#fics all through the wazoo

[ace-race-ace]

Ok ideas for my potential TeamPrincipal!Fernando fic trying to establish Aston Martin as a championship winning team. With Lance as his top driver 🤭

Sexual tension up the wazoo! As teammates they barely resist each other but the risk is too high

Now w/ Nando being TP, it becomes even more risky as Lance is now his “employee”

Does that stop Lance??? NOOOOO

He keeps batting his eyes at him, asking Fernando for personal “training” and Nando has a hard time keeping professionalism

Eventually, Lance is essentially begging him to fuck and Fernando says something to the effect of “You want me to fuck you so bad? Win the championship first.”

Initially Fernando says more as provocation, believing that Aston doesn’t yet have the right car to win and that Lance will get over him by the time they do

Cue Lance suddenly working twice as hard to win, all while trying to break Fernando’s resolve

Still, Nando remains strong (barely) and doesn’t fuck Lance. He still praises Lance after every race and they get up to non-professional things but ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING

A lot of extra context, really getting into how the team operates, Drugovich as Lance’s teammate and getting suspicious 🤨 the car going through development (aka I don’t want the fic to be just about them, I want to expand the narrative a little)

Finally, Lance wins his championship and he gets to absolutely wreck the boy

(Maybe a little extra but not sure how it would fit in context, Nando actually wins his 3rd before Lance so now they get to see their names written next to each other on the WDC trophy forever—— this could also be its own one-shot tbh)

I want to get back to writing a longer fic so this idea might be the one! What do we think?? Yes? No? Needs more ideas? (I am open to suggestions 👀)

#formulaone #f1 #fanfic #strollonso #lance stroll #fernando alonso

[writing-in-glitter-pen]

When You’re Kamisato Ayato’s Sweetheart— Headcannons ♡

I wrote a little fic after the headcannons! Ayato x gn!reader ♡ I cannot stress this enough Ayato is an intense dude in his discription but otherwise the fic is very sweet fluffy stuff you're gonna love it trust me.

Content warnings: Cursing lol. There is a small mention of blood and disposal of bodies---Shuumatsuban stuff. Also mention of blinding oneself in a hyperbolic context. Otherwise it's a very fluffy fic! Let me know if I should add any more warnings!

Ok so Ayato is the overworked head of the Kamisato clan. One would think he has absolutely ZERO time for a partner and would opt for an arranged marriage with some heiress or noblewoman in order to “fulfill his duties as the Yashiro Commissioner”.

”FUCK THAT”, I headcannon.

Even though Ayato is beyond committed to his duties, he is also extremely heartful. Everything he does, although it seems like a grab for power, is fueled by devotion to those he loves. And the love he feels is the hearth that sets fire to his soul and keeps him pushing through every stack of paperwork, every meeting that drones on, every all-nighter and treaty and public presence.

And he just so happens to fall in love with you.

Not only that, but I’ve seen a lot of content displaying Ayato as a neglectful partner; too consumed by his duties to pay attention to his relationship—despite how much he adores you. And like, yeah, I guess any person with that much on their plate would experience the pitfall of unintentionally ignoring their partner in lieu of their duties.

But Ayato isn't just any person.

He's the head of the fucking Yashiro Commission.

This man has work up the wazoo but he gets it done. He constantly takes on more and more but it’s never too much for him to weather. He handles it. And guess what? You factor into that.

I think his partner would be so pampered by him, their whims and needs constantly met with zero delay, nothing they could ask for is too much, to the point where they are just desensitized to the laborious nature of the estate.

I see his darling partner wandering into his office during an extremely important meeting with some foreign powers or opposing clan heads because they need their hubbby to help them with a jar they just can’t get open. Obviously, they are pursued by various staff and/or Thoma scuttling about. The staff are running into walls and whisper-yelling in an attempt to catch her/him/them and prevent the well-meaning and hungry partner from interrupting the commissioner’s meeting. Only for Ayato to be across the room in a fraction of a heartbeat once his partner slides open the door; not only opening the jar for them but giving his partner a sweet forehead kiss as well.

The staff are frantically wiping sweat from their foreheads and clutching their palpitating hearts from the panic The Commissioner's Darling caused.

Here’s your fanfic:

It came as a shock to not only the nobility, but everyone in Inazuma when the Yashiro Commissioner announced his newfound public relationship. A relationship with…a commoner? No. A relationship with a commoner of Inazuma would be much more acceptable. With an outlander. What was he thinking? This scandal was a dash on the Commissioner's reputation. A dash that reflects poorly not only on him, but on his clan as a whole. Threatening the political influence and overall power of the Yashiro Commission.

It’s not that Ayato didn’t know this or didn’t care. Every political move made by him was beyond calculated—it was hand-designed and enacted by destiny itself. But…he had an undeniable weak point.

Despite his elegant appearance, despite his agreeable manner of speech and inherent persuasiveness, the Yashiro Commissioner was a man of steel. His ability to focus on his work, his efficiently, could not even be rivaled by that of an ancient scholar. The work of a hermit that has spent a hundred years crouched over a scroll could not only be matched by Ayato in a half an hour but also come out better. Beyond that, the multi-dimensional way of thinking he possessed that enabled him to checkmate any opposition in mere minutes was, frankly, terrifying. Countless bodies have been disposed of in the sea behind the Kamisato estate, not by his own hand, but by the hands of the Shuumatsuban at his order. Though, Ayato has never and would never hesitate to cut down anyone who stood in his way. It was just that it was easier to talk his way through a problem, or to not get his hands dirty with blood he would have to wash off later.

One would think he spilt blood and ran his brain power into the ground in the pursuit of political power or the desire to maintain it. No. Inazuma paled in comparison to the loyalty that Ayato used to drag himself forward through each and every day--he did it all and would do anything to protect his precious family.

When you wandered into his path and into his heart, you became a part of that mantra.

Not only did he endlessly and tirelessly labor to protect his last blood relative and his family name, but you too. An outlander whose smile shimmered in his eyes, who gifted him the experience of his heart thumping with romance in his chest for the first time in his laborious life.

So archons help any poor soul that stands in the way of him keeping you. And he would sooner blind himself then let a single one of your needs be delayed by a fraction of a second.

This sounds intense. Ayato is an intense man. But his devotion to you is exemplified in much more passive, much sweeter and innocent ways.

You never feel lonely wandering the expanse of the estate. You are always accompanied or entertained by Thoma, Ayaka, or any friend you desire to host—despite Ayato’s retainers insisting that you introducing outsiders to the inner workings of the Yashiro Commission was a serious security threat.

When you find yourself feeling hungry while wandering the streets of Inazuma City, with the mora in your pouch being just short of enough to pay for a snack at a nearby booth, Thoma just so happens to run into you with a massive pouch of mora at his side---insisting on treating you to an expensive lunch at your favorite restaurant. Unbeknownst to you, your meal was fully expensed by your lover, who had sent Thoma to you with the bag of mora and detailed instructions on how to treat you after having recieved an update from the Shuumatsuban about your lack of funds (sorry for the spying but Ayato has access to an extensive network of informants around Inazuma---a service he has been leveraging for years. You think he wouldn’t exploit this highly classified agency if it meant a smile gracing your face? Yeah, right.). He also instructs Thoma to, following your lunch, drag you if he must into multiple clothing, jewelry and candy shops. “Don’t come back until there is not a single coin in that pouch.”, being The Commissioner’s deliberate order.

And don’t get me started on what happens if you ask something of him yourself. Ayato has never said no to you once. And he never will. He’s just too weak when met with your sweet voice, your big puppy dog eyes, your pleading words. You don’t have to grovel. You don’t even have to say please. If you ask something of him, he will stop at nothing to ensure it is done. And he won’t let you see a single bead of sweat or hint of exertion while he does it.

You’re unable to sleep, tossing and turning in your otherwise empty bed. You should never have trouble sleeping---the soft sheets, plush duvet, and at least three mattress pads promising you a comfortable rest every night. But you can’t help desiring the company of your lover. So you sneak into Ayato’s office. At this ungodly hour, he is still engrossed in his work; filling out documents and writing letters that must be sent out by the time the sun rises. He will prolong entering his bed for as long as work asks it of him. But if you ask him to come to bed? In that sleepy, small and lovestruck voice of yours? He is holding you close and tight under the covers, like you're a battery charging him with life, while whispering sweet reassurances into your ear and nuzzling into your neck until your breathing slows to a light snore. It is only then, when you are fast asleep, that he slips back out of bed and returns to the drudgery of his workload—not a wink of rest gracing his eyes. He doesn’t need it. As long as you are safe and happy and cared for, he can work until his death and then some.

#ayato x reader #kamisato ayato #genshin x reader #kamisato ayato x you #ayato x you #ayato headcanons #ayato x gn reader

[theonemeathead]

Hello!

Unsure if your requests are open—if not, disregard this—but if I could request something that’s Medic x reader. SFW is my only real request, but hurt/comfort, fluff, a bit of angst, anything you’d like!

Have fun with it. I’ve read your sniper fic and your spy fic, and I absolutely loved both of them.

You’re doing amazing! I’m excited to read anything you make in the future <3

Medic x Reader, "Harsh"

hello! omg im sorry this took so long, ive been so busy working. i love medic, i hope i wrote him well, it's my first time! warning for light gore and some hurt/comfort angst. enjoy!

"You failed!"

The Administrator croaked, her voice ringing out through the speaker. The fight had been gruelling, all of you were exhausted. The other team had pushed you all back into your base, beginning an onslaught of terror. You were blown to pieces by an enemy Soldier, the enemy Demoman was using you for easy kills, and the enemy Engineer had sentries set up out the wazoo. You had been sent through Respawn countless times, your frustration growing everytime you were taunted as you died. At one point, the enemy Sniper had shot out both of your legs and then proceeded to point and laugh as you tried to crawl away. It was safe to say you didn't get far before your brains were strewn, unceremoniously, across the battlefield.

Back in the locker room, it was obvious nobody was happy. Normally, your teammates weren't sore losers, save for a few exceptions. But today had been so exhausting that even Pyro was in a sour mood. You sat down on one of the benches, rubbing your aching muscles as the other mercenaries cleaned themselves up.

"Man, that frickin' sucked!"

Leave it to Scout to break any amount of peace and quiet. You didn't feel like arguing with the wall, otherwise you'd tell him off for not staying on the point. You were bitter with multiple of your teammates, but none of them had quite pissed you off quite like Medic had today.

"AGREED, MAGGOT. I AM FILLED WITH SHRAPNEL AND CANNOT FEEL ANYTHING FROM THE WAIST DOWN."

"Yeah, well, that wouldn't be the case if we could've gotten some healing from, y'know, the one guy who's whole job is to heal." Your words came out passive-aggressive. You knew it was immature, but you also knew everyone had the same gripe you did. You instantly regretted even mentioning it as the locker next to yours slammed shut. Medic was unstable when he was upset, and he seemed to be the most torn up about this loss out of everyone. Silence overfell the locker room, yet again.

"None of you understand how tedious my job is," he began. You could hear the grit in his words, the emotions that were brewing and starting to boil over. Medic liked to praise himself as one of the more rational mercenaries, talking about how you must always have a cool temper when you're a doctor. Yet, here he was, his face slightly flushed from frustration.

"Your job wouldn't be as tedious if you did it properly," you challenged him. You stood up straight, as you folded your hands across your chest. You eye twitched slightly as you scowled at the back of Medic's head. You could feel other gazes, followed by various murmuring and receding footsteps; it was probably smart to leave before this escalated.

"Oh, really, maus? Well, if that's the case, then I no longer see why I'm needed on this team. Auf wiedersehen!" He forced a smile as he turned on his heels, hastily stomping off towards his quarters. He pushed past you, making a point that you were in his way.

"Fine! Be that way!" you called out, but your yells fell upon deaf ears. You looked around the locker room at whoever was left, making eye contact with Scout, who flinched away under your gaze.

It was going to be a rough night.

-

It had been hours since you and Medic had last spoken, which was unusual. You two were nearly inseparable, but enough time had passed for Engineer to start prepping dinner. You leaned against the counter of the kitchen, absentmindedly observing the tinkerer as he began slicing various vegetables. Engineer had always been a mentor, of sorts, to you; A beacon of wisdom. He was one of the few people on this godforsaken team who wasn't batshit crazy. He seemed to have picked up on your quietness, opting to fill the spaceless void instead.

"Y'know, sweetheart, I think tensions were just high earlier. Ain't no sensin' both of y'all bein' upset, why don'tcha be the bigger person and, I dunno, apologize?" He asked, earnestly. He looked up at you, smiling. His expression was slightly unreadable, due to the goggles he was wearing, but it was warm nonetheless.

"I guess, but—Everyone agrees that he was slacking on the field! I'm not in the wrong!"

"I know, darlin', but everyone has their off days. Hell, even I have those rounds where it feels like I can never catch a break from that damn Spy sappin' my sentry." He chuckled to himself, low and comforting. Engineer's laidback atmosphere was always so calming. "I reckon you have your days too. Last thing you would want is for somebody to point out how you missed a Heavy, who was about an arm's-length away."

"You saw that?!" You gasped, embarrassed. He was right, you didn't do too well either today. Maybe you were unfair to the doctor earlier. You pushed yourself off the counter with a sigh. "You have a point, I'll go see what I can do."

The journey to the infirmary was nerve-wracking. It wasn't full of anticipation and excitement to see your lover, no, it was anxiety-ridden and nauseating. You felt horrible, like you were wearing cement bricks, rather than shoes. You reached the sterile area of the base, the cold air of the lobby immediately sending goosebumps through your body. You took a deep breath, shakily knocking on the steel doors of the actual operating room. You were met with silence, although you could hear the various shuffling of papers and the familiar cooes of his doves.

You hesitated, pushing on the door slightly. You opened it, just enough to peak your head in. The sight before you was disheartening, to say the least. He was surrounded by multiple forms of paperwork, his hair slightly messy and his movements erratic. He seemed to frantically be searching for something, flipping between books and whatnot. You cleared your throat, the echo of the sound stopping him in his tracks immediately. He froze, not daring to turn and face you. "Medic...?"

"Ah, of course. I'm busy, can't you see?" His tone held a faux sweetness, as if he was one snap away from losing his composure completely.

"Medic, I— I'm sorry. I was mean to you back in the locker rooms, I let how I felt get the better of me. I was harsh on you and I shouldn't have been," you started, your voice shaking slightly from your emotions. He clicked his tongue, humming slightly in response. Although, he seemed to relax his posture, yet still refused to look at you. "Medic, we need you... I need you. You're a good doctor, I can't imagine anyone else fit to surgically implant baboon hearts—"

"Mega baboon hearts."

"Right, mega baboon hearts... into people. I love you, Medic." He swiveled his chair around, one leg crossed over the other as he had his arms crossed over his chest. He faced you, seeming to finally scan your features. He tilted his head, giving you a small smile. He tsked, pleased by your apology.

"Ah, schatz, you are forgiven." He beckoned you towards him, opening his arms up wide for a hug. You happily obliged, tackling into his large chest. He caught you, holding you and rubbing soothing circles into your side. "Ich liebe dich auch."

#tf2 #team fortress two #tf2 fandom #tf2 x reader #tf2 medic #medic tf2 #team fortress 2 medic #x reader

[megamindsupremacy]

a year and a half ago, i was in the throes of my Danny Phantom obsession. completely unrelated to this, i had undiagnosed OCD and anxiety out the wazoo. i was a high schooler at the time, and i would on occasion spend entire class periods vividly imagining how i would react in the event of a school shooting, running through endless iterations of different scenarios of how i could run or hide or fight to survive. my fears weren't entirely unfounded (my high school was definitely... something... and i still wouldnt be entirely surprised if a shooting happened there), which was absolutely not a help in terms of the aforementioned OCD/anxiety.

so obviously, like any other mentally ill nerd child, i channeled all these anxieties into a vent fic, which was at the time my longest prose fic ever. i published it anonymously in 2022 and got a small wave of comments at the time, and since then it's been mostly left to gather dust in the ao3 archives.

ive been considering taking it off anonymous for about a year now, but i never felt fully comfortable with doing so. now that i'm out of high school, though, i would like to have that fic attached to my ao3. it's tonally way different than my usual crack/humor fics, but it represents an important time in my mental health journey. i wrote it to work myself through those scenarios i would spend hours rolling over in my head, to fully realize for myself what a flight/freeze/fight situation could look like. the phandom was just the medium through which i decided to tell that story, and i greatly appreciate it for that.

anyways. i probably didn't have to write all of this, but it would have felt strange just dropping a two-year-old vent fic on yall without some sort of warning. here's Harmless.

#mads posts #cw school shooting #cw school shooting mention #tw school shooting #tw school shooting mention #personal #mads ao3 fics #danny phantom #<33

[chickycherrycola]

Summer Nights

Hello and happy 4/20 friends! 😎🚬 In honor of the holiday, it is finally time to unveil a very special new fic! This one is a joint (hehe) effort between myself and my dearest pal @moriohpissky - our degenerate little love child, Summer Nights! I've teased bits and pieces of the first chapter over the past several weeks, and I'm so excited to finally release it to the world today, in all of its smutty, self-indulgent glory 😉🔥 featuring SoMa, the dorks in love as always, in a college/university, friends-with-benefits setting, and Soul as I've always wanted to write him - as a tattooed, weed-smoking, rock band guitarist 🤘 Full summary below:

Summer Nights

Rating: E (for explicit sexual content, marijuana use, partying and alcohol consumption. Adult stuff up the wazoo.)

Summary:

"On the heels of a messy breakup, Maka Albarn finds herself at the end of her junior year in college trying to pick up the pieces of her broken heart and fit them back together. When her roommate drags her to a frat party, an unexpected hookup with her handsome, tattooed, guitarist friend Soul leads Maka to scheme up the perfect remedy for her aching heart and shattered confidence: a hot summer fling with no expectations, no commitment, and no strings attached.

That is, if she can make it to the fall semester without catching feelings."

Ch 1 preview under the cut - or you can head right to AO3 and read!

Leah has also been cooking up a COMIC to go along with this first chapter! So if you like what you see here, please keep an eye out for that today as well!

She doesn’t usually do stuff like this. 

As her back hits the mattress and her field of vision tilts upward, she finds herself taking a mental inventory of her current state–a task that proves more difficult than usual, given the fuzziness in her brain and the tingling ache blooming low in her gut. Through the roar of her heartbeat in her ears and the electricity crackling in her veins, she craves the comfort of that which has always brought her solace–facts. Logic. Common sense.

Unfortunately, all of the above seem to be in short supply at present. 

Maka Albarn doesn’t go to frat parties.

The sour aroma of cheap beer in the air and the faint rumble of bass notes, the distant din of intermingled voices and the occasional whoop or shout from the lower floors of the house suggest otherwise. 

Maka Albarn doesn’t smoke weed.

The pungent, earthy taste in her mouth begs to differ, as well as the heat in her blood and the lag in her thoughts, the weightlessness of her limbs and the floating sensation permeating her senses.

Maka Albarn doesn’t hook up with guys she isn’t dating. She doesn’t hook up with anyone at all, ever, in fact.

The current body of evidence points to the contrary. 

The rustle of bed sheets beneath her and the tickle of rough lips tracing the line of her pulse, the callused hands cradling her face and slowly mapping the curve of her waist. The warm, intoxicating weight of a body–solid, hard, masculine–pressed against hers and the soft, pale hair tangled between her fingers. The heat of his breath and the lingering taste of smoke when his mouth presses to her lips, the click of her teeth against his and the slow, tentative trace of his tongue around hers as the kiss deepens.

Maybe, she thinks to herself, somewhat distantly, if Maka Albarn doesn’t do any of those things, then maybe… maybe, just for a little while, I can be someone else. 

Even if it’s just pretend.

Read the rest on AO3!

#summer nights #cherry writes #soul eater #soul eater fanfiction #soul x maka #soul x maka fanfiction #maka albarn #soul eater evans

[novantinuum]

heya! :D I'm so happy I found your blog, I just did a su rewatch this summer and I'm obsessed again! I was wondering if you had some fic recs to share? especially any and all that deal with steven's trauma (whether that be corruption aftermath, his abandonment issues, any of the traumatic experiences he had), anything really, just some nice and thorough hurt/comfort and healing <3 definitely up to any other recs you might have, even if they're about something completely different haha. thank you in advance!!

Ooooh heck yeah I can rec some of my favs! Admittedly, these days I haven't been reading that much new fic, so I'm not sure what new stuff is out there that's gone unnoticed, but I went through my bookmarks and found a few fics that still stand out to me today as ones I remember really vibing with when I read them-

First off, some fics that I remember delving into Steven's trauma (along other things)-

Aid to Navigation, by Ppleater (or @infriga here on tumblr)

Honest to god, this is my favorite Steven Universe fic on the whole goddamn internet. Post I Am My Monster hurt/comfort content galore. Emotional catharsis out the wazoo. Fascinating theorization about how Steven works as a hybrid. Sometimes there's even chapter artwork. ALSO NANEFUA AS AN IMPORTANT CHARACTER, WHICH I RARELY SEE LET'S GO NANEFUA

a world for the birds, by @fanfoolishness

Do you like Uncle Andy? Do you vibe with the idea of bird watching? Do you wanna read about Andy's outsider observations of the trajectory of his nephew's bizarre life as he shares his hobby of bird watching with Steven as a bonding activity over the years moving into the events of Steven Universe: Future??

Go read this fic, it destroys me. In fact, just do yourself a favor and check out this author's whole catalogue, because my next fic rec is from her, too.

Comminuted, by @fanfoolishness

Post Growing Pains hurt/comfort focused on Steven and his dad's relationship. I remember this one dropping pretty damn soon after the episode aired and it w r e c k e d my emotions and gave me all the catharsis my sappy little heart desired at the time.

WELCOME BACK TO THE VLOG, steven universe here! by waddlesthejoghog (or @thisisnotacreativeusername here on tumblr)

Here's a story with a COMPLETELY different format than all the others- this one chronicles Steven's life through a variety of videos he posts to his TubeTube channel over the years. (Which, if you watch the SU shorts, is a canonical fun fact about him! He posts unboxing videos and reactions and stuff online, ahah.)

Each chapter sorta like, "transcribes" what's happening in the video, and there's even a little views/likes/dislikes/subscriber count + mock comments section at the end of every one! I found it a very charming and fun read- but also it punched me in the face by the end because it's like a whole microcosm of Steven's character development throughout the entire show mashed into one 59 chapter story.

This one is not wholly focused on Steven's trauma, as it spans the events of the entire show, but that does play a decently big role later on in the fic.

__

As a quick little self-plug, I've also written a good deal of fics focused on various shades of Steven's traumatic experiences, and the following is (probably) my favorite of those:

A Memoir of the Marks Unseen (uhh... by me lol)

This one is focused on the topic of Steven + the headcanon of him having corruption scars like the other healed Gems, and picks up pretty soon after I Am My Monster. It spans months (and later Years) after that, detailing his journey towards accepting these remnants as a neutral part of him. I'm still very proud of finishing it, as I was pulling from some raw personal experience with this one.

__

Lastly, here's two Connie focused fics I remember slapping ass in their own various ways:

Xenopology, by CompletelyDifferent

Some Connie + all the Gems character study pieces!

The Stranger in Me, by Cyberwraith9

Connie accidentally gets perma-bonded with a poofed gemstone retrieved from a corrupted Gem. Hijinks ensue. I remember this one having a legendary level of character development for Connie and her whole family especially ;w;

#jen rambles #su #su fanfiction #su fic rec

[bromcommie]

it's never over (hey, orpheus) stevebucky | M | WIP

Chapter 2 (presque vu) just posted for this fic! I still have no idea how you format these!!

Chapters: 2/? Tags: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Then and Now, Music References Out the Wazoo, The Great All-American Revenge Roadtrip, Many many dream sequences, Unreliable Narrator, Identity Issues, World War II, Cold War Drama, Red Room Horrors, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Steve Rogers Needs So Much Therapy, Cap Quartet, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers the Lapsed Catholic, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn

Excerpt:

Two days, six hours, fifteen minutes. “Stop that.” “’m not doing anything,” Steve sniffs. Through the fog of painkillers strong enough to kill a horse, his sinuses twinge at him in outraged protest. "I'm bedridden." “Just because you're high as a kite doesn't mean you're not doing anything. I can see you trying to case the room." The soothing music crooning from Sam’s banged up phone on the side table is far too at odds with Natasha’s unimpressed expression. "This is a hospital. You’re a national icon. Have some decorum.” “Got plenty decorum. ’s wasting time I have a problem with.” Two days, six hours, sixteen minutes.

Read on AO3

#i made a lil pic for it but please #please for the love of god can someone beta for me. i have no clue what I’m doing here #stevebucky #stucky fic #stevebucky fic #my fic #steve rogers #bucky barnes

[impishtubist]

I'm just telling you that finding your blong and works cheered me up *so much*, as a fellow person who loved Sirius back in the 2000s. Finally some food to eat!! What happened??

Well, the character assassination that Ootp unreliable narrator and the wired choices made in Hbd and Dh, of course.

Sirius being tall is mentioned a LOT in the books. He is a big scary dude and a big scary dog, and i miss punk Sirius listening to the Crush and Sex Pistols. Brilliant and wild and with a healthy tendency to question and defy authority. He clashes so hard with conformist characters like Molly and authority-respecting characters like Hermione bc he learned that questioning what you are taught and the people teaching you is important. He isn't irresponsible. PTSD up the wazoo, probably constantly triggered by being, well, imprisoned back at the site of his childhood trauma and suffering constant verbal abuse from the portrait of his original abuser, but not irresponsible or erratic.

Also, ppl who blame an older sibling for escaping abuse, wtf. As someone who's sadly familiar with how it goes, IRL, that's usually the narrative pushed by the abusive parents to divide the kids and push away the responsibility. All children in abusive homes are children, and the adults are the responsible ones. That is so ugly, as a person who has been there to see the struggles siblings like that go through.

Bonus:

Remus is gay little piece of wet tissue paper with self-esteem issues. He's a pathetic man who is very affected by social pressure, a chronic people pleaser who's afraid of genuine connections. He thinks no one can ever love his authentic self, so he will do everything to not let ppl know him, and so afraid of rejection, he will preemptively cut ppl out. He makes bad choices and then uses the guilt he feels as proof of being right. And I loved him like that. I read the coded gay when POA came out, and I called pathetic gay man with thinly vailed HIV metaphor.

You know what? I don't care, I'm putting this in the Sirius Black tag. Starting 2024 with chaos!

This is the greatest ask I have ever received. Yes, you get it! That is Sirius, not whatever is being portrayed in art and fic and headcanons these days. That is an OC who I do not know. Same with Remus! Prior to HBP and DH, yes, he was absolutely coded as a gay man and also a HIV metaphor (the latter of which is extremely fucked, but others have written tons of meta on that so I will not touch on it). But then of course JKR had to retcon that real quick when she realized what fans were writing, so of course Sirius had to die and Remus had to end up with a woman.

My first anon of 2024 is also now my favorite one, I'm not sure how anyone is going to top this 😂

#imp speaks #chaos night #bi people exist but remus lupin is not one of them #let's talk about bi sirius though i am all about the bi sirius agenda #sirius black #kvetching is an art form #if i'm not complaining about something then i'm not having any fun

[adelaidedrubman]

John and Jestiny put on a show for Skylar and Sherri. read here on ao3. 

notes: just in time for labor day, the sound of the summer is back! it’s hook, line, and sinker chapter 3 babey.  wordcount: 7.3k warnings: per usual, unhealthy relationships out the wazoo. stalking and harassment of past romantic partners (dealt with in a lighthearted manner but called for what it is in text), physical violence and semi graphic threats between present love interests (pre-relationship, but ft. john trying to pretend he’s not turned on about it), general deceit and manipulation, albeit mostly unsuccessful. humane animal death (it’s a fishing fic), weird sexual tension over fish gutting, littering, catchall johnjess warning. catchall my minimal proofreading warning.

“You got the plan down, right?” Jestiny hissed at the man fumbling uselessly with the task of baiting his hook, leaning into the motion of casting her line to inconspicuously shove in front of him and hopefully block the embarrassing display from Sherri and Skylar’s view. “Don’t need me to fuckin’ rehearse it with you again?”

By the time they’d parked the skiff just under the bridge connecting the road nearest Can of Worms Fishing Store with the island directly across from it where her ex-girlfriends were presently fishing, Jessie was beginning to think this entire thing had been a massive, undeniable mistake. 

“Yes,” John replied in a whistle through his own gritted teeth style into a grin, harmonized with a twang of his fishing line snapping. “You shouted it in my ear approximately ten times on the drive over.” 

He shuffled to her side, batting his eyelashes at her as he cocked his rod clasping hand back. “Dear,” he tacked on, with all the uncanny artificially synthesized saccharinity of a splenda packet. 

“Not your line,” she smiled in reply, letting go of the crank of the reel just long enough to reach over and bop the tip of his nose. There was no way she was going to let him actually cast in front of Skylar and Sherri. 

A well timed tug on her rod confirmed that luckily she wouldn’t have to — she was able to effectively knock his right arm down as she staggered back to oppose the force pulling against the line. 

She briefly darted her eyes to John to ensure was looking back with appropriately visible impressed enthusiasm — and not set to reach for his own rod — before settling her gaze on Skylar and Sherri as she wrangled her catch.  

The irritation at their stubborn refusal to look back was mildly assuaged by the sight of big, beautiful golden trout dangling at the end of her line as she yanked it from the water. 

“Oh, Jessie dear!” 

She resisted shooting another glare at the exclamation — Sherri and Skylar would know damn well she wouldn’t like being called that. 

This was definitely a mistake. 

“That might be the most impressive catch yet!” At least he was back on script now. “Please, let me have the honor of doing the work of gutting it for you.” 

“John,” she chimed bright with gratitude, dropping the fish into his outstretched arms. “That’s such a considerate thing to do for someone!” 

She gave a pointed look to Skylar and Sherri. 

“Anything for you, my dear.” 

She tried not to let tension settle too deeply into her jaw as she forced a grin. “I’ll cast your line for you while you do!” 

She made the barest of eye contact with her rod as she threw it out, the vast power of her stare settled on the tattooed hand bringing a knife down to pierce through the fish’s brain with expert precision. 

It was a genuine marvel to her how he managed to handle the task with such a natural grace that he seemed a completely different man from the one she’d watched flounder with the simple task of baiting a hook. 

If the fingers sliding down the clean, straight, perfectly placed incision along the fish’s underside weren’t branded with the same distinctive black ink, she would have thought they belonged to someone else entirely. 

She could almost imagine that he was someone different — someone she respected, even — as she watched his hand disappear into the cavern of the fish’s belly. 

The way he found the red knot rooting its spinal cord without delay, squeezing it tightly between his fingers. The way the delicate placement of his grip retained every bit of its exacting care even as his forearm flexed with powerful force to yank the long tether of nerves from the body. The way he remained completely unphased by blood dripping down to splatter atop those stupid, hideously expensive looking loafers. The way his arm flourished with a smooth, dramatic flair he threw the plucked out rope of organs into the water. 

“You’re good at that,” she murmured aloud before she even processed her mouth was moving. “I love watching you work,” she added with a deflecting chuckle and wink, forcing herself back into character. “Babe.” 

He blinked twice, a hint of genuine surprise seeming to spark through his eyes as he looked up to flash her a satisfied grin. 

“You might want to watch your line instead,” he replied with a nod towards her hands. “It looks like you have a bite.” 

Jestiny turned forward to see her pole bent to the point of being practically folded in half. 

“Fuck!” she screamed as she buckled her knees and yanked her arms back to oppose the fish. 

Jesus, this was embarrassing — how the hell had she missed the fish tugging? Had his shitty angling skills somehow infected her? She’d never had a fuck up like that when she was fishing with Sherri and Skylar. 

And now, thanks to him, she was making a fool out of herself right in front of them. 

Fuck. 

So embarrassing. 

Her cheeks flushed hot with fresh shame, only swelling as she successfully yanked up a massive largemouth bass. 

Fuck. She’d almost let a good one get away. 

This wasn’t like her. 

This was his fault, somehow. 

She should have never agreed to his stupid plan. 

This was a mistake. 

“What a catch!” the mistake in question cried with equal parts drama and vagueness, clearly lacking the know-how to comment on the specifics of the fish beyond the acknowledgement that it was one. “Would you like me to gut that one, too?” 

“She can wait,” Jessie replied, holding the fish up proudly. “Gonna wanna get a picture with her fully intact first. Sure beats that ten pound rainbow trout you caught earlier.” 

Listen to her. Even giving false credit for one of her catches. How far had she fallen? 

“Just pop open the cooler for me, then grab me some more bait.” 

She glanced forward again — Skylar and Sherri were looking now, at least, and she would tell herself they only started once the fish was pulled from the water. 

“Of course,” he offered pleasantly, to his credit tipping the cooler up so that the fish crowding it would be visible to her ex-girlfriends across the water. He was better at empty theater than he was at fishing. “All yours.” 

She swore she saw Sherri roll her eyes before turning to whisper something to Skylar. 

Those bitches. How dare they whisper secrets about her. 

Whatever. Moving on.

She swiped the cup bearing a proud ‘Drubman Marina’ logo perhaps a bit too hard from the cupholder, making a show of looking inside it. 

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, this time in feigned surprise. “Looks like we fished through all our bait!” 

“Fish biting a little too well, today.” 

“For some of us,” she replied, looking directly at Skylar and Sherri and the arrow-straight, undisturbed poles of their fishing rods. “But speakin’ of, I do believe that’s the proprietor of Cans of Worms Fishing Store over there with a full cup of bait. Let’s drive this baby over there to give their small business a little economic stimulus, at least.” 

“Jessie, do not fucking come over —” 

Jestiny cut off Skylar’s shouting with a rev of the motor rumbling to life, idling there as John pulled up the anchor. 

She could not so effectively drown out him whispering directly into her ear. “I didn’t say you could drive the boat,” he hissed. “The agreement was you would pretend to drive as we pulled up.” 

“I know,” she rasped back with a smile she didn’t have to fake. “I was pretending when I agreed to that. I deceived you. I’m good at that. You need work,” she said with a raise of her eyebrows. “You’re overselling. Make it subtle, don’t ham it up so much.” 

“Acting note taken,” he replied, scooching into the seat next to her. “Now give me the —”

She jerked the wheel and slammed her foot on the accelerator — giving it enough gas in the single pump that they were able to coast the distance to Skylar and Sherri’s place on the bank, the bow landing gently in the mud. 

“Expert docking, dear,” he commented syrupy sweet as he hurried to swipe the key from the ignition, slipping it onto his wrist. 

Possessive, paranoid, materialistic, overdramatic diva. 

Guess that explained the key she’d noticed hanging over his heart — must be to an even nearer and dearer expensive toy. 

God, she couldn’t wait to fake end their fake relationship. 

The sentiment only grew stronger as she watched him carefully tiptoe through the mud with sudden apparent concern over dirtying his already bloodied shoes. 

“Ms. Woodhouse,” John held out a hand towards the brunette that was met with nothing but a scowl in return. 

He made an apologetic ‘ah’ noise and wiped the hand on his shirt, but Jessie knew it was not the fish guts Sherri was repulsed by. 

“My apologies.” He bowed. “I haven’t yet had the privilege of patronizing your little store.” Jessie smiled. Patronizing was right. And Sherri deserved it. She had to admit she could revel in his condescension, when it wasn’t directed at her. “It’s so difficult when I have my own boat ramp right in the backyard to remember to get out there and support the small business owners in the community.” 

“Support?” Skylar cut in, scowling even harder than Sherri did. “When have you ever supported any business around here? You call trying to shut everyone down and take their property from ’em support?” 

Huh. That’s weird  — Skylar seemed to have history with this guy. And it was bad enough he was a lawyer at all, did she fuck up and start pretending to date a fucking foreclosure attorney or something? 

John waved the accusation off. “Please, I hate discussing business matters during my recreation time.” He reached into his back pocket to take out his wallet, pulling another hundred dollar bill from it. “I would love to support Can of Worms now.” 

He turned to Sherri, gauchely waving the bill in front of her. “I’m afraid my lovely date and I have fished through all of our bait. But it seems you have plenty left. He nodded towards the unopened can at Sherri’s feet. “I’d like to purchase it.” 

Sherri met him with a dead-eyed stare. “Store’s closed.” 

John turned, looking across the water at the Can of Worms storefront. “Your hours say open until 9.” 

“Well, I’m not on the clock.” 

“Oh, don’t be unreasonable. I’m paying well above market rate for something I could just waste time going over and buying from you, for much cheaper, in the store.” 

“No, you couldn’t,” Skylar said. “Store’s closed.” 

He pointed behind him. “I see it open.” 

“Store’s always closed to you.”

Jestiny gave up on pretending not to notice the conversation, setting aside her beer to slam her hands down on the side of the boat. “Well, fuckin’ sell it to me, then!” 

“God, Jessie,” Sherri groaned, leaning down to hold her head in her hands. “Can’t you just fucking leave us alone? Following us, harassing us while we’re trying to fish? We broke up with you. We don’t want you around.” 

“Shit’s sad,” Skylar agreed. “Just stop. Don’t make us get a fuckin’ restraining order or something.” 

Jestiny kicked the side of the boat, hard. “They’re called Orders of Protection, in fucking Montana!” 

“You learn that from your slimebag lawyer boyfriend?” Skylar asked. Jessie frowned. That was hitting below the belt, she thought. “And did he learn it from law school, or ’cause half the fucking County wants to take one out on his creepy ass?”

Sherri brought a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh at Skylar’s joke. “They really are perfect for each other, huh?” she giggled against Skylar’s shoulder, setting her chin atop it and looking up at her adoringly. 

Jessie felt flames crawl up in her belly. Of all the infuriating insults. 

“Yeah, we fucking are! I finally have someone who can keep up with me behind the rod and on an intellectual fuckin’ level!” she forced herself to flash an adoring smile of her own at the man she shouted over. “And he’s got an actual sense of humor! Just look at his outfit!” 

John turned to shoot Jessie a glare. 

“Yeah,” Skylar laughed, turning to nudge the flyaway hairs clinging to Sherri’s dewy brown skin away with her nose so that she could finally whisper her teasing directly into the brunette’s ear. “Looks like you and I were the only ones that didn’t think to come dressed for the circus.” 

“I fucking heard that!” she leaned over the side of the boat to screech, crumpling the styrofoam of the bait cup in her fist and attempting to fling the trash across the distance to Skylar and Sherri — the bits floating down to scatter impotently along the surface of the water instead. 

“Jesus, Jessie, a fish is gonna fucking choke on that,” Skylar cried, pushing herself up from her lounge chair. 

“And maybe I can’t stop you from driving a boat on public waters, but you can’t litter on my damn property,” Sherri agreed, reaching behind her to pull a net from the pouch on the back of her own chair and toss to Skylar. “That shit drifts to shore.”

Jessie crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, rolling eyes dismissively to duck Skylar and Sherri’s judgmental glares with an earnest wave of shame — she didn’t mean to endanger any poor fish, obviously, she was just angry — instead finding John’s gaze, oddly comforted by the quiet, embarrassed fury she saw simmering back at her, as if the bright blue glitter of his eyes was a temperate pool to reflect her own angry humiliation, unfiltered and undiluted in their vibrant heat. 

Then something in his stare sharpened, an almost imperceptible narrowing of the pinpoints of his pupils into focus, gaining all the ice-cold clarity of a glacial pond as he darted his eyes back to where Skylar reached forward to dip the hoop of her net into the water to scoop up the ripped up bits of styrofoam. 

“Hi,” John hummed pleasantly as he stepped up to Skylar, placing a hand atop the handle of her net. “John Seed. Do you remember me?” 

“The fuck you —” 

He slid his hand down the pole of the net, pulling it closer until his fist was circled just beneath the base of its mesh. “I tried to buy bait from you a few moments ago. You refused to sell to me.” 

“...Yeah?”

“Big mistake,” he barked with a tug of the net to cause Skylar to stumble slightly, barely catching herself to remain upright. “Big. Huge!” He forced a manic laugh, snatching the net from her hands. “Because perhaps had I been occupied with my own fishing, I wouldn’t have time now to ask if you have a proper permit to fish with a net.” 

Sherri stood, moving to stand between John and Skylar, defensively. 

“I do my business selling fishing licenses, dumbass,” Sherri grumbled, pulling two crumpled pieces of paper from her back pocket to flash. “You really think I’d come out here without one?”

“Ah.” John clicked his tongue against his teeth twice, wagging his finger and tapping it against the paper Sherri held out. “But I’d like to see your netting license,” he said in sing-song. “A Class A resident fishing license only allows fishing with a hook and line. Netting requires its own permit.” 

Sherri and Skylar exchanged confused looks. 

“Ha!” Jestiny let out a single, choppy laugh as she hopped over the side of the boat, splashing mud as she landed. “It does.”

It did, when it came to hoop nets. But of course even if he knew the law he wouldn’t know the difference between —

He waved a hand in front of his face, then rested it atop his chest. “Oh, I’m only joking, of course,” he said with a smile, bowing his head. “Montana Code Title 87, Chapter 6, Part 5 Fishing Offenses includes an exception in paragraph (1)(a)(iv) for landing nets.”

Jestiny felt a giddy heat blossom along her cheeks — that was unexpected. He knew the difference between a hoop net and a landing net. He’d actually studied up. 

He cocked an eyebrow, smile widening. “For after the fish has been hooked as specified in subsection (1)(a).”  He nodded down towards their rods. “And your hooks appear to be bare.” 

Skylar placed a hand atop her hip. “We weren’t even fishing with that net,” she said matter-of-factly. “We were just cleaning up the trash your girlfriend threw in the water.”

“That’s not what I saw,” Jessie chirped, throwing her arm around John’s waist and pulling him to her. “And I think the word of two officers of the court is gonna outweigh what y’all say.” Jessie leaned forward, snarling. “I think it certainly gives me probable fucking cause to seize all this shit as fuckin’ evidence of a crime, including the fucking bait,” she snapped. “I think it could mean both y’all forfeiting your fucking fishing licenses as penalty, if this shit gets charged.”

“And I have a feeling it would be,” John purred, turning to the side to beam at Jessie with a thoroughly convincing mimicry of proud adoration as he raked his fingers through her hair. His smile sharpened into a smirk as he turned back to their fellow fishers, hand still stroking up and down the side of Jessie’s neck. “I’m on quite good terms with the County Attorney.” Former prosecutor? Jessie worried in the back of her mind, not letting it distract her from their victory. “I think she’ll be quite concerned with such a flagrant fishing violation committed by a prominent player in the local fishing scene.”

“Good fucking God, Jessie,” Sherri huffed, swiping the can of worms from off the ground and shoving it in Jessie’s hands. “Here. Take the damn bait, since it means that fucking much to you. You win. We’re leaving.”

“Hell yeah you are!” Jessie cheered triumphantly at the pair throwing their tackle boxes into their truck bed. “Don’t let the trout bite you on the way out!” she called after them with a hand cupped at the side of her mouth. “Not that it’s been something you’ve had to worry about so far!” 

John threw his head back to laugh on cue at the jab, and Jessie had to admit as truck doors slammed to drown it out that he had something of a theatrical acumen. 

She turned to the side and clasped his face between her hands tightly as she grinned up at him in spite of herself. 

“That was amazing!” she said in a hushed roar. “I mean, I gotta fuckin’ hand it to ya, that was great, you —” 

She bit her lip as she watched him stand taller, a preening lift of his jaw as he basked in the praise. And for some reason she couldn’t summon the appropriate irritation at the vanity.

But as the engine of Skylar’s truck rumbled to life behind her, she nonetheless used the interruption to avoid inflating his ego further whilst keeping up the ruse by pulling him down to press her lips against his and kiss the smug smile away. 

He’s good, she thought as he melted against her obligingly with a swift but tender unwinding that felt shockingly natural, draping an arm over her shoulder to reach a hand around to thread in her short crop of hair as he kissed her back. 

His other hand rested gently atop one of hers still cupping his cheek, stroking along the leathery ridges of her knuckles as he dropped his jaw to deepen the kiss. 

It was so odd, the feeling of kissing him when they were playing at gentleness — the slow drag of the slick underside of his lip shifting up to expose the slight hairline cracks of chapping along its wetted surface, the surprising softness to the tickle of the whiskers of his beard that made her realize how meticulously oiled and groomed it must be, the careful way he mirrored her incremental movements as she finally parted, soft, panting breaths tingling against her skin as he dipped his head to stay leaned into her while allowing her the separation. 

“You, uh —” She drew in a sharp breath as she dragged her fingers through his beard, bringing their tips to rest just above his chin. “You knew the difference between a hoop net and a landing net.” 

He laughed, warm puffs of breath falling against kiss chafed skin. “It’s defined in the Fish and Wildlife Commission Regulations,” he said, his whisper further softened by the airiness of the deflection. “Keeping up with them actually comes quite in handy, in my line of work.” 

Jessie sighed pleasantly, then stiffened just as quickly. 

His line of work? 

She’d already been concerned about him being a bootlicking landlord lackey or overeducated cop of some kind, could the situation be even worse? 

Could he be — 

She gulped, dropping her arms and taking a full step away from him this time. 

Could he be some kind of in-house counsel for one of the commercial fisheries around here? One of the goddamn slimy corporate lobbyists for those corrupt, greedy bastards? 

No, she shook the thought from her mind — she couldn’t entertain such horrible possibilities, and the sudden blare of Skylar laying on the horn as she coasted by would have drowned them out anyways. 

“Jessie,” Skylar poked her head out from the driver’s side window to call out. “Can we have a quick, civil word with you?” she asked, punctuated with a pointed look towards John. “Alone?” 

All her catastrophizing about her pretend boyfriend’s professional life vanished with the giddy soar of accomplishment — this was it. Clearly Skylar and Sherri had talked about it, and after her impressive showing here today they had accepted what a horrible mistake it had been to ever break up with her in the first place, and were about to beg her to come back. 

“Sure.” She drew out the syllable with a nasally whistle, eyebrows raising with expectant understanding. “‘Quick and civil’ is my middle name.” 

Jestiny smacked the man beside her on the rear end to dismiss him, shaping her wince at the harsh impact of his uncushioned tailbone against her palm into a playful wink. “Give us a few minutes for girl talk, would’ya?” 

He pushed out his bottom lip, giving her a flutter of his eyelashes as he turned to head back towards his boat. “Don’t keep me waiting.” 

She wouldn’t — assuming the women were contrite enough, she was sure it would be five minutes flat before she was waving goodbye to him from the back of their truck bed as they all drove away together. 

Since he did know how to gut and clean them, she thought she’d let him keep the fish she caught as compensation for his efforts. 

“So, what’s on your mind?” she asked once John was sufficiently out of earshot, folding her arms along the window frame and resting her chin atop them to poke her head into the truck. “Need fishing tips?” 

“Look, Jessie, I…” Skylar gave her a pained look, drawing in a deep breath. “We talked about it, and… We really don’t want this to be any harder than it has to be, okay?” 

Jessie pursed her lips together, crinkling her nose and tensing her cheeks with a pressure she knew would cause dimples to sink endearingly into their rounds. She tried to not to savor the pained expression on Skylar’s face too much, but it was difficult not to indulge in the satisfaction from their begging with tail between their legs for her to take them back. 

Sherri nodded in agreement, leaning forward in the passenger’s seat to peer through the window. “We want to work this out.” 

Jestiny cocked her head further to the side, cheek resting against her arm. “I’m listening.” 

Perhaps she wouldn’t really make them beg, but at least a tearful apology was in order. 

“So, even though it’s right by my store, we’re willing to make a deal on this fishing spot.” 

Jestiny blinked up at them. 

“You can have it Saturday evenings through noon Sunday, and we agree to not come around,” Sherri explained. “Then we’ll take Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and you get Tuesday and Thursday.” 

“W-What?”

“It’s more than fair, I think,” Skylar tacked on, giving her a stern look. “Most of all, we don’t want it to be a big fight, anymore.”

“We want to handle everything peacefully,” Sherri said, expression pleading. “And we’re glad you found a new fishing partner, even if it is, well…” She shook her head, flashing a forced smile. “We’re just happy to see you moving on.”

Jessie clicked her teeth together, neck stiffening as she raised her head. 

This made no fucking sense. 

“Yeah, I mean…” Skylar shrugged, eyes darting over Jestiny’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, y’all do seem really good together. Right for each other. Better than we ever were for you.” 

No fucking sense. 

Jessie slapped a hand against the side of the truck, pushing herself off its frame. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” 

“Seriously, Jessie?” Skylar deadpanned in reply. “It’s a really fair deal. We’re being nice, after —”

“Nice!” she croaked in mocking tone at piercing volume, throwing a too stiffly splayed hand up to swing through the air in the arc of a goodbye wave before clenching it back into a fist at her side as she stormed away from the truck. “Real fucking nice!”

The tension locked into her shoulders as she stomped through the mud, pinching tight enough it wrapped around to squeeze the cavern of her chest, push stinging bile up to catch and smolder in her throat in a heavy lump. 

“How was girl talk, my —”

The arm that tried to reach comfortingly towards her was quickly pushed away — fingers curling the soft leather cord of his key chain as she yanked it from his wrist. 

The polite clearing of his throat rumbled in synch with the motor roaring to life as she jabbed the key into the ignition and cranked it to the right. 

“My dear, how was —”

“We’re leaving!” she shouted over the harsh rattle of gas pumping through the motor to spin its blades, shoving the gear shift into reverse as she slammed her foot on the accelerator. 

“H-Hang on, let’s —” 

“We’re leaving now!” 

She jerked the wheel sharply to the left once she’d put space between the bow and the riverbank, leaving John flailing over the side to hurry to hoist the anchor. 

“Very well,” he ground out, loud enough to pierce over the racket. “But I’m driving the —”

She shoved the gearshift forward and stomped down on the gas again, sending them lurching forward with a bounce of the bow towards the sky. 

She barely even noticed the sudden, heavy pressure of something falling in her lap, the man at her side losing his balance and stumbling to land with chest atop her thighs. 

She rolled eyes that had begun to water from the wind cutting against them as the boat zipped along. 

“Those assholes,” she cursed, tightening the grip of her fingers around the wheel until they grew numb. “How dare they. How —” 

How dare they do what, exactly? her brain struggled to piece together as wind whistled in her ears harsher as the boat quickly gained speed, gliding over waves growing steeper from the force of her wake. “How dare they think they can just buy me off like that! Do they think — think this is just about a fishing spot?”

“Well,” John spat, heel of his hand smashing against her thigh as he tried to push himself up in the brief of lull of the boat’s course evening out as Jestiny weaved them between jutting mudbanks to an open stretch of water, slamming the gas down harder upon clearing them. “Isn’t it?!”

“Oh, fuck you, too!” she shouted down at him, jabbing her elbow at his collarbone to shove him away, off her lap and onto the floor. “This is about the fucking principle of the matter,” she hissed, wagging a finger at him on beat with the forceful up and down bobs of the boat along choppier waters. 

“This is about fuckin’ fairness, and justice, and getting what’s owed to me for the months I put up with their shit!” She briefly glanced up as she continued talking, distant greenish brown blurs of oncoming land fading from her line of sight as quickly as it popped up over the horizon, another jerk of the steering wheel bringing her to a wide expanse of clear, glittering lake. 

Good, she needed to do nothing but sail fast and directionless enough to outrun her thoughts for a while. 

“After all that they’re treating this like a fucking scheduling issue, when they should be —”

Should be what? She choked on a particularly strong gust of wind, stinging her chapped and sunbaked cheeks as it whipped against her face, a matching burn rising in her throat. Apologizing? Begging? Taking it all back?

She gritted her teeth tightly to steel against the wind as she continued. “They have the fuckin’ gall to act like they’re the ones being nice about this, when they can’t even —” She clenched and ground her jaw. “It’s a public shore! Sherri doesn’t own it, just because her store is nearby and it’s fucking convenient for them! They never even had a right to —” 

“You need to slow down!”

She pushed away the arm reaching for the steering wheel. “I’m fucking talkin’ at a perfectly fuckin’ measured and goddamn coherent pace! If you can’t keep up, that’s —”

“The boat!” he screamed, fingers clawing and pulling at her arm without managing to get it to budge. “You need to slow down the —”

Sudden warmth slung itself along the tops of her thighs — a glistening mix of blood and saliva spurting from his mouth as his jaw crashed against the glossy wood of the dash. 

And the air filling her lungs to feed the complaining shout building in her chest was knocked from her just as quickly by the heavy impact of his torso crashing against her as he was flung back — landing in her lap for the briefest heartbeat before they were both sent flying over the captain’s seat and tumbling along the length of the boat as its bow tipped upward and the smooth coast of water along its hull was replaced by a harsh, violent scraping. 

The pressure of his body weight only intensified, now fully pressed against her to pin her down back flat against the backrest of the row of seats at the stern — which now ran almost parallel to the ground from the angle the boat had landed. 

She grunted, trying to wriggle out from under his weight at least enough to free her arms and push him off entirely — the effort proving unsuccessful, his body staying pressed flush against her even as the vast expanse of tangerine marbled sky stretching out above her became blocked by his head, lifted so the scowl twisting onto his face could show. 

She shoved the heel of her hand against his chest, gripping his shirt and pulling when he failed to budge. “Get the fuck off me!”

The angry curl of his upper lip deepened, head jutting forward until their noses were pressed together. A droplet of blood fell from his mouth to land with sudden heat on her chin. “You crashed my boat.”

“No shit!” she spat back, butting her forehead against his. “You shouldn’t have been fucking distracting me!”

His brow twitched, his body tensing further. “You crashed. My. Boat!”

“And did you get some kinda fuckin’ head injury during it or something?!” she barked. “The boat crashed —”

“You crashed —”

“— you have sufficiently fuckin’ established that.” She shoved her hand harder against his collarbone, digging her nails into the mass of his shoulder. “So how about instead of sitting around goin’ off like a broken record you get the fuck off me and help me shove this thing back into the water? I’ll even give you the honor of driving the piece of junk back to the marina, since you have such a minnow up your ass about me doing it.”

“Oh, and wouldn’t I love to,” he hissed out through tightly gritted teeth, lips twisting into a smile leagues removed in its exaggerated pleasantry from the bitterness of his tone and the rage in his eyes. 

His smile dropped — a swift movement of his arm breaking her grip on him as he pulled it towards his chest, then shot the hand forward to bury in short strands of copper and grab a fistful. His palm settled cradling the side of her skull as he jerked her head towards him by the grip on her hair, then slammed it back down against the seat cushion at an angle that caused her neck to twist so her head was turned towards the side and at the edge of the backrest as she landed, forcing her to look over the back side of the boat to the motor. 

“Had you not certainly managed to damage it beyond the point of being able to cross a puddle!” 

She paused only briefly to take in through narrowed eyelids the sight of mangled propeller he’d directed her gaze towards, a sleek black and silver blossom of twisted and dented metal, one of its petals bent so far back by the force it looked plucked clean from the stem. The second outboard was absent from the boat entirely, just barely peeking up past the waterline at the base of the short cliffs they’d landed atop. 

She flicked her glare towards the hand buried in her hair, then back up to his face so she could savor the wince of pain in his eyes as her boot made contact with the side of his stomach to kick him off.

She scrambled to her knees to grab him by the shoulders and slam his back against the ledge of the stern, climbing atop his chest and pushing him back further until his head hung off the side, neck nestled between the shiny metal blades of the propeller. 

She replicated the force he’d exerted against her, pulling gel-stiffened locks from their place plastered against his skull to shove his head back and sideways until the edge of the twisted propeller blade dug into the delicate skin of his neck. “I bet it still runs good enough I could start up the engine and lob your head clean off your fucking body right now!” 

She watched pink crawl up the stretched column of his neck and settle deep into his cheeks, blood rushing to his head from the angle. She felt his chest tense beneath her as his hands reached out to grip her hips, heard the rustling of his adjusting his legs behind her — certain he was readying himself to push her off and retaliate. 

She elbowed away the arm reaching towards her hip before he had the chance, settling for the sufficiency of her threat and hopping up before he could strike. 

She jumped down from the boat to stand atop the rocks and survey the landscape, scanning along the rocky coastline, the peaks of mountains and the sharp points of pine trees standing in backdrop past the vast expanse of sunset sparkling water. Her eyes traced the outline of the suspension bridge running roughly parallel to the shore, which Skylar and Sherri would likely be zipping across on their drive from Can of Worms back to Skylar’s trailer up in the mountains right about now. It was too vast and treacherous a distance of lake to attempt to swim across, especially in the creeping darkness, and the only other land in reach were the smaller, even less likely to be inhabited islands. 

“We landed at that big ass fucking island that blocks off the lake from the West,” she announced, dragging a knuckle along her chin as she thought, smearing away the droplet of blood she’d forgotten had settled there. “About three-quarters north ways into it, I’d say.” 

She spared a glance to the man still in the upturned boat behind her, fidgeting and pulling down at the hem of his now thoroughly dirtied shirt as he rose to stand. 

She sighed, briefly reaching into her pocket to check with a sense of predetermined defeat the display screen of her cellphone, confirming a thick circle around a diagonal line greeted her positioned at the service strength icon. 

“We can keep hiking north, along the coastline,” she said resolutely. “We’ll hit the main road eventually, and we can hitchhike along it. Worst case scenario if no one picks us up, there’s a little general store on the other side of the water. If we get started now, we might make it before they close up shop.” 

“Hitchhiking?” he repeated, weighed heavy with incredulity. “No, absolutely not. This isn’t exactly the place for —” 

“Jesus,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Look, I know you just lost one of your favorite toys, but we don’t have time for you to be a spoiled fuckin’ brat about how we’re getting out of here, too. It ain’t exactly my favorite pastime neither, but those of us born with mouths empty of silver fucking spoons know that sometimes you gotta do things that are —” 

“If you could stop talking down to me long enough to listen, perhaps you’d understand that I’m not protesting because I think it’s beneath me. I’m… familiar with this island, actually.” 

Jestiny rolled her eyes. Was there a thing on earth he wouldn’t find a way to brag about? 

“And I can tell you, there isn’t going to be enough traffic along the road for hitchhiking to be a reliable bet.” 

“Great!” she barked, pushing past him to reach for her now well dented tackle box. “All the more reason to haul ass towards Old Sun Outfitters before closing time.” 

“They’re closed already,” he deadpanned in reply. “Permanently. The owner and his family of si —” John cleared his throat, with a quick, hard blink, as if needing to abruptly shift his train of thought. “They shut down. I doubt there’s even a working payphone around there, anymore.” 

Jessie paused to study his expression, to scrutinize the strange, sudden dodginess behind the unnaturally soft smile and relaxed eyes. 

He was clearly hiding something. Had Old Sun really shut down? She’d only stopped by there a couple of times to pick up bait, and she couldn’t say she went recently enough to know, or often enough to keep track of their business. 

And how would he know, anyways? Was he — 

Her breath hitched, that same chilling, nauseating prospect bubbling back to the surface. 

Was he a foreclosure attorney? 

“But if we keep going west and cross the main road, there’s actually a —” he paused, the fluid wave of his hand continuing on beat as he stared on silent and searching for words. “...residential area, on the other side of the island. Closer than the rundown general store, and actually occupied. I know a place there we can shelter for the night. And some of my associates will be stopping by anyways tomorrow morning, and can drive us back to the Marina first thing.” 

Knowing the zoning for a place he didn’t live? Having associates in the area? 

Jessie gulped. This did not bode well. 

“No fucking way am I gonna go wandering into the woods at sundown with a fucking creep like you. And I’m sure as hell not joining you for a fucking sleepover.” 

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, throwing arms up into the air. “I could just as easily drown you under the cover of darkness during the little moonlit stroll along the coast you’ve proposed, were homicide my goal.” 

“Yeah?” she goaded with a raise of her brows. “And I could avoid the fuckin’ risk altogether by bashing your head open against these rocks, and selling whatever good samaritan I finally flag down a sob story about how my poor boyfriend just died in a boating accident.”  

“Oh, and how delicious and satisfying it would be to spend my final breaths watching you stumble helplessly lost through the woods, not finding another soul, until you finally collapsed from exhaustion and joined me in death.” 

“I would fuckin’ carve out your eyes and throw them in the lake first, so that the only thing you’d ever see of me again is my fishing hook when I came back here to catch whatever trout had the bad luck of eating you.” 

“Would you?” he gasped, with an unbothered, wild smile and a hand drawn to his chest. He pushed out his bottom lip so that his smile fell, clicking his tongue against his teeth and pinching his brow with feigned pity as he patted his pocket and added in taunting sing-song, “Because I still have your fishing knife.” 

She felt her jaw tense and her eyes bulge angrily, waving her arm as she stomped away to preserve whatever image she could of being unbothered by the revelation. 

“Keep it!” she shouted as she turned on her heels, beginning to stomp her way north in as steady of a march as she could keep atop the uneven rock. “I’ll walk my way back to the mainland alone, and you can fuck off into the woods!” 

“Oh, don’t be foolish!” John called after her. “It’s better that we stick together, you can at least be reasonable enough to see that.” 

“Sure fuckin’ can’t!” she shouted over her shoulder. “I’m following the road, whether you’re with me or not!” 

He huffed, impatient and petulant, stomping forward a few paces without properly committing to following after. “Would you just listen? You’re not going to find anyone to help, it’s —” 

Still, it was enough to let her know it was a bluff, and he’d be following along whatever path she chose. “At least I’ll be alone!” 

“Which is dangerous!” he bellowed after. “Jessie, will you please just follow me into the occupied part of the island? For fuck’s sake, do you even have bear spray?”

“Nope,” she chirped pleasantly, pausing a beat at the word ‘please.’ “I’ll take my chances!” 

“For the love of —” She picked her pace back up. “Wait!” His footsteps thudded more quickly behind her, and the arm swinging back with her upbeat gait was caught at the wrist by his hand. He let out a long, exasperated sigh. 

“There’s a very secluded little stream on this island, out by the abandoned mill,” he explained with a renewed slow, measured calmness. “Not many people know about it, and hardly anyone is ever there. But I have it on good authority it’s an excellent place to catch rainbow trout.” He released his grip on her wrist, as if testing her willingness to stay in place without the force. “I could show you where it is — and see to it the few other people who know about it make themselves scarce from here on, if you’ll follow me to make camp for the night.” 

Jestiny clenched her jaw tightly enough she thought her teeth might crack as she paused there, considering. 

She knew bait when she saw it. 

He was a devious, manipulative, conniving bastard trying to lure her in with cheap tricks she was too smart to fall for. 

Biting now would be yet another huge mistake, and she was above that.  

She drew in a deep breath. 

“Lead the way.” 

#and everyone ignore the wrong chapter number on the banner when i first posted. that didn't happen you're crazy. #fic: hook‚ line‚ and sinker #writies and wordies #otp: stop bothering these nice folks #oc: deputy jestiny ellen #ch: john seed

[crimeronan]

Was Hunter correct in assuming Lilith would throw a coup if Amity’s life was threatened? I know Amity said it was only a nice thought but I assume her self worth is only slightly better than Luz and Hunter’s.

Slightly unrelated but I’m also fascinated with whats going through Lilith’s head past assassination. Belos was a similarly horrifying presence in her life, but she also put so much of her self worth into the empire.

hunter is ABSOLUTELY correct that lilith would stage a coup if anything happened to amity bc of the empire. lilith is basically the same lonely friendless desperate-for-approval wreck that she is in the canon, save for like, steve -- and amity. she still wants to heal eda's curse and will ask luz to do it, but if the sequence of events went like: belos dies, luz takes the throne, amity is either openly killed or dies under mysterious obviously-murder circumstances immediately afterward...... lilith would lose her MIND. she desperately wants to keep her faith in the titan and in what belos has told her, but if anything happened to amity, the response would be very similar to when eda was sentenced to death in the canon.

amity doesn't realize this because she's still obsessed with power and control and categorizing every relationship into "person with power" and "person without power." she knows that lilith likes her and that she has lilith's approval, but she very very Very much believes that that approval is conditional. she has to keep proving that she's the best and that she's useful and that she's a good (read: authoritarian) leader if she wants to retain her place in the coven.

just. eclipse lake echoes out the wazoo for both amity And hunter here.

for her part, lilith believes that luz has the right to the throne and hasn't questioned it. she's also not questioning belos's death, possibly because she Absolutely Does Not Want Answers There. lilith is SO ANXIOUS about the succession, though. she doesn't want anything to change and is aware that everything is going to change and she's having turbo autism about it.

in the immediate aftermath, she's throwing all of her energy into running the coven smoothly and with minimal disruption. she wants things to all be normal and fine so she's going to do her damnedest to make them that way. things have the potential for complication especially when lilith talks to luz about eda, and luz lets on a little bit of Just How Drastically she wants to alter the empire..... but i'd need to write a full fic to figure out the exact shape of all that.

#replies #toh #lilith clawthorne #luz noceda #amity blight #hunter toh #princess luz au #princess luz au meta

[lokisgoodgirl]

Hey, if you also want to play with the Writers asks

A, K and Z

💚💚💚

Girl you read my mind! I was about to reblog it after I sent yours and completely forgot...you're always one step ahead! Thank you for thinking of me! :D

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favourite and why? Oh lord. I can't choose, I'm sorry. 😆 But.. As a 'body of work' I think I'm most proud of The Lakes - I put a lot of my heart into that and technically I think it's quite strong. And as a representation of what will be etched on my Tumblr gravestone, I'd submit the Hostile F*cks Collection - it's very me, through and through - and I'm really proud of it. Ridiculous, sexy, Loki out the wazoo, and ofc the outfits which are my calling card. K:  Do you have a guilty pleasures in fic (reading or writing)? Breeding kink comes to mind. I have no interest in Mr LGG turning out that kind of chat, but sometimes I just...need it🤣 The only time I've written it was The Urge and it resonated so I know I'm not alone but I need to be in a very specific mindset, which is why I've never written it since.

Z: Is there a story you’ve written that doesn’t seem to get much love? I'm very lucky to have some extremely loyal/horny readers who are appreciated with all my heart, so not really. I squeal like a little kid every time🤣 Some of my early fics are quiet - but then, whose aren't! And I wouldn't particularly encourage anyone to read those, I've definitely come a way since then (I think! I hope!)

#writer asks

[steddieunderdogfics]

Hey if anyone is looking for some Dead Dove Do Not Eat steddie fics I have two ao3 author recs!

First of, the writer Ammis has some absolutely incredible irredeemable villain Eddie stories that are so tough going but AMAZINGLY well written.

Then sweetlikesugar’s Creep Eddie series is just delicious. Truly truly underrated even in the dddne community. Religious imagery out the wazoo really twists the knife on all the fantastic little details in all of their stories. Definitely one of my absolute favourites.

French lavender and bergamot and rosemary by sweetlikesugar

@mindlesslittlefreak

Rating: Mature

2,337 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con

Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Paralysis, Bathing/Washing, Breaking and Entering, Creepy Eddie Munson

Summary:

He’s instantly on high alert. His heart gives a frightened beat, his fingers twitch where they’re submerged and curled loosely into his palms underwater. Through the haze of French lavender and bergamot and rosemary he realizes he can’t fucking move. - Or: Steve wants a relaxing bath. He does not get one.

Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

#steddie fic recs #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #tw rape #tw noncon #dead dove do not eat #mature

[anticomedygarden]

23, 17, 14? 🫶

🫶

23. fics you wanted to write but didn’t

SO MANY. I just started writing this year, so I had ideas coming out the wazoo and none of the skill or discipline to write all of them. One that I really liked and decided to wait until I had more practice (and apparently forgot about until just now when I was going back through my drafts) is a wolfstar vigilante au (but I'm not giving away which vigilante it's based on because now I really kinda wanna write it again). There's also a bunch from other fandoms that I just lost interest in.

17. fics you’ll continue next year

Wolf, a wolfstar non-magic (sort of) werewolf au, and hopefully Keeping the Faith, a marauders raven cycle au. I might try and make a full fic out of a dystopian wolfstar microfic I wrote back in March if I can find the time and motivation. I also have to keep stopping myself from writing future fics for my solangelo marching band au, and maybe one day next year, I won't stop myself

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write

most of them? I'm very much a 'write when inspiration strikes' kind of person, so most of my published fics weren't planned. the most unexpected one was probably wolf, though. I really was not expecting so many people to be so interested in it

from this ask game

#not fic #ask game #ask

[violetsarepurple-fuckyou]

Been writing a lot of Magicians fanfic lately and I've noticed a trend...

Forget about past tense, present tense... what about past-past tense? This is what happens when you are already writing in past tense, and then one of your characters decides to have a memory, and you go 'oh ok darling! A quick little insight into what caused your current mental state, how lovely!' and then they fORCE YOU TO WRITE FOUR PAGES OF THE BEST WRITTING IN YOUR WHOLE FIC WITH 'HAD HAD' USAGE OUT THE FUCKING WAZOO.

Most of my characters I can keep a lid on this with, but some people (side eyes Quentin Makepeace Coldwater) are apparently uninterested in my lid keeping practices.

I can't cut the damn stuff out, it's the best stuff in every fic, and I can't make it its own chapter because that clashes with the structure and the character voice.

Eliot, Eliot is easy to keep a lid on. When he has a memory we get an acceptable two sentences in and then he represses it hard and continues his conversations like absolutely no inner turmoil is taking place.

Quentin Coldwater on the other hand, without fail, lets me write him doing an activity in the present for all of one paragraph before he starts stomping his feet all over my keyboard and crying at me to let him take a long rambling walk through his weirdly poetic mind palace.

I try to steer him back into the current action and plot, and he wet-noodles like a toddler who doesn't want to leave a store. He cries and cries and cries until I go "Fine! You can finish thinking about Eliot singing to his tulip garden at the mosaic!" and then he pops up, chipper as anything, writes 2k about how gentle Eliot was surrounded by blossoms in the hazy red glow of sunset, and then acquiesces to return to the plot for all of five seconds before something reminds him of Teddy's mittens and he's off again.

What I am learning from this is that -- and I already knew this but now I know this -- every time Quentin is staring off into space while ostensibly involved in the conversation surrounding him on screen in season 4 he is actively disassociating into the mosaic timeline.

Little shit is forcing me to write in present tense just to keep him grammatically under control. I have like twelve Magicians WIPs in the works right now, and Quentin is adding so much time to it.

(Sucks that he is also SO fun to write, and I flow so easily in his headspace, grrr...)

#quentin coldwater #eliot waugh #the magicians #fanfic #writing #queliot

[autisticempathydaemon]

Ask, and you shall RECEIVE.

(Even if you didn’t ask, this infodump was bound to happen eventually.)

Under the cut: My Alexis design choices- why she’s Vietnamese, autistic, Southern, and other miscellaneous details that I couldn’t figure out how to work into my fics or will be included in the future.

Alexis's autism:

In making Alexis autistic, I got to explore the really interesting way that vampirism is not only a figurative disability but also affects actual disabilities. I see often, in fantasy, magic curing stuff like that, and though that is a valid perspective to tell, it’s not my favorite. Alexis having been a sonal energetic who struggled to maintain her magic is meant to parallel the autistic difficulty with vocal regulation. Though this is fixed by becoming a vampire, it was really important to me that her autism only changed and not went away completely. 

Other autistic traits I gave her: 

Discomfort with eye contact (though this is also trauma-induced). 

Sensory difficulties, especially after her senses heightened after her turning, that can result in shutdowns. 

A typically blunt, stoic affect stemming from alexithymia.

Alexithymia is the word for difficulty with processing, regulating, and expressing emotion, I shit you not, I did not make that up. 

I will probably explore her alexithymia in the future through the lens of her trying to disentangle her own emotions and Sam’s emotions transferred to her through their maker/progeny bond. 

Her difficulty with vocal modulation is also me taking creative liberties with selective mutism. In a Prissy AU I’m working on, I will be working with this more explicitly. 

Backstory stuff:

Giving Alexis a Southern accent was a really early choice I made when I wanted to do a fan audio of her dialogue in my “Alexis meeting Darlin” fic. I thought it’d be really interesting and poignant for the listener to hear her speak and immediately think “Oh. That’s right. She and Sam weren’t always like this; they used to have something in common.” It’s also one of the only accents I know how to do, and I wanted her and William to have shared history in New Orleans, so it stuck.

Making Alexis Vietnamese was, on the surface, a narcissistic choice, but I still stand by it. I make almost all the Redacted characters Asian to heal the inner child, and the French influences give her another connection to Will. Then, when viewing her through that lens, I saw a lot of ways she could be read as that Asian temptress/femme fatale/vamp/dragon lady/ice queen, and I wanted to explore the depth she has beyond that.

I’ve made Alexis, to my knowledge, the only character that, willingly and under no duress, chose to become a vampire, because I think that’s a very interesting perspective to explore. Yes, there is this loss of magic and mortality that comes along with vampirism. Yes, you lose a life you had before, but my Alexis didn’t like that life. This new life gave her independence and immortality, and I like the idea that someone came into that choice eyes wide open, ya know? Like, it’s not just a thing you learn to live with; for some people, it’s really cool.

I haven’t settled on this, haven’t really decided if I’m sticking with it or not, but if my Alexis is a Vietnamese vampire who was born in 1950’s New Orleans, she’s got some good, old-fashioned Catholic guilt comin out the wazoo. 

Miscellaneous details:

If Will gave Alexis a diadem- and I insist that he did because he loves his children unconditionally- I picture a Laurel-style crown, just like Vincent’s, studded with magnolias with jade leaves and marble petals. Magnolias are the state flower of Louisiana and, I think, are prettiest at night just like vampires. On top of that, both marble and jade are prized Vietnamese exports, and my Chinese/Hmong William would follow the tradition of giving jade to daughters to protect them and to grow more valuable with age with that daughter.

@mr-laveau wanted to know where Alexis has been during canonical events, and I have thought about this some and might explore this in future fics.

During the Inversion, she was with Will, because both of them felt their progenies’ terror, and both were helpless to do anything since it was during the day.

When Sam truly and completely falls for Darlin- I don’t know when this would be; the BA, maybe?- Alexis is alone in her part of the Solaire property, and she feels the exact moment Sam gives his heart away. I am definitely writing this one, and I am not looking forward to it, because it will hurt me /lh

#redactedasmr #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redactedaudio #redacted audio #redacted alexis #redacted #I'm not sorry #rainy days make me wordy #and I love my troubled flawed brainchild #if anyone else is curious #I am literally always buzzing to talk about her #and who she could become

[xoxoemynn]

OFMD Fic Writer Appreciation Day - The Fics!

For fic writer appreciation day, I asked OFMD fic writers to share the story they’re the most proud of -- not necessarily the one with the most hits or kudos or comments, but the one that holds a special place in their hearts.

I’ve really enjoyed making my way through all the responses and wanted to share with all of you! We’ve got fics of all lengths and ratings and fitting pretty much any mood. The list got really long so I put them behind a cut, but I do hope you’ll check these out and leave some love for the creators. (I just compiled basic info, so please mind any tags or warnings in the link.)

Also, once again, writers! Please do not be shy! Share out the stories you worked hard on, the ones you struggled with, the ones that flew out of your fingertips, the ones that have extra special personal meaning to you. Reblog your fics out the wazoo, add your stories onto this list, or just drop them into my inbox.

Thank you all for sharing your creativity with us. 💕

Prisons Of Our Own Perceptions by @chocolatepot [Mature | 22K | Ed x Stede]  Ed had been interested in tracking down the so-called "Gentleman Pirate" for months. What sort of gentleman commissioned a ship and fled his life of luxury for one of bloodshed and backstabbing? And by all accounts, particularly Izzy’s, he was a terrible pirate. Completely incompetent. It made no sense … but it was compelling. And the thing was, Ed didn’t find much compelling these days. After being sold out to the Spanish, the Revenge was "rescued" by Charles Vane rather than Blackbeard - and unlike Edward, Vane doesn't see Stede as an equal. After weeks of captivity on Vane's ship, Ed and Stede meet, and something begins ...

baby, would you find that so odd? by @eluciferate [Teen | 6K | Ed x Stede] Ed shaves his beard at the reformatory and thinks he might like what he sees. even after everything is over, he's less sure that Stede does.

the earth of me by @eluciferate [2K | Mature | Ed x Stede] tfw you go to the get tied up store and you accidentally end up with a gender

the importance of outspokenness by @eluciferate [Teen | 5K | Ed x Stede, Ed x Anne Bonny x Mary Read] How Ed found herself the first time, then found her way back.

riches and wonders by @emi--rose [Explicit | 9K | Ed x Stede, Ed x Mary, Ed x Stede x Mary] Ed Teach and Mary Bonnet get along like a house on fire, as they find out when a totally reasonable attempt to drop off birthday gifts for Alma goes off the rails.

Hungry for love, ready to drown by @epersonae  [Teen | 8K | Ed x Stede] Later, much later, Stede realizes he can divide his life into two parts, split by that exact moment: when by all rights he should have been dead, gut-stabbed and strung up, and instead the most beautiful man he’d ever seen strolled up to him through fire and smoke and men screaming. A re-telling of the story as Stede grapples with his (unknown even to him) feelings for one Edward Teach, aka Blackbeard.

intricate rituals by @forlorn-kumquat [Teen | 6K | Ed x Stede] a pirate's life is not one that leads to casual touches. luckily for Ed, Stede's not the typical pirate. (or: five times Stede braided Ed's hair and one time Ed returned the favor)

Clarity by @kat0nline [44K | Explicit | Ed x Stede, Mary x Doug, Jim x Oluwande] After an accident upends Stede and Ed's fragile new relationship, Ed fights to bring Stede back.

If You Were Mine to Keep by @mysterybees [53K | Explicit | Ed x Stede] Caught between the gallows and the end of an English sword, Ed accepts the Act of Grace: marry into the aristocracy, leave the English ships alone, and live to sail another day. But who in their right mind would ever agree to marry the mad devil pirate Blackbeard?

The Inked Moth by @newnewyorker93 [1K | Gen | Ed x Stede] Ed gives Stede his first tattoo.

Chasing Storms by @not-nervous-jester [167K | Mature | Ed x Stede] Blackbeard returns to The Revenge to discover that Izzy Hands is no longer on board. He navigates his grief and Stede navigates a way back to the man he loves.

The Kraken and the Lighthouse by @nyominebula [27K | Teen | Ed x Stede] Ed puts Stede in the closet until he can deal with his emotions.

all that i am led me to you by @profdanglaisstuff [16K | Teen | Ed x Stede, Mary x Doug] For ten years, Mary Allamby Bonnet has barely given any thought to her "late" husband Stede. She's been far too busy enjoying her life as his wealthy widow. Until the night that Stede appears at her door, badly wounded, in the arms of the most feared pirate in history. Until that moment Mary had never truly believed the Wanted posters that claimed Stede as a "known associate" of Blackbeard's. Yet here he is, in her home, less the legendary pirate captain than simply Stede's Ed, a man terrified of losing the love of his life. He won't, though. Not if Mary has anything to say about it. Or, Mary and Ed nurse Stede back to health and in doing so form a friendship.

Lighthouse Coffee by @profdanglaisstuff [7K | Mature | Ed x Stede] Ed Teach is the best P.I. in the business. Brilliant, observant, always two steps ahead—and completely fed up with all of it. He’s frustrated, burnt out, yearning for something different. But what? Nothing ever changes in his narrow, rigid life. He’s starting to think that nothing ever could. Until one day a new coffee shop opens up on the floor below his agency, run by a man unlike any he’s ever met before. Stede Bonnet doesn’t play by any of the rules—he doesn’t even seem to realise they exist. He fascinates Ed from the moment they meet and makes him think that maybe… maybe he might be able to have a different sort of life. The kind he’s always wanted but never thought he deserved. Now if only someone would stop trying to kill Stede long enough for that to happen.

stay the course by @sarriane [35K | Teen | Ed x Stede] Ed has been stuck in a rut since Stede left. He would like nothing more than to shut himself away, but his crew needs a captain, there’s a cat inside his cabin, and bounty hunters have begun to target pirates on the high seas. And Stede? Stede has a plan to take back the Revenge and make things right. What’s a little piracy amongst pirates?

Ace of Hearts series by @thetardigrape [28K | Explicit | Ed x Stede] Asexual Stede explores being in a physically intimate relationship with Ed, the love of his life.

The training of Izzy Hands  by @elfenixnegro [33K | Explicit | Ed x Stede, Stede x Izzy, Ed x Izzy, Black Pete x Lucius, Jim x Oluwande, Izzy and Jim] Israel Hands was efficient, brutal and loyal, which got him a spot at Blackbeard’s side. But Blackbeard is dead now, only Edward Teach remains, a man who has no use for a brutal masochistic first mate. But chance it has it that maybe Stede Bonnet who killed Blackbeard could give purpose to the broken Izzy Hands.

Chains of Love by @three--rings [26K | Explicit | Ed x Stede] When Blackbeard learns Stede Bonnet isn't dead, but is instead being sold as a prisoner, he rushes to buy him.  He thinks that this may be the perfect opportunity to show Bonnet that you don't fuck with Edward Teach. Stede, on the other hand, just sees this as a perfect opportunity to explain himself. After all, he knows where he belongs now, and it's by Ed's side, even when Ed is...not quite the same man he left behind.

The Merry Strays of Lighthouse Sanctuary by @xoxoemynn [3K | Gen | Ed x Stede] An AU where Stede Bonnet owns a rather unusual animal shelter that prides itself on always being able to find the perfect match for anyone seeking a companion, and Edward Teach has decided he's in need of a pet.

#Our Flag Means Death #OFMD #OFMD fic #OFMD fan fic #OFMD fic recs #cross my fingers hope to die I didn't mess up any of these links #also idk why tumblr won't let me tag some people >:( #but I really loved seeing all the stories that mean the most to you #making a reminder to myself to do this again next year because this is my fave curateed reading list