#man it feels like a lifetime ago that i wrote some of these stories

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 2 : Esmerelda Variation

Heaven's outfit at the match:

Note: Thank you for the insane amount of love you guys are showing this. This is still a ground work laying chapter so still a little short but with a bit of drama. I should warn that just like the characters from the movie, Heaven is going to be ambiguous. Sometimes she'll be great, sometimes she'll be toxic (you have to remember she's best friends with Tashi for a reason). Anyways, you will get to know her as the story goes on. Thank you for all of the likes, follows, reblogs and notes, I really love hearing from you all and will be responding to them today. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I wrote it in the middle of the night lol. (P.s. I have a bad track record with tag lists but I'm going to try, let me know if it works.)

Taglist: @spookystitchery @anehkael @fkaams

“You remember when you said you’d let me win this one?”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

Art whips his head to look at Patrick who’s staring out onto the currently empty court, leaning back on the bench with his elbows. “But what about my grandmother?”

“You better hope she has a stroke.” the brown haired man shrugs, patting his friend’s shoulder. “I mean Tashi Duncan is gonna be watching. Tennis princess. And her hot friend. Can’t fuck up, sorry man.”

Art just shakes his head and takes a swig of water. Two hours had passed since this morning’s run-in and he still hadn’t been able to force himself to tell Patrick about the fact that Heaven’s number was on the line too. It’d only be fair, he knows that. But…Art really didn’t want Patrick to have it.

He should’ve just asked her for it directly instead of hiding behind this performance in interest in getting it from her. But he’d been thrown off. He’d truthfully thought he wouldn’t be able to see her again after she announced she had a boyfriend to the group. When he saw her on the beach that morning he found himself jogging down to catch her, and struggling to keep pure thoughts as she talked to him in her skimpy workout gear, telling him she’s single now. 

She was just so pretty. The sweat and the morning sun made her skin glisten. Her smile on her face made her cheeks dimple cutely and drew his attention to her soft lips. And she had this look in her eye. She and Tashi are so different yet so alike. She was asking him if competing was how he wanted to get her number. He was asked to make the choice. But it was the challenge he found swimming in her gaze. Like, there was only one right answer, that she expected him to be able to make the decision himself. Like if he shied away now, the little fire he saw in her eyes would die. 

Heaven was just as into this as Tashi was. 

The thought of her giving that look to Patrick too, it was something he couldn’t handle.

“Shame about that boyfriend though…wonder if it’s serious…Art. Art?” 

Art jolts out of his inner thoughts and focuses on his friend opening his breakfast sandwich next to him. “D’you think Heaven’s relationship is serious? I feel like she was flirting a little. Poor bastard. Sending his girl on the road without him when she looks like that? Fuckin’ idiot. And she’s a dancer, do you know what that means?” Patrick asks, holding the sandwich out for Art to take a bite, smiling when he does and swiping his thumb across his mouth to rid him of some crumbs.

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“She’s fuckin’ flexible, Arthur.” He growls, a smirk on his face. “She’s bendy and shit.”

Art’s lip curls in disgust as he shoves his friend, huffing out an irritated laugh when he’s shoved back. “Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that. Either of them, they’re people, jesus, Patrick.”

“Yes, exactly. Beautiful people. That I would like to fuck.”

“You’re a great guy, man, really.” he sighs sarcastically, tossing his arm around Patrick’s shoulder.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate that.”

Heaven is quiet as she lets Tashi guide her to their seats in the center for the Donaldson v. Zweig match. Her friend had been excited all morning, ready to finally see some “real fuckin’ tennis’. Heaven was excited too. She’s always enjoyed watching people she knows do what they’re passionate about. 

That’s why she’s always loved watching Tashi play tennis. Tashi plays tennis like she’s making love and going to war all at the same time. She leaves everything on the court, like each match is the last thing she’ll ever do. She goes somewhere, and Heaven likes going with her. Passion is what moves her. She’s passionate about dance. A life without it is meaningless.

“You good?” Tashi asks, nudging her knee with her own, grabbing Heaven’s attention.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

The taller girl shrugs, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder with pursed lips. “Just making sure you’re not letting that dickhead Trevor get to you. He’s a waste of time and space in your brain. Can’t play basketball for shit and doesn’t know when to stop.” Tashi nudges Heaven again when she rolls her eyes, facing the court. “I mean, you obviously don’t have to listen to me, babe, I just know you’re too good for that shit. Don’t want you to waste your energy.”

That shit. That’s the shit she doesn’t like about Tashi. When she can’t tell if she genuinely is being her best friend, or is jealous that she’s been sharing Heaven’s attention. The condescending demand that Heaven show no weakness regarding someone other than her. Heaven knows Tashi wants what’s best for her. But she doesn’t own her emotions. 

“Said I’m fine, T.” Heaven huffs, ignoring Tashi’s stare out of the corner of her eye and opting to watch the announcer climb the ladder and take position. “By the way, I saw Art this morning. I told him that we could double the stakes. Winner gets your number and mine.” When Tashi’s reaction doesn’t come, Heaven looks at her to see that she’s now facing forward, smiling almost evilly at the court.

“God, this is gonna be so good. Do you know how horny those guys are? They think the winner is gonna end up fucking us together, this is gonna be a real match.”

Heaven goes to respond but pauses as the men begin making their way onto the court, their names echoing in the microphone as they begin placing their bags down. Tashi finishes signing an autograph for a fan sitting behind them and settles back into her seat. 

Both men immediately seek them out in the crowd, two sets of eyes finding the girls sitting in the center. Patrick points his racket in their direction with a cocky smile before turning to take to the court. Art gages their reactions to his friend, watching both women offer smiles to him and offering them his own wave. A bright grin lights his face when they return it. 

“Boys are so easy.” Tashi laughs through her teeth. 

“Very.” Heaven agrees, crossing her legs as she watches the match begin. Both men are working their asses off out of the gate. The ball sails back and forth across the net. Their grunts ring out into the air. Their eyes tense, sweat dripping, breathing heavy. At first, they were being showmen. Both of them stopping, looking to the stands for the girls' approval only working harder when the most they are offered back is a small nod. 

But they got focused. They moved faster. Worked harder. They forgot them and just played some fucking tennis. And it was sexy as hell. For the first time ever, Heaven was experiencing the feeling she gets watching Tashi play. And she was experiencing it watching someone else.

Tashi was enjoying the game immensely. She loves this shit. This is the game she lives for, and she and her best friend had made it more interesting. She grins as she watches the ball go to Patrick, then Art, then back again. Her head swiveled with everyone else’s and she felt happy. Impressed. 

Until she saw Heaven out of the corner of her eye. 

Heaven sitting on the edge of her seat, looking at Patrick then Art then Patrick then Art. She hadn’t looked at Tashi since they started. It’s normal. They’ve watched matches together before, but this look on her face. That was supposed to be Tashi’s look. 

Biting her lip in focus, breathing slightly elevated in the excitement, one hand toying with her name chain on her otherwise bare collar bone as the other clutched the arm of the chair, arched forward, leaning towards them. 

Tashi shakes her head briefly and focuses back on the match, placing one hand on Heaven’s knee. 

Just in case she slipped from her seat. 

When Patrick took his bow, looking through his dark lashes to see Heaven and Tashi’s reactions. Both of them look pleased. Offering him applause as he stands before going to grab his things. 

Art watches in defeat. The muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches it in irritation. He walks off his adrenaline, pacing between clearing his things from the bench. He feels a heavy hand clap on his back. “Good game, man. I’ll meet you out front, yeah? I’ve got a number to collect.”

“Yeah. Good game.” he says quietly. 

Two. Two numbers. Both. He’s getting both. He deserves neither, and he’s getting Tashi Duncan and Heaven Whitlock. 

Art sits on the competitor’s chair, pulling his shirt off and tossing it over his head to shield himself from the sun as he puts his head back. He doesn’t know how long he’s sitting there. But he can’t bring himself to get up. To meet Patrick. To watch Tashi know he’s better than him as she gives him her number. To watch Heaven decide that he hadn’t earned the right to want her.

He doesn’t remove the shirt until he hears shoes clacking on the court. He’s expecting to see an employee of the tournament but is shocked to see Heaven standing in front of him with an unenthused look. 

“Oh, good, I thought you were crying.”

“Um, nope.” Art huffs, a wry smile on his face. “That would be a little pathetic, even for me.”

Heaven’s head tilts, her dark, silky hair falling to the side as she does. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and Art hops out of the chair, offering it to her. “How is almost winning pathetic?”

“I didn’t almost win-”

“He didn’t sweep you. You could’ve won. He’s just better today. When Tashi wins, the other person usually doesn’t even get more than one point.” Heaven pushes up into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. Art can’t help but reminisce. Her legs are now covered by her light washed jeans, but her bare shoulders remind him of the expanse of glowing skin he’d seen earlier this morning. “The score was close.” 

Art smiles slightly at that. He’s still annoyed he was unable to beat his friend, but her words, while based solely in logic, still managed to be comforting. “So, uh, I bet Patrick was pretty fuckin’ happy to get you and Tashi’s numbers.”

“Oh, he was pretty damn excited.” Heaven laughs. “It was cute.”

Ouch. “Yeah, I’m sure I won’t hear the end of it.”

Heaven nods, lips rolling inward as she uses her arms to push herself forward, kicking him lightly with her leg, smiling flirtily when he catches her foot, his large hand encasing her ankle. He rights her gold anklet, turning it so that the cross on it is facing upward before bringing her foot back to the ground. “What about you?”

“What about me? I lost. Fair and square.”

“You did.” she grins, resting her chin in her hand. “But the wager changed this morning didn’t it? I agreed that the winner would get my and Tashi’s numbers, but you had an added requirement, right?”

Art’s brows furrowed in confusion briefly before the realization hits him. “I had to earn it.”

“If you’d won, but didn’t earn the win, I wouldn’t give it to you. I have my opinion. What’s yours? Do you feel like you earned my number today?” 

“You want to give it to me anyway?” 

Heaven shakes her head and hops down from the seat, moving closer to Art and fully expecting him to back up, pleasantly surprised when he just tilts his head down to accommodate her height. “I want you to tell me if today was your best.”

Art breathes out heavily. There’s a part of him that wants to just say ‘fuck it, yes’. He wants to say that's the best he can do, and he did earn her number already. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t look her in the face and say he couldn’t do better. He couldn’t have her look at him like he didn’t have potential. “No.”

That’s apparently the right answer, because Heaven offers him a quiet, “Good.” before brushing past him, her arm narrowly missing his, causing the hairs on his skin to stand. 

As he watches the girl prance away from him gracefully, Art bites back his own smirk, looking to the ground and nodding to himself. 

He has some work to do.

“Just tell me. I just wanna know.” Art chews his gum, trying to look nonchalant as possible as he and Patrick make their way onto the courts.

He’d been haunted by the way his friend is seemingly getting joy from being very secretive about what he’s been doing with Tashi and Heaven. He knows he’s been talking to them. He can tell. It’s in the smug looks. The fucking half stories without names. He’s fucking keeping them to himself. Won’t even share their names with him. And in response to Art’s irritation, Patrick smirks. The same stupid fucking crooked smirk that always hides his snide remarks and secrets. Usually, Art has a twin one to match, now, the joke is on him.

“I can’t believe you, of all people, are telling me to kiss and tell. You used to be a gentleman, Art.”  Patrick chuckles, grabbing a ball and preparing to serve.

“Just tell me if you slept with either of them.” Art pushes, moving to the opposite side of the net and getting into position. “C’mon, it doesn’t matter. If you’ve slept with Tashi, do a normal serve. Serve like me.” 

Patrick hesitates a bit, shaking his head as he looks at his friend’s determined face. He knows Art is not gonna stop asking. But he’s gonna be so butthurt about the answer. He rolls his choices around in his head, briefly considering if it would piss off the girls for him to talk about it and deciding they wouldn’t care about Art knowing. And, he couldn’t help himself from bragging. 

Setting up the serve and sending the ball sailing over the net, Patrick gives Art the confirmation he was seeking. Art offers him a smile in an attempt to appear nonchalant, and goes to hit the ball, only to see a second one flying past him on his other side.

“Wh-”

Patrick grins again, watching the two balls bounce and roll on the opposite sides of Art. He shrugs, strolling over to the net. “I figured you’d ask about Heaven too.” Holding his hand out in front of Art’s mouth he catches the gum he spits into it. “They…uh fancy themselves a package deal.”

“Really?” Art breathes through the smile he has painted on his face. 

“Yeah.” Patrick squirts water into his mouth. “S’fuckin’ awesome.”

Art just chuckles politely until Patrick turns around to get another ball, using his friend’s distraction to let his smile drop into an aggravated frown.

The next time the whole group is all together is move in week. Heaven and Tashi had somehow convinced the men that even though Patrick was packing up for his tour and Art was also moving in, they needed to help them move into their dorms. They were starting with Stanford today and planned to make their way to UCLA tomorrow to get Heaven’s stuff together. While Art now naturally had Tashi's number because they were going to school together, he and Heaven had stuck to their deal. He hadn't decided what he was going to do to get it. Maybe win a match while she was here visiting in a couple weeks. Or maybe he had to beat Patrick specifically. He didn't know, but he as much as he wants her respect, he was getting sick of waiting.

Both men had removed their shirts in the California heat, carrying Tashi’s tennis equipment, replacement mattress, mini fridge and all ten tons of luggage she brought. 

The women were being helpful too. Heaven was apparently resting her legs in anticipation of her audition tomorrow, and rode comfortably on Patrick’s back up the steps during the first trip from the van. After that the girls had made Tashi’s bed before both climbing onto it and sharing a lollipop as they watched the boys work. 

“No, I want my printer over there.” Tashi calls, popping the candy out her mouth and passing it to Heaven, who is absently scrolling on her phone when she drags it into hers.

“Next time, I want green apple.”

Patrick drops the printer on the desk and turns to them. “You know, people hire movers for stuff like this. Where’s your dad?”

Tashi just ignores him, leaning her head over to look at whatever Heaven is staring at on her phone.

“Men used to build houses, you know.” Heaven says, tilting the device so Tashi can see better. The latter nodding at whatever she’s being shown.

“Mm, and go to war.” Tashi sighs boredly, “You guys can’t carry mini furniture?”

Patrick huffs irritably and looks to Art to back him up. “We’re almost done.” The blond shrugs, wiping the sweat from his brow. 

“You just like kissing their asses.”

“And you don’t?” Tashi calls from the bed. 

Patrick huffs and lifts the printer again, moving it to where Tashi indicated it should go. Meanwhile, Art moves over to the bed finally done emptying the trolley they borrowed from the university. “What’re you two looking at?”

“I’m helping Heaven decide what piece she should do for her audition in a couple days.” Tashi rolls off of the bed and stretches her muscles, “she’s being stubborn.”

Art’s brows furrow as he looks down at Heaven, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, not reacting to Tashi’s criticism at all. She’d known about that audition since before they met them. He’s shocked to hear she still hasn’t decided on a piece. 

“It’s not being stubborn, Tashi-” the girl pauses her movements at the use of her real name, brow raising. “It’s my audition.”

“Okay. Yeah, I just don’t wanna hear you whine for the next two weeks about how you should’ve done Odile from Swan Lake but pussied out because it’s hard and you know you’d complain.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Exactly, babe, exactly. That’s why I don’t get why you don’t just go set the tone.” Tashi chirps. Her voice does that thing. That thing she does when she's pretending she's being casual about something. Going up an octave to show just how much she doesn't care.

Heaven sits up then, a stern look on her face that can rival the one Tashi gives, both hands planted in the bed as she stares the other girl down. “You don’t think I’ll get the lead with whatever I pick.” 

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A dare. The look she gives dares Tashi to say the wrong thing. 

Patrick and Art don’t know what to do. They’d never seen the girls disagree before. They’re always tag-teaming everyone. Tagging in and out of conversations, finishing each other’s quick remarks, cutting people down with sharp looks together. They’d never seen them face off before.

“I know you’d better get the lead.” Tashi shrugs, flipping her hair over and tying it up with a hair tie.

“I’m gonna. Have I ever not?” Heaven sends back. 

Tashi gives her a noncommittal look before snatching up Patrick’s shirt, tossing it into his hands. “Come hit the ball with me.” 

She offers Art one glance. It’s an invitation, very clearly for everyone except Heaven, who was already turned away on the bed, scrolling on her phone again. 

Patrick and Art have their own wide-eyed, silent conversation, finally settling through gestures. ‘You go with that one, I’ll stay with this one, hopefully no one pitches a fit.’

The dorm room door slips shut and the room is quiet aside from the clock ticking on Tashi’s dresser. A few moments pass before Heaven lets out a loud sigh and rolls over, gasping when she sees Art sitting at the desk on his own phone. “What the fuck?”

His eyes widen as he looks at her. “What?”

“I thought you left with Tashi and Patrick.”

He softens as that, offering her a smile. “And leave you by yourself? Nah. Anyway, we’re gonna be playing tennis everyday for the rest of this semester. Let’s go tour my college campus.”

Heaven looks up at the blond man outstretching his hand to her. Part of it is because she’s pissed at Tashi and didn’t wanna be laying here when she got back, but another part of her thought it might be fun to use this as an opportunity to get to know Art more. 

Since she, Patrick and Tashi started hooking up, she’d decided she was satisfied with keeping the set up she had. She had some fun, they dated, and ultimately, there weren’t many requirements. Her focus was just dance now, she wasn’t looking to waste her time on another boyfriend who wouldn’t work out, and going down the exclusive route with Tashi would get…complicated.

But sometimes she thought about Art. She thought about his cute smile and blond hair. She thought about his voice and muscles. And since the match, she thinks about how he played tennis. She could’ve came from watching him play tennis.

A secret she’ll take to the grave, mind you.

But one that led her to walking around campus with him, despite the fact that she and Tashi had agreed she needed to rest her legs before her audition.

Art told her all about the stuff the guide book talked about, showing her the historic buildings, the dorm he now calls home and the dining hall. And somehow, they ended up in the small theater that’s located on the campus.

He smiles, glancing at her, rocking on his feet as they stand outside the building. 

Heaven rolls her eyes playfully, nudging his shoulder. “Huh. I wonder how we ended up here.

“Couldn’t tell you. Definitely didn’t walk you to this…very small theater on purpose.” Art shrugs. “Probably should go in though.” He says breezily, pushing the door open for Heaven to walk through.

As she steps over the threshold, Heaven’s bad mood nearly dissolves. Her tense shoulders relax and her eyes slip closed. Art watches her all but melt into the environment, her pretty features smooth out as she breathes in deeply. “A theater is a theater. I missed this, traveling with Tashi.”

“I’d bet. I’m sure you don’t get much time to dance when you do that.” He says softly, watching her run her hands along the stage.

“Just drills so I don’t get rusty.” She hums. “I’m gonna end up doing Odile. She’s right, it’s a show stopper, guaranteed lead.”

Art sits in the front, center seat, watching as Heaven pushes her way up onto the stage, sitting on the edge. “I’m sure you’d get it no matter what you did. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

Heaven sweeps her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve never seen me dance, Arthur.”

He looks at her with an earnest, almost pleading expression that makes her stomach flip. “Could I? Please?”

“Okay.”

Art hasn’t experienced that much of life yet. He’s young, he’s had the same best friend forever. He went to a boarding school for tennis. He hasn’t traveled the world yet or anything.

But he’s pretty sure he would like to watch Heaven Whitlock dance. 

She was in sweats. Unprepared, with no shoes. Though she denied it, she was clearly nervous that her friend would bust in, see her, and it would start round two of their squabble. But she stretches for a moment before crouching to set up her phone. “Do you know what you wanna see or…”

Art blushes at that, he doesn’t exactly know any ballets. He just wanted to see Heaven in her element. “How about you show me the dance you wanna do.”

There it is. The truth. They both know she’s gonna do the dance Tashi is recommending. But right now she’s not here. And Art wants to see what Heaven would enjoy doing.

“It’s the Esmeralda Variation.” She says, untying her shoelaces before pulling her shoes off altogether. “I need something to kick.”

Art immediately pulls his hat off, tossing it up to her and chuckling as she giggles catching it. One tap on her phone and the muffled music is echoing in the empty theater. 

And she’s moving.

And Art can’t breathe. 

He’s never seen anything like it, like her. The grace. The control she has over her body. He didn’t know people could look like that. He didn’t know balance could be so beautiful. It was like, he didn’t even want to blink. He didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

His eyes tracked her body’s movements with precision, but what they really focused on was her face. He’d never seen perfection like that. Peace like that. This was what Tashi was talking about. This is what she feels with tennis, Heaven has dance. She was in a relationship. With the song. With her body. The floor. The audience. Him. 

Watching Heaven dance felt like witnessing love.

She’s amazing.

The dance was fun, playful, and looked difficult as hell. And she did it with ease.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until she stopped, sliding down into a final split with a bright smile on her face. “That’s…you’re beautiful. That’s amazing, what you just did.”

Heaven gives him a pleased look that has him feeling warm. She moves to sit on the edge of the stage, letting her legs dangle as she looks at him. Her hands rest on her knees. “Thanks, Art, that means a lot.”

He shifts in his own seat, leaning forward. He pushes up out of the red theater chair and makes his way over to stand in front of her. “I mean it. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“You’re really good at that, you know.” Heaven says, her voice dropping to a whisper as she looks at him. This is the first time they’ve been face to face before. He’s tall, and imposing despite his accommodating demeanor. She bites her lip and watches his eyes immediately drop before he forces them back to her eyes. “Making people feel good about themselves.”

Art’s startled by the compliment, and immediately starts to laugh it off. Betrayed by the redness of his ears. “You have a gift.” He shrugs. “You should be told you have a gift, all the time.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him. The wave of boldness. It might’ve been that they were alone. Or he was still worked up from what he just witnessed. Or the way Heaven was looking at him, with intensity. Like she saw something. He rests one hand on her leg, feeling smooth skin. And pushes into her space, bringing their faces impossibly closer. Heaven’s big eyes flutter shut as he gets closer, and he smiles.

She wants him to kiss her.

Grabbing his hat from behind her and placing it on his head.

Her eyes open after a beat and she gasps out a laugh, their faces still just a breath apart. “Ha. You’re funny-”

He presses his lips to hers in a brief but deep kiss, pulling away just as she pressed her lips back. “I’m sorry.”

Heaven balls her fist in the front of his shirt, dragging him back to her and making their lips meet again. Their mouths move together in a new dance. Suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of their heavy breathing and hums of contentment. Heaven’s hands find their way into Art’s hair as he anchors her waist, pulling her to the very edge of the stage so he can stand between her thighs.

When they pull away their lips cause a loud smack in the dimly lit room. Art’s thumb sweeps over the soft skin of Heaven’s cheek as they both desperately try to catch their breath. Her own hand moves about his curls, smoothing them before sliding to his jaw. Art turns his head to press a kiss to her palm before he speaks.

“Heaven-”

His eyes widen as he sees the girl’s eyes watering, her rose petal lips trembling as she looks at him. Chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. She runs her hands through her hair with a stressed look that Art thinks he would do anything to remove.

“Please don’t tell Tashi.”

#oc #art donaldson x tashi duncan #art donaldson x you #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x tashi duncan #art donaldson x patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #love #challengers 2024 #challengers movie #challengers spoilers #heaven whitlock #earn it

[slippinmickeys]

Twenty questions for fanfic writers

I was tagged by @agent-troi and @randomfoggytiger Thanks for the tag, guys!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

53

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

712,000 exactly, which is sort of creepy?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The X-Files mainly, though a million years ago I wrote two fics for JAG, and technically, I have a His Dark Materials fic (but it's an XF crossover)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Mesas of Deuteronilus Mensae

Prompt Drabble Collection

The Annapolis Grant

Three Part Harmony

A Companion Unobtrusive

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! Comments are the only payment fanfic writers get, and it's an incredibly valuable and underrated currency. Fanfiction as a community is one of the most generous you'll find, and I'm incredibly proud to be a part of this particular one.

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

Oh man, probably La Comtesse de Saint-Germain.

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

In this day and age I feel like we deal with enough shit, so I try to end most of my fics happily. I think A Gem-Like Flame probably has the most uplifting happy ending, but then, I'm a sports nerd.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't yet.

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

Um, probably pretty vanilla het MSR. No shame.

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

I've only written one, but it turned out really well, I thought. It's an X-Files/His Dark Materials novella-length crossover that takes place in Lyra's world, pre-Lyra, called Out of the Little Grove.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Anyone who steals my fic is going to catch these hands.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a couple of years ago someone asked if they could translate one of my fics to Russian. It's out there somewhere.

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

I jumped in and helped @monikafilefan get Five Years and a Lifetime over the line for a fic exchange a couple of years ago. A fun, collaborative experience, that was like 85% Monika. It's a great fic, check it out if you haven't!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Mulder & Scully are my OTP. Always and forever.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I'd love to finish Madam Scully's Spiritual Services, Inc., it's an AU where Scully works for her sister's Psychic Boutique while prepping for med school. Scully ends up being actually psychic and she helps newly minted FBI agent Fox Mulder solve a series of murders. I have it almost completely plotted (except for the nitty-gritty hard stuff), but I don't think I'll ever get it done, sadly. It's just too big a story to tackle with where I am in my life. Though I never say never.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm decent at dialogue, have a pretty firm grasp on plotting, and, I hope characterization.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My character work is probably my weak spot, which is why I have so much fun writing fanfic--the character work is already done, I just get to play around a world where everybody already knows the characters.

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

When I do it, I hope like hell that I'm doing it right. I think it's necessary for some stories and you just hope you're properly respecting a language you don't speak.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The X-Files, in the year of our lord nineteen hundred and ninety eight.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

It's a toss up between Proof of Life, an AU where CNN conflict reporter Dana Scully is kidnapped and imprisoned with fellow kidnap victim and photojournalist Fox Mulder, and they, you know, fall in love. And North of Zero, a post-col novel where Mulder and Scully get William back and have to save the world. The one I totally pantsed (made up as I went along), and it came together like alchemy. I love that story. If you don't like AU, you'd like Proof of Life. If you don't like post-colonization stories, you'd like North of Zero. I don't always like everything I've written after I'm done writing it (a writer's life), but I'm incredibly proud of both of those fics.

Tagging @monikafilefan because she's already tagged, and anyone else who wants to do this!

#fanfic asks #the x-files #the x-files fanfic #slippin mickeys

[thesullengrrrl]

We'll Meet Again

Elaine receives a letter from an old acquaintance.

Author's note: Hello! Thank you for the likes and reblogs and comments for my last post! Here's another chapter for this story and here's the AO3 link if you prefer reading there. Let me know what you think!

Chapter 2: across the universe

RAF Thorpe Abbotts

Late October 1943

Rosie slowly turned the door knob of their barracks. He had spent most of the night in the officers’ club, talking to the men, drinking with them and he did not notice the time. It’s Saturday tomorrow, he justified. At least he could sleep in a bit, even for an hour or two.

As he entered, he struggled to gently close the door to not wake up the others. His head started to feel woozy from the drinks he had and sat down on the nearest chair so that he wouldn’t stumble. He closed his eyes and sighed. He may be tipsy, but he wasn’t ready to turn in. Not yet. 

Aligned on the barrack entrance were two tables, one on each side. Rosie’s gaze turned to the other table across him, and there was a small pile of to-be delivered letters on it. He wrote his family and friends a few letters every week to give them updates of his daily life, but never about his missions. The last letters for them were mailed yesterday. Was there a person left to write? 

He thought of Mabel, but according to his mother, Mabel already has a sweetheart. 

He wondered if Mr. Giggles liked her new man. 

A sense of longing for home slowly crept on him. He remembered the good old days that seemed to be a lifetime ago. Him at his family home, his mother greeting him when he got off from work, horsing around with his siblings, the commute from his home to the law firm, the loud music from various jazz clubs he and his co-workers visit, Minty and Minton’s, Elaine…

Elaine. Few days ago, he received a parcel from his family. It consisted of two scarves (one white, one dark blue with pale polka dots), letters from different family members wishing him luck, a letter from Minty, some smushed chocolate bars, and a few photos (it had a small note attached saying, “You might forget our faces!”). 

After opening the ones from his family, he opened Minty’s letter for last. As he read the letter, he could smell the faint alcohol and smoked cigars, transporting him back to the last time he was there. 

Minty was right, he thought. It was indeed a bloodbath. Sometimes he would feel bad for the mechanics who had to clean the interiors of each plane that lands. Aside from the engine problems and several cosmetic issues with the planes after it had been gunned, they had to see the amount of bullet cases and blood scattered on its floors and walls. 

They had to clean away what's left of the dead men. 

I also sent a copy of a photo of you and your girl there. The last line of Minty’s letter made him pause. What photo? Which girl? He felt something inside the envelope and pulled it out. It was a photo of him and Elaine, capturing the night they met. They were looking at each other quite intensely, as if the camera caught them in an intimate moment.

His younger self looked serene, almost. As if he had not heard the Pearl Harbor attack hours before this photo was taken.

Elaine was smiling at him.

He turned the photo and saw Minty’s scribble: 

Thought you might need extra inspiration. I still have a copy in here, in case your girl comes around. Drinks are on me when I see you two. –M

That photo now resides in his bedside table, tucked inside a copy of Of Mice and Men. One day, the photo slipped from the book and Pappy picked it up. He took a good look at it before Rosie started to reach it from him. His co-pilot did not easily give it up and the two ran around their barracks for two minutes before Pappy gave it up. Few men gave them weird looks—Pappy was laughing while Rosie was glaring at him when they got back inside. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you have a girl back in New York?” Pappy asked, his tone teasing. “I have to hear Bailey talk about his wife every damn time and here you are just hiding someone!” 

“I’m not hiding her,” Rosie defended as he tucked the photo in one of the pages instead of the usual sleeve. “We’re just friends.” 

“And yet I find you looking at that picture at night.” 

“Hey! I don't!”

“Sure, Rosie. Sometimes, you look as if you are a war widower when you look at that picture.”

Pappy only chuckled at him and went on his way. Rosie had never been so embarrassed being seen at those vulnerable nights. When he tells Crosby about the whole thing (which includes her French exit), he cannot decipher whether his friend felt bad for him or wanted to laugh at him. Either way, Crosby suggested he write to her, even just to say hello. 

Rosie thought it was ridiculous. Why would he write to someone who just left him without saying goodbye personally? What kind of person leaves someone with only a note? 

Before he could stop himself, he opened the drawer to get a pen and a clean sheet of paper. Luckily, there was. Opening the night lamp, he uncapped the pen and the words started spilling. He didn't even read what he was writing and just overlined the parts that he felt were wrong to say. It’s late at night, he's slightly bloated with alcohol, and he’s…yes, lonely. He hasn’t heard from the woman for almost two years, he’s most likely not going to hear from her again, so what’s the damage? Nothing!

When he was done, he sealed it, placed some stamps and laid it on the pile of letters to be sent tomorrow. 

He let out a sigh of relief. It was cathartic. Maybe he could stop thinking about her.

Tonight, even for tonight, he was able to finally let his feelings down on paper. When he finished, he slowly walked back to his bed to avoid crashing into someone’s bed frame. Without changing his clothes, he laid down and stared at the ceiling. He let himself be lulled by the air and his eyes followed the lines in the ceiling. 

Few breaths later, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

—

The next day, he heard the rustle of the next bed’s mattress. He opened one eye and saw Pappy fixing his bed. “What time is it, Pap?” 

“Eight. Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Rosie jolted upright and walked to the table near the doors. The small pile of to-be delivered letters were gone. 

“The letters here, where is it?”

“Gene got them an hour ago!” Pappy replied loudly across the room. “Why?”

He leaned his head on his hand and groaned audibly. Pappy’s eyebrows furrowed and walked towards him.

“What’s the matter?” 

“I think..." Rosie trailed off. "I just sent a letter that I wasn’t supposed to send.” 

“Like those unsent letters in your drawer?” 

Rosie’s head shot up. “You saw those?” 

“I was looking for a pen,” Pappy explained, walking towards him  with his arms raised. “Then I opened your drawer and saw those letters tied up. Is it the same woman?"

He nodded. 

Pappy clapped his shoulder. “Rosie, you obviously wanted to talk to that person. Maybe she’ll write back.” 

Maybe he needed to talk to Crosby. And also request for a lock and key for his drawer.

 

Late October 2026

Brooklyn, New York

When their schedules align, Elaine and Bunny meet up at least twice a month. The two women first met in Minton’s as waitresses. They were initially off with each other, with Bunny thinking that Elaine is a bit rude, while Elaine thought Bunny was too loud. They were once assigned two consecutive closing shifts and since then they understood each other.

Today was different. After a meeting, she opened her phone and saw several calls and messages from Bunny, asking to meet with her as soon as possible. This worried Elaine and thankfully, she was allowed to go early.

Few meters away, she spotted Bunny being served by a waitress. Two drinks–one green one and the other pink colored drink. She jogged and finally reached their table.

“Hey, Bun,” she greeted, kissing her friend’s cheek. 

“Lane,” Bunny replied. “I got you this strawberry smoothie.” 

Elaine sat and caught her breath for a moment. Her friend across from her, sipping her green drink.

Bunny is a 5 foot woman with a commanding presence. Her black hair is usually in a ponytail whenever at work and on a messy bun when she’s out from her shift. Her hoop earrings glittered a bit under the afternoon sky.

She is the opposite of Elaine, who stood 5 foot 5 inches, with slight medium built and wavy (now lighter) brown hair. 

When Jerry discovered the photo in the wall of frames, Bunny talked to Elaine about it the next day. She first tried to deny it, but Bunny made her admit the truth. They had been working together for a year at the time and this was the first time she told a friend about her ability. 

As they sat outside a cafe with their indulgent drinks, Bunny slipped a sealed manila envelope across the circular table, her hot pink nails distracting Elaine for a moment.

“Wow, THAT is pink.” Elaine teased. “Is it Barbie themed?”

“Ha ha,” Bunny replied, rolling her eyes. “But yes, I’m tired of those dark colors.”

“What’s this?” Elaine wondered, eyeing the envelope. “Is this why you wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Duke says it’s yours.” 

Elaine opened the envelope and revealed another smaller envelope. It was yellowing but the red and white borders are still prominent. 

Her eyes widened as she read the names written. At the top left side of the envelope, it wrote: 

Robert Rosenthal

USAAF Station 139

Thorpe Abbotts

Norfolk, England 

And in the middle part, it said:

Ms. Elaine Byrne

c/o Mr. H. Minton

206-210 West 118th Street

New York NY10026

United States of America

She took the letter. “Duke? The janitor?” 

Bunny nodded. “Yeah. Lenny, the new manager, made him clean the scary room, you know the one that was locked after we pried it open? He went through boxes and boxes and then he saw this. That room was like a fire hazard with all the papers and empty bottles of alcohol."

Minty’s room, she thought. It has always been filled with papers and some alcohol.

“And he remembered my name?” Elaine wondered.

“He’s like the oldest person there, so he almost knows everybody. Since you no longer work there, he remembered we’re friends so he gave it to me,” Bunny answered.

“He does remember everybody…” she observed.

“Where did the letter come from?” Bunny asked. 

“England,” she answered while reading it. “Rosie.”

“ Oh. Rosie… ” her friend sang, prolonging the man’s name. “You know, I never really liked the nickname. The name Robert is so hot though. You could call him Robbie when he’s—” 

Elaine crumpled a napkin and threw it at her friend. “Bunny! It’s like thinking your grandpa’s hot! Or Ernest Hemingway!” 

“What! He was good-looking, and so was Ernest Hemingway! I googled pictures of him and his pictures during those Nazi trials? I get why you…miss him.”

“I don’t miss him.” 

“Right,” Bunny said, sipping her drink while staring at her. “Says the woman who stole the picture.” 

Elaine frowned at her friend. “You know I had to. The staff won’t stop talking about it!” 

“Where did you keep it then? In your journal?” 

“No,” Elaine lied.

Bunny leaned in. “Don’t tell me you had it framed like a war widow and gaze at it longingly at night? Under your pillow?” 

She laughed at Bunny’s cliché. Bunny joined her, the mental picture enough to crack her up. She knew how her friend can be sentimental and she’s not too far off from not doing it. 

“No, I kept it in a journal,” she admitted.

“Don’t you want to read it now?” Bunny asked, pointing at the letter.

“I think I’d rather read it on my own…” Elaine remarked.

“Oh come on,” Bunny groaned. “I want to read an actual letter from a World War Two pilot!” 

“Can’t I just send you a pic?” Elaine asked. 

“No, I want the real thing.” 

Elaine rolled her eyes. She knew Bunny would not stop hovering over her and the letter. She handed it and her friend excitedly took it from her hand. The letter was gently ripped to the side until it opened. Bunny carefully pulled out the letter and started reading. As she scanned the page, Bunny’s expressions changed from somber to amusement and…confusion.

“What is it?” Elaine asked. 

“Were drunk letters a thing before?” Bunny asked back.

“I don’t know…why?” she replied, browsing the menu.

She took the letter from Bunny and her eyebrows furrowed with the scrawly yet still (surprisingly) legible writing. 

Dear Elaine, 

Where are you? It has been two years and yet! And yet I still think about you most of sometimes. Like tonight, I’m writing to you. I already sent my family and friends letters so my letter quota is done this week. I thought of writing to Mabel but So here I am writing to you. 

Elaine stopped reading after that paragraph. She did not want Bunny to see her reaction towards the whole thing. After all, this letter is for her, right?

“That’s a drunk letter, bitch!” Bunny commented as Elaine folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope.

“I think I would cry if a guy wrote to me like that. Some guys can’t even spell properly, and autocorrect exists!” Bunny continued. 

Elaine chuckled at her, remembering her friend’s failed dates. 

“I just don’t understand how this reached me,” she admitted. “I mean, I basically ghosted him. Left him with a note that I made a waiter give to him.” 

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bitch move.” 

“I know. But what am I supposed to do? Explain to him that I didn’t mean to travel back in 1941?” she said. “‘Hey Rosie, I’m the ghost from your future!’”

“Or maybe you could just shut up, go back to 1943 and just tie the loose ends. Give the guy some closure! Give you some closure!” 

Closure. Rosie’s future has already been written and Elaine is sure as hell not a part of it. However, she’s not going to deny (not in front of Bunny at least) that sometimes, she thinks about him. Did he walk the same streets? Was there like a place like Minton’s where they exist (or existed) together but in different timelines? 

The name Robert Rosenthal is one name she tried her best not to type in her internet search engine ever since she met him. There was a certain romance in it, about someone being a mystery, whose memories were just hers to keep. She liked it that way.

“You’re going to England on those dates, right?” Bunny reminded her. “Are you going to see him?”

The question snapped Elaine back. “What?”

She gave Elaine a look. 

“Sorry, I zoned out. What was it?”

“You are so far off. I said, you’re going to England to see your dad on those dates. Are you going to see him?”

“Hmm. Decide for me?” 

“Nope.”

“I don’t know. Really. Tell me what to do.” 

“You know what you’re going to do.” 

“What? Oh come on, don’t let me be stupid.”

Her friend snickered. “I know you know.”

Elaine’s jaw dropped, not knowing whether to laugh or strangle her friend. “I don’t know, really.”

Bunny’s phone started ringing. She took the call and Elaine continued to look at the letter, feeling its battered texture and even smelling it due to curiosity. It smelled like old paper, stuffy and a little bit of alcohol in there. 

Did Minty hold on to this letter on purpose?

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Wait for me. Alright. See ya.” 

“What is it?” Elaine asked. 

“Lenny wants me there early for God knows why! I should go, baby.” Bunny declared. “Bring me a souvenir, yeah?” 

Bunny stood up and gathered her things. Elaine took her hand playfully, pulling sad faces. “Bunny, will you decide for me…?” She laughed and gave Elaine a kiss on the cheek, the sticky strawberry scented lip gloss can still be felt.

“Bunny!” 

“You know what you’re going to do!” Bunny screamed when she reached a certain distance.

When her friend disappeared from the street, she placed a few bills for tips and took off. 

There’s nothing more urgent than a letter from an old acquaintance…from the 1940s.

While walking back to her place, she thought of the letter. The last time she time-traveled was almost two years ago, when she met Rosie for the first time. Before she left Minton’s, she stopped herself from going back to ask Minty about Rosie's whereabouts. She felt bad doing the French exit even though it was the right thing to do. 

Few blocks later, she reached her apartment and went straight to the elevator. When the doors were closing, she heard a man’s voice. “Hold it!” 

She pushed the open button and she saw a man rushing to enter. He was panting, and catching his breath. She observed the man, who was wearing an olive button down shirt, jeans, and white sneakers. He has a thick mop of curly hair, seemingly deliberately messy and his light stubble is like a more prominent 5 o’clock shadow. He has rather sharp features, especially around the jaw and chin area, but he exudes an approachable aura. Like if you borrow something or help you reach something, he would do it with no questions asked. 

She has seen him a few times in the building and sometimes in the coffee shop nearby, but never really had a moment with him until today.

The man towered over Elaine, and when he saw her looking, he smiled.

“Hi,” the man greeted.

“Hey,” she greeted back, trying to sound nonchalant.

“You haven’t pushed a button,” the man observed. Elaine immediately pushed her floor number. 

“Yeah…uh, what’s yours?” 

“Fifth. Same as you,” he answered. 

When the elevator pinged, the man motioned his hand for her to go first. She thanked him and headed to her door. As he passed her by, he said, “Thanks, Elaine.” 

He was living a few doors down from her. 

“How d’you know my name?” Elaine hollered. 

“I met your mom a few weeks ago. She asked me to fix something in your window,” he explained. Must be the window that has a weird sound in the hinges that I always forget to oil.

He walked towards her and extended his hand. “I’m Brian, by the way.” 

She shook his hand. “I’m Elaine, but you know that now.” 

Brian smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I hope that wasn’t creepy or anything.” 

“It wasn’t but I’m gonna ask my mother about you.” 

“Okay, all right, good point. See you later,” he said, unclasping his hand from her. She observed him until he entered his door. Better safe than sorry, she thought. 

She placed her keys in the catch all bowl in the hallway and made her way to the couch. She took the letter from her bag and started reading it again, this time slower and at the comfort of her own home. 

Dear Elaine, 

Where are you? It has been two years and yet! And yet I still think about you most of sometimes. Like tonight, I’m writing to you. I already sent my family and friends letters so my letter quota is done this week. I was thinking of writing to Mabel but So here I am writing to you.

This war has been going on for too long. Too many brave men we had to mourn over and then still fly the next day. Some friends I made in the base are now gone and I don’t know if they’re dead or in some POW camp. Their absence is most felt at night, when the once full officers club is now half-empty. Some barracks now sit empty and too neatly, as if no one stayed there.

One time I had to tell a girl from the Red Cross that the man she danced with the night before died the next day. I couldn’t even look at her properly. It was awful.

I wish I could talk to you. I tried to have a little faith like you said, but sometimes I’m losing it. Can you help me find it? Tell me, how are you? Again, where are you? Are you still in New York? Partying in Minton’s? Minty said he hasn’t seen you Assigned to some base? Are you in the Red Cross? Are you a nurse? I don’t think you are because you might punch them once they touch you On the Pacific side of the war? Are you still there?

One morning, I thought I saw you in the base’s Red Cross clubmobile, giving away doughnuts and hot coffee. Same brown hair, pinned like the last time I saw you, alongside with red lipsticks the women wore.

When I blinked, I realized it was someone else. I hate it.

If you find yourself across the pond in England, I’ll be in Hammersmith, London from November 5 until 7. An officer recommended that I stay in Brooke Green so that’s where I’ll be. He also told me about the Hammersmith Palace Palais where he said they play jazz most nights.

I’ll meet you in Hammersmith Palais at 6 o’clock on November 5.

Please come. I want to see you If you could come, then great! If you don’t reply, I’ll never write again anymore. I promise. Tonight just felt like a good time to release whatever I’m feeling.

Yours,

Robert Rosenthal  

PS. I don’t know where to send this so I’ll send this to Minton’s. I hope this reaches you. If it doesn’t I’ll blame Minty. Or the postal service first.

The letter is similarly aged like the envelope. She inspected both envelope and letter and she found that it was resealed before it reached her. Probably there was another letter but it was for Minty. Either way, the history of the letter and how it reached her was fascinating. This may be the first time she received a letter from the past despite time traveling for quite some time. Has there been recent developments in the field of time travel? 

However, she considered Rosie’s invitation. It has been almost two years since they saw each other and yet, there’s a letter inviting her to London. Didn’t he think of her as rude after she left him with a note? She basically ghosted him without any chance of him reaching out. What is this, fate's cruel trick? For what? She left other people from the past like this as well, but how come her departure from Rosie seemed horrible? 

Elaine laid the letter on her lap and stared at the ceiling for a while. She listened to the slow hum of the AC and the sound of her breathing, wondering what her next steps would be. 

She took her phone and searched the address where the letter was written from. USAAF Station 139, she typed. 

RAF Thorpe Abbotts. She clicked on some photos and articles and found it was an old air base used by British and American forces during the Second World War. Was he a pilot? 

Then she typed his name in the internet search engine. Seconds later, a man in his uniform appeared, most definitely Rosie. His mustache was shaved, but his eyes had a certain twinkle in it. Bunny was right, he was handsome. He did become a pilot. A squadron commander, whatever that means! (But it sounds impressive.) Exhaling loudly, she clicked his name and read the concise version of his life. 

What a life you had, Rosie. 

Should I still be a part of this? 

Laying her phone on the couch, she walked to her window and lit up a cigarette. She observed the sunset, its various hues of pinks and oranges illuminating the city. People are rushing on their way home, while others are taking their lovely time. Elaine imagined him among the people, perhaps the man who was wearing a suit with a leather suitcase.

She continued smoking and letting tons of possibilities pass her through.

Elaine knows what she’s going to do.

#masters of the air #rosie rosenthal #we'll meet again #rosie rosenthal x oc #mota #mota fic #masters of the air fic #time travel au #oc: elaine byrne #time travel

[joelslegalwhre]

Surpriseee. Smile!

pairing⁀➷ lando norris x reader

word count⁀➷ 450 more or less

summary⁀➷ Knowing some german comes in handy for Lando when your best friend is around.

warnings⁀➷ reader is german, fem!best friend of reader, fluff, reader works for mclaren, use of y/n

a/n⁀➷ i wrote this very selfishly (bc i'm german) but i hope you still like it Imao (tell me if i've missed a warning pls! x)

"Bitte lächeln!" = "Smile!"

You were sitting in a beanbag, while the team worked on analyses. You were working on the next Instagram post for the McLaren account and prepared some stories for later in the day, when Lando came in to talk with his team about the upcoming race. 

As he entered, he walked straight to you, smiling. He gazed at your mobile, a silent question on what you were doing. You turned your phone in his direction, so he could see it and smiled at him. Lando bent down and stopped millimetres in front of you. He was so close, you could feel his breath when he said, "I love you, baby." and gave you a quick kiss. "I love you too." you whispered and smiled as he went to Jarvis. 

Some time passed, you were working on some more media posts and Lando still talked about strategies, when your best friend sneaked into the room. Normally this was the place where only a handful of people were allowed to, but she had asked Andreas about it and he gave her his okay to go anywhere she likes as long as the pictures she took weren't published.

You and your best friend loved to be at the races together. Since you worked for McLaren as a part of the media team, she came along whenever she could, taking photos of the weekend. Not really with the intention of publishing them but to make memories that would last a lifetime. In your free time, you sometimes met at Lando's and your house and had a whole night, watching photos of race weekends, laughing and telling each other things about the moment the photo was taken, sometimes things the others didn't know yet.

"Surpriseee. Bitte lächeln!" your best friend shouted across the room. Since you and Lando were dating, he learned how to talk and understand the basics of German, his head shot up and he gave her his best smile.

Jarvis, on the other hand, was a little bit confused as he didn't understand her speaking German. You had to laugh from where you were sitting when he finally understood what it meant. You could literally see that it's dawned on him. A little bit too late, because she had already shot the photo.

Lando turned to Jarvis, "Well, that was a bit too late, man." he said, joking with him. You had to laugh again at Lando's comment because he said the exact thing you were thinking just seconds ago. You got a look from Jarvis for that but you couldn't stop giggling, so you just shrugged your shoulders. "Sorry, Jarv."

(picture: Henrik Ringnér's Instagram)

༄ Don't copy, translate or republish any of my works on any app or other platform please. I only post my work on Tumblr and Wattpad.

Reposts are always appreciated, they really make my day🧡

#mywork #lando norris fic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris x f!reader #lando norris #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #formula one x reader #formula1 #formula 1 #joelslegalwhre's masterlist

[anarchy-and-piglins]

just hopping off "first fic i read from you" here, mine was "I Will Come Around When the Time for Sleep Is Through". it made such an impact on me, physically changed my brain chemistry, like wow. idk how many times i've reread it but MAN i love the premise and the writing and the everything so so so much. it's bby techno but also angst and the scene where tommy and phil go to the graves and the lines "theyre not dead but theyre still gone" and "phil would have told him how tired he was of losing everything that mattered" !!! living RENT FREE IN MY HEAD i tell you. RENT FREE.

i just. i love explorations of grief and like, how do you mourn someone who's technically still there but not really? how much of someone consists of memories & experiences, if those are wiped away are they really who they were before? and the characterization of how self-sacrificial techno is bc he seems to feel like he's the same in every lifetime (but he also doesn't deal with the emotional aftermath) but for phil, not so much bc he's the one who has to grieve by himself every time while also raising a toddler who's kind-of-maybe-used-to-be his best friend. ALSO the way phil's lived centuries and techno's never made it past 25 which speaks to so much loss, and how phil wishes techno would choose himself for once but idk if he would ever tell him that, you know? and even if so, if techno would actually ever choose himself because hes so undyingly loyal to the people he loves.

anyways. yeah.

i didn't have an ao3 account back then, i saved fics in my browser bookmarks like a maniac and i checked them every day. i remember VIVIDLY being so excited whenever i found an update for this one. now i stay updated via email notifs, which i gotta say, takes a lot less time. long story short <3333

Ah, this brings back some memories. How weird it feels to know I wrote that fic a good 3 years ago now. That's how long I've been obsessed with Techno... I have mixed feelings towards my old fics (I have mixed feelings towards all of my own writing lol, every artist is their own worst critic I guess) but there are some parts of that fic I really do still like a lot, the handling of grief is one of them. I'm glad it resonated with you so much, Anon. I think writing something that sticks with a person even years after they read it is every author's big dream, so I'm very honoured <3

#asks #compliment bin #kissing you on the forehead ty for this <3 #And for sticking around that long wow

[bebepac]

The Vampires Live On: Part 3

This is part 3 of The Vampires Live On, that started out as a story I wrote as a teen that has evolved into so much more.  

Please feel free if you’re stumbling across this part, and are curious to see what’s happened so far,  check out

Part 1       and  Part 2

I am participating in @choicesflashfics​ prompt #3:  You know I don’t have the self control for that” which will appear in bold. 

The Book:  TRR Pairings:  Liam x Riley  in this decade.   (Gabriel x Alice) in the past Word Count: 1810 Warnings and Ratings:  Mention of Character death:  Rating:  Teen Summary: Liam and Riley go back to Riley’s hometown.  

Song Inspirations: 

Friday I’m in Love:  The Cure

Together Again:  Janet Jackson

Original Post: 02/25/23 at 11:04PM EST.

I laughed loudly  as Liam continued to pepper my face with kisses.  

The old couple sitting across from us on the airplane  were watching us.  I playfully pushed him away from me, wagging my pointer finger at him.

“Liam hands off!”  

“Actually it’s not my hands that are touching you right now, it’s my lips.”  He leaned into me once more  puckering up; I used my hand to stop him, and he kissed my palm that was blocking my face.

“So lips off then!”  

“You know I don’t have the self control for that.”  

“Indeed you don’t.”  

“Besides, I’m madly in love with you and I don’t care who sees or knows. Love is a beautiful thing, and I love my wife.”  

Finally the older woman's face softened.  

“How long have the two of you been married? You two look very young.  You can’t have been married long.”  

Amusement danced in Liam’s eyes as he smiled at me, softly kissed my hand.

“It feels like a symphony of many blissful lifetimes rolled up into one. Spending eternity with her is like a dream that I never wish to wake from.”  

“Liam….”  Now it was my turn to kiss him cuddling closer to him, he wrapped his arms tight around me.  

The two of them had been so many people over the years, learning to call each other by the new names they selected, having modified versions of themselves.

Whereas I think I had settled into who I am, forever Alice at my core, Gabriel liked to mix things up.  He had  a book with pages devoted to each person he had been over the last seven hundred years.  The entries of each person read like they were his character bios, a list of traits for each man he was that he would diligently follow for himself, and for the world, myself included.

Of the people he had been while in my company, I have to say I love Liam the most.  He is strong yet soft-hearted and romantic, truly the best of both worlds.  The old woman was right, though wrong about how old they truly were, but they had not been married long. Though I had been incredibly fond of Gabriel for all of these years, it was when he became Liam that I truly fell in love with him.

  When Gabriel became Liam, it showed me another side of himself. It was Liam that proposed to me, and it was Liam that I married after all these years. It was Liam that decided it was time for us to travel back to my home.  

A few of our “friends”  we had met over the years from other clans made it to the wedding along with some of Gabriel’s family.  I wish that Clara and Max could have been there, but part of me feels like she was.  Over the years, I feel at times I have felt their presence around me.  

We married in a small ceremony less than one year ago.  

When we landed it was an hour drive to my old city. I exhaled deeply when we passed into the Lumberton city limits.

“I can’t believe we finally made it here.”  

“I know, it’s been a very long time.  Longer than I intended Riley, but I made good on my promise.”

“You did.”  

“Where would you like to go first?”  

“The library.  I want to see what articles I can find  from around what happened.”

“I figured, good thing I decided to call ahead.”  

“How did you know?”  

“Because I know you Love."

“Yeah it only took you a few years to get to know me.”  

Liam winked.  “Only a few.”  

When she stepped out of the car,  Riley took a deep breath.

“How does this town still smell the same after all these years?”  

“What does it smell like to you Riley?”

“Like home.”  

Liam held her hand as they walked up to the library counter.

“We’re here to speak with Mrs. Banks.”

“And whom might I let her know is here?”

“Liam, and Riley Brooks-Rys.  I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago. She’s expecting us.”

“Yes, she said she was expecting a couple.  Let me take you back there.”  

My grip tightened on Liam’s hand as we walked down the hallway.  

“Don’t be nervous.  I’m here. We’re doing all of this together.”

Once the door closed behind them, the lady at the desk acknowledged them with a smile.

“Please have a seat.”  

Mrs’s Banks' eyes drifted between the two of them before resting on Riley for a moment.

“Historical mysteries also bring out interesting people investigating them, and we have had our share of them over the years, but it looks like the two of you might have some answers.”  

“What do you mean?”  

“The resemblance is striking.”

“What resemblance?”

“There is only one photograph of the sisters, and you look exactly like them. Rumor has it the body of Alice Hughes was never recovered.  Looks like somehow she miraculously survived the ordeal, because I have to be looking at her Great, great great, grand daughter right now.”

She held out the photograph that appeared to be a news article clipped and preserved within the frame.

“May I see that please?”  

Glancing down at the picture, I didn’t even remember it being taken, but there we were, almost a year before  the incident, smiling in our costumes.  I traced  Clara’s picture, my eyes filling with tears.  

“You look almost exactly like them.”  

I didn’t know what to say.  Moments like this on the fly I had never been good with, and Liam jumped in immediately for the assist.

“My wife was orphaned at a young age and wanted to know more about her family lineage.  She did genetic testing, and her genetics confirmed she has strong ties to this area, so I did a little research, which brought me to this mystery. And for a wedding gift, we have flown here to do more investigation, maybe shed a little light on her family's past. "

He continued softly in a voice Mrs. Banks could no longer hear.

It’s okay to be speechless right now.”

I couldn’t speak, so I only nodded in affirmation.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment, one should know where they come from, and visit with their past from time to time, to know where you’re going in the future.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”  

“There are several articles published after the incident happened.  You know how to use a card catalog right?”

Liam laughed. “Yes we do.”  

She handed Liam the sheet with the article numbers on them.  

“The articles are on microfilm, located in our mezzanine.”

“We can handle a microfilm machine as well. Thank you very much for having the information I requested.”  

“You’re welcome.  I hope that you find what you are looking for Mrs. Rys.”  

Alone in the mezzanine Liam still spoke in a whisper.  

“What were you thinking when you saw that picture, Alice?”  

“I thought it was the first time I’ve seen her face, in so long where it wasn’t a part of my dreams.”  

“But….”  

“I know what you’re going to say. We were identical twins.  We looked the same. But I don’t see her when I look at myself,  I never did.  I only see myself.   So seeing her for the first time in a very long time is nice, because I have missed her, so very much.”

“I know you do.”  

The articles that were written in that time period did not shed much light on the people that  attacked us that night, only that they were criminals.

  The articles theorized my whereabouts, that I was taken, I was dead, or sacrificed in some satanic ritual, as one of the men was torn limb from limb, which had to be Liam’s doing. There was nothing more to find at the library.  

I wanted to go to the place where it happened.  

A portion of the wooded area was still there.  

“I was wondering would the woods still be here.”   

“It still smells the same to you here as well?”  

“Pretty much. It smells rich and sweet at the same time.”

Vivid memories of  Clara flooded my mind of her, Max, and I walking home talking and laughing.   

In the midst of  the forest, in the very spot were, was a patch of wild flowers.

“What is this? Did someone plant these?” 

“No, it appears this area is considered a community reserve now, because of these wildflowers that are growing here, that are not native to this area, and only grow here, in this very spot.”  

“In the very spot… where me and my sister died.  It’s Clara.  It has to be. She loved flowers. Max would pick flowers for her all the time, and the more haphazard they were, she loved them even more.”

“Then we must get flowers before our last stop this evening.”  

“I feel her here. I feel me here, at least who I was.”  

“It was a very powerful moment.  You can still feel the love the two of you had for each other.  It is imprinted on this area, that spot.  I will never forget how I felt the moment after you took your last mortal breath.”  

“Seeing the two of you lying there, feeling the love the two of you had for each other, was beautiful. But there was something else.”  

“What?”

“Sadness.  There was this overwhelming feeling of sadness.  Your sister was sad, but not for herself, but for you, and the life she wanted you to have, that she had willingly given her life for you to have.”  

“But I lived.”  

“Not the mortal life you were supposed to.”  

“But I still lived, Gabriel. I have never regretted my choice.”  

“Not after all of these years?  Giving up mortality, motherhood?  Even something simple as growing old?”  

“Gabriel… that was not the life I was meant to have, because if it was, what happened that night would have never happened to me, my sister, to Max. We would have all had a different life.”

I took Gabriel’s hands in mine.

“With you, I had a different life.  I’ve had  multiple lifetimes. I’ve traveled the world, and seen its beauty and different cultures, something I would have never been able to do given my station allotted to me by birth.  I am thankful you decided to come into the pub that night, and more grateful  that you heard me cry for help.  I have no regrets.  Part of me wishes Clara would have been here and could have been saved that night, but she loved Maxwell so much, even though she never said it to him, but I knew, and I believe he knew it too.  I think she would have died of a broken heart without him.  So it was right for the two of them to be reunited right away.”  

“You really amaze me with your outlook on the world at times, and how you put things in perspective.”  

“Alice was a pretty smart cookie wasn’t she?”

“She is, and that’s only one of the reasons I asked her to marry me.”  

I closed my eyes when Gabriel leaned in to kiss me.  

We had one more stop to make and I knew the next stop would emotionally take a toll on me… visiting my sister’s final resting place.

#bebepac writes #choices fanfiction #liam x riley forever #liam and riley throughout the centuries #choices flashfics #choices fic writers creations #liam x riley #the vampires live on

[roxannarambles]

Hello, saw this floating around and decided to fill it out, since I'm just chilling right now.

I don't really like tagging people, don't want them to feel on the spot, so if you see this, consider yourself tagged if you so desire. ^_^

20 Questions for Fic Writers

1. How many works do you have on A03?

At the moment, 24, but I have more posted to my Tumblr than I do a03. I prefer it here (although the audience is smaller)

2. What's your total A03 word count?

Kind of an odd question. 479,942. I guess this is supposed to be flexing? But I really do feel like it's not the quantity that matters, it's the quality.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

In the past, many. (I didn't write for all of em but here's some of my previous fandoms) Currently I write for Pokemon.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

For complete fics, the top spots belong to some Owl House fics, the next is a short Breath of the Wild Sidlink fic, the next is my Legault/Heath Fire Emblem story, and then a compilation of Moomin stories for a Snufmin Week.

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

Yes. In my FF.net days, the norm seemed to be not to respond to comments. But these days, responding to comments seems to be the new norm. Besides, it's nice to thank people for taking the time out of their day to comment and for being such lovely human beings. Even if it IS really hard for me to think of how to thank them without sounding like a buffoooooon (I take a while to get around to it sometimes argh)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have never done that. I want hopeful stories because they give me hope. I think the world needs more of that right now.

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

How do you even judge that? Sorry I gotta skip this one, I have no clue

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Very rarely. In Owl House fandom, there are two characters who are not biologically related, did not grow up together, do not share a parental figure, and are not familial in any capacity. However, because a large number of fans have decided they have a "sibling vibe," they've concluded that shipping them together is vile and anyone who does so should be witch-hunted, harassed, slandered, doxxed, and worse. So, I got hate for that occasionally! That's about it, though.

9. Do you write smut?

I did once. Never again, lol

10. Do you write crossovers?

I wrote a Moomin/Deltarune crossover for a while. Nobody read it, though. A shame, it was fun.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Why would you steal a fic? Well, it's the internet, I guess you see just about everything online eventually, but I've never even heard of that. Art theft? Sure. Usually so the person can scam folks into commissioning them. Fic theft though? Nope. That's a new one for me. This is not an invitation for folks to try it out, lol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Somebody asked me permission once to do that! I told them yes. I never heard back from them though.

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

A lifetime ago I did a round-robin fic with my friends. I don't think I could co-write a fic now though, honestly. I'm so very picky about my headcanons. I would be horrible to work with.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Man, that's tough. I guess probably Mulder/Scully (see question 19) just because it was my first ship and left such an impression on me.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

'Second Chances.' It was such a cute story and so FUN. People loved it too. And I had it all planned out. But I left Owl House fandom before completing it. I never will return to it, I am too bitter with the final season of the show and the mainstream fans are also very tiresome to deal with.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm. I'm getting to be pretty good at outlining things and figuring out the story's structure. tbh ~90% of my story is often done before I even start my first draft, either due to the vivid daydreams I have, trying stuff out and then trying different things out in my head (& the notes I take on said daydreams) or the progressively more specific outlines as I work things out. That said, there's definitely still stuff that simply does not work on paper that seemed so good in your head. And there's a lot of magic that just seems to spontaneously happen while writing the actual draft out, and it's so important to stay open to that. Whoops I am rambling. I guess in summary my strength is finding a satisfying ratio of outlining stuff vs. staying open to ideas and letting the story lead me in the direction it wants to go.

Also I think I'm pretty good at dialogue. Action/scene description is harder for me, but dialogue feels easy.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My ideas tend to be very Big. I have great difficulty writing shorter stories. This sucks because I do not have limitless time and energy and I can sometimes bite off more than I can chew. I would love to write shorter stories so I can try out a larger number of ideas. I also want to improve my prose, I need some more variety in there, imo.

My primary weakness, though, is I only write as a form of escapism when I feel depressed. I want a healthier relationship with my writing and with fandom. Basically, I need to learn how to do things casually, to not let an interest consume me completely. I'll let you know if I figure out how to do that, no luck so far.

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

I'm a boring monolingual. I'm not going to write in another language unless I know at least a little about it. Toss in a few phrases or sentences, sure, but nothing more than that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The X-Files. I was a Mulder/Scully shipper. We called it MSR back then, MulderScullyRomance. I was a young lass back then, and it was my induction to shipping and romance. I loved them because they had fantastic chemistry and a strong partnership built on trust and mutual respect, despite their differing worldviews and interests. Also because I really really liked Scully.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Hmmmmm. Tough to choose. I really like "Acquired Taste" because it was the first really long fan fiction I wrote and finished. (At least, I think? I had a long Stargate fic back in the day but we don't speak of that) And I wrote it after a really long break from writing fic (years and years). It has a very special place in my heart.

Is it my best work, though? Mmm. Not sure. I'm also pretty fond of "Ships That Pass in the Night," my longest work. I put my heart and soul into it and got so many comments/interactions, and it has a lot of happy memories.

I also really like some super short stories of mine, though. This one is 613 words long but I feel like it says everything my longer stories on Julinemo do. I also loved writing Support Conversations for Fire Emblem which force you to tell as much as you can in such an incredibly short format. (GBA-era Fire Emblem) I am so proud of those, they pushed me a lot as a writer.

I also like the fics I've done that are mostly genfic, because again, they involved trying something new. They tend to be my least popular 'cause ships reign supreme I guess. That's fine though, that's just the way fic writing goes.

#tag games #fanfic #just fanfic things #guys I did so good I could have went on and on about my weaknesses but I didn't #trying to have a healthier outlook yo

[jasshandssssss]

Disclaimer: I wrote this at 12 AM and the writing style is a joke I don’t actually talk like an old british man irl. but enjoy anyway if anyone ends up seeing this :)

I’ve watched the movie “Ratatouille” with my full attention only twice in my lifetime. Once in late 2022, and the other time being today, New Years’ Day in 2024. New year, new me, so I decided to see if my thoughts of the movie had changed over time. And indeed they did.

-----------------------------

When I first watched the movie, I thought it was mediocre. A tad bit disgusting, myself being ratphobic. I’m scared of any and all creatures, whether they be dogs, cats, rats, or humans. Some I find adorable from afar while others I straight up despise. Rats were the latter. It didn’t help that Remy wasn’t the most likable character. Of course, like any main character in a story, he went through development as the movie progressed, but right off the bat, I didn’t find him likable on a base level. Disliking the main character definitely didn’t help me like the movie more. I really didn’t find any of the characters very lovable, and for the first half of my rewatching of the movie, I was in a state of frustration. But we’ll talk about that a bit later. For now, let us tackle my original thoughts of the movie, starting around a year ago.

Apart from what I already said, I often had the shallow criticism of, “But rats are disgusting! I wouldn’t want one anywhere near my food, much less preparing it with its own grubby paws!” And while I still feel this way, I will not let this thought get in the way of my ‘enjoyment’ of this movie, because of course, that is all it is: a movie. The fact that it is a piece of fiction also allows me to excuse the fact that off the top of my head, I can recall the main cast causing at least 2 major car crashes within the movie, which is slightly alarming but it is there for exaggeration and comedic purposes, and no real harm was done.

However, there is a particular instance of ‘exaggeration’ done to advance the plot that did cause me quite a bit of emotional distress. This was near the end of the movie, when Remy had gathered his rat clan in the kitchen to help him. Or specifically, when the health inspector was captured.

Now, both Skinner and the inspector were captured during this sequence, but Skinner had already played a major antagonistic role in the movie that made it so the viewer didn’t really sympathize with him in his circumstances of being captured by rats. However, I felt terribly sad for the inspector. The poor man was just trying to do his job. He walked into the restaurant, expecting to be greeted by the sight of a normal, human staff, and expecting to just debrief them of the details of his inspection and get on with his work. However, as soon as he walked in, he was in for a fright. He saw at least 100 rats gathered in the kitchen area, and as any reasonable person would, immediately left the scene. He tried to get in his car, escape the frightening sight he had just witnessed, but then a team of rats covered his car as he was attempting to leave. I can’t imagine the amount of horror I would’ve felt if I were in similar circumstances. I don’t even think I would’ve lived! I would’ve died from fear at that point. But outside of camera view, more inevitable horrors happen to this health inspector. The rats eventually somehow make their way inside the car, and find a rope to tie him up. Being tied up against your will would already be an unpleasant sensation as it is, but by an army of rats? Oh, the horror! They tie him up, and drag him through the pavement, probably causing him pain, and throw him in the kitchen’s closet, unable to even cry for help! The only fellow humans he even sees during this entire sequence are supporters of the rats! Oh, the betrayal he must have felt! Anyway, the thought of what this poor health inspector might have felt made me feel distressed, which significantly lowered my enjoyment of the end of the movie.

Now that my thoughts of the health inspector’s misfortune have been covered, let us move on to my feelings of the characters as a whole. As I mentioned earlier, I did in fact feel frustration about the characters in the first half of the movie. Let’s talk about the most important one first: Remy.

One thing that annoyed me about Remy at the start of the movie was his view of rats and humans. He was bothered by his family’s ‘stealing’ of garbage, and proposed that if they were stealing anyway, why not steal more quality food? He also claims that unlike the rest of the rat clan, he doesn’t hate humans.

While he and his father are having an argument about the ‘stealing’ of food is wrong, his father’s argument is, “If it’s garbage, no one wants it! Why would it be stealing if no one wants it?” And I couldn’t have said it better myself! Why is Remy so agitated by the clan’s supposed thievery if they are not harming anyone with their actions. Garbage is food that has been thrown out, and forsaken by its owner. Forsaken, meaning that it no longer belongs to anyone. So if the rats take it, they aren’t even stealing from anyone. It really isn’t stealing Remy, if you’re smart enough to read books and be a master chef, maybe you should have a brain and understand that fact too.

Remy is supposed to sympathize with humans. He advocates for them, and believes they are not as bad as his family makes them out to be. But his actions don’t reflect that at all! In fact, he is going against humans compared to his family. His dad wants to continue life as it is, living in the ceiling and eating garbage, staying out of humans’ ways, just how they’d want it. Whether this is from a place of hatred for humans or not, it still keeps both parties happy, doesn’t it? It’s not as if rats dislike their lives either, the only unhappy person is Remy in his clan. Everyone else is content living away from humans, eating garbage scraps and doing nothing very productive. Humans are happy too, not having to see rats or deal with them trying to interfere in the human world.

But Remy wants to break this. He’s the one who sneaks into the old woman’s kitchen, and then causes the whole chandelier incident in which the ceiling falls through, and reveals the sight of the hundreds of rats to the old woman. I’m not on the woman’s side here, by all means, she was entirely irrational in resorting to shooting the rats with her guns, even when she thought she was just dealing with 2 rats. And she continued to chase the rats outside as they were obviously leaving and going far far away, still wanting to shoot them for whatever reason. I dislike the woman as well, but her life was much happier before Remy ruined it, and the same goes for the rest of the rats. They were able to relocate and go back to the same lifestyle as before, but it was a hassle for everyone. The peace of everyone’s life was ruined, simply because of Remy’s selfish desires.

This was my thought process during the first half of the movie. However, as the movie went on, I started to empathize with the rat, even growing to care for him just slightly. I realized that his desire might’ve ruined everyone’s lives, but he never had bad intentions. He just wanted to follow his dreams. And I guess that’s what any average person should take away from the movie, I was just a bit too negative to realize it at the start. But I still stand by my original frustration. Remy could’ve been more reasonable when it came to his whole “thieving” ideal, and I still believe his ideals were wrong.

I don’t have much to say about Linguini as a character. All his actions were understandable, and during his fight with Remy, I understood both sides. I understood his frustration with Remy, because despite Remy doing many helpful things to him, it is still Linguini’s life, and he should be able to control it. However, Remy was feeling neglected, and he felt his efforts to help Linguini weren’t being appreciated and repaid adequately, so I don’t blame him for his actions he took in the heat of the moment; his actions to invite his entire family to steal from the pantry. Any person feeling that amount of anger would make a rash, irresponsible decision in the heat of the moment. Well, maybe not any person, but I would, so I can empathize. I’m very petty like that.

Colette was likable as well, and although I thought it was kind of stupid of her to let Linguini kiss her despite him sounding like a total madman, I understand that love makes people crazy. Yknow, don’t blame me, love made me crazy if it doesn’t you ain’t doing it right. But Linguini acting like a madman before his kiss with Colette brings me to my next point.

The second hand embarrassment I felt during this movie was a lot to say the least. Linguini’s stumbling around while being controlled by Remy, his awkward speech before Ego’s arrival, his stuttering while trying to explain to Colette about “the little chef”. Skinner also gave me a lot of embarrassment, with his muttering about the rat, especially when he was talking to his lawyer. Of course, the viewer knows what both characters are going through, but the other characters don’t. And when you ponder that fact and try to imagine how they must’ve felt while interacting with Linguini, you can’t help but cringe at it.

Abruptly jumping topics again to my last point, I absolutely despise one character in this movie. It’s not Remy (surprisingly), since I have grown fond of him. It’s not Colette because I find her very attractive and I would in fact date her. It’s not even Linguini despite him being a talentless fool (I’m joking) (Or am I?). It is none other than…. Emile.

Emile? You know, Remy’s foolish, stupid, trouble causing, brother? I absolutely despise this rat. Remy’s actions are understandable. Remy’s father’s actions are understandable as well. Everyone is understandable… but Emile. He’s just… the most despicable character in this entire movie by far.

At the start of the movie, he even said: “Why do I do what you tell me to?” in relation to following Remy despite not wanting to do it. It’s already established that he’s stupid. If you don’t want to do it, just don’t do it, it’s that easy. Later, he’s unable to get off the chandelier in time which causes it to fall, bring the entire ceiling down, expose the rat clan’s spot, and ultimately force them to leave. I know I earlier blamed this event on Remy, but Emile is at fault as well.

Then for around 40 minutes, we don’t have to see Emile again for a while, and thank god for that! But he comes back, and he’s still stupid, too stupid to acknowledge Remy’s culinary genius. And of course, despite the fact he doesn’t care about Remy’s culinary abilities, he does the action that makes me despise him most: he starts bringing all his friends over to the restaurant so Remy can smuggle them food. Why, Emile, why? Why are you this stupid? He keeps bringing more and more people each time, and making Remy smuggle more food to them. If they’re content eating garbage anyway, why would you make Remy do it, huh? Emile frustrated me the entire movie and also significantly degraded my watching experience.

Now that I have vented my frustrations, I also have to compliment the movie. The art, the animation, the colors and the picturesque scenes are all quite lovely, and the style was very comforting and pleasing to the eye. Audio wise, I have to admit that “Le Festin,” the most recognizable song from the movie, is a masterpiece. I’m actually listening to it while writing this review, and I find it quite enjoyable.

If I had to rate the movie out of 10 as a whole, to me personally, “Ratatouille” achieved a 6.5/10.

-----------------------------

I really have changed between my first viewing of this movie and now. Before, although it was mostly in jest, my criticism was shallow and unreasonable for a fictional children’s movie. Now that I have seriously (or somewhat seriously) analyzed the movie, I realize that most of the characters (except Emile) are likable, and while the plot may not be to my taste, it was engaging enough. The music and the visuals of the movie are also cozy, and it is overall a nice story with an admirable moral. Anyone can cook, indeed.

#ratatouille #pixar #movie review

[oh-three]

2, 11, 20, 32, 35, 58, 65, 81, 94, 96

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

Hah, okay, this one is actually fairly recent. Spoilers for later in the Cobb Vanth fic:

In the end, it takes Zart raising his voice over the crowd and turning to Cobb- the stranger he had so graciously offered his trust to- to silence his people. And Cobb sees again the respect they hold of him, the confidence, the side of the boy that’s so alike himself. He’s not sure that he’s ever been so proud of someone in the moment that the kid volunteers himself to have his chip removed first. His heart swells, and Cobb wonders if this is how a father feels when his son becomes a man.

Yeah, about that post about Cobb adopting half the galaxy...this literally came out of nowhere lol. Came up with that last line and went fuck, now I have to have Zart go with him.

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

I only really do research about topics I've not really invested time into researching before, or when I have a very pressing question that needs to get answered to help my story move forward. I have a whole document dedicated to slavery research for a PotC fic I wrote a couple of years ago.

A lifetime of labor began as early as age four (life expectancy= 36)

20. what is your favorite trope to write?

Tragic backstory, no contest. Just look at Quizzy and Cobb Vanth.

32. do characters influence your writing style?

Sometimes. I usually end up picking up the MC's character voice and accidentally writing even the non-dialogue stuff like it's something they'd say. Oops? (Ex: Silence is A Lonely Country, and the Cobb Vanth series)

35. tell us about a character who’s very different than you who you love a whole lot

Quizzy. Lmao. I love him, but holy shit. Some of the things he does 😂

58. what is the last thing that a fic made you google when you were writing it?

does weight loss change your voice

No comment

65. what is your favourite title for a fic you’ve written?

The Impossible Question™

Hearts Bound In Gold is a favorite. It's meant to symbolize the innocence of the younger generation in the Jedi Temple, echoing the fic's theme of why the Guards are so strongly bound to their duty. But it can also be seen as a window into the perspective of a Guard, of seeing how they think while on-duty. Either way, I love the dual symbolism with it.

81. if you could go back in time and give your younger self a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

Younger me was...not the best at characterization. And I also kept writing characters I knew nothing about. So...? I'd tell that younger me to do my research and to rewatch lots of source material. But yeah, I've come a long way.

94. do you prefer dialogue or description?

I love writing both, but if it came down to it and I could only write one in a fic? I'd definitely choose description over dialogue. Because it's not that difficult to sum up a conversation without dialogue, and I have a pet-peeve for lines without dialogue tags. I'd lose my mind if I wrote a dialogue-only fic.

96. romantic/social sideplots: interesting or irritating?

It just depends on what mood I'm in and why I clicked on a fic. If I'm enjoying it enough, I'll be able to put aside the irritation toward a romantic sideplot and come to even respect it. But I'll confess that I have given up on fics for unexpected romantic sideplots.

#thanks for the ask!

[chorusfm]

We Owe – “Slight Inconvenience” (Video Premiere)

Today is a great day to share the new music video from We Owe (the solo project of multi-instrumentalist Christopher Pravdica) called “Slight Inconvenience.” The single comes from We Owe’s full-length record, Major Inconvenience, that will be released everywhere music is sold on December 1st. As Pravdica wrote on the track: I did this track instrumental with backing vocals. Trying for a more melodic sound. I was gonna do lyrics, but I found this patient interview that I very much related to, and I dropped it over the music. It fit so well that I was like: ‘Yo, this works!'” Video director, Jim Larson, continued: “The song ‘Slight Inconvenience’ contains an audio sample from an actual therapy session with a catatonic schizophrenic from many years ago. So I decided to sample the visual portion of the interview and edit the footage to make a new version to accompany the song. I was also able to catch up with this artist for a brief interview below. ”Slight Inconvenience” includes audio from a patient interview with a man diagnosed with Catatonic Schizophrenia. Do you remember where you came across the recording? What was it about this interview that connected with you?  I first saw this video years ago and it stuck with me. I find the part of society where you have to be somewhat self aware to function properly terrifying. You have to be able to read your impact on people too without being 100 percent wrong with every interaction. It’s so easy to see when people can’t read their impact on others but so easy to miss the mark myself. Also to get fixated on irrelevant concepts that you perceive to be the impeding factor in your predicament is a trademark move in my part and also missing the mark.  The video for this track is the third in a string of visuals from Jim Larson that folks might consider “disconcerting.” Do you feel like emphasizing a sense of discomfort is a part of your goal with this release?  Not exclusively, but from my perspective, it’s an enchanting elixir. “Disconcerting “ is a fitting descriptor for things that I like very much. Jim Larsen and I have known each other for a long time and I think we know some things about each other’s taste for the irksome. After all I feel uplifted by this man who ultimately knows precisely what he wants to be and the fact that it’s to be a stupid musician. Your new record, Major Inconvenience, is coming out this Friday. What do you hope fans and listeners take away from the record as a whole? I could simply never. Not in lifetime of patient reflection hope for such things. In the basest sense though I hope that people like it enough to compliment me about it. I love compliments. Insults/criticisms are welcome too but mostly I’m fishing for compliments. So I guess I hope people like it. --- Please consider becoming a member so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/features/we-owe-slight-inconvenience-video-premiere/

[emmanuel-saint]

Hi tumblr,

It’s Emmanuel Saint and I’m back again with another brain dump:

If I’m being honest I’ve never thought about what my life would look like past the age of 29. If we’re being more serious I never thought about what it would look like pass the age of 25. There were some things that were bound to happen, like graduate high school. I was more afraid of my mother killing me than failing out of school so graduating was a give. So that cover the beginning of my consciousness up until 18… but everything after that was left up to chance. I mean I had a rough plan for my life (which very quickly fell apart). I wanted to remain a virgin until 18 (lost my virginity at 15). I wanted to be married by 22 (25 close). But the whole rest of my life picture I’ve never actually thought about. I mean, if we’re truly honest, what does happily ever after entail. Morning espressos at your local coffee shop on Sunday mornings watching the neighbor walk their dog? I don’t feel like there is more to life, I know it. But what I do FEEL is that I’d be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t try to get more.

I have to start a new paragraph because I don’t think these two thoughts cohesively flow together. Not that it matters because I’m just typing as I’m thinking anyway. I have accomplished all of the things that I’ve set out to do in my life. I mean truly set out to do. I’ve walked on to a college basketball team. I love basketball with all my heart but I am far too much of a realist to placebo myself into making it into the NBA. But there was one very lofty goal that I did set for my self nearly 12 years ago. I remember flipping open my T-Mobile sidekick (man I loved those and I wish they’d bring them back) and beginning to type. It was the beginning of my journaling experience. I never knew what to write but I knew I had way too many thoughts than to keep in my head so I would just write. That day in my mothers kitchen, I wrote I want to learn six languages by the time I turn 30. Looking back I see how ridiculous that sounds. Most Americans don’t learn TWO languages in their lifetime let alone SIX by the time they are 2 sophomores years old. But I’m my defense I was already fluent in English(1) and, at that time, I had already taken 3 years of high school Spanish(2 it will count later, not at this time, later for sure though). I was also planning on sticking to Latin based languages so the differences wouldn’t be soooooo insurmountable. If I remember correctly I wanted to do English, Spanish, French, Italian, Portuguese, and Japanese (I watched a lot of anime 😬). But I had no idea the kind of manifesting that one note had on me. I gave college the old college try, and fucking hated it. I mean it wasn’t absolutely unbearable. I could have gotten through it if I was poor or arrogant-another story for another day. But I didn’t. I very poetically dropped out on my birthday. Yay happy birthday. Needless to say I’m not the biggest fan of birthdays. By this time I am still fluent in English (thank god right?) and 4 years of high school and a half semester of college Spanish (still had never had a conversation outside of a controlled environment so still didn’t count but it will I promise).

Ok, so, boom, I dropped out worked for a bit. Some jobs were pretty cool, others were pretty shitty I’m looking at you Toys’R Us. But eventually I found my way into this pretty sweet gig where this agency will teach me a language and practical skills to be an interpreter (Spanish interpreter here I come). Joke is on me. They only really need Arabic interpreters. That’s cool so I learn Arabic الحمدلله . Then they ask if I want to make more money. Sounds weird so I ask what’s the catch? They say I have to learn French to better help with my Arabic interpretation because most Arabic speakers also mix in some French. Well, ok, they’re gonna pay me for it so why not? Right?! So boom here I am learning French. This is actually tres cool. I learn a bunch of common English words like souvenir are actually French. I feel all smart and shit. Oh mind you that im also working on my bachelors degree, and with that I am taking an intro to computer science class which I thought would be about the basics of computers. Nope! It was a coding class. Now I’m dabbling in C++, Java, and HTML.

Oh I forgot to mention that I improved my Spanish speaking ability based off of a bet that I had with my friend. He essentially said that my Spanish would never be as good as his. And he is probably right because he’s Venezuelan but I never back down from a challenge. So now I am natively fluent in English(1) pretty good with Spanish(2), Arabic(3), French(4), and some coding(5). And yes coding counts as a language because it’s how computers talk. Duh. After a while my company comes back and says “Hey bud you’re pretty good at this. Wanna learn another language? Once again, not one to shy away from a challenge. So they taught me Korean. It’s all pretty crazy how it happened and I never intended on it going this way but it did.

It all started from a T-Mobile sidekick note telling myself that I want to learn six languages by the time that I turn thirty. And the sole reason was because girls find things attractive that they don’t understand.

#manefesting #bilingual #multilingual #polyglot #arabic #french #spanish #korean #sidekick #vent #random thoughts #stream of consciousness

[confusedlamp]

The thing is, conservatives aren't technically incorrect when they claim that politicians and corporate media pander to minorities or put in buzz words to try and appeal to the socially progressive. You can definitely see that in, for example, a politician making a statement for Martin Luther King Day, but not doing anything to enact policies to further racial justice. Or, every time Disney hypes up its "first gay character" just to have it be a throwaway line from an unnamed man or a background kiss that's on the screen for under 2 seconds. Or during Pride month when big businesses change their social media logos to rainbow, but don't even have LGBTQ anti-discrimination policies on the book. Corporations and some politicians definitely see minorities and progressives as a population to be marketed towards and not as people to who deserve to have meaningful stories told about them or have rights that need to be protected.

But what conservatives don't seem to get is 1) that not every attempt at diversity and inclusion is superficial, 2) Plenty of leftists/liberals/ progressives will criticize corporations and politicians when their words are empty, and 3) conservatives are absolutely susceptible to the same pandering.

1) I feel like this point is obvious, but satisfying the "woke mob" isn't the only reason to write diverse characters. It's been said before, but sometimes people just exist! Sometimes those people are in the writer's room or director's chair! If the story being told reflects the real world, shouldn't the characters be like some of the people who exist in the real world? Why would all Starfleet captains be white? Why would there only be male jedi? You're telling me that none of the knights of Camelot, a fictional land, could be into eachother romantically?* Come on. Not everyone is a white, cishet male. Sorry to break it to you.

Also, stories can be made more rich and interesting when you have diverse characters and creators! Not that I really love Marvel, but a major reason why the costuming and set design of Black Panther was beautiful was because they drew on different cultures in Africa, as opposed to only the European styles in a lot of movies. We got to see styles and buildings in whole new ways, and it was gorgeous. Another Marvel example, but in Agents of Shield, they wrote a really twisty and interesting storyline that directly drew on an actor's mixed ethnic background (the actor has said in interviews how she used to be told she was 'too Asian' or 'too white' for parts and she finally didn't have to pretend to be one way or the other). Having different kinds of people creating art allows there to be more cultures to draw stories from, more experiences that can be authentically shown, and often just better art.

*From my knowledge, Camelot is based on Wales and gay Welsh people aren't a new phenomenon

2) Go look up critiques of "Rainbow Capitalism." You certainly can find them all over tumblr during June. Go look at people making fun of the FBI for tweeting out stuff in support of MLK Jr. given their outright hate of him during his lifetime. We know it's bull shit.

3) Conservatives get pandered to. Every time a politician invokes "family values", but doesn't support policies to actually better support families. Every time a politician claims to love the military and respect veterans, but supports making cuts to the VA. Look at the sheer number politicians who pose in their ads with hunting rifles! They don't really all hunt regularly. How many times have politicians misquoted the bible? Attempted to appear more religious than they really are to appease a Christian base? Hell, go look at the whole Starbucks coffee cup "controversy" from a few years ago. Did the politicians really think Starbuck's having a plain red cup during December was somehow newsworthy? It wasn't an attempt to drum up anger in a conservative base? If a big store tells everyone "Merry Christmas" but they don't allow all their Christian employees to take off the 24th and 25th, how is that not pandering?

I know I am writing this on Tumblr and so I'm preaching to the choir. The vast majority of people here aren't conservative and I'm pretty sure no conservatives follow me. It just frustrates me like hell when I see conservatives online or in person talking about "pandering to appease the woke mob" and they aren't technically incorrect, but they are so very wrong. I just needed to yell into the void. Because, come on!

#i am just so very tired #conservatives #us politics #politics

[raehneternal]

Creating My Own Closure

Parting ways with someone is difficult, I withheld a lot of what I felt from that time...the multitudes, the pain in what felt like many dimensions, the depth of love and doing my best to walk through.

“Will you find me?” I turned to look at him, his gaze seemed desperate. I was full of stones and fire. “Please? Would you remember to look for me there?” I didn’t know what he meant but it picked at me… a request, after everything we had been through. After all the torture and pain I’d endured. But all I could see before me was a scared boy, the man was just a facade. An aged illusion of grief and regret and remorse. I knew he was not himself, that he didn’t know what that meant. Time had given me insight; into the situation, to him, to us. And why it had to end the way it did. It was like falling in reverse. First, you feel the pain as if you landed somewhere, and then you realize it was because you were catapulted somewhere against your will. I sighed. Not in exasperation. Just as a sign that he could relax…”Yes” I said, a voice tender but stern. “Yes I will. I promised. I must.” He looked like he would cry but he didn’t let his eyes do anything but glisten. He looked away. It was painful to see the lost boy try to find himself in his vessel then. I was sad for someone who couldn’t let their sadness out. It serves to poison, crying is the only cure. I took a moment of relief. This was the end for real this time. It really was, until this next chapter came to a close. Who knows how many times it’ll take before we reunite, not to depart again, but find our peace. I was sad again. This was an expansive grief. How many emotions would I feel simultaneously? It was large and heavy and I hadn’t the capacity for it previously. This time was different. I was ready for the next part of my life now. He wasn’t. Not for me, not to be in my life, I grieved this a thousand times over, a million tears and wicked nights of struggle had been behind me…but this was new. I was new. The pain was my creation in some infinity loop self birthing self. He was me too, I knew, in my soul I was not angry. Had I embraced him, his tears wouldn’t have a choice but to fall…it was right to do. The success of healing is allowing yourself to feel pain. It’s the only way to allow love through again…like light in a vessel, then the vessel shatters but forever repairs and holds the light again but stronger. 

And so I held him there, I shouldn’t have, according to outside eyes. It was a human thing to do, but it was also inhuman, about a godliness that I didn’t feel exactly, but embodied. I let go of final threads, he was just beginning his, I didn’t choose it but It was what had to happen. I realized it. His guilt would be his companion, and teacher. I hadn’t wished that for someone I loved. I wanted it to be gentility and sweetness that soothed him, but it was the absence of that calm, quiet love that would teach him instead. I silently prayed that he would be open to these lessons. That he would find his love within instead of in others, where the fire burns hot but loneliness would be quick behind. It was a story I wrote for myself many times. Perhaps that’s why we knew familiarity in each other. I found myself in holding myself, through this person who was me in different form. I wept too. The strength of it held me back. I didn’t fight anymore. I loved him. The complexity was there again. Of course it was, we were old together once…I felt that. Lifetimes ago we knew each other. It was a better time, the outcome was different. I knew we had trusted each other with this because we were important to one another in a way that transcended time. 

This was now a ghost before me. A relic of a life I was living as a different person. I was away, far away in my mind, I wanted to get away suddenly, expand into my next life…the strings between us fell away. I felt peace, and I didn’t envy his next lessons. I didn’t worry myself, I found. I felt peace. No matter what, it was all a part of the plan of the gods and I was swirling in the current of a cosmic stream of life and consciousness. In gratitude, I let go. He turned and said “I’m sorry.” There was ancient dust in his words. It felt multilayered, as if he knew we were old together. How many times had we exchanged this phrase to each other? How many languages? I still had no reply to it. “Goodbye” I said softly. When the time comes, that’ll be undone in another hello. When, where? How long from this moment? What will I endure? I didn’t care anymore, it just was whatever it needed to be. I unclenched this and let it flow down river. He left again, for the final time. I trudged up to my room, not sullen but single. Evolved, drifting towards my greater purpose and found some incense to light. I sat on the floor with a cat who did not approve of that much. He yelled and sat next to me, yellow eyes beckoning me to feel. I did, my friend, I felt years of energy. I wept more but not for long. It was what I needed. I gave thanks and drank some water. It was now time to dream and sleep and float. Just…float. 

#closure #goodbye #moving on #feelings #free write #channeling #writing #letting my thoughts out #letting it out #soulmates #healing #journaling #spiritualpath #spiritualconnection

[khelinski]

Healin’ Waters

Roger King sat comfortably in a booth at Big Boy. He is still in Alpena, MI, and is about to leave town. Before he headed out, he wanted a bite to eat. After eating his meal, he jotted a few words down in his tan journal he got from Sofi years ago. A cup of coffee, half-full (or half-empty, however you preferred it) is next to his journal. Roger picked up the cup, sipped the coffee, and placed it at the same position it was at. Roger then noticed a man in a booth across from him. He had a smirk on his face as he was typing at a fast rate. Roger eyed the laptop he was typing on: a gray Inspiron Dell. He used to own one, almost a lifetime ago. Roger’s attention went back to his journal. He reflected on the nostalgia of his old laptop.

           Across from Roger’s booth sat Michael Loomis, grinning in front of his laptop as he was typing away. He was writing about the late-nighter at the Alpena Hardboard Facility. He had been told that the plant had a history of accidental deaths, and hauntings had been reported from various people ever since. Of course, Michael did not experience such occurrence but wrote up one in his ‘They’re Here’ blog just the same.  

           A waitress with a fake smile approached Roger’s table.

           “More coffee?”

           “Yes please. Thank you,” Roger responded with a sincere smile.

           The waitress poured some in his cup, then approached Michael’s table.

           “And you sir, more coffee?”

           “No, no thank you. I am about to wrap things up here anyhow. Thank yo…”

           The waitress walked away without responding. Waiters and waitresses do not want to carry conversations with their customers if they know that there is no more service involved.

           Michael does some final polishing and posts his latest write up on his Tumblr blog. He then turned his laptop off and placed it in his backpack.  

           Michael then eyeballed the fellow a booth away, writing in a journal.

           “You’re a writer?” Michael asked.  

           Roger looked up. He debated whether or not he wanted to talk, and decided to give the small talk answer, hoping the man across from him would get the hint and leave him in peace.

           “Not really. Just a notebook I keep.”  

           Roger then stared back down in his journal.  

           Michael took the hint and started to gather his things. Then he looked at Roger again. He had this funny feeling that he had seen him from somewhere. Michael eyeballed the stuff that was under Roger’s booth.

           Then it hit him…

           “You are that fella that quit his job down in Orlando, and decided to just…walk across America.”

           Roger looked up at Michael and half-smiled. He was surprised someone recognized him up north.  

           Michael continued to talk:

           “I remember seeing an exposé of you on the Internet somewhere. Blogger’s were comparing you to that Matt Green guy, except you decided to go all the way!”

           “I wouldn’t say all the way. I also read about Matt Green. His ‘I’m Just Walkin’’ blog gave me the idea.”

           “Did it inspire you?”

           Roger thought for a moment.

           “Other factors inspired me.”

           Michael sensed that there were, in fact, other factors. He wondered what would inspire someone to drop everything from their life, and disappear into the world without any connection to the world. Michael decided to add his unnecessary two cents:

           “Let healin’ waters bury your pain.”

           Roger smiled. He liked that profound thought. Roger thought it could not hurt to shed some truth.

           “Long story short, I am trying to escape heartbreak.”

           “Explains it. I am assuming you are writing about it in that journal of yours.”

           Roger closed his journal, leaned forward, stretched his arm, and handed it to Michael. Michael grabbed the journal and gazed at the tan color with the fancy globe. He then thumbed through the pages, surface reading some of the entries.  

           “You’ve got a damn good story here. You should give it a name.”

           Roger thought for a second, and then it came to him:

           “Journeyman.”

           Michael closed the journal and handed it back to Roger. Roger set it down at his table and looked down at the journal.

           “I am in control of my own destiny. God certainly doesn’t control it. And I wouldn’t expect people to understand or comprehend the reasons of my own journey.”

           Roger stopped talking, grabbed his cup of coffee, and took a sip. He then placed the cup back on the table. Roger then continued:

           “I realize now that it’s kinda, silly, really.”

           Michael shook his head in disagreement.

           “Love is never silly, my friend.”

           Roger looked back down at his journal. Michael got up, grabbed his backpack, and placed it over his shoulder. He then approached Roger’s table and extended his hand. They both shook hands.

           “The name is Michael. I have to drive down to Detroit. But it was a pleasure to meet you, man. And I wish you all the luck in the world.”

           Roger gave a sincere smile.

           “Thank you, Michael. Same to you.”

 Michael exited the restaurant and headed to his KIA. His next “joyful” venture: Edgewater Park that once was…

 Back in the restaurant, Roger finished his latest journal entry with…

           “Let healin’ waters bury my pain…”

           Roger then gathered his things, got up, thanked the ungrateful waitress, and exited Big Boy. He then thought where his journey should roam next…

           He then instantly heard Sofi’s beautiful voice say to him:

           “Realize you could do anything you want.”

           “Wish that was true, Sofi. Wish that was true,” Roger thought to himself.

 The journeyman looked toward the horizon and headed northwest…

 K.H.; November 2, 2011.

#self written #healin' waters #Journeyman #now seating... #black clouds & silver linings #short story

[authenticcadence18]

(Aaaaah i’m doing this so late but THANK YOU SM FOR THE TAG @bugaboo-n-bananoir IT MADE ME FEEL SO SPECAL🥺)

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 8 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work!

1. Can’t Help Falling in Love: ok the rest of these aren’t going to be in any particular order, but this is by far my favorite thing I created in 2020! I’ve never written a story this long before, and getting to really pour my heart into it and receive so much positive feedback for it (especially in a year as painful and stressful as 2020😅) has been, just, absolutely incredible. I’m excited to post the next chapter soonish!!!! It’s really cool to know self-indulgent Phinabella fic still resonates today😊

2. Do You Trust Me? This is my favorite fic I’ve written for Miraculous Ladybug! I posted the first chapter in February and then fell out of writing for a bit, but I was able to finish it in the beginning of July (thanks to some inspiration from the lovely @macaronsforchat!).

3. Phinabella New Years Comic: I had the story for this comic in my head for quite awhile, and it was so fun to finally bring it to life at the end of the year! I also had fun experimenting with a different coloring style inspired by some of my favorite artists.

4. “Uncle Phineas Thinks You’re Pretty!” This fic was inspired by this tumblr post written by @city-of-airplane-parts! It’s short, cute, funny, and one of my favorite things i wrote in 2020!

5. This Smooch: i drew a loooot of Phinabella smooches this year, and this is definitely one of my favorites. It’s one of the first pieces I drew in procreate, so it was both an experiment for me and an excuse to draw my OTP being soft and in love😌

6. The Flower Box: I wrote this Marichat fic for Love Square Fluff week and it gained FAR more attention than I thought it would. (It’s currently my most popular ML fic! ) All that positive feedback really helped me and encouraged me to keep writing.

7. “Isabella” I WROTE A SONG THIS YEAR!!!!! Going through the process of writing it and planning an animatic to go along with it has been soo so fun, and I look forward to continuing (and hopefully finishing) this project this year!

8. The Start of Something New: ok so I wrote a High School Musical ML au for Love Square Fluff Week, and even though it’s kinda silly I’m really fond of it! If I ever decide to write ML again, it would be fun to explore this concept more!!!!

9. “The Walls Between Us” Cover: so last year @carpisuns wrote an amazing English translation of “Ce mur qui nous sépare,” and I loved it so much I had to record a cover of it!!! It was SO SO COOL to sing her lyrics and put them all together!!

2020 was a very, very strange year, but having this blog and you guys helped me a lot, so thank you!!!!! I’m not going to tag anyone since we’re 3 months into 2021 at this point (....which is so weird....), but if you see this and want to share your favorite creations from 2020, DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!

#cadence rambles #tag game #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG MADDY AND THANK YOU FOR THE TAG #AH #long post #positivity #man it feels like a lifetime ago that i wrote some of these stories #like #the HSM au? #that was like a month before covid but it feels like it was a lifetime ago #so wild

[h0tchner]

Any Age, Any Day, Anywhere (Part 1) - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: WRITTEN FOR AN ANON REQUEST: "ok hi so u already wrote a jealous reader and was wondering whats your take on jealous hotch? i mostly see him in fics as possessive and yeah being the leader type i would think he could also be possessive but i also think that he would just be sad like ya know he doubts himself as we saw in some episodes and i think he would need assurance and a lot of convincing that u only love him but if you’ve given that to him then thats the time he would be possessive and god i would love to imagine a possessive and feral aaron hotchner"

word count: 3.5k

includes: kissing, so much freaking adorable fluff, talk of body insecurities, insecure!hotch, protective!hotch, wifey reader, super brief mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, confrontation with a drunk asshole (derek & hotch are all over it tho dw), party at papa rossi's!, smut to come in next chapter...

rating: 18+ (technically there is no smut in this part, but there are adult themes such as drinking, kissing, etc.).

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! This is part one of a two-part fic! The next part will be pure filth, so keep your eyes peeled for some feral hotch content... ALSO! PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

“Aaron! Can you come here for a sec?” you call out to your husband from the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath as you try (and fail) for the third time to zip up the back of your black cocktail dress.

“Sure, I just need a minute,” he replies from the bedroom closet, securing the last opalescent button on the arm of his white dress shirt. He looks at himself in the closet mirror, zeroing in at the bags under his eyes and the sprinkling of grey in his stubble. He looks… tired. Tired and old. And he hates it.

Even though Aaron is only in his late-40s, he has lived lifetimes; years of working as Unit Chief of the BAU will do that to a man. Every horror he’s seen and every person he’s lost has weighed on his body and mind. In the past few months, amidst work changes and a new baby, he’s been exhausted and in fear that he’s letting himself go. Of course, being the stoic man that he is, he’s done his absolute best to hide these feelings from you. Tonight, however, he doesn’t know if he can. It’ll be your first night out together as a couple since welcoming baby girl Hotchner to the family four months ago. With no pressing family or work distractions, he just knows that you’ll be able to sense his apprehensions. It’s only a matter of when.

Taking in a breath, he turns a little to the side, frowning at his profile. Aaron winces a little at his “dad bod,” but quickly recovers from the discomfort, milliseconds after it flashes across his face.

“Aaron Hotchner get your handsome butt in here and help me zip my dress! We’re gonna be late,” you exclaim, trying one last time to reach the zipper before giving up and crossing your arms in defeat. You lean back lightly against the countertop facing the door, letting the fabric slip off your shoulders, and wait for your husband to rescue you from the hell that is this dress.

At the sound of your voice, Aaron snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head lightly, as if to physically erase the intrusive thoughts, and clears his throat. Grabbing his suit jacket off the hanger, he flicks off the closet light and closes the door behind him.

Languidly, he meanders from the closet toward the bathroom. He drags his feet a little longer than he normally would, still feeling off and a little bit shy about his appearance.

“Aaron,” you sing, “I’m waiting for –,” your jaw drops mid-sentence when Aaron appears in the doorway.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, eyes widening at the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crossing over to you, searching your face for any ounce of reprieve.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reply, standing from your leaning position to meet him, holding out your hands.

He takes them in his own, cocking his head slightly, his soft hazel eyes boring into yours.

You shift forward, moving up on your toes to peck his soft pink lips.

He sighs into the kiss, feeling the warmth of your lips against his own. It feels so good that it almost makes him forget about how he is feeling… almost. But the dark thoughts come back, and he pulls away from you a bit, reluctantly.

Aaron clears his throat.

“You called me?” He questions, but it sounds more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you give his hands a squeeze. “I needed you to zip up my dress, but now,” you lean in again, “I kinda want you to rip it off me.” You offer him a sultry smirk, moving your hands up to rest on his broad chest. He moves his hands to settle on your hips.

You lick your lips and let your eyes rake over his body, taking in every ounce of his sexy frame. The way his crisp, white dress shirt hugs his solid body makes you go weak in the knees. His strong, toned legs in those black dress pants? Yes please. His soft black hair and salt and pepper stubble on his face are practically begging to be touched. He looks good. Damn good.

“You look…” you pause, tapping a finger lightly against his pectoral, searching for the right word, “…delicious.”

Aaron blushes lightly at your ogling, offering you a sad smile as he squeezes his eyes shut out of embarrassment.

You sense the falter in his demeanor, knowing that there’s something else nagging at him far beyond his usual flustering when you vocalize your attraction to him.

“Honey,” you implore, looping your hands around his neck to bring his forehead down to touch yours. “What’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, swallowing, rubbing soft circles into your sides.

“It’s something,” you counter, carding a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck. You scratch lightly at his scalp, waiting for him to speak. You’ve learned that the best thing to do when Aaron gets in a mood is to give him some time to gather his thoughts. Keeping him close, physically, is a way to show him some comfort without pressuring him to speak. It encourages him, without words, that your arms are a safe place.

“I don’t…” he starts, and then stops himself. His dark eyebrows furrow and his mouth presses into a thin line.

“Mhm?” you question, fingers still tangled in his thick, black locks.

He pulls his forehead away from yours and locks eyes with you. You let your hands be still now, a silent gesture to show him that you’re listening.

He takes in a breath.

“I don’t look the way I used to,” he says quietly, shifting his eyes away from yours.

“What do you mean,” you urge him to continue.

“I mean, I don’t look like I did five years ago. Two years ago. Four months ago. I mean, I was practically a different man when we first met. I was younger, fitter…” he trails off, visibly upset.

“Yes, Aaron, you were,” you agree, keeping your tone temperate.

His eyes snap to yours, confused. It’s clear that was not what he was expecting you to say.

“You were a different man,” you continue gently, resuming your pacifying touch in his hair, “and I was a different woman.”

Aaron lets out a huff.

“Do you love me any less now than you did five years ago?” You ask him.

“Of course not,” he’s quick to answer.

“Why is that?” You prod.

“You’re gorgeous, inside and out. You’re funny, smart, loving…” he begins, but you interrupt him before he can go on.

“And,” you butt in, “if I were to go completely grey, gain thirty pounds, and only wear a potato sack to work every day would you love me any less?”

Aaron huffs again, but this time he’s fighting a smile. He’s starting to catch on. You watch as a spark of levity returns to his eyes. He holds you a little tighter.

“No. There’s nothing you could do or say to make me love you any less,” he grumbles in annoyance, but his upturned lip and matching eyebrow tell a different story.

“Ditto, baby,” you smile up at him. “I love you at any age, any day, anywhere, and there is nothing in the world that can make me change my mind.”

He dips down then, capturing you in a kiss, grinning against your lips.

You giggle as Aaron works his way down your jawline and neck, gasping as he kisses the soft skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder, thick fingers gripping the sides of your hips. He moves his lips back up to your earlobe, nipping at it lightly as you let out another soft gasp.

“You always know the right thing to say,” he whispers into your ear, pressing another kiss right underneath it.

“Aaron, I know I said I wanted you to take this dress off me,” you say breathlessly as Aaron nips at your shoulder again, “but Rossi will kill us if we don’t show up tonight. Plus, I really want the chance to show off my super sexy FBI husband. It’s been far too long.”

He lets out a low groan into your skin and gives your hips a squeeze, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” you snort, eliciting a chuckle from your husband as you turn around in his arms to let him zip you up.

He takes his time, letting his fingers brush lightly over your spine as he draws the zipper over your back. When he’s done and the clasp is latched, he kisses one shoulder lightly, and then the other.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning back against his warm body.

“No, honey,” he kisses the top of your head, “thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________

By the time you and Aaron arrive at Rossi’s mansion, the party is already in full swing. Judging by the number of cars in the makeshift parking lot on his spacious front lawn, there must be at least fifty, maybe even a hundred people here.

Despite the bustle of the evening, it doesn’t take long for you two to find Emily, Penelope, and Derek in the living room, drinks in hand, snacking on some very expensive looking food.

“Hey, look! It’s the Hotchners!” Emily cheers, teetering on the arm of the leather couch, wine glass in hand.

“Hello beautiful BAU power-couple!” Penelope chimes in from the seat next to her, cuddled up into Derek’s side.

You laugh and let go of Aaron’s hand, walking over to greet your friends.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you, look at you!” Derek chimes in, eyeing you up and down before standing to shake Aaron’s hand.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at him as you give Emily a big hug.

“And you don’t look bad yourself, boss man!” Derek adds.

You shoot your husband an ‘I told you so’ look over your shoulder, before untangling your arms from Emily and giving Penelope an equally enthusiastic squeeze.

“It’s good to see you all,” Aaron smiles lightly, all dimples in the low light. He steps in to give Emily and Penelope soft hugs.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Derek says to Aaron, clapping him on the back.

“White?” Aaron looks to you, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes please,” you respond, “thank you.”

“Be back soon,” he smiles easily, kissing your cheek, making your heart ache.

Aaron and Derek turn and exit the room together.

Penelope drunkenly pats the seat next to her, and you plop down on the couch.

“We’ve missed you like this!” Emily exclaims, gesturing between the three of you and around the room. “I can’t believe we’ve had to wait nine whole months plusanother four just to have a drink with our best friend again.”

You laugh at her, tilting your head back lightly. “Well, you guys got a beautiful little niece out of it, doesn’t that make up for all the wild girl’s nights I missed?”

Emily sighs, dramatically, “I guess so,” she jests.

“Oh, for sure.” Penelope adds. “You look freaking gorgeous, by the way. I mean, I would have never guessed you were creating a tiny human in that body only a few months ago!”

You blush lightly at her words, “You flatter me far too much, Pen. I owe this,” you gesture down at your figure, “all to Spanx!”

“Amen!” Emily toasts. You raise an imaginary glass to theirs and pretend to clink, taking a swig of invisible liquid.

“Are J.J. and Will here?” You ask them after they’ve had a few more sips of their wine.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily nods, “they’re around somewhere.”

You take a moment and look around the room, taking in all the sights and the sounds of the party. You see some faces you recognize from around the bureau, but others you don’t. Just as you’re about to turn back to your friends, someone catches your eye. One face stands out from the crowd: he’s a young, suave-looking man in a sharp navy suit. Sandy hair perfectly gelled, shiny brown loafers, and bright blue eyes looking right at you. In another life you would have been exhilarated by his attention, apparent charm, and good looks, but now? Now, you’re married to the love of your life with an amazing stepson and a wonderful baby girl. His wolfish gaze means absolutely nothing to you. You simply flash him a curt smile and turn back to Emily and Penelope without a second thought.

You and your friends resume your chatter, waiting for the men to return with more drinks... only they don’t. Perhaps its “new mother anxiety” talking, but the longer your husband is gone, the more you start to grow concerned. A few more minutes pass of antics, laughter, and catching up until the nagging voice in the back of your head turns into an all-out scream. All you know is that you’re suddenly feeling very overwhelmed need to be with Aaron. So, you announce to your friends that you’re going to hunt down Derek and your husband.

You stand from the couch and smooth out the skirt of your dress with the promise to be back in a few minutes.

You walk out of the living room and into the grand foyer, following the same route as Aaron had earlier. Your black kitten heels click on the marble flooring, the skirt of your dress swishing lightly as you walk with purpose towards the kitchen. You’re so concentrated on reaching your destination that you don’t realize the man who had been watching you in the living room was now hot at your heels, following you through the house. It’s only when a hand reaches out and jerks your arm backward that you stop, startled, just past the grand staircase, turning face to face with him.

“You’re not an easy woman to get alone,” he smirks, reeking of alcohol, still gripping your arm, tight. Up close he is decidedly not as handsome as the low light of the living room made him seem. In fact, he seems… creepy. Really, really, really, creepy.

“Can I help you?” You blink at him, pulling your arm out of his vice grip.

“You sure can, baby,” he steps closer to you, voice oozing with sleaze. You gag at the liquor on his breath.

Moving away, you scowl at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What’s say you and I head upstairs for a little while? I’m dying to get my hands on your body.” He jerks his head toward the staircase, reaching out to grab your arm again.

You’re fuming at this point, ready give him a piece of your mind when a stern voice beats you to it.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Aaron articulates, approaching you both with Derek not far behind.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your husband glares at the drunken man vengefully, coming to stand by your side. Aaron pulls you into him, roughly, hand tight around your waist. The anger radiating off your husband is equally terrifying and HOT.

“Take a walk, man,” Derek adds in, coming to stand next to the drunken asshole. The man looks from you, to Aaron, then over to Derek, and finally back at you.

“Whatever,” the man grumbles, putting his hands up, “she’s not worth it anyway. Not pretty enough for the hassle. I just thought she looked like an easy lay.”

“That’s enough,” Aaron snaps, seething. “Leave now, before I make you,” your husband growls. He angles his body forward so you’re slightly behind him. A shiver passes through you at his fierce protectiveness.

“Fine, I’m going to get another drink,” the man utters.

“No,” Aaron interjects, “the party. Leave the party or I’ll have you removed.”

“What’s your problem?” The creepy man retorts, this time, more confrontationally.

“My problem?” Aaron says, angrily. You feel his entire body tense at the accusation.

“Hotch,” Derek warns, “I’ll take care of it. You guys go enjoy yourselves. Forget about him.”

“Come on, Aaron,” you tug on his suit jacket lightly, eyes pleading… but Aaron doesn’t budge from his spot. He only holds you tighter as he continues to stare down the man as Derek ushers him away and towards the front door. He doesn’t falter until they are out of sight.

“Aaron?” You repeat.

He looks down at you, finally, blinking away the fury until all that’s left is an all-consuming love. He releases you from his protective hold, and you face him.

“I’m okay,” you assure him in earnest, letting out a shaky breath.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“Aaron, it’s okay, really,” you bite your lip, shifting your eyes away from his.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaron kisses your forehead, and then the top of your head. “So, so beautiful, and I’m so sorry.”

“Aaron, can we just go home?” You ask.

“Sure,” he kisses your head one last time before weaving his fingers between yours and guiding you gently toward the back exit.

_____________________________________________________________

The car ride home is quiet. The only sounds are the occasional click of the turn signal, and the hum of the wheels on the road. Aaron is still upset, and so are you, but you’re also… something else. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. You feel guilty for ruining the evening, guilty that you FEEL guilty for something you had no control over, hungry, tired, and… horny? Oh, and guilty for feeling horny.

It isn’t helping that one of Aaron’s hands is planted firmly on your thigh. He lifts it only to adjust the air conditioning or to scratch his nose, but otherwise it remains on you the whole way home. When he pulls into the driveway of your shared house, and shuts the car off, he still doesn’t move it.

“Honey?” You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed. You take in the strong features of his profile, noting the prominence of his nose and the way his eyelashes rest on his high cheekbones.

“I almost punched him.” Aaron whispers, opening his eyes to look over at you sheepishly.

“You what,” you exhale, mouth slightly agape.

“That guy,” he continues, bringing his left hand up to pinch his nose. “I almost punched him for saying that about you.”

You snort, amused by his confession.

Your husband lets out a short laugh, squeezing your thigh as he does.

“I would’ve liked to see that.” You’re grinning now and so is he.

He flashes his eyes at you and laughs again, this time less anxiously. You join him, feeling the tension dissipate with every passing moment.

“My big, bad FBI man decking a barely-legal drunk dickhead for making a move on his wife? Where can I get my tickets?” You joke.

As you say the words “his wife,” Aaron’s breath hitches in his throat. His hand on your thigh presses down instinctively. Neither of his reactions go unnoticed.

You lay a hand over his where it rests on your leg.

“You know, Aaron,” you begin.

He looks over at you, jaw tight, but this time it isn’t from anger.

“This is the first time we’ve had the house all to ourselves in months,” you pull his hand off you and bring it up to your lips. You press a kiss to his palm, and then to his wrist.

“This… is true,” he breathes out, studying you, taking you in.

“So, I’m just wondering:” you grin, linking your fingers with his, “are you going to carry your wife into our house, Aaron? Or do I have to walk myself?”

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