each morning feeling at least a little exhausted. It took you a long time to fall asleep each night. You’d often involuntarily stay awake until midnight, but would still get up at 6am sharp to get ready for the day.

Peter often snuck into your room to turn off your alarm so that you could sleep while he worked solo in the mornings. He pointed out that mornings were slow anyway, and you were grateful for those few extra hours of rest. 

One morning things appear even slower than usual. By 11am, you could still count the number of customers on one hand. 

You and Peter decided to close the shop at 11:30, for half an hour to have lunch, opting to eat in the kitchen while experimenting with different breads and pastries. May thought that maybe some new desserts might bring in people from the nearby village, and you and Peter were now determined to come up with something good.

At noon when you walk back out to open the store front, you’re surprised to see 2 women sitting on the bench outside. You rushed to unlock the door, apologizing for keeping them waiting. As they follow you back inside, you can’t help but glance at them again. They look so familiar, yet you don’t think they’ve ever come in before.

When they introduce themselves a minute later, you learn that you’re right. You had seen them at the ball.

Natasha Romanoff and Yelena Belova explain that they’re Becca’s private security whenever she needs to be out, and at the ball they were helping to keep a watchful eye on things. And you learn that they’re there right now because she’s asking you to come to the palace.

“I— I don’t know if it’s a good idea to—”

Yelena puts a hand on your shoulder, giving you a reassuring smile. “She said to tell you that her idiot brother isn’t there, so you won’t have to worry about running into him. She only wants to discuss something with you.”

That does make you feel a lot better, though you can’t help but wonder where he is. Still, you’re reluctant to go. Surely Margaret has fed her the same stories, why could she possibly want to see you?

As much as you want to say that you really can’t go, you see Natasha and Yelena standing there basically twiddling their thumbs, and you have a feeling that they’ve been instructed to not return unless you’re with them.

Peter, sensing your anxiety, walks over and stands next to you. “I can manage for the rest of the day if you want to go. If you don’t, I can tell them that I need you here because I have to leave or we’re expecting a big order or something.” He’s been really worried about you, and hopes that if you do decide to go with them, whatever conversation you have with Becca will cheer you up.

Part of you knows that you have to go with them. If you didn’t you’d just spend all your time wondering what Becca wanted to talk to you about.

“Umm Natasha, Yelena? Is it alright if I just meet you both back at the palace? I’d just like to go home and change first,” you approach the 2 of them, still a little anxious, but better knowing that Peter has your back and would’ve been willing to lie for you.

“Oh call me Nat,” she smiles at you. “And we can just come with you, walk you to the palace after. You live just down the road right?”

Wow, guess I was right about them not coming back unless I’m with them, you think to yourself.

You make small talk on the short walk to your house, and by the time you get there your nerves have pretty much gone away. They’re both really nice, and you find yourself laughing at their bickering over who of the 2 of them is the better fighter.

“—it is definitely me,” Yelena grins at you. She motions to Nat, “this one is a total poser”.

Nat scoffs, rolling her eyes but ultimately letting Yelena win the conversation for now. “Alright alright let’s just let her get changed so we can head back, hmm?”

You quickly change into a yellow sundress and run a brush through your hair, exiting your bedroom just 5 minutes later.

“Cute!” Yelena admires your dress, “I might have to borrow that sometime”.

“I wouldn’t let her if I were you,” Nat warns you as you begin the short journey to the palace, “last three pieces of clothing she borrowed from me? Still haven’t seen them”.

You burst out laughing when Nat does airquotes around the word borrowed.

All too quickly, you reach the palace gates.

As soon as you step into the palace, Becca crushes you in a hug, nearly knocking you both to the floor. Yelena and Nat glance at each other, laughing as they excuse themselves, saying they’ll be in another room if you need them.

You follow Becca up to her bedroom, where she shuts the door and you both collapse on opposite ends of her bed. After a moment, she’s the first to break the silence. “I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you sooner”.

“You have nothing to apologize for, you must have a lot to do around here—”

“How are you doing since… what happened at the ball?”

You had a feeling this was why she’d actually asked you to come over. “I… I’m as okay as I can be, I guess. I wish I hadn’t been exposed like that, but I suppose it’s a relief that everything is out in the open. Although part of me is worried about King Laufeyson and what he’ll do when he finds out that I’ve told people about the accident— that I guess wasn’t really an accident.”

Becca sits up, though she won’t make eye contact with you. “You have nothing to worry about. King Laufeyson will not bother you or your family ever again.”

And now you’re on edge. “Wh-what? What do you mean I have nothing to worry about, how do you know he won’t bother us?”

As she realizes what she’s just told you, Becca’s eyes widen. Saying nothing, she simply grabs your hand and practically drags you through the palace. You come to one of the many living rooms and find Queen Winnifred sitting on a sofa, reading.

“Your majesty,” you start to curtsy as she notices you both enter the room, and she surprises you by putting her book down and pulling you in for a hug and telling you to call her Winnie.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you, I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet at the ball. Though I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” You look between Becca and Winnie, now even more confused. What feels like a million scenarios are running through your mind, but you don’t think any of them are accurate.

“Perhaps we should all sit down,” she motions behind her to the couch. You sit on the couch with her, while Becca opts to sit on one of the large chairs just on the other side. “What do you know of King Laufeyson and his people?”

Dread fills your entire body. “Other than… what he’s done to my family, nothing.”

You all glance up just in time to see Thor enter the room. You stand up when he approaches, and he greets you with a hug, apologizing for intruding but saying he had to come and talk when he heard you were at the palace.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as soon as I read your letter, but I just felt you should know. Loki is— was, my brother. He was adopted as an infant and we were raised together. Our childhood was normal, we were very close back then. But the older he got, the more defiant he got. It was clear that he needed help. He wasn’t just an angry boy, he was… cruel. Our parents did everything they could, gave him every opportunity and unfortunately covered for him too many times. But finally everyone had enough, and he was sent away to school that was meant to help him. But it only made him angrier. He rebelled, and as soon as he turned of age, he manipulated the crown away from our parents. It’s why my home perished. Not literally, as in a fire, but it was destroyed by Loki. He ran all Asgardian’s out of the kingdom and quickly filled it with his own people that he met while away. He— he is not. good man.”

You sit there, trying to process everything, when Winnie speaks up once more. “We welcomed the people of Asgard with open arms, vowing to help however we good. From a legal standpoint, there was nothing we could do. He was cruel and manipulative, but he hadn’t technically broken any laws. Recently we’ve had people do some digging, and what happened to your parents, it’s not the first time he has caused a situation like that. Two nights ago, one of our people went to your home, and May Parker provided us with the documents proving that he threatened your family and made you promise to never tell. We’d asked her not to say anything to you just yet, for we didn’t want to get any hopes up. But we’ve just received word that your proof, amongst all the rest, was enough. Loki Laufeyson is no longer king of Asgard. The throne will be returned to Odin and Frigga, who have also been living in the palace. They’re on the side that I don’t think you’ve been on.”

“What’s to happen with King— what’s to happen with Loki now?”

“The people of our kingdom, and Asgard, are pushing for a hanging. But even if he should receive a life sentence, he will still never see the light of day, and he will never harm anyone again. James has been away—”

“Is this why he’s gone now? Loki—” Now you’re panicked. And you feel selfish, for being upset that he hadn’t contacted you, when you now know where he has been.

“When Bucky read your letter and learned what Loki did to you and your family, he was angrier than I’ve ever seen him. He wanted to go and apologize and comfort you right away, but he was so angry with Loki. Right away he wanted to leave and kill him. He left the next day, accompanied by Steve and a few of our other men. He didn’t have any real plan, but we got updates from them fairly often. He was the one who gathered further proof of the crimes that Loki had committed, and it was him that informed us that Loki had been overthrown.”

Winnie picks up when Becca grows quiet, “I love my dear son, but he was a fool for reacting the way that he did, when Margaret and Brock tried to air out your personal business. They’ve both since been exiled from the kingdom, because this isn’t the first time they’ve attempted to meddle in business that they have no reason to insert themselves into. They should’ve been dealt with long ago. I apologize that it took this incident involving you.”

You wipe away the couple of tears that had fallen, “I’m sorry that you’re all dealing with this because of the letter that I wrote to Prince James…”

“I’m not sorry,” Winnie gives you a sad smile, “of course I’m sad that this happened to you and I wish that it hadn’t, but now that we know, it’s good that we’ve dealt with the problem. Loki Laufeyson has been allowed to reign as King of Asgard for far too long. Now he’s dealt with, and Odin and Frigga may return to Asgard as the rightful King and Queen.”

You’re about to respond, when Sam and Clint suddenly burst into the room.

“When did you all get ba—” Becca starts to ask, but Sam cuts her off.

“It’s Bucky, he’s hurt.”

not clickable means it won’t let me tag you. (i’ll try to @ you in a comment / reply to this, it’ll come from my side blog @infiniteminds)

series tags: @thebuckybarnesvault​ / @matchat3a​ / @avengersfan25​ / @et-homephone / @adangerousbalance​ / @bxtchboy69​ / @zealouspostwitch / @sgt-tasm​ / @sebsgirl71479 / @ivybarns / @storyofmemory / @sky0401​ / @realgaytrash​ / @moonlightreader649​ / @sugarpits / @browneyedgirl22 / @inkedaztec​ / @buchanansbaby / @starbxcks

all bucky tags: @hallecarey1 / @valkyrie418 / @weirdowithnobeardo / @adoringsebstan / @seabassstanfan / @channelxt / @eliwinchester99 / @searchf0rtheskyline

all character tags: @jaywalkingape

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes au #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #winter soldier #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier au #marvel au #mcu au #winter soldier x fem!reader #winter soldier fanfic #winter soldier fluff #winter soldier angst #steve rogers #thor #loki #loki laufeyson #thor odinson #prince bucky #royalty au #royal au

[glamsmine]

The Final Ackermann

(Yes that is the fic name and that was the best i could do but it will all make sense PROMISE)

It was unspoken, as was everything else between the two, but this- THIS was something the both needed to confirm. How to go about it? Neither knew. They were so used to questioning each other on topics and arguing, but talking things out? Leaving everything in the open? That simply wasn’t how Kenny operated in any way, shape, or form. Uri was more adept in that area, but Kenny being the other part that had to contribute to the possible conversation made it more difficult for him to find a way to even bring it up. Uri wasn’t one to keep his thoughts to himself, and part of him has doubts that this may just all be in his head and that Kenny just acts as he pleases with whoever. He had no idea of knowing whether he was wrong or not. Kenny was stubborn and to the point, so he’d have mentioned at least once what it was they were to each other wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t, in fact, because this is about the only type of thing he has no experience in. The past month felt off, awkward, not in any instance like a regular evening they had or casual banter they exchanged like before. All because of the way the two gazed at each other sitting in front of the island’s shore one afternoon.

It felt instantaneous, feverish, a bit shy. Something so foreign to the two that they realized that in that moment, they could never look at each other the same way afterwards. So in the moment that they both had that disappointing realization that there might be more to this “partnership” that they developed under the intention of keeping a royal and loyal connection, they held their eyes for as long as they could; in fear that they would never have a moment exactly like this one ever again. The sea air felt soft and smelt of jasmine rather than the nasty smell Kenny first described it as. The light coming from the sun above seemed to graze Kenny’s face and capture it in a warm glow with an expression Uri could only think of as surprised. Truly a sight to see, Kenny never softened his face or let the furrow in his brows rest.

The light breeze picked at Uri’s hair, a picture wouldn’t do him justice. The technology on the island is too behind to allow for the invention of a camera, but Kenny was grateful he was able to capture this moment in his mind where he hardly had any real memories that made him comfortable or happy.

It was just like that how their prolonged silence led to hushed nights hiding from palace guards and days where Kenny would stare up at the sky with nothing else but that white coconut head he had engrained into his eyelids. If only he wasn’t such a cowardly ass that didn’t give a damn of what others thought, maybe he’d be able to peck Uri without a single thought. Perhaps he might’ve even been able to keep that little Levi in his sights, properly raise him and prepare him for the world that he will let him see in the future. The underground was no place to live. He’d like to think that he’d have everything he ever wanted then. His family and love(maybe even more if he got the chance), but the dreams of an Ackermann can never come to fruition. He wanted to blame their heritage, maybe it was a curse because no Ackermann in existence has ever lived the life they’ve wanted, but he knew. This was just how the Ackermanns managed to survive this far, and he hoped that that wouldn’t reach Levi’s way of living. Yet he knew. This was just how things are, and how they always will be.

WOOOPWOOOPWOPPP. So this has been siting in my drafts for like, forever and I decided to finish it off just now. (I hate writing fr, why can’t I just write my stuff all at once so I don’t have to constantly revisit my drabbles when I finally have a transition point or more to add on.) anyways.

This is very much KenUri if you haven’t already noticed💀 I don’t wanna ruin the actual plot point that comes after this bc it would be a big spoiler for my fic, even though i have yet to write the whole thing🗿 but this will be an Armin-centric fic (ik. SURPRISING. Given that this is some real KenUri) but it will make sense when i actually write it🧍🏽‍♀️there’s a good foreshadow/ reference in here so maybe that is a tip-off. Anyways. This exists now…….

#fic ideas #fic writing #my fic #my fic writing #new writers on tumblr #writing #drabble #oneshot #kenny ackerman #uri reiss #kenuri #kenny and uri are very husband #levi aot #aot #aot fic #aot au #armin aot #kenny actually being a decent uncle #wait no nvm #slow burn #there will be angst #found family #secret love child #awoop jumpscare #dont read the tags actually

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

my fic-writing process, by me:

1) open google doc. format the google doc how i like it. (”add space after paragraph”!) feel great dread. no. cannot do it. never. it simply won’t happen.

2) write a few sentences. start to kinda be feeling it. jump all over the word document scribbling bits of every scene in no particular order as the idea comes alive. most sentences are half words and half “_______” (which means i’ll get back to it later when my brain works better).

3) get so entirely all-consumingly immersed that i don’t quite exist any longer and i know somehow that while i might look like me on the outside,  my REAL identity is the characters i’m writing about. (extremely normal.) at this stage i am incredibly annoying to be around irl because i’m like 30% there max, but my heart lives in the google doc with my fictional counterparts. getting pulled away when i want to be writing is a unique kind of mental misery that i can’t quite get a handle on experiencing with dignity. while writing, i probably make all the facial expressions i’m imagining the characters making and sometimes talk to myself aloud. (extremely normal again.)

4) revise-as-i-go for one trillion hours, throwing in new scenes at random like they’ve been there all along. writing something in chronological order? that could never be me.

5) make sure to fill in all the “________”s. there are always more than i remember.

6) realize that i think i’m done!!!!! oh my god!!!!!!! other people are gonna see this!!!!!! other people are gonna go on this journey with me!!!!!!! other people are going to FEEL how i FEEL!!!!!!! i’m not going to be alone anymore with this symphony of emotions!!!!!!! (this is the point where i should let my fic sit for a couple days before posting, but i never, ever do. the idea of other people besides me being able to witness its existence is too tempting!)

7) read once through but not in the most stickler-y proofreader way, if i’m honest.

8) grab some lyrics from the song that comes to mind first and slap ‘em on top as the title. wish i had a better and more thoughtful approach to titles.

9) create a draft on ao3.

10) read that through like three and a half times and fix all the weird italics.

11) POST, always knowing i’ve done so a little too soon!

aaaaaand 12) wait for comments in a state of keen, hyperaware, hyper-vulnerable emotional anguish. Suffer Forever.

this is my hobby!!!!!!!! for some reason.

#probably my weirdest stage 3 was when i wrote a fic from dwight's point of view in like 2007 for several hours #and then i just walked around my parents' house like 'i am dwight schrute now.' #i couldn't really remember how to think NOT like dwight schrute #now that was an experience #anyway 3 is my favorite stage because it's frigging bliss #but it also might be like dissociation or something idk #dollsome's deep thoughts #(i'm fine!)

[shares-a-vest]

WIP Word Search Game

rules: share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word)

Tagged by @ghost--enthusiast thanks for the tag Jam 💖 Sorry I took forever to get to this, I got distracted by Steddie Week

My words: Debt, Linger, Throw, Flinch, and Camp

Debt: Didn't have this one in my drafts but have this little exchange between Steve and Wayne at Eddie's bedside post-s4

Steve stops in his tracks a mere two steps into Eddie's hospital room. He makes a startled yelp sound that is loud enough Wayne Munson turns around. The man stuffs his newspaper onto his chair as he stands and bounds for him just as Steve seriously considers making a run for it. "You're the Harrington boy?" Wayne asks, holding out his hand. "Uh, yeah," he replies shaking his hand perhaps a little too firmly due to his nervousness. And then Eddie's uncle is pulling him into a tight hug, crushing enough it sends shooting pain through the barely-healed gashes on his back. He hugs the man in return, looking over his shoulder to Eddie, surrounded by beeping machines and tubes. He balls Wayne's plaid shirt in his fists as he sniffles back a sob at the sight. "I'm forever in your debt, kid," Wayne chokes, "You saved my boy." "No, sir," he insists, shaking his head, "You don't owe me a thing."

Linger:

Dustin asks - nay - begs him to let Hellfire meet up for a campaign at his house. The Wheelers won't let Eddie in their house, Lucas and Erica is basically grounded for life after skipping out on a police interrogation during the Vecna stuff, the Byers have barely moved back to Hawkins (aka Hopper said 'no') and Claudia is sick of, "all the fighting and shouting, Dusty". "Yeah, that makes it more convincing," Steve says to the last one and Dustin realises he in fact has two mothers.  He asks about the other Hellfire guys (who he barely knows) and Dustin said it's a combination of lingering Eddie doubts floating around town and the shouting and fighting complaints too.  Again, not filling Steve with much confidence.

Throw:

They both peer over the top of the box in unison. The two tiny furballs are curled up together for warmth. They’ve been like this pretty much all week. And thank god, because Robin has been on tenterhooks, fearing that her mother will burst into her bedroom at any second. Or her brother who will immediately spill the beans. She’d had a close call yesterday when her mother did a lap of the house announcing her laundry schedule, walking into Robin’s room for her band uniform. Luckily Robin was sitting at the foot of the bed, an easy distance to throw a jacket over the box. But her mother made a face. These kittens really do meow a lot. Robin folds in on herself, bringing her knees to her chest even though she is already balancing on the edge of the bed. "I really can’t keep them here much longer," she panics, shaking her head.

Flinch:

"You okay, man?" "Just reaching an unbelievable level of annoyance and I’ve only been doing this a week," he lamely gestures to his badge as his hand on the plastic container becomes enveloped by Eddie’s. Steve thinks he lets out some kind of desperate whimper, a squeak even, but Eddie doesn’t flinch. Instead, he starts petting his hand. "Wanna come see the band next Tuesday night? I can guarantee an evening of headache-inducing loud music and mildly-stale refreshments." "Sounds splendid." Splendid, really? "In the meantime," Eddie winks as he pushes their hands down onto the container, "These are from Henderson’s Mom. She said you didn’t come over for dinner last week, or something."

Camp: Didn't have this one in any of my wips so I bent the rules and wrote a little ficlet.

No pressure tags: @sharpbutsoft @wynnyfryd @daysarestranger @princessstevemunson @thefreakandthehair plus anyone who wants to do this 💖

Your words are: Sparkle, Pink, Stars, Flower and Splendid

#tag games #writing wip #lily talks #not finding two of these has me panicking about having a limited vocab (which I probably have when it comes to writing fiction 😬) #i'm also worried my words are lame lmao #not me overthinking in the tags #now the question is??? can i ACTUALLY FINISH MY WIPS GAHHH

[infinite-orangepeel]

9 & 13 for the writer asks, please :)

bobbie, hi ! lovely to see you here, my friend <3 hope you're having a great start to your weekend :) thanks so much for submitting these ones !

and thanks to @lordoftherazzles for creating this tag game 💌

9. have you ever made yourself laugh with something you've written?

short answer: yes.

long answer: usually when i'm writing some intentionally awkward flirting between steddie, i won't be satisfied UNLESS it makes me personally smile or giggle (that's like my litmus test for if it gets included in the final draft).

also, whenever i get to write ensemble scenes with the whole gang (bonus points: if it's steddie 'parenting; the kids), i find myself laughing. i recently wrote these few lines for it's rotten work and they make me smile:

“Uh, no. That’s okay. Thanks, though,” Steve’s mom-brain is running at the speed of light as he tries to do the math on how to accommodate everyone, explain everything, and deal with the potential fallout–all while getting the kids to go to bed at a reasonable hour, “Why’d you guys come here, anyway?”

“To drink alcohol and kiss our boyfriends–at least that’s what Max said earlier,” she says in a distorted imitation of a regular teen–one who hasn’t lived through years of unethical lab experimentation, multiple apocalyptic events, and attained telekinesis. 

“Do you and your boyfriend kiss with alcohol, Steve?” she wonders aloud and he stammers around trying to generate an acceptable, PG-13 answer. 

“Well, you know. I don’t–I think that it’s best–” 

“Oh, they’ve definitely kissed,” Dustin jogs over and Mike tags along on lanky legs. 

“Definitely,” Mike confirms, like he might be able to apply the scientific method to prove it, “Just look at the hickeys on Steve’s neck! Either a vampire attacked him in the woods or he and Eddie have been having sex in Hopper’s cabin–which ew–” 

“Oh gross!” Lucas exclaims from his perch across the room, “I bet there’s dude jizz all over the cabin. I’m probably sitting in some right now, aren’t I? Actually don’t answer that–”

“Okayyyy. Sounds like mama bear needs some help getting her ducklings back in line. That’s my cue, Red,” Eddie ties off the intricate braid he’s weaved into Max’s strawberry colored hair and leaves her giggling with an unintelligible comment he whispers into her ear. 

13. multichapter fics or one shots?

ahh don't make me choose ! jk, jk.

as a reader, i have a slight preference for multichapter fics.

i'm def one of those people that gravitates towards works with over 100k words (or even 200k tbh) and some seriously fucked up tags (what can i say? i like the dark stuff. the more fucked up/toxic and crazy the better sometimes lol in fiction at least). like the fact that each installment of @azrielgreen's fics tends to be over 20k words is the best to me lol. I live for it ! also I just live for her writing in general, wow.

but tbh if it's steddie, i'll read anything under the sun. and bc i'm constantly writing and working on my own wips, one shots do bode well for me due to time constraints !

and as a writer, i have a HUGE preference for multichapter fics. bc if i'm obsessed with a pairing (and steddie is seriously my otp forever) i want to stay immersed in that universe for as long as possible. and bc I like to torture myself with writing slowburns and/or angst with a happy ending, i find that the multipchapter/giant word count format works best for plot and character development.

to me, it's rotten work and i wore his jacket are both heavily character driven. it's rotten work was born out of the idea that i wanted to explore steve's trauma in the whumpiest/brutal way possible. eventually, that transformed into addressing and exploring eddie's trauma, as well. and in order for a fic like that to work and to see any real healing take place, i think the story needs time to breathe and develop for it to be believable/feel realistic enough for the reader.

anyways !! sorry that was a way too long answer but I had too many thoughts in my brain on the topic. if you read that all, I seriously adore you <3

#marissa's asks #this one is a long answer and i'm sorry i'm so wordy ahhaah #thanks bobbie !! much love to you #writer asks #steddie asks #steddie #steddie brainrot #steddie au #steddie fics #steddie fic recs #steddie fluff #steddie my beloved #steve harrington/eddie munson #eddie munson/steve harrington #steve harrington headcanon #steddie ficlet #steddie excerpt #steddie ao3 #steddie headcanon #steve harrington character analysis

[cdyssey]

Barbara and Melissa (Pt. I)

Summary: When Barbara and Melissa discover that their husbands are cheating on them—and with each other, no less—their lives as they have known them are suddenly and dramatically upended. Grace and Frankie AU.

CW: Heavy Discussions/Mentions of Infidelity, Alcohol Use

AO3 Link

—

It’s just another Saturday night for Barbara, Melissa, and their spouses. Rather than watch the Penn State game at one of their places, though, they’ve opted to go out to Stu’s, their favorite hole-in-the-wall bar that unfortunately looks like a derelict crack house from the outside. But the inside is cozy enough—if a little worn with wear—and the eponymous Stu is Melissa’s third cousin seven times removed or something ridiculous like that, but he gives them all family discounts anyway. 

Anything for his cousin Mel.

Barbara and Melissa have already grabbed their usual high top table in the corner, waiting for their husbands to return with drinks (draft beers for the boys and Melissa, a neat cosmo for Barbara).

“Gerald said that he and Joe have something to tell us,” Barbara remarks, idly wiping down the table with a sanitizing wipe from her purse. She trusts Stu well enough to keep the bar generally clean… but who knows what kinds of germs accrue when he’s not looking? Some of his patrons aren’t exactly the most reputable for their hygiene.

“Bet they want us to go on a trip again,” Melissa rolls her eyes, one elbow on the table, her chin propped up on her fist. “Y’know they couldn’t get enough of the Smokey’s last time we went.”

“Hiking fools,” Barbara shakes her head with a small, reminiscent smile at their joint vacation last spring. While Melissa and Barbara spent most of their time in Gatlinburg proper shopping and seeing the sights, their husbands had hiked nearly everyday, only returning to the cabin when it was time to get dressed and go to dinner.

Not that any of them had particularly minded that arrangement, of course. 

Sure, the four of them all get along swimmingly—such has been true from pretty much the beginning when Barbara and Melissa first became close friends at work and introduced their spouses to each other. It’s simply just that in their personal dynamics, the women pair off quite nicely and so do the men.

“All I’m sayin’ is that my dumbass husband better think twice before he pisses in the woods again,” Melissa huffs, now looking at the nearest television. The game’s about to kick off. (Barbara personally thinks that Penn State doesn’t stand a chance against Alabama, but Melissa and the boys are nothing if not delusional team loyalists, always believing that their alma mater can somehow take it home.) “Took forever to clear up the poison oak.”

“Mmmmm, girlfriend,” she scrunches her nose distastefully, splaying a raised hand in the other’s direction. “Too much information.”

It’s going to take her a full week to get that unsavory image out of her head.

Melissa only chuckles—perpetually delighted by her own crassness—as the boys finally arrive, drinks in tow. Gerald presses a light kiss against Barbara’s cheek, his mustache tickling her skin, as he hands her the cosmo, and she works to disguise her surprise at the unexpected gesture. It’s been awhile since he’s extended such a casual moment of affection towards her… in fact, she cannot quite remember the last one. The last little comfort or quiet intimacy. Sliding his arms around her waist. Lacing their hands together at the dinner table. Telling her that she looked nice in this blouse or that one. Calling her dear.

As he sits down next to Joseph on the other side of the table, she smiles at him so gratefully that she feels a little bit like a beggar, thanking him for his scraps.

He doesn’t catch it, though, his dark gaze averted.

And in the yellowish lighting of the bar, her husband almost seems a little wan, shadows turning circles beneath his eyes.

Barbara frowns gently. She hopes that he’s not getting sick. She keeps telling him that his boss is overworking him lately—thinks that this is the source of all their most recent marital strife even. He’s been home past ten more often than not for at least a year, his company’s latest welding contract demanding a lot out of his team. 

Too much.

And without proper financial compensation either.

If they’ve had one disagreement over his inability to set work aside for a few days, then they’ve had two dozen of them, all of them ending with Barbara sleeping alone in their king-sized bed.

He apologizes every time, an effortless gentleman, her Ger.

But somehow, he never seems to learn from this one mistake.

He never touches her anymore.

Barely even looks her way.

“Something wrong, honey?” She asks, reaching across the table and placing a hand on his wrist, right above the watch that she’d given him last year for Christmas. 

“Oh, no—nothing,” Gerald smiles at her quickly, gently shrugging away from the touch. Stung, she widens her smile to avoid ever showing it. “Just a long day at work…”

There’s still something in his eyes that makes Barbara suspect that she’s being lied to, but she doesn’t want to press the issue in front of their friends, doesn’t want to argue, so she nods thinly and lets it go. She’ll talk to him on the ride home…

The game starts, and by the end of the first quarter, Alabama is already twenty-one points up with no intention of stopping.

“Fuck!” Melissa swears when the Penn State quarterback nearly throws another interception, slamming her fist on the table. “C’mon, dude. You nearly lobbed it right into his hands.”

“I’m not sure why you’re so surprised,” Barbara laughs, always faintly amused at her friend’s team fervor. “Our boys haven't had it together in years now.”

“We just need a better offense,” Melissa insists, shaking her head at the replay of the near screw up. 

“And throw in a new defense too while you’re at it,” Stu grunts playfully as he drops off yet another round of drinks. “Ain’t that right, Joe?”

He elbows Melissa’s husband, who, for some unknown reason, violently bucks at the touch, nearly sending Gerald flying off his barstool in the process. But her own spouse thinks quickly and catches himself on the edge of the table in time, and the only casualty is the little bit of Corona that sloshes over the top of Melissa’s glass and onto her shirt when the table shakes.

“Shit, Lissa,” Joe flushes, grabbing a bunch of napkins from the dispenser at random and chucking them at his wife with characteristic recklessness, causing Barbara to purse her lips. She doesn’t say anything, though. It isn’t her place.

(As Melissa has emphatically let her know time and time again.)

 “I’m sorry. I was just lost in thought—“

“I’d say so,” Melissa scowls indignantly, toweling off the stain as much as she can. Barbara thanks Stu when he returns with a dry rag, and she cleans up the rest of the spillage on the table, trying her best not to eavesdrop. It’s hard, though, when they’re at such a tiny table… and, well—God bless and forgive her—she’s unfortunately rather nosy.

“What the hell’s gotten into you tonight, Joe?” Melissa goes on, exasperation in her voice, clear concern. "Why are ya acting like someone’s shot your cat?”

Now that she mentions it, Joe—like Barbara’s own husband, has been a little off-color this evening as well. Usually, he’s knee-deep in the trenches with his wife, yelling pointlessly at the TV about the young men in navy uniforms, but he’s been strangely quiet throughout the game, only offering commentary when Melissa has sent some teasing remark his way.

“Long day,” Joe blusters, clutching his beer glass with reddened knuckles.

“Don’t just steal Gerald’s answer,” Melissa snorts, tilting her head towards Gerald, who has been staring up at some speck on the dirty ceiling for the past minute or so—since almost falling over.

He’s always been non-confrontational, her dear partner—perhaps even to a genuine fault.

They never exactly fight, the Howards.

They just trade words with slightly raised voices in the kitchen.

“Goddamn, Lissa. More than one person can have a long day.”

As Melissa angrily opens her mouth to respond, a foul word almost surely forming on her lips, Barbara, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her useless husband, decides it’s high time to step in before the couple really hits their stride. She knows they love each other, but dear Lord, the two of them can brawl like recent divorcees.

“Enough,” she says sharply, affecting her best teacher voice as she looks between them. “Let’s just return to watching the game, shall we? Joe?"

She levels him the same glare that she gives her kindergarteners when she catches them picking their noses.

“Fine by me,” He grunts inelegantly, picking his beer up again.

"Melissa?" She asks—much more kindly—sensitive to the hurt in the younger woman's eyes. Joseph can be so careless with his profanities sometimes...

“Whatever.” Melissa crosses her arms over her chest—always made uncomfortable by her own vulnerability—before violently turning away.

Granted, it isn't so much of a game as it is an  utterly pathetic affair.

Alabama steamrolls Penn State forty-nine to zero, and the four of them watch the last quarter in near total silence, the tension between them thick and unpleasant. Barbara, throughout it all, doesn’t know who to attend to—her husband, who keeps getting paler with each second that ticks down on the game clock, her best friend, who is too angry to even finish her buffalo wings, or Joseph, who keeps knocking back beer after beer until the table is littered with empty glasses. She ends up doing her best with Melissa, briefly squeezing her knee beneath the table, consoling her through touch alone.

They can talk about it later.

“Well,” she smiles tightly when the display mercifully flashes the final score, “that was fun.”

“Pfft,” Melissa only mutters beneath her breath, still determinedly looking anywhere but her husband. “Yeah.”

Barbara glances at her own spouse meaningfully, tilting her head towards the door.

Let’s get out of here.

But Joe, who’s been absently nursing his sixth Corona for the last few minutes or so, suddenly stops Gerald from standing up by throwing one of his muscled arms across his chest.

“Wait,” he intones in his deep voice, his cheeks blotchy with drink. “Not yet… there’s somethin’ we gotta tell you two.”

“Joe, no,” Gerald shakes his head vigorously, his face bloodless. Horrified. He makes a weak attempt at shoving the other man’s forearm away. “Not tonight. It’s hardly the time.”

“And when will it ever be, Ger?” The firefighter shoots back. “Another ten years from now? Twenty? How long do we gotta make fucking assholes outta ourselves, huh?”

Barbara can’t make sense of what’s going on between the two men, the tension in their eyes, the familiarity of this incomprehensible conversation—like it’s one that has been had many times before.

Over and over and over again.

All she knows is that they’re damn well not about to ask to go on another vacation.

“What the fuck are you two yabbering on about?” Melissa asks, never one for social niceties, cutting straight to the point, and the bluntly phrased question finally seems to bring their husbands back to the awareness that there is such a thing as other people in the room. When Joe in particular finally breaks his gaze to look at his wife, his expression immediately softens—becomes pained even, full of utter sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Lissa,” he starts, reaching across the table, weaving between the labyrinth of beers, to place a hand on Melissa’s where it’s now resting on the table. “I didn’t mean t’pick a fight with you… I just wanted us to all to have one last good time together.”

“What’s all this horseshit?” Melissa rasps, eyes only for her husband, but she jerks her hand away from his as though stung. “What’s going on?”

Barbara’s stomach turns as she stares between the two of them—unable to look away from the devastation that’s unfolding before her—but then, out of the corner of her eye, she sees that her own husband is covering his face with both of his tall hands.

And it only hits her then that he isn’t wearing his wedding band.

That there’s an imprint on his fourth finger where it used to be.

Where it has unfailingly been.

For thirty-seven years.

Joe had said there was something they needed to tell both of them.

“Gerald Samuel Howard,” she breathes, cutting across whatever drunk and idiotic reply that Joe had surely been stringing together in his lump of coal for a brain. “Where in God’s almighty name is your wedding ring?”

She can feel the other couple’s eyes snap towards them, and the weight of their scrutiny makes Barbara want to calmly lean back, take a deep breath, and smile as though for an invisible camera, but something inside her breaks and refuses to instantaneously mend itself when Gerald, without uncovering his eyes, silently shakes his head.

Coward.

Always.

“And where the hell is yours, huh?” Melissa snaps from somewhere next to her, the sound less angry than it is terrified, perhaps desperate for an explanation other than the one that is starting to form right before their eyes.

But no, it can’t be.

Joe and Gerald, they’re not—

They can’t possibly be—

It’s absurd to even—

“We’ve done both of you so wrong,” Gerald croaks, the sentence muffled behind his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears glistening down the worn crevices of his face, Joe makes a vague noise, seemingly about to elaborate, but Barbara, just as she had playfully done to Melissa earlier, raises her hand. 

But there is nothing of laughter in this gesture.

She feels ancient, like she hasn’t laughed in a hundred thousand years.

Like she will never do so again.

“No,” she says coldly, the syllable wrenched from some ugly place deep within her soul. “I want to hear it from him.”

“Hear what?” Melissa demands frustratedly, apparently still in denial. Her friend is so alert about most things in this life, shrewd and street smart, hypervigilant even to the point of always needing to sit facing the door, but she’s always had a blind spot when it comes to Joe.

Has always excused the most ridiculous of his antics with a shrug.

Gerald, with the deliberation she has come to expect from him—that she shares in common with him even—slowly peels his fingers away from his face, and then his calloused palms, until he’s staring at Barbara from the depths of sunken eyes.

“Go on then,” she hisses, digging her fingernails into her thighs beneath the table. “Say it.”

And she watches, with her own two eyes, as Joseph Lombardo places a comforting hand on the small of her husband’s back, supporting him as though there’s a lifetime in the infinitesimal action.

A long-established and carefully nurtured intimacy.

“Oh, Jesus.” Melissa has finally arrived at the midnight hour alongside her. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“We’ve been cheatin' on you,” Joe says it in the end, lobbing the horrible words on the table between them like a lit fuse. “With each other. I’m sorry.”

It was at once both thoroughly important and agonizingly unnecessary that he added with each other. She’d gotten the gist from their barren fourth fingers and Joe’s hand on Gerald, but she wouldn't have been able to fully believe it until she heard it articulated aloud. 

And among the thousands of others of pains and questions and horrors seizing through her system in simultaneous succession, it’s somehow the fact that Gerald couldn’t do it himself that simply excavates her.

She finds that she cannot bear to look at him.

She equally discovers that she cannot look away.

“How long?” Barbara asks incisively, harshly swiping at the traitorous tears that are threatening to form at the corners of her eyes. Half of the bar is looking at them now. Stu’s glaring daggers at the men from behind the bar, looking vaguely murderous. She can’t cry in front of all these people, can’t dissolve under their finely-trained microscope.

She spares a glance at Melissa and sees that she’s been stunned into silence, her red mouth a gaping maw.

“A year?” She presses, holding her stomach, as all of Gerald’s late nights suddenly come into perspective. He hasn’t been working overtime.

Oh, God.

He’s been with Joseph.

“Ten,” Joe offers meekly, his hand falling away from Gerald’s back in such a way as though he’s finally realized that it was a thoroughly inappropriate gesture to begin with. “Since our trip to Vegas.”

Ten years.

The days, the weeks, the endless months upon months cascade through her head like a vicious assault of rain. She tries to do the math in her head and finds that the numbers are untenable.

Unbearable. 

They do not compute.

She cannot hold them within her without wanting to scream.

So she decides not to believe him.

It is her last available defense against total dissolution.

“You’re joking,” she retorts, her voice barely audible, choked upwards from the constricted column of her throat.

But Joe wordlessly shakes his head in place of an answer, staring at her with wide, watery eyes, and she can see the veracity plainly etched in his face.

The man might be many things—drunkard, potty-mouth, serial gambler—but he’s never been a liar.

Barbara racks her brain for the now hazy memories of that joint vacation. They’d gone for Melissa’s fiftieth birthday, even though the four of them could barely afford it with their abysmal salaries, but Lord, how she, Joseph, and Gerald had all insisted anyway—their beloved Sicilian fireball deserved it. And they’d had such a good time, shopping during the day, casino hopping at night, and eating some damn fine meals in-between. They’d even helicoptered out to the Grand Canyon at some point and cried at God’s glorious majesty sprawled out before them in vast configurations of clay and stone.

They couldn’t actually afford to spend the night at any of the casinos, so they had booked rooms at a La Quinta within taxi-distance of the strip. Barbara, emphatically not a gambler, never stayed out too awfully late, and Melissa often accompanied her back to the hotel, more circumspect than her husband when it came to the slots. 

But Joe and Gerald, they lingered behind.

At the bars.

And the casinos.

In the dance clubs.

Telling their wives they’d taxi home later.

So there had been time enough for something to happen—stretches of unaccounted-for moments. She sees it very clearly now, that one night when Gerald stumbled into their hotel room at three in the morning, already sober, but he had inexplicably showered for two hours nonetheless before slumping into their shared bed. He didn’t touch her that night, even when she attempted to curl into him for his warmth.

She now understands that he absolutely couldn’t.

“And you didn’t think there was any time between then and—oh, I don’t fucking know—the last ten years to tell us this?” Melissa seems to have found her voice again, and it’s raw and visceral, another knife wound in Barbara’s side necessitating an outpouring of blood. “Any particular reason you wanna shoot your shot now?”

“We love each other,” Joe immediately replies, glancing at Gerald, who looks like he’s about to wretch, with worried eyes. “We wanna get married.”

“Married?!” Barbara didn’t know her vocal cords could form such a shrill sound. Somehow, even though she had been quick to process that her husband is cheating on her with one of their best friends, it has slipped her grasp that the only logical conclusion to this revelation is that it goes somewhere beyond an initial confession.

Separation can only follow.

Divorce.

She’s sixty-six years old—so close to her twilight years if she hasn’t reached the beginning of them already—and she’s going to be alone.

Oh, God—he’s going to leave her, and he’s just sitting there, like a monolith, like a log, not saying anything. And how can he not say anything? How can he let their nearly forty-year marriage go out with a whimper as his boyfriend or partner or whatever the hell he calls Joe says all of these unconscionable things with a bang?

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” She demands, and she hates how it sounds more like a plea. “Or are you just going to let Joseph do all the talking for you?”

“Don’t have a go at him!” Joe growls protectively, placing his arm around Gerald again, and it makes Barbara utterly sick. 

“Bastard! Stronzo!” Melissa snarls, abruptly standing up, knocking over a half-empty beer glass in the process. The amber liquid diffuses across the table, drenching all of them with its bitter tang. “What do y’mean don’t have a go at him? You two have cheated on us for ten years. Humiliated us. Hurt us.”

“Lissa—“ Joe’s feral expression softens again. “I’m s—“

“You complete”—Melissa picks up one of her uneaten wings—“chickenshit of a”—and she chucks it at her husband— “coglione! Figlio di puttana!”

“Melissa, goddammit! Don’t throw—” 

But she’s already grabbed another and thrown it at him too, while Barbara hasn’t taken her eyes off Gerald, tears openly leaking down her own face now. She forgets to swipe at them, a stranger in her body, non-operator of any of her frozen limbs.

“I’m a coward,” he finally utters, the three words nearly lost beneath the sound of Melissa and Joseph now apparently cursing at each other in Italian.

“Barbara…” He cradles his head in his hands, his voice breaking on every syllable of her name. “I’m a coward.”

Barbara doesn’t know what to say to this, barely remembers how to breathe, her ribcage a shattered temple.

Ruined and ruinous deep within her body.

The pillars eroding.

This immaculate sanctuary of herself undone.

She opens her mouth, but everything refuses to come out.

#work wives #melissa schemmenti #barbara howard #s: abbott elementary #reginianwrites #this is the most hioshoihfosihdfoifd #i don't know how to describe it #brainrotted thing i have ever written

[emmacrb]

I started writing this atleast 5 years ago & it’s been sitting in my drafts since then so maybe I should actually try to finish this seeing as I just finished the series?

Favourite pony/character, out of the Mane 6 & in general and favourite villain!: I can’t really pick a favourite. I probably would’ve said both Spike & Rarity before (even though Spike isn’t a pony lol), Fluttershy used to be one of my favourites, Pinkie Pie is probably the nicest character, I also like Starlight Glimmer...*cough*kindamywaifu*cough*. As for villain...hmm maybe Discord or Tirek? Least favourite character(s): I’m not sure I even have a character that I hate. I used to not be keen on the CMC because they made the show feel more childish & they got so many episodes (and Applebloom was overrated for some reason)- but they did grow on me- they’re good kids. Which pony do you think you’re most like?: I guess Fluttershy because I’m shy How about favourite pet that the Mane 6 own?: Angel Bunny and Tank the tortoise Favourite episodes: It’s hard to pick a favourite honestly. I used to like Season 1 the best but there is so much more to enjoy. I also really liked the Spike x Rarityness in Secret of my Excess. A few I can think of: some from season 1, May the Best Pet Win, Magic Duel, The Cart Before the Ponies, The Perfect Pear, & stuff Idk.  Least favourite episodes: I used to not look forward to the CMC episodes because there were so many of them & I wasn’t really interested in them- they’ve grown on me though. I’m also more of a fan of the slice of life episodes over the 2 parter stuff or “arc” stuff but some of the “arcs” & 2 parters have been enjoyable aswell (I liked Starlight Glimmer’s story). Some episodes I don’t like that much: She’s All Yak, Flutter Brutter, Maybe 28 Pranks Later because they were a bit hypocritical, Father Knows Beast & Going to Seed for what I believe to be errors... Shippings you like: Spike x Rarity has always been my OTP! It was even one of the things that got me in to it in the first place aswell as the characters. I also like: Big Mac x Sugar Belle, Fluttershy x Discord, Applejack x Rarity, Starlight Glimmer x Sunburst, Bright Mac x Pear Butter/Buttercup, Cranky Doodle x Matilda, Maud Pie x Mudbriar, Lyra x Bon Bon, Cadence x Shining Armour, Mayor Sunny Skies x Petunia, Applejack x Fluttershy, Twilight Sparkle x Flash Centry, Twilight Sparkle x Timber Spruce, Pinkie Pie x Cheese Sandwich. I also liked Big Mac x Marble Pie, Big Mac x Fluttershy, I remember putting Rainbow Dash x Fluttershy & Twilight Sparkle x Pinkie Pie together too, Big Mac x Cheerilee was ok, Starlight Glimmer x Trixie is ok, Applejack x Rainbow Dash is ok, and Spike x Sweetie Belle makes more sense than Spike & Applebloom... Shippings you don’t like: Never liked Spike x Applebloom- it made 0 sense & I think people only put them together because they were Sparity haters. I don’t like Spike x Gabby if it gets in the way of Spike x Rarity. I also don’t like Yona x Sandbar, Applebloom x Tender Taps, Ember x Throax. Don’t really like Spike x Ember or Rainbow Dash x Zephyr Breeze either. Didn’t really get Pinkie Pie x Discord or Spike x Applejack? Favourite song(s): I could come up with a list of songs that I like but here a few favourites: Babs Seed, Flawless, Open Up Your Eyes, What my Cutie Mark is Telling Me, You’re in My Head Like a Catchy Song, Spike’s song for Rarity, Smile. Also: Art of the Dress, Blank Flanks Forever, Find the Magic from Equestria Girls, Cutie Mark Crusaders theme song (the actual music is good even if the singing is bad lol), Raise this Barn, In Our Town, Best Friends until the end of time...

EDIT: I’ve edited this a couple of times!

#mlp #mlp fim #my little pony friendship is magic #favourites #favourite episodes #favourite pony #best pony #ships #mlp ships #favourite songs

[thompsborn]

What's the revolution fic?

omg an opportunity to ramble about something i've had in my drafts since 2019? absolutely yes thank you very much

okay, so the revolution fic (which has an actual title now - it's called the time is now) is an idea that i originally came up with, like i said, in 2019. i didn't start writing marvel fics until after endgame came out and i quickly fell in love with parkner pretty early on and au's were my saving grace from the heartbreak of losing tony (the amount of irondad fics i have read is ABSURD) and all of that cumulated into one of many fic ideas that i've had sitting in my drafts forever.

what the time is now is about is this: an alternate universe where, before what would have been the events of civil war, a more extreme version of the sokovia accords were created that criminalized anyone with enhancements. the term "enhancements" is very loosely defined in these documents, meaning that people with severely advanced intelligence can also be declared "enhanced"

the story focuses on peter's POV, though it will deviate into other perspectives later on in the fic, and it starts out in a containment facility specifically made for enhanced people under the age of 18. where we pick up in the fic is two years after the laws were put in place, and therefore two years after peter was put into this containment facility. his cellmates are miles and lunella (if you don't know who lunella is, look her up - she's a comic character and part of the avengers campus i believe, and she's like canonically one of the smartest people in existence, if not THE smartest person in existence, while being a literal child). the containment facilities are built to accommodate for 15 or so enhanced individuals, though the one peter is in only has eight - who are the following:

peter parker

miles morales

lunella lafayette

america chavez

tommy shepherd

billy kaplan

teddy altman

riri williams

it will be explained throughout the fic how and why these are the characters that end up contained, though it is just happenstance that they ended up at the same facility. it's a bit complex considering the origin of billy and tommy and with america's abilities and all of that, but i promise it all gets explained in the fic. trust me. pls.

this will have parkner in it, and irondad, and billy/teddy, and platonic interwebs and platonic petermj and a lot of other dynamics that will make up a lot of heart but no specific dynamic will be the center point of the fic. though tbh parkner and irondad will probably end up getting a bit more focus than the rest just because they have my heart the most, but my point still stands. this isn't a parkner fic or an irondad fic - it's a fic that has parkner and irondad in it.

my original doc with this fic is about 20k words long, but i decided to rewrite it from the beginning with a more defined plot and to write the fic in full before starting to post it. my goal as of now is to have the full fic written by march so that i can start posting it on my birthday, aka march 15. i will for sure be sharing little lines and snippets here and there throughout the writing process as i am way too excited about this fic to not post about it occasionally.

here's part of the opening scene, actually, just because me talking about the fic is making me very excited about it

-

“Here,” Peter says, his voice soft. “Have mine.”

Lunella pauses, eyes flickering over to where Peter is holding out his granola bar. She looks up at him with a wide eyed uncertainty, pointing out, “You didn’t get any food this morning.”

Peter shrugs, unbothered. “I’m not hungry. Go ahead, Nel. You can have it.”

“But…” she trails off, looking away and around the barren cell that they’ve been locked in—Miles still isn’t back yet, and it makes them both nervous, setting them on edge in a way that they likely should be used to by now. Peter offers her a small smile and carefully places the granola bar in her hand. For a moment, she just eyes it, like she’s debating giving it back. She’s more than smart enough to know that it’s not true, Peter saying he isn’t hungry, but at the same time, this isn’t the first time Peter’s let himself be hungry for her. She knows better than to try and argue for something he won’t back down from. Instead, she just reaches her other hand up to open the bar with a barely there whisper of, “Thanks.”

“You don’t gotta thank me, Looney Tunes,” Peter tells her, poking a finger into her side to make her giggle. She does, but the sound is half strangled as it comes out, like it’s hard to let it out when her attention is so focused on something else. Peter’s smile—already forced in the first place—fades away. “Hey,” he says, taking on a more gentle tone as he bumps his shoulder lightly against hers. “He’s going to be fine, okay? Always is.”

Even as he says it, an overwhelming anxiety rises up in his throat. It’s rare for them to be kept away for this long. A day or two, sure—that’s to be expected by now—but Miles has been gone for days, taken back to the labs nearly five days ago, and no one has seen or heard from him since. Usually, they see each other in passing while at the labs, but this time, nothing. Lunella clearly knows this, too—no matter how much Peter tries to shield her from the hell that they’re in, she’s more than smart enough to connect the dots herself and observes way more than he’d like her to see. When she looks at him, there’s far too much knowledge and reluctant acceptance to the horrors of the world shadowed in her eyes. “But what if he isn’t?” she asks him, quiet and fear stricken and probably right. “Last time—”

“Last time,” Peter cuts in, reassuring himself as much as her, “he got better in just a day and a half. Even if he’s pretty hurt, he’ll still be okay, Nel.”

She licks her lips, clearly distressed. “But he was in so much pain,” she whispers.

He swallows back the lump forming quickly in his throat, know that her words are true, knowing that it only seems to be getting worse and worse with every week that passes by. It doesn’t matter that he’s been here for nearly two years now, doesn’t matter that he thinks he’s seen all he’ll ever see, their captors still never fail to surprise him with their intense cruelty, with all of their experiments and their abuse. He doesn’t like to lie, knows that Lunella wouldn’t believe him even if he tried, so he chokes back the bitter taste resting on his tongue and instead he promises, “Even when we’re hurt, we can always be okay again. We can always get better.”

#the time is now #my writing

[fallynleaf]

(found this empty meme sitting in my drafts from, uh, ages ago 😬)

“tagged” by @paramaline! anyone reading this post can do the thing if you want!

Last Song: i haven’t really been listening to music much at all lately, but i have been playing No One Lives Forever by Oingo Boingo on repeat lately. yes i’m doing fine why do you ask

Last Film: it’s good i waited long enough to fill out this meme because for once in my life i actually watched a movie. i just watched Elisa y Marcela! i was doing a listen every day challenge with Spanish and Japanese, and i ran out of episodes of the show i was watching at the end of the month and didn’t want to start a new series haha so i found Elisa y Marcela on my netflix list and watched that! i watched it in Spanish with Spanish subtitles, so my comprehension wasn’t perfect, but the dialogue is sparse enough, the story came across perfectly well, and it made me cry ajkgfdg. i did enjoy the movie, though! i recommend it if you want a lesbian period piece film with a happy ending

Currently Watching: i mean, besides the obvious... i actually have been watching An Actual Television Show! i just finished La Casa de las Flores! my comprehension of it was maybe 80% at best because i was watching it to practice my Spanish, so i watched in Spanish with Spanish subtitles. i ended up really liking the show! i really appreciated how it centered LGBTQ people in a way that makes them absolutely integral not only to the present-day lives of the characters, but also their whole family history

Current Obsession: do i even need to say it

i was feeling so discouraged due to *gestures* well, everything, and then after the terrible year they’ve both had, Kenny Omega and Kota Ibushi basically did the equivalent of ELOPING. on KIRK/SPOCK DAY. and now we still don’t know what’s going to happen to either of them but i can’t stop thinking about “learning from the past” with the. drink with the two straws in it 😭. and just the. “already feeling lonely in the kingdom i left for you? take my hand, we’ll build a new one” of it all... obviously there’s a huge difference between a deliberate story in 2021 and... well... where we are now, but... i guess what i want to say is that i have hope again. despite everything.

#about me

[calsvoid]

Fic Writers Tag

i got tagged by @daisyishedwig thanks for that

i invite anyone who would like to do this <3

disclaimer: as i am a pretty inactive writer and have posted/finished a total of zero fics, most of these are going to be simply unanswerable for me and my answers revolve around my wips rather than any completed fics

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

none, but i have three (four? five?) wips right now

2. What’s your AO3 word count?

again none, but i got to 12k+ on the first and scrapped draft of one of my wips

3. What fandoms do you write for?

glee because i have so many brainworms for seblaine , but i do hope that one day i’ll have space in my head to generate other fandom fic ideas

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

none

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i absolutely would if i had any, i love interacting with others and would answer as many as i could

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

out of my main wips, my kurt pov fic is probably the saddest just because if you’re a klaine fan, they break up, so rip. but that one is also more of a hopeful ending type of thing. the other answer is this one klaine wedding drabble that i have which is just pure angst for seblaine and they’re just in pain

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

most of my wips are all happy endings, but i like to think my blaine pov one is the happiest just because blaine gets to be in a good place in his life and heading for even bette

8. Do you get hate on fics?

have not written any, would not be surprised if i did just because i like characterizing seblaine as in love and that’s not super in-character

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

nope, have never been interested in writing smut, so probably not ever gonna be a thing for me

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one youve ever written?

also no

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

it’s impossible really

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no, and also a thing that will probably never happen. i like my specific work process and having to combine with someone else would be really stressful i think. i do love to share ideas though and i suppose i could co-write in that way

14. Favorite ship of all time?

seblaine seblaine seblaine. they’ve been in my mind for almost a year now (though there was a small episode of not being obsessed with them) ever since i discovered them and i just adore them. they’re everything i love about pairings and i love the potential of the glee universe and all the characters and i’ve grown so attached to these two and they’re probably going to be my favorite for a very very long time. like the angst, the fluff, the little nuances i’ve built for them in my head. i’ve trapped myself and i will sit in my cage and have fun because they’re my sweet angels who are so fucked up and in love, i adore them. i’ve always loved ships where one is a second choice because damn if it doesn’t hurt knowing someone doesn’t want you (supposedly) and you’re not a real thing for them (supposedly). and like the fact they had this friendship that just went so wrong so fast. i’ll never get over them i swear

15. Wip you want to finish, but doubt you will?

my sebklaine au of my kurt pov fic probably. i do love it and the concept, but the fact that i’m putting it off until i can get the original finished means it’s probably never gonna come or be just very far into the future

16. What are your writing strengths?

not sure honestly? i haven’t really written a lot in the past forever, so i’ve never gotten a lot of feedback on my writing.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i have a lot, but repetitiveness and my sentence structures probably. i have a lot of thoughts and i need to stop shoving them all into one sentence.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

i don’t like the idea of using google translate nor do i want to research a bunch about languages, so i just like to put whole sentences in italics and write somewhere that they’ve switched languages. as for small words and phrases, i would probably do a bit of research on that, still use italics, but i’ll also write it out in the language

19. First fandom you wrote for?

cinderella and it was for a school assignment

20. Fave fic youve written?

ironically, my favorite is probably my kurt pov fic. i am a sucker for outsider povs and it’s just an idea i haven’t seen explored super deeply and i wanna do that because it would be so fun.

#writing #fanfic #glee #seblaine #klaine #sebklaine