#most of those fics are from like...2005 or so

[tathrin]

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about? ✨ Choose three adjectives to complement your own writing.⏰ Do you spend more time reading fic, writing fic, or do you do both equally?

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

Well, I don't have the very first stories I wrote on a computer anymore because they died when the old family desktop did, but I have brought all my files along with me ever since I got my own laptop for college, so let's go have a peek in my oldest folders...

From Star Wars:

Ooh look, here's Baby Tathrin's Very Mature And Not-At-All Mary-Sue-ish Lengthy Backstory Novel for Rhysati Ynr, who deserved so much more character development and screentime than Rogue Squadron gave her and I'll do it myself if I have to, dammit, fic... Yeah, I still think Rhys deserved more story-time, but I'm definitely never going back to that fic because I'm not thirteen anymore XD

Bounty Hunter's Winter, which was supposed to be a young-Boba-Fett-grudgingly-teams-up-with-Sheltay-Retrac-in-Clone-Wars/Purge-Era and then timeskips to juxtapose with an-experienced-Boba-Fett-grudgingly-teams-up-with-a-young-Winter-in-Rebellion-Era fic that basically just existed to show How Fucking Competent all three of them were. There's nothing wrong with this one, it's just not got enough framework/point to be interesting going back to now.

Padmé Jedi Prequels is the working-title for a what-if? re-writing of the Prequel Trilogy where Padmé, you guessed it, was a Jedi too. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon still get sent to deal with the Trade Federation over Naboo, but Obi-Wan has been recently Knighted and Padmé is Qui-Gon's new Padawan. I do like what I have written for this one, but it would be a LOT of work to write the rest of it (basically: everything between "landing on Tatooine" and "the ending scenes w/ the Purge"), and the canon has changed sooooo much since I started working on it that I'd either have to re-work a lot of details or just throw my hands up and go "this is pre-Clone Wars tv show continuity reconstructed from memory, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!" and know that everyone, including me, is going to be so fucking confused lmao.

From Lord of the Rings:

Okay I'm so glad you asked this question mainly for this answer, because I had completely forgotten I ever did this, but: apparently back when I was in college, I started writing a story where a portion of the Fellowship along with Elrond's kids, Faramir, Éowyn, and Éomer were all re-embodied (in the case of the mortals and Arwen) or sent from Aman (in the case of the elf, half-elves, and dwarf) to go deal with some Terrible New Threat by...pretending to be Normal Modern Humans Undercover In College, I guess??? The only things I ever wrote for it were the intro, an "everybody tries to figure out how modern clothing works in a big department store and it's a Disaster, thank goodness they have Éowyn there to wrangle everyone" scene, a snippet of Legolas and Gimli being Very Good At Acting Like Humans on a balcony and annoying Aragorn, and Legolas nearly having a stroke when a bartender serves Gimli and not him, because "he's clearly old enough, but you look way too young; sorry kid try again when you have a better fake ID."

I've also got an ancient Three Hunters get pulled into the Star Wars universe post-War of the Rings when Artoo and Threepio's escape pod lands in Gondor instead of Tatooine story that I can't imagine I'll ever touch again, but does admittedly have some amusing (if very painfully Old Writing) bits written for it, so that was nice to look at (and wince over) again.

Also there's this, of course.

From the X-Men Comics:

A fanfic about a New Excalibur Team being formed that actually has (if I do say so myself, and I will) an excellent beginning, but which I failed to write-down the Actual Planned Plot of, and now I can no longer remember wtf I was going to do with the damn story, so it's probably never going to get any further since that's uhhh. kind of an important part of Writing A Story lmao.

One where Illyana gets shunted back to Mythical Camelot somehow when she dies during Inferno, irritates/distresses Merlin, befriends both Guienevere and Mordred, annoys Morgan le Fay, learns some advanced magic, and eventually has to help destroy Mordred to save everyone else; only then does she find her way back to the present, and comes back to life several years after her younger self has died of the Legacy Virus to be re-united with Kitty and the New Mutants. Given that in the (many) years since I started that fic, Illyana already has been resurrected it's uhhh. kind of a moot point of a story now lol.

Also there's surely some half-started Potter stories sitting around here that idk if I'll ever feel the urge to touch again (Green-Eyed Snake included). Maybe the burst of celebration I'll feel the day she just self-combusts from all that hate and finally just fucking dies will be inspiring...

✨ Choose three adjectives to complement your own writing.

Detailed, plausible, and most especially verbose ;)

⏰ Do you spend more time reading fic, writing fic, or do you do both equally?

Writing, definitely; although I've read a lot more fic in the past few months than I'd read for years, and I'm enjoying it mightily (navigating on AO3 is sooooooooooo much better than trying to slog through FFnet and livejournal and geocities omgggggg I can actually find good stories now, what is this witchcraft???).

#most of those fics are from like...2005 or so #and the best thing i can say about most of them now is that it's nice to see that i really have gotten better as a writer XD #so thank you for asking this question especially because this was a fun (and terrible) peek down memory lane! #fanfic ask meme #me #my stuff #my writing #fanfiction #ask meme

[leandra-winchester]

The Tommy timeline is making me insane

We know the 911 writers are REALLY crap about timelines. I mean, just within the Eddie Begins episode there are several dates that just don't add up. I love those writers, but they can't even count to 10, lol.

Tommy was never supposed to come back, so him being in his late 20s-ish in 2005 when Chim joins the 118 was of no consequence, but now that Tommy is back, that makes it really difficult to say how old he really is.

Some people have speculated that he's 45, but I find that too old. Lou was born in Nov 1984, which makes him 39 currently. I could see Tommy being 1-2 years older than that AT MOST.

So let's say Tommy was born in early 1983 and go from there.

He would have started school at 6.5 and finished HS at 18 years old in 2001. Which means he could have joined the army that year and started training to be a helicopter pilot.

There's a program called "From Street to Seat", also sometimes called "High school to Flight School", so that is a possibility. Training would have been around 2 - 2.5 years until he'd achieved the rank of Warranty Officer and be a fully trained helicopter pilot in late 2003. After that, you have to enlist for TEN years at minimum to repay them getting you through flight school.

At that point, the US had entered the war in Afghanistan and just started the one in Iraq.

Tommy could have been stationed anywhere in the US, or been deployed to one of those countries, or at first, as a still very young officer, been deployed to an allied country like Germany. In the early 2000s, there were many bases in Germany where US soldiers were stationed, only serving short missions in Afghanistan or Iraq. So that's an option if we don't want him to be permanently stationed inside a war zone.

Now, how did young Tommy leave the army early so he ended up being a firefighter just two years later?

Well, there's always medical discharge, but if it was for any injury, him already being a member of the team (and by the looks of it no longer a probie) in 2005 is a bit tight. He'd have to recover from his injury, then apply, then be accepted, do the basic training at the academy (18 weeks) and his probie year... so yeah, that's really a very tight timeline.

Another option would have been Don't Ask, Don't Tell. Back then, army members could not be actively asked if they're gay and therefore fired for it, but if they voluntarily disclosed/confirmed it, they would be kicked out.

If he was lucky (and probably the version I'm going for in my fic), and had a very lenient superior officer, he might be offered medical discharge for depression. Usually, that can get you out of the army pretty quickly.

So, to recap:

Born between Jan/June 1983

Finished high school summer 2001, joined the army

Finished flight school in fall 2003, was deployed somewhere or in service in the US

Found out/discharged in early 2004

Started LAFD academy in summer/fall 2004

Started his probie year end of 2004

Just finished it when Chimney joined in (should be late) 2005, at now 22 years old.

Still an incredibly tight timeline, and I wish Chim joining had been more like 2007 or so, but alas. It works.

You are welcome.

And I need to lie down. God I hate inconsistent timelines, lol.

Oh and I just looked it up, and apparently you're only a probie for 6 months at the LAFD, so I guess that makes it a little easier.

I mean, if you shift things around a little, you could even make him only 40 now, born in summer 1983 instead of early. Maybe he was initially gifted and able to enroll in school at just barely 6 years old.

#Tommy Kinard #911

[revehae]

indulgence

pairing ↠ killer!johnny × (f) detective reader

genre .. warnings ↠ smut, graphic depictions of murder, graphic depictions of violence, noncon, mentions of pregnancy, johnny is 43

summary ↠ you're an accomplished detective in the detroit area and johnny suh is a prolific serial killer. when your department sends you on its behalf to pull back his layers, you attempt to convince johnny to recount his experiences and unravel the mystery once and for all.

wc ↠ 10.3k

a/n ↠ this is a repost. it is connected to do you like it, dr. lee? but can be read as a standalone story. this fic is somewhat darker than my usual fics and i encourage readers to proceed with caution and heed the warnings; you have been advised.

don’t like it, don’t read.

the deepest prick of unease settled through you and you shuddered from its nipping cold. 

killers were your forte, but none like this. never in your life had you ever met a killer who’d been at their craft for over a decade. they typically got sloppy after the first half, which insinuated that this johnny suh guy, whoever he was, was far from an amateur. 

“gate twelve,” came the guard’s voice, speaking into a transmitter. he was to escort you to johnny’s holding room.

the gate lifted. behind it, you clocked the riveting face of detroit’s worst nightmare, hands cuffed at his back as he sat facing you. there was a sort of twisted grin on his face, not as if he was excited to have a visitor, but excited his visitor had been you.

“good luck with this guy. officers tried to get him to budge. he didn’t take the fifth, but the bastard’s damn good at talking in circles,” the guard whispered in your ear.

“duly noted,” you replied quietly, stepping further and taking the seat across from johnny. 

the guard left you to your devices, shutting the door behind you and leaving through the passage that led to the gate. complete and total privacy was the only way johnny agreed to talk. your department initially refused, insisting there should at least be one or two other officers monitoring the interview, but you let him have his way.

if you wanted to get this man to talk, that was your only option.

“hello, johnny. i’m detective ___ from the detroit police department,” you introduced yourself coolly, cloaking your nerves with confidence. never would you show a guy like this any fear.

johnny hadn’t stopped grinning since he made eye contact with you. you’d seen pictures at most and he was devilishly handsome, even more so in person, but it didn’t compensate for his unsettling aura. “that’s a beautiful name, detective.”

“flattery will get you nowhere, suh.”

“it’s gotten me here,” johnny quipped. 

“yes, it has. and i suppose you already know why i’m here.”

“yes, i do,” johnny said, pleasant thus far. “you want me to tell you about the murders.”

you bobbed your head. “i do. you see, you’re an enigma to me, johnny. you turn yourself in, get fingerprinted, and all of the sudden vicap’s going off because your prints are connected to three other crimes over the past twenty-five years.”

johnny feigned surprise. “wow, it’s been that long?”

“it has,” you replied, in spite of knowing he couldn’t have not been aware. “martina mortes in 1998, sabrina lee in 2005, christine dalton in 2013, and the college professor this year.”

johnny leaned back in his chair. “i’m familiar with those names.”

“you should be. you sexually assaulted and murdered these women,” you spat, none too tender. “except for martina mortes. you only strangled her. do you want to tell me why that it is?”

“what’s the weather like today? i haven’t been outside, but summer has been kind to detroit.”

ignoring him, you persisted, “let me guess. she was your first victim and that kill, unlike the others, was spontaneous. her being dead defeated the purpose of the sex act, didn’t it?”

“well, do you like your partners warm or cold, detective?” johnny asked, deflecting. 

you were heeding the guard’s warning. it seemed this guy liked to answer questions with questions, your least favorite type of offender. “that’s why when you subsequently added the sex act to part of your crimes, you kept your victims much longer, because you like to see them suffer. until you got bored. then, you killed them and dumped their bodies like trash.”

as if he was disinterested, johnny glanced to the side and yawned. 

the audacity on this guy was astounding. “am i boring you, suh?”

johnny replied with total indifference, “if you think you know everything, then why are we here?”

you answered without hesitation, “because i think you’ve wanted to tell someone about what you’ve done for a long time, johnny. but you realize that you’re not like other people. i’m giving you the opportunity to get it all off of your chest.”

johnny cocked his head to the side, as if he was contemplating your offer. his face was borderline inscrutable. it was difficult, if not impossible, to decipher what he was thinking.

you restrained from heaving a breath. there was a crushing weight on your shoulders, the expectation to get this guy to crack. if you couldn’t do it, nobody would - ever. “how many victims do you have?”

“four.” johnny’s answer was quick, automatic. like he didn’t even have to think about it for a second.

folding your arms on the table, you shook your head. “no, i just don’t think that’s true. see, we’re pretty sure martina mortes, your high school girlfriend, was your first victim, and the college professor was your last.”

johnny cocked a brow. “but?”

“but there’s no way someone like you could’ve resisted your urges between four kills over the past two decades and then some.”

there was no point in denying the four victims, because you already had substantial proof. nor did johnny deny that martina was his first victim, because given the decomposition of the bodies, she died long before the other three. admitting that she wasn’t would be admitting that there were unfound others.

and johnny had no intention of implicating himself more than he already had. the only reason he turned himself in was because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable, for whatever reason. he pulled his lips into a mock frown. “your assumptions about my self-restraint are hurtful,” he replied.

whatever, moron, you thought irritability. “i think they’re more than just assumptions.”

johnny teased, “then, let me know when you know something.”

you narrowed your eyes, groaning, “oh, come on. i know and you know that you can’t ignore your desires for a month, let alone over ten years. you have a compulsion. killing makes you feel powerful, it makes you feel in control, and you can’t live without the high it gives you.”

“you make me sound like an addict,” johnny remarked, pretending to be offended.

“it wouldn’t be so far from the truth,” you said, glancing over the file at your end of the table. “the first two kills were seven years apart. the second two kills were ten. full offense, i don’t see how you could control yourself for so long.”

“you can believe what you want, detective. i didn’t kill anyone else,” johnny lied, not that you ever needed to know. 

of course, he couldn’t control himself. the second he took someone’s life, it became a part of him, and his purpose in this world became clear to him. for the first time in his life, he felt as if he had something that made living worthwhile.

you surrendered. it was obvious johnny was intelligent and he wouldn’t be easily tricked into confessing. “okay, fine. let’s talk about the victims we know of. tell me about martina mortes.”

“what is there to tell?” johnny asked, brow cocked. “we met in junior high. then, in eleventh grade, we got together.”

“tell me about why you killed her,” you insisted, painfully curious. “it happened in chicago, before you moved to detroit over the summer. you killed her in the heat of the moment.”

johnny gave the impression that he would take a minute to crack, so you were surprised when he said in response to your prodding, “we got into a wrangle, if you will.”

that much was obvious. “what kind of wrangle?”

the garage was hot and the air was stuffy, making it difficult to breathe. to say nothing of the frustration scorching johnny’s skin, his face tensed into an irritated glower.

there was something about women he never liked, the seemingly inherent ability to blow almost anything out of proportion, as exhibited now as his girlfriend screamed in his face. his stepmother was the same, never not coming up with a reason to fuss at him. he was always walking on eggshells around that woman. 

martina was bristling. “you always fucking do this, johnny.”

johnny heaved a breath, sighing, “what - what do i always do, martina?”

“you trivialize everything i go through. you make me feel like i’m overreacting when i’m not, you just refuse to hold yourself accountable,” she spat. 

“martina, we’re about to go to college, for fuck’s sake! you can’t focus on your academics and a goddamn child. i don’t get why you won’t just have an abortion and call it a day,” johnny roared, heating up a thousand degrees.

“god, do you listen to a word that comes out of my mouth? my parents will kill me, johnny. if not for being pregnant at eighteen, then for killing it.”

johnny sighed. “i don’t see the part where that’s my problem.”

tears blurred martina’s eyes. she came up to him, shattered by his careless and embraced by isolation, and bellowed, “you want to know what your problem is? your problem is that you’re an incompetent bastard with no regard for other people!”

johnny’s body was engulfed in flames but his shoulders were cold, and he lost control of his emotions, grabbing martina by the throat. he effortlessly lifted her with a single hand and smashed her against the closest wall none too gently, watching her eyes wince closed.

“you wanna say that again?” johnny asked, nothing short of belligerent.

ache spread out through the back of martina’s head, a ceaseless throbbing worse than any hungover. her feet dangled off of the ground, waving and kicking, fingers weakly prying at the ones pressing down on her windpipe. until she was completely still, legs dropping, hands going limp at her sides.

“i didn’t even realize how long i spent standing there, until she felt… empty, and i knew she was gone,” johnny confessed, but his tone was far from sympathetic. “she scratched me. you know, when she was trying to pry my hands off. i didn’t know until hours later.”

you shook your head, disdainful. “you killed your pregnant girlfriend?”

johnny groaned, “oh, please. i was eighteen. i would’ve been a terrible father.”

“i would be slightly more inclined to accept that as an excuse if it weren’t for the fact that you had a son by sabrina lee only two years later,” you said viciously.

“a lot can change in two years.”

“i’m sure it did.” your eyes flickered over the file again, but nothing would allow you to familiarize yourself with this killer more than talking to him yourself. “for example, you realized just how much you liked killing.”

if johnny could’ve raised his hands, he would’ve. “your words, not mine.”

you leaned over the table, unrelenting. “tell me about it, johnny. how did it feel when you strangled her with your bare hands? what was it like?”

johnny chuckled. “is that what you wanna hear?”

you nodded. 

johnny leaned in too, getting closer to you, and whispered in your ear, “i squeezed every last breath out of her, one by one, until there was nothing left for her brain and she went slack in my arms. and when i was done, i felt elated. i felt free. it woke up this dormant sensation inside of me that i swore to never repress again, because it made me feel alive.”

your lungs started to feel shallower, like no breath could reach the bottom, and you sensed your heart come to a halt for a minute. johnny pulled back, grinning from ear to ear, as if he was proud of himself. 

“detective, did i startle you?” johnny asked, tilting his head ever so slightly. 

your face hardened. “why would you ever think that?”

“you’re not as good at feigning indifference as you think you are, detective. full offense,” he mimicked, mocking.

he’s just a fragile man that kills women to make him feel better about himself, because he needs to be in control. don’t give him power over you. that’s what he wants, you said to yourself, shutting any and all other thoughts. “so, you killed martina, nobody could connect her disappearance to you, and by the time they discovered her body you were already studying for college two states over.”

johnny ignored you, at least for a little. he was taking a liking to making you feel uneasy around him. “has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” he asked out of nowhere.

“you aren’t my type. i don’t fool around with serial killers,” you replied sharply.

johnny didn’t seem to be offended, but you didn’t expect him to. “really now? it feels like we’re on a date right now. after all, we are getting to know each other.”

you asked, “have you always had such a distorted perception of normal human interaction?”

johnny shot with no hesitation, “have you always had such a sharp mouth?”

you pulled yourself together. the only way you would get anywhere with this guy was by establishing that you were the one in control. “okay, enough. this is my interview, suh. you answer my questions, not vice versa.”

“that’s not any fair,” johnny told you, that unnerving smile still on his lips. “i don’t have to tell you anything, you know. and without me, you lose the only key to those answers you want so badly.”

“you shutting up doesn’t make much of a difference, considering you’re already dodging my questions,” you replied.

“let’s play a game,” johnny suggested.

you weren’t in the mood for any games, but that was johnny’s method of operation. “i don’t like games.”

“you’ll like this one,” johnny insisted, laughing. “twenty questions.”

your shoulders dropped. “am i supposed to be guessing something?”

johnny shook his head, something sinister about him. “no, it’s much easier than that. we take turns asking each other questions until i’ve answered ten and you’ve answered ten.”

you stared into his eyes, willing yourself not to break contact. he was just as relentless, silently cocking a brow at you, as if to challenge. and you weren’t an idiot. that’s exactly what it was. you asserted, “i go first, you can only ask me yes or no questions, and if i don’t like your final answer i get to press you for another.”

johnny slightly lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “yes, ma’am.”

“okay,” you started. “what made you move from illinois to michigan?”

“i was kicked out of the house. didn’t have anywhere else to go. but i had a buddy here whose family took me in,” johnny answered frankly.

you pondered those words, wondering if his aforementioned buddy knew about his secret indulgences. or if he asked why johnny’s parents kicked him out of their home. it would’ve been the question scratching at your mind, itching to be answered.

johnny’s lips parted. “what kind of perfume are you wearing - honey lavender?”

“yes,” you said, focusing your attention on anything but the possibilities of how he could’ve known that. he’d been with so many people to the point where he just knew. “why did you get kicked out of the house?”

“my dad always thought there was something different about me, ever since i was a child. he was a nasty piece of work. he found my journal, read a couple of things i wrote, and decided there was no hope for me in the house,” johnny ranted.

that piqued your curiosity. “what did you write about?”

“wait your turn,” johnny sang. “your hair smells just as lovely as the rest of you. do you match scents all the time?”

you were mildly uncomfortable, but given the type of dude he was, you stifled it. “yes. you don’t have to be such a pervert all the time, you know?”

again, johnny rolled his shoulders, chirping, “you call it perverse. i call it amusing.”

you almost cursed under your breath when you realize you’d asked him a question. “wait, i didn’t mean to ask…”

johnny cut you off, “that’s too bad. it’s my turn again. do you like necklaces?”

“not ones made out of fingers,” you retorted. it was meant to be a joke to hide how unsettled you were, hyper aware of the necklace dangling around your neck. you could feel invisible pressure on your throat.

johnny snickered. “i’ll admit that was funny.”

you pressed, “what did you write about in the journal?”

“my dreams,” he admitted vaguely, though in reality, he wrote endlessly about his corrupt fantasies of abusing women. some pages were about his stepsister, and there was a few about what he’d done to martina, though not explicitly. “you have the most beautiful eyes. they’re the perfect shade.”

you were certain he had told many other girls those same words and were not flattered in the slightest. the glare you were giving him was ferocious. “i’m not sure if there’s a question in there somewhere.”

“do you think your eyes are pretty?”

“i haven’t really thought about it,” you told him, quick to change the topic. you’d encountered your fair share of stranglers and it was no secret why he was so interested in your eyes. “was your relationship with your father estranged?”

“nothing was enough for that man. i had the top grades in my class and the highest gpa, and he took my door off its hinges and seized my privacy,” johnny told you, words harsh, but his tone plain. “he was obsessed with being the perfect family, something that was ruined the second my mother destroyed everything, and rather than embrace me, he turned me away.”

your eyes flickered. there was something about his language that stood out to you. courtesy of the research you’d done on him beforehand, you were aware that his father was divorced then remarried his stepmother, who already had a daughter johnny’s age. but rather than describe his parent’s separation as a divorce, he said his mother destroyed everything.

what a hostile view towards women, you mused, repulsed. but given the nature of his crimes, it adds up. and it might’ve been the origin of his hatred.

his family was twisted. you couldn’t fathom how his father, aware of just how unwell his son was, clocked his abusive fantasies towards women, and instead of getting him the help he needed, he left him to his own devices to slaughter them as he pleased.

you blinked when johnny leaned, craning his face towards yours, and snapped out of your reverie when you jolted back. 

“there you are,” johnny said, chuckling at your surprise. it was all over your face. “i’ve been talking to myself all this time. you must’ve been thinking about me.”

“no, not really. i was wondering if i forgot to feed my dog last night.” it was an obvious lie, but you would never encourage this guy to feel more important than he was.

amusement gleamed in johnny’s eyes. he was having a wonderful time, truth be told. had you not been so pretty, he would’ve clamped up like a crab, but you were so pleasing to the eye that he didn’t mind confessing a couple of truths. “a dog. that’s interesting. i myself have always wanted a pet - a snake. the constricting kind are my favorite.”

“you don’t say,” you droned, voice dripping with crisp irony.

your sarcasm was chucklesome to johnny, but his words were the truth. he remembered, all those years ago, asking his father for a pet snake. and when he refused, johnny, in turn, killed the family dog. he added, “they don’t just suffocate their prey. they coil around them, almost like a straitjacket, and cut off its blood supply.”

you replied, “yeah, but animals hunt to survive. you hunted because you had nothing better to do with your life.”

“in my humble opinion, we’re all animals of nature, and creatures of sin,” johnny told you in a whisper, as if he were telling you a secret of some kind. “anyways, it’s my turn now.”

you resisted a disgruntled exhale. 

like his questions couldn’t get any more absurd and strangely perverse, johnny asked, “when you shower, what do you use - a washcloth or a loofah?”

“that’s not a yes or no question,” you replied with total disinterest. 

“it’s hardly any less simple.”

“a washcloth,” you replied, though only because you needed to ask him your questions and resisting an answer would only waste valuable time. “why did you wait so long before killing sabrina lee?”

johnny smiled at the mention of his son’s mother, but the grin on his lips was distinguishable from the others. like he didn’t even realize he was smiling. “she was special. i loved her.”

“no, you didn’t. you don’t hurt people that you love.”

“maybe that’s true for you, but you’ve called me everything but a child of god and it’s clear you don’t think you and i are alike,” johnny said. “i don’t miss her, though, because she left a better print on this world. a world that was never made for her in the first place.”

a better print on this world. your brows furrowed, until you remembered the child they shared together. “you know what i think? i think whatever you felt for your son’s mother was the closest thing to love you’ll ever be able to pull from your ugly black heart.”

“you’re very strongly opinionated,” johnny responded, ever so unbothered. maybe some decades ago, it would’ve irked him to the point of breaking, but he was much more in charge of his impulses now.

you lifted your shoulders, gazing at him with the most discerning of eyes. all he could think about was how nice it would’ve been to seize you by the throat and watch the light dull from them.

to your surprise, johnny’s next question was not as a deviant as you assumed it would be, asking, “what made you decide you wanted to become a detective?”

“because of the people i used to know that aren’t around to tell you why,” you answered distantly, before pressing, “how was sabrina different, johnny?”

johnny perched over the table again, an uncomfortable distance close to you, made worse by his whispers. “because unlike the others, she didn’t beg me to stop - she begged me to finish. for it to be over. and when i wouldn’t, she begged me to kill her.”

the mental picture you got was cruel. your heart hurt for these women that had no idea what hit them until it was too late. 

“i put these women out of their misery,” johnny continued. 

you spat in a heartbeat, “the misery that you forced them to endure.”

johnny winced. “no, these women were miserable long before they met me. they were just ignorant of it. impressionability is a weakness.”

“either you have one hell of a god complex or you are working overtime to justify your sick actions.”

johnny merely shrugged, vicious and ominous and everything in between. there was something so dark about his spirit. you could feel it just from sitting within a couple of feet of him. 

johnny’s memories were triggered. he was reminiscing about the times he shared with his son’s mother, how perfect she was. there were no other women like her. she was his favorite victim, someone he took his sweet time with, while the others were disposed of in a few months time. 

midnight loomed, riding on the tail of dusk. johnny was counting down the minutes until the clock struck twelve, a self-imposed rule to gauge his willpower. the second the hour came, he bolted from the crackling sound of the cabin’s fireplace to a bedroom, anticipation like a stimulant.

the wooden floorboards creaked the closer johnny crept to the door. save for himself and the woman chained to the bedpost, the cabin was void of life. it belonged to the parents of a close friend who ensured it was vacant whenever johnny needed a place to indulge his twisted fantasies.

which was basically all of the time.

he meandered inside with a crisp bottle of water in hand, droplets condensing at its sides. sabrina laid right where he left her, just as broken, dreading her next breath. tape adhered to the flesh over her mouth, muffling her whimpers. there was nobody around for miles, the cabin was totally isolated, but it was a safety measure.

the chains were used likewise. when johnny was not there, the restraints kept her prisoner. johnny, reckless as he could be back then, was many things and stupid was not one of them. the chains stretched long enough to reach the bathroom but no further and he had his loyal friend help him test it after each victim.

“can you go further?” johnny called out.

jaehyun’s lower limbs were shackled, ceasing his footsteps just shy of the hallway as he came to a total standstill. “not if i want my legs to follow me,” he’d retorted.

johnny had snickered. “good.”

had johnny been there, though, he would take the chains off. none of this was fair, even johnny didn’t believe that, but not giving them the chance to fight was too unfair. he needed not to chain them when he had the gift of his big, burly arms.

johnny waltzed over with a lighthearted and carefree gait, as if this was just another wednesday afternoon to him. and in some sick, despicable way, that wasn’t too far from the truth. he ripped the tape from sabrina’s lips, watching her face tense with pain.

“johnny,” sabrina rasped, voice croaking. he could tell from her flushed face and misty eyes that she’d been crying. “i’m thirsty.”

johnny cocked a brow, glancing to his hand. he had an irritating knack for playing dumb. it used to be endearing. now, with everything she knew to be true torn from her bare hands, sabrina didn’t know what to think. “what - you want this?”

sabrina nodded.

“yeah?” he popped off the top, throwing back a few gulps just before releasing a satisfied, “ah.”

sabrina’s lips trembled. “please.”

had she been anybody else, johnny probably would’ve dangled the water in her face just to snatch it away, but there was something about sabrina that made him gravitate towards her. in a rare moment of benevolence, johnny handed her the water, letting her drink.

she didn’t drink in short sips, but in giant gulps as if she’d known for some time that they’d be her last. when her thirst was satiated, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the bottle back, and whispered, “thank you.”

johnny set the drink aside before returning to her, unshackling her limbs. sabrina’s breath quickened the moment the chains clacked harshly against the floor and nearly stilled when he brought his hand to her flushed face, tracing her chapped lips with a calloused thumb.

his thoughts rushed with unbridled exhilaration, ablaze with suspense, but he slowed for a moment to marvel at her loveliness. johnny’s hand touched her hair, touch tender in ways it would never be again, because he would never again know a woman as great as her.

he brought his lips to her ear, nibbling at the shell before asking, “do you know what i want you to do?”

sabrina bobbed her head, starting to halfheartedly peel off her clothes without needing to be told. with so many days held prisoner in this hell hole, it became routine. like she’d already resigned herself to her fate and knew johnny getting his way was inevitable. he always got what he wanted.

to be frank, it came out of nowhere. she never saw this twisted side of him coming. all she knew was that she became suspicious of his lack of family presence and it was too late when she saw him for the monster that he was, and then she woke here.

it had to have been months ago, although sabrina couldn’t have been sure how many. everyday started to bleed into the static hopelessness of another. sometimes johnny wouldn’t show for days, leaving her to live antsily, dreading his unavoidable return. other times, he would spend a day or two in the cabin, fucking her into kingdom come. 

as if she couldn’t be any more faultless. johnny smirked. “smart girl,” he purred. he would never deny her wit, given that she’d caught onto him, but her lack of strength was her only vice.

johnny restlessly tossed his own shirt over his naked shoulder and came to step out of his boxers. there was mischief on his plush lips. he knew something sabrina only knew from the unkind churn of her gut.

the end was more than near. it loomed over her, relentless and remorseless, and all she could like it to was dark and leaden clouds in a somber sky. even then, there was almost nothing she wouldn’t give to see the world again, but she’d long kissed that hope goodbye.

“down,” johnny told her, tone dark and stern.

she pliantly did as told, bare back meeting the mattress. johnny crept over her, hard cock twitching at the sight of her so meek. typically, he liked when they put up a fight, but sabrina knew better.

johnny could tell she was fighting back tears, willing herself not to cry with a stabilized breath, but her endeavors were in vain the second he started to force his way inside her. they escaped her eyes and dampened her cheeks, unable to overlook the agony of the stretch. 

“shh, baby,” johnny crooned in her ear, the weight of his body bearing down onto hers. “what’s the matter? you used to beg me to fuck you.”

sabrina shook her head, silently pleading for a mercy she knew deep down that johnny wasn’t capable of. “please make it quick.”

johnny’s tone was almost sweet. “but baby, you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, remember?” 

johnny knew that his words weren’t reassuring and he didn’t intend for them to be. there was a reason why he loved how she tried to hold herself together. he got to push her limits, find her breaking point. in the end, she would get her wish, and in a way, johnny thought that that was love.

her walls were just as tight and vice-like as they’d been all those times he’d taken her before. if johnny got close enough to her, let his hands wander and tease as they never not had done, sabrina would still involuntarily gush around his cock. like her body knew she was forever a slave to his touch. 

just looking at her face as she wept sent shock waves of pleasure rippling through his dick and chest. sabrina didn’t cry in noisy, gasping sobs. her tears dripped from her thick lashes quietly, mouth parting in the most silent of whimpers.

and she orgasmed the same way, johnny remembered. back when things were normal between them, when she begged for him to fuck her, as he called it, her release was marked by a volatile shudder, but a silent cry of ecstasy.

johnny pushed sabrina’s lips into an upward curling with his thumb and index finger. “smile for the camera, sabrina,” he whispered.

sabrina’s brows furrowed, painfully oblivious to the camera tracking her every emote. johnny couldn’t not document his deeds. there was something about being able to play them over, immersing himself back in that moment over and over, even when the life itself could not be so easily brought back.

but for johnny, they could be. when he rewatched these videos again and again, it was like he could feel their pulses thump in their neck, resuscitating.

johnny’s hands were everywhere, fingertips traipsing towards sabrina’s neck where marks lingered from all the times he’d strangled her, only to slacken his grip when she was just shy of passing out. the bruises were different colors, indicative of different healing stages. sabrina tensed, startled, and wondered when it would all be over.

“johnny.” sabrina was overcome with defeat. her voice cracked as she asked, “johnny, please just cum.”

johnny’s face tensed with pleasure. “fuck, babe, when you say it like that…”

he stood at the brink of climax, threatening to teeter over, and there was only one thing that could knock him over quicker than anything else. it wouldn’t be anything she said, anything she did, but only a weakness johnny had the power to wield against himself.

“you want me to finish?”

sabrina nodded. 

johnny chuckled darkly. “then, in that case, it’s time for you to get your wish, baby.”

he watched her shoulders slump, releasing all hope of ever knowing anything different again and accepting that this was where things ended. thinking about the feeling he remembered none too distantly, one that almost seemed to keep his blood pumping through him, in a way, johnny’s fingers itched.

johnny lifted his hands, bringing them to sabrina’s face, but before he could touch her, she exclaimed, “wait, johnny!”

his brow cocked. 

sabrina’s lips trembled. “can you tell me what today is? please?”

“wednesday,” johnny replied, holding his hands around her neck, but keeping his grip slack. for now.

“wednesday,” sabrina said, pulling her lips into the faintest of smiles as tears blurred her vision. “will you tell haechan that i hope he has an amazing thursday?”

“that can be arranged,” johnny said, grinning.

sabrina nodded, setting her mind at ease. she’d already made peace with this day some months ago. she never knew when it come, but she saw it as something bound to happen. “thank you,” she whispered. 

those were her last words. because when johnny tightened his grip at her throat, almost like tightening a noose, he couldn’t bring himself to stop in spite of the agonized gleam in her stare. and then her stare was empty, and johnny had already emptied his load inside of her.

to describe the sensation he got from killing in a way that captured its essence would be impossible. it was more than feeling the life leave her. it was more than watching her eyes become soulless. it was a release, a way of relinquishing all of the vacantness he harbored, and knowing that his heart was still there.

it would always return, sometimes as soon as the next day, but for a minute, johnny was whole and no drug could replicate that kind of contentedness.

johnny did tell haechan what sabrina said. he wasn’t all too sure why, maybe it was because she was his mother and haechan was her son that they’d created together, and johnny would never have it any other way. for her to be the one to give him a child, he couldn’t imagine any other woman in her place.

it was almost unfortunate that she had to go so soon. even johnny thought that her demise was premature. had she not grown so suspicious of him, johnny could imagine making her his wife, maybe even spending the rest of his life with her.

their marriage wouldn’t have been without his secret dark life, but sabrina wouldn’t’ve been a victim. alas, loose ends needed to be tied. johnny couldn’t trust that she would’ve kept quiet, and even then, she was in a much more fitting place for an angel like herself.

there was much of this memory that would be abridged. never would johnny reveal anything about the cabin or the dear friend that helped him commit his indulgences, or even the existence of the tapes. if they found those videos, that was proof of murder with a grand total of 106 women.

the air around you was heavy and the words you’d just been fed weren’t easily take in. “what you’ve just told me is really sad.”

but johnny didn’t look sad. whether or not he ever truly cared for sabrina would perpetually be a mystery. “maybe,” he started. “but tell me that you wouldn’t hurt the person you loved most if it was what was best for them.”

“i did. but what i had to do is different from what you were.”

johnny’s interest was piqued. “how come?”

“it was my responsibility to decide whether or not to take my sister off of the ventilator. there was no hope for her,” you confessed, though brushed over it quickly. “what happened to your ex-wife?”

“not that interesting of a story,” johnny said. “she wasn’t sabrina, i got tired of her, here we are.”

“and yet she wasn’t a one-off like martina mortes.”

“had she been a one-off, my body count would be one number higher. that was a favor,” johnny told you, grinning as if you actually had something to be grateful for.

you didn’t waste a second to accuse, “because you need to keep your victims to extract all the relief that you can from them, right?”

“i’m afraid it’s not your turn to ask questions,” johnny replied tauntingly. “what was your sister like - did she have long hair? what color were her eyes? how long were her lashes?”

sick son of a bitch, bellowed the voice in your head, though you willed yourself to remain composed. it was plain on his face that johnny didn’t want an answer - he wanted a reaction. and as furious as that made you, you couldn’t let him provoke you. “that’s none of your business,” you said, but there was a loophole. “but she was beloved.”

that qualified as an answer. johnny glanced at you in a way that made you feel see-through, as if he knew that you were threatening to come apart at the seams and didn’t buy your nonchalance for a minute. 

sated, he went on to feed you bullshit about his ex-wife’s death, though there were only four people who knew what truly happened to her and one of them was dead.

johnny remembered that day like it happened yesterday. it was a thursday evening when he’d come home from work. christine had picked haechan up from school hours ago and johnny wholly expected to come home to her in the kitchen.

it was dark outside. the moon was a mere sliver and the stars were duller than they typically were, almost like they had witnessed something that drained their spirits. johnny remembered struggling to identify his house key, trying each of them until the door clicked open.

“i’m home,” johnny’s voice thundered as he turned to lock the door. 

there were quick footsteps from upstairs. haechan, johnny thought, more than familiarized with the sound. but there was none of christine’s usual voice.

“dad, i’m hungry,” came haechan’s voice from the stairs, coming down them one by one.

that in itself should’ve been suspicious, but instead, all johnny could think about was how sabrina would’ve already fed her son. “hasn’t christine made dinner by now?” johnny asked, irritated.

haechan shook his head, though johnny couldn’t see. he was hanging his coat on the rack, like he always did after he locked the door. “she can’t right now.”

“why not?”

“because i think she’s dead,” haechan replied, nonchalant as ever.

that was the very second that johnny turned around and noticed that haechan was stained with blood. it was all over his face and the spots would probably never come out of his clothes, not that they would be kept.

for half a minute, johnny was genuinely stunned.

haechan didn’t say what happened, and there was no need to. “the blood won’t come off,” was all he said, showing his father the pair of hands that he’d washed with vigor.

johnny heaved a breath. he should’ve seen this coming. haechan took after his father and he never liked christine. to say the least, johnny couldn’t blame him. “where is she?”

“where they all go,” haechan replied, as if it was the most normal and natural thing in the world to him. 

johnny headed for the basement with quick footsteps, haechan following behind. if somebody were to come down there, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. not only was it decorated to look like one, but it was used as a man cave. behind a soundproof wall, though, was a dungeon for his prisoners. 

in this case, there was a trail of blood leading to the wall, proof that haechan had somehow brought christine there after he hurt her. johnny entered the cell and saw her there behind the bars, coming to her side to check her pulse. 

pressing his thumb to her wrist and neck, johnny sensed a pulse, though it was weakening. “she’s not dead,” he said, wresting his phone out of his pocket.

haechan didn’t look so relieved, but he didn’t voice his dissatisfaction. “are you mad?”

johnny glanced down at christine. haechan had used a kitchen knife, attacking her in the heat of the moment. she was butchered and blood-splattered, on the verge of slaughter, and yet johnny couldn’t find it in him to offer any compassion. “that you hurt her? no. that you made a mess? a little.”

now that was a relief. to haechan, at least back then, his dad was the coolest guy that he knew.

there was quite the scene in front of him and johnny didn’t have a thing for blood. he shook his head in reproach, chastising, “i’m going to teach you the right way to get rid of a woman when you’re sick of her.”

that piqued haechan’s curiosity. 

johnny was quick to dial jaehyun’s number. he had medical experience and that was what he needed right now. when the call connected, he said, “i’m in calling in a favor.”

jaehyun patched her up again. at least for a few months, johnny still needed her breathing. they scrubbed the floors free of blood, burned haechan’s bloodied clothes, and it was as if nothing ever happened.

what johnny had told you was only a fraction of the truth, but still enough to make you want to grimace. it bemused you how he got away with murdering his ex-wife and nobody thought to suspect her husband with a track record of disappearing partners.

“you want to know what’s really amazing?” you started, though it was more like disgusting. “how three of the women you’ve killed were your significant others, and somehow, you’ve only now been incriminated.”

johnny looked proud of himself. had it not been for haechan, he probably would’ve never been caught. “sabrina never told anyone that we dated, or that she had a baby by me. her parents wanted her to focus on her education. if they knew she’d gotten pregnant, she would’ve been the black sheep.”

“and you took advantage of that,” you hissed. 

“so what if i did?” johnny asked, careless. “not to mention that dozens of teenage girls in chicago were going missing at the time. they added martina to that number and called it a day. is that sad? maybe. but that’s how it works.”

“and as for your co-worker?” you asked sharply. the boldness of his crimes astounded you. “her husband grieves her. were you having an affair?”

the thought of her made johnny chuckle. oh, were we, he reminisced. it was a misfortune that he didn’t get the chance to have his way with her the way that he wanted. and for that reason, he couldn’t regale you in a truthful account of her death.

what happened that day, the day his co-worker died, challenged his fate and was the reason that he only now knew the imprisonment he thrusted upon others.

johnny knew when he spotted her that he would revel in her vulnerability. married, but she hardly wore her ring. her kind was the most naive - the kind that believed ecstasy was without costly sin. one way or another, she had to reap what she sowed.

he worked his way inside her pants, but it was hardly any work; she was on a desperate pursuit for pleasure and when johnny promised it to her, offering content on a silver platter, she thought less with her brain and more with the throbbing between her legs.

for months, johnny slept with her, which was far from typical. if she were anybody else, johnny would have pursued her for a couple of weeks time, then banished her to the underground prison. though considering he already had a victim down there at the time, he had some time to spare.

it was no secret that she had grown fond of johnny in ways she hadn’t been of her husband in a very long time, and though johnny found her to be special, in a way, he could not reciprocate her feelings. when johnny saw her, all he felt was the overwhelming urge to use her without a lick of remorse, and squeeze those panting breaths out of her.

it was a shame that he never got the opportunity. johnny already tested the bounds of his self-restraint when it came to her, each of their encounters consensual with her oblivious to his deepest, darkest desires. sometimes, his fingers would wander to her neck, but even that was wanted.

what was not wanted was the tyranny over her body that preceded her death. it bemused johnny to learn that his son, along with two of his friends that he thought of like brothers and johnny thought of like sons, ravaged her to the brink of being unrecognizable.

had johnny held control over the situation, he wouldn’t have cared what happened to her and would have even permitted them to go to town. but what happened was somehow darker. when he got a call from the professor late that day, hearing her broken sobs over the phone, he told her to meet him at his house.

that was his first mistake. 

it wasn’t that she didn’t come. she made it there, hopeful to confide in johnny about the nightmare that tore her apart, but it was haechan that opened the front door. and when she entered, there was no hope out of her coming out breathing.

haechan had been a downward spiral ever since a month ago when he stumbled upon the tape of his mother. ever since he was a boy, haechan watched every tape he could find of his father’s dark life, even sharing them with his friends as if they were movies and not snuff.

but this was not like those. this was his mother. and watching her suffer, listening to her final request before her untimely death, broke haechan in ways which he would never recover.

haechan had known since he was little that his mother was dead and his father was to blame, but his understanding of what happened to her was skewed. if he’d known eighteen years ago what he knew today, when johnny had his own son aid him in his mother’s demise, none of it would have ever happened.

to say nothing of the fact that what johnny had haechan do was only a mere fraction of his mother’s suffering. haechan would fetch things from the other side of the cabin he vaguely remembered visiting every now and then for three months. when he was not there, which was often, he would lie to his neighbors about her whereabouts.

even though when she died he was only a kid being taken advantage of, haechan hated himself for letting it happen right under his nose. he wished he would’ve told his neighbors the truth. maybe if he had, his mother would still be alive and kicking, and he would know the only woman he ever cared for.

that was why he went after his professor that he knew his father had also been eyeing closely and having an affair with. her fate was obvious. johnny would entertain her for a while, somehow charm and woo his way into her pants like he did every other woman, kidnap her and keep her downstairs for three months, then kill her and identify the next victim.

but johnny’s liking of her was also hopelessly discernable. she was living too long. and that was a telltale sign that johnny took a special interest in his son’s professor, something that haechan feared would rival the affection (if it existed) for his mother.

haechan was not keen on having his mother replaced. the last time it happened, he snapped and maimed his stepmother. and he was not afraid of doing so again.

when haechan exacted revenge, it felt like nothing he had ever done before. vengeance tasted like heaven. his professor tasted elysian. and he had never felt so good about himself, but then the high wore off, comparable to the fading release johnny got after strangling his victims, and familiar pain seared through him once further. 

vindictiveness was a lethal venom, festering quickly upon injection. after haechan got what he wanted, there was a greed to replicate that feeling, in spite of the fact that nothing would compare to that first blow. in his own way, unlike his father’s but similar nonetheless, he was pivoting towards release.

haechan was on the brink of something like psychosis when he heard those knocks on his front door. and when he peered outside, spotting the professor, his recklessness got the better of him.

she was dead before she even stepped inside the house. haechan yanked her inside, brought her downstairs, and forced himself onto her for a second time that day. when she wept for johnny, wishing he would come home, haechan almost pitied her naïveté.

if haechan hadn’t killed her, wrapping his hands around her throat the way that he knew his father had been yearning to, johnny would have.

the look on his professor’s face was pitiful. “sorry,” haechan said, though he clasped his hands around her throat harder. “but i have to make a statement.”

it was not particularly a difficult thing to do, at least not to stomach, but killing her was merely just a means to an end. he didn’t get off to it like his father would’ve. haechan’s interest lay in inflicting psychological damage, but he did it because he knew how much it pleasured johnny to squeeze the life out of his victims.

and if haechan couldn’t have what he wanted, then as long as he lived, neither would his dad for tearing it away.

johnny came home moments too late. haechan left his professor in the cellar for his father to find, eyes wide and face pale.

johnny glanced around. he saw her car parked outside, but no sign of her. when haechan came from his bedroom on the upper floor, a creeping feeling of deja vu flooded johnny’s chest, but he asked, “where is she?”

haechan’s face was expressionless. “she’s dead,” he replied, confident. “i mean it this time.”

johnny shook his head. “you killed her?”

“wasn’t it you that said you were going to teach me the proper way to dispose of a woman when i’m sick of her?” haechan asked, approaching his father as he crept down the stairs.

though johnny wasn’t pleased, he willed himself to calm down. “did you strangle her?”

“yes.”

johnny figured, from the lack of blood staining his house this time around. “will you tell me about it?”

that caught haechan off-guard. he expected his father to be angry, to let loose. he had to have been dreaming of choking her since the day he laid eyes on her. “you sick fuck,” haechan sneered.

johnny snickered, unbothered. that’s rich. “who do you think you got it from?”

obviously, from the face haechan was making, he didn’t like that. his nonchalant attitude dissipated. “i’m not like you!”

“keep telling yourself that. maybe one day you’ll delude yourself into believing it,” johnny replied, hanging his coat on the rack in spite of knowing he would be leaving again soon.

“i’m not like you - i mean that.”

johnny, miffed, rolled his eyes and said, “come on, son. you think i don’t know you and your friends have been watching my tapes for the past decade and then some like they’re cartoons?”

“but not mom’s,” haechan spat, loathing fizzing in his stare. 

johnny froze, then spun around. “is that what this is all about?”

haechan nodded, pleased his father was finally getting the picture. “i found it in your study. you hid it more carefully than the others, because she was special or you didn’t want me to find it, i don’t know.”

johnny heaved a breath. “you were never supposed to see that.”

“but i did,” haechan replied. “and i’ve suffered every day for the past month because of that.”

johnny shot without hesitation, “a suffering you brought upon yourself. nobody asked you to go snooping around in my things.”

haechan’s lips were twisted into the meanest snarl johnny had ever seen. emotion wrecked through him in its totality. “is that what’s important to you? i shouldn’t be surprised. you couldn’t even spare your own son’s mother from your heartlessness.”

johnny massaged his temple, summoning all of his willpower. “please,” he groaned, sensing an incoming headache. “women are weak, cheating whores. just look at your professor. maybe your mother wasn’t, but she was a liability.”

if that was supposed to console haechan, it had the complete opposite effect. “are you saying she deserved it?”

“i’m saying that you’ve always been too soft,” johnny said, not bothering to sugarcoat his chastising. “just like your mother. even when you were a child. that’s why i had you help me, i hoped you would harden up a little.”

haechan scoffed. “unbelievable.”

“your mother went quietly. she didn’t even fight it, haechan. so, why are you?”

“because of that,” haechan told him, vitriol in his voice. “she didn’t ask you to stop one time. she just asked you to get it over with.”

johnny tipped his head back. “ah, yes. she really was perfect, wasn’t she?”

that was all it took to kindle an unforgiving rage within haechan and in a moment of fury, flickering through him in a flash, haechan lifted his hand to smack his father.

johnny caught his wrist, as if this weren’t the first time this had happened and it was wholeheartedly expected. his voice lowered to a mere hiss, “i’ve never laid a hand on you. ever in your life. don’t make today be the day i start.”

haechan glared, but wrested his way out of his father’s grip and backed away.

johnny smoothed down his shirt and headed for the kitchen, knowing haechan would follow. this conversation was far from over. “now, if you excuse me, i have to clean up your mess,” he said, pulling a burner phone out of a drawer. “if you don’t mind.”

“i can clean up my own mess,” haechan replied, scowling. 

setting the phone on the counter, johnny reached for a glass. “no, you can’t. not without digging your own grave. unless you want to go to prison, pack your shit, ask one of your buddies if you can stay with them for a few days, and take the tapes with you. hide them.”

haechan made a face. “what are you talking about?”

johnny sighed. “we can’t get away with this one, son. her car’s parked outside. there’s too many loose ends.”

“we can get rid of the car. you don’t have to go to jail!” haechan shouted.

“it’s either you or me. frankly, i’m doing you a favor. you wouldn’t last two seconds behind bars,” johnny hissed. he grabbed another glass, sliding it across the counter, then said, “now, wine? you know, to celebrate your old man going away? i believe that’s what you want.”

haechan shook his head. never in his life had he been so conflicted. his father that he’d been so bent on despising until the day he died was voluntarily confessing to a crime he didn’t commit, just so that his son wouldn’t have to suffer in prison.

“why are you doing this?” haechan asked, bristling with emotion. 

johnny sighed. “because i love you, son. even if you don’t think so. and because your mother would be turning in her grave if she knew you were in prison.”

haechan blew out a breath. then, after a moment of reluctance, he grabbed the glass on the counter and reached for the wine bottle. 

johnny snickered. “atta boy.”

“i wonder how your son reacted when he learned you were going to prison for murder,” you said, pondering. “you live in the same house. i wonder how he didn’t know.”

johnny lied, “he was at a friend’s house when i killed her. doesn’t like that it was his favorite professor.”

you nodded along, buying his lies. “that is a lot to take in. i mean, imagine your dad was having an affair with your favorite science professor. then, he kills her, like how he killed your mom.”

johnny shrugged his shoulders. “have you never heard the phrase ‘the heart wants what it wants?’”

“i have,” you replied. “and i guess your heart wanted to stop the function of others.”

johnny laughed at his own expense. “oh, please. you give me too much credit. you shouldn’t make me out to be more romantic than i am.”

you shook your head in disappointment. “you make these women want you, and then you undo everything. that has to be part of the amusement to you.”

“it gets a chuckle or two out of me.”

your lips were tempted to curl into a frown for the umpteenth time that day alone. “why?”

johnny leaned up in his chair, exclaiming, “because it’s fun!”

you were going to say something, but he didn’t give you the chance. 

johnny continued, “everyday, as adults, we do the same job for hours and come home. people want excitement in their lives. women get exhausted of coming home to their husbands or nobody at all.”

your stare was blank. “and your point is?”

“i didn’t just make those women want me, baby. i made them need me,” johnny told you smugly. “i brought a spark to their lives, and i took it away just as fast. and i do it… because i can.”

“because you could,” you corrected, confident he would never be free of this place for as long as he lived. “you’re going to be in here a very, very long time.”

johnny grinned. “i wouldn’t be so sure.”

you cocked your brow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” johnny teased. you hated the smugness in his tone. like he knew something that you didn’t.

the door opened, and the guard from earlier returned. “i hate to interrupt, but it’s time for the count,” he said, coming behind johnny to undo his cuffs.

it all happened in a blink. johnny’s weight was pressed flush against yours, roughly thrusting you into the table. your body screamed, agony spreading through your side, but your gun was in a lockbox outside the room.

johnny knew from your conversations alone that you weren’t the type to go quietly. your first instinct was to fight back. naturally, you struggled against his hold, refusing to bend to his will even as panic shot through your chest. your whole body was on guard, aiming for survival.

but to your misfortune, your might was no match for johnny’s. you glanced to the guard for assistance, but when he only stood there as if he was waiting for it to end, the most unsettling feeling of realization washed over you.

“don’t fight him,” the guard said, arms crossed. “you won’t win.”

johnny snickered when he noticed your eyes widen in shock. you hadn’t seen that coming. though you tried to resist, it was over once his slender fingers came to your throat, and you genuinely feared for your life. 

you didn’t realize how good you had it just being able to breathe until you couldn’t anymore. your breaths wouldn’t come. it felt as if your bones were being crushed. your whole body was on fight mode, but it was like johnny had the reins, shutting down your senses one by one.

“you put up a good fight, detective,” johnny whispered darkly in your ear, admiring your struggle.

your lips parted, but you couldn’t speak no matter how hard you tried. your self-preservation instincts were no match against him. all you could do was meet johnny’s stare. the pressure on your neck was too much to handle, and in seconds, you were out.

“lights out,” johnny said. he released your throat, having no intention of killing you and leading you for dead, but knowing that you would likely regain consciousness in a matter of seconds, he grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head flat against the table to subdue you.

jaehyun winced, but he did nothing to step in. “poor girl,” he mumbled under his breath, pitying you. “had enough?”

“for now,” johnny replied. “let’s go.”

jaehyun gave johnny a uniform to wear so that he would blend in amongst the uniforms like jaehyun had and when he was ready, the two of them fled before they could be deterred.

when they had successfully gotten away, jaehyun asked with his hand on a steering wheel, “you know that i don’t agree with this, right?”

johnny snickered. it had absolutely been said. “you haven’t agreed with my lifestyle for the past twenty-five years, yet you still help me. why?”

jaehyun frowned. sometimes, he asked himself the same question, but deep down inside, he knew the answer. “because we may not share blood, but we’re brothers,” jaehyun replied. “and for my brother, i’ll do anything you need.”

johnny quipped, “like smuggle me across the border?”

“like smuggle you across the border,” jaehyun said, chuckling. “when we get there, there’s gonna be this dude named mark. he’s gonna help you out. i’ll be in touch.”

johnny nodded. “i can’t thank you enough, man.”

“just lay low and stay out of trouble,” jaehyun said, shaking his head. 

johnny grinned with mischief. he was already thinking about all of the beautiful women he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. “no promises,” he answered, sighing contentedly.

#johnny suh smut #nct 127 smut #johnny smut #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh scenarios #nct smut #tw: noncon #tw: murder #revehae fics

[dresshistorynerd]

Hi! I just read your analysis of the P&P 2005 costumes. I'm currently in the process of researching Regency-period fashion for fic purposes; I'm writing a f/f story in a slightly alternate Regency world in which on top of regular marriages, parents (especially in the higher classes) could and did arrange for gay marriages for those of their children who wouldn't inherit - the principle being that the parents could set these couples up with a part of the estate that, upon those couple's death, would revert back to the estate to be inherited onwards, and thus not mess with an entailed estate all that much.

Anyway, long story short, my thought was that in these marriages, there would *still* be a masculine and feminine role, just independent of gender - and there would be according fashions. So, for example, a man's three-piece suit for a woman who took the masculine role in a f/f marriage, just cut towards the female figure, and perhaps with other nods towards the wearer's gender too, and similar for a man who took the feminine role in a m/m marriage.

I just wanted to reach out and see what you think of this and see if you'd have as much fun thinking about this as I have!

Thank you for your message, this honestly sounds really cool!! I think it's very interesting idea to come up with reasoning how arranged same sex marriage would work in a Regency class and land ownership system. I absolutely had so much fun thinking about this, maybe too much fun because look at how long this post is :'D You are entirely free to ignore all of this, I just had a lot of ideas, since your story has such an interesting premise. If you any of this catches your fancy, use it however you like!

I think it makes sense that in a very patriarchal and gender essentialist Regency society the couple would be expected to perform heterosexuality even while literally being in a gay marriage. What you described, men's clothing fitted to women's undergarments, is basically what costumes for breeches roles were usually in theater, roles for female actors, usually as a young leading boy. (Reverse roles, male actors playing female characters, usually elder/motherly roles, were just as common.) Another approach could be to use the women's silhouette, skirt with empire waist, but otherwise the clothing is similar to men's fashion. While most women's Regency styles were particularly strongly contrasted with men's styles, there was quite a lot of masculine styles too, which might work for that purpose.

I think the approach that would make most sense depends on how you want the gnc people seen and understood in the althis society of your story. In Regency society cross-dressing, women wearing pants and men wearing skirts, was seen as stepping into the other gender role. Cross-dressing was not acceptable outside theater, and people who did it needed to be stealth. So if you vision them taking the role of the opposite gender fully and not just in their relationship - living as the opposite gender and treated like that gender (for example the gnc women are allowed men's education and gnc men are not etc.) - I think it makes more sense that they would be using similar clothing as the costumes of the cross-dressing roles in theater. In that specific position it would then become acceptable to cross-dress. But if you envision them more in the societal positions of their own/assigned gender, and just embodying some opposite gender roles, especially in their marriage, I think it might make more sense for them to use the basic silhouettes of the fashion of their gender but in style the opposite gender.

So if you're interested, here's some historical styles and some additional ideas that could work as inspiration.

Before Renaissance men and women's fashions were not separate, but they started drifting apart when wearing skirts became unacceptable for men (which I have a whole long post about). However, very quickly women's fashion started to take influence from men's fashion for certain styles. Riding habit was the first one of these masculine styles for women. It originated from 17th century as men's clothing but with a skirt. From very early on men's military uniforms were a huge influence. A distinctive feature compared to other styles is the long trail so when the woman sits on the horse, her legs are not too exposed. Here's some regency examples. First example is from mid 1797-98. The bodice is exactly in the style of men's fashion of the period. Second is from 1808 in a very militaristic style.

Redingote or pelisse was a long walking dress often in the masculine styles of the riding habit. It was adapted from riding habit to fashionable day wear for outdoors in 1780s. It started as very masculine in line with riding habits, but in 1800s styles without the masculine elements also appeared. Though masculine and military styles were still common. Here's first a redingote from 1800, which follows masculine fashion of the day very closely. The second is from 1810s and has collar from men's fashion and detailing and color are loose references to military styles. The third one is quite military inspired redingote from 1814. It has long train and was probably for carriage rides.

Spencer was a very short casual jacket, modelled after men's fashion again. It became fashionable in 1790s and in the following decades it gained many variations, some not at all masculine in style, and some for formal usage too. Here's very masculine styles as examples, first is from c. 1799, second from c. 1815.

One last trend I'll mention is very short hair imitating Roman men's hairstyles, which became very fashionable for men after the French Revolution, but very similar hair for women became a trend in late 1790s. It was a bold style but for couple of decades it was very popular. I think the woman in the first example above is growing out her Titus cut. There's a little tuft on top of her head, which makes it look like her hair isn't long enough for a bun but secured at the back anyway. Here's couple of actual examples. First is from early 1800s, specific date unknown, showing a slightly longer than usual version of the style. Second is from around the same time, 1798-1805, displaying very well how hair was cut to imitate side burns, which were fashionable for men. The third example from 1809 has the typical cut, where it's very short in the back of the head and little longer and curled in the front.

Many Regency sapphics did favour these styles, since they were acceptable ways to present in a more masculine manner. Anne Lister, perhaps the most famous Regency lesbian, presented very masculinely in her portraits. Below her outfit looks like a redingote in this 1822 painting. An infamous upper class Irish sapphic couple, Eleanor Butler and Sarah Ponsonby, lived together for decades in Whales. Here's an illustrations of them from 1818 in their older age wearing masculine redingotes and sporting Titus hairstyles.

I think in a society where gnc queer people are part of the system, they might have their own slightly different dress codes. For the gnc women/afab people I'm thinking their evening dress might have redingote or spence or perhaps open robe in style of men's evening wear which was black with white cravat (second image below). The open robe could be something like the first image below but fully black, tailored, with large lapels, high collars in the white chemisette and white cravat.

Men's gnc fashion is much harder problem since femininity in men was much less (and still very much seems to be) accepted than masculinity in women. I think it's the old patriarchal superiority of masculinity issue (even if women shouldn't break gender roles at least they are "upgrading", while men would be "downgrading"). I think it might be interesting thought to take inspiration from the styles previous to French Revolution. Regency men's fashion (all Regency fashion really) was result of the French Revolution. I talk more about it in this post, but previously manhood and womanhood had only really been fully available for the upper classes and they were based mostly on displays of wealth. The revolutionaries rejected the aristocratic gender construction and instead created their own. It was based less on class and more on the gender (and racial, but we won't have the time to touch on that here) divide. Aristocratic gender expressions were deemed decadent and the bad kind of feminine. (French Revolution may not have been the origins of the Madonna-whore complex, but they certainly cemented it to the public conscience.) That's how men's Regency fashion was stripped out of colour, detailing and luxurious materials, the overt displays of wealth. New masculine styles were all about evoking militarism, country side and practicality of a working man. Most of it was aesthetic and the class structure remained, but altered heavier in the lines of gender and race/ethnicity. To show you how the fashion was seen, here's couple of satirical cartoons both from 1787 literally calling men wearing the more courtly flamboyant styles women. (First source, second source.)

It's not entirely unrealistic that the outdated fashions would remain along the new styles. Courts were resistant to change (especially since the change had anti-monarchist implications) and upheld the outdated dress codes, so court suits were very much continuation of the fashion prior to the revolution (though court suits too started to become increasingly subdued by the 1820s). Here's examples from 1805 and 1813.

In an alternative historical world like this, I think the pre-revolution styles might have kept on and evolved as a more feminine version of the more general men's fashion. Since masculinity had been tied with rural areas and working class, I think the gnc men's style wouldn't have lapels or turned down collars, which originated from working class clothing, but upward collars like in the 18th century dress coats and Regency court suits (maybe downward collars in informal coats, but not lapels). Maybe they would keep on with the long hairstyles where they tie up their hair with a ribbon, though I don't think they would keep powdering the hair as it went out of fashion for women too. Instead they might style the front of the hair similar to women by cutting hair shorter in the front (basically a mullet) and curling the front of it to frame the face. I don't think they would be wearing the loose trousers, which were very strongly working class till the beginning of 1800s, when they started to be accepted as informal wear for upper class men. Though I think pantaloons would become informal part of feminine men's fashion after general men's fashion would start accepting them as formal wear around 1810s. Here's some examples from 1780s, which could be used as inspiration. First is from 1785-1790, second is from 1788 and the third is from c. 1770.

Dress coats were used still in the Regency era not just in court suits but also in morning dress. The cut and silhouette of men's fashion changed after the 1780s, most significantly with the shorter waistcoats. Here's couple of morning riding dresses (they have riding boots) from 1801 and 1806. I envision the feminine men's style as using the fashionable cuts and silhouette of the day, but combining them with the less structured and finer fabrics, patterns, colours and embelishments of pre-revolution styles. In evening wear I think they could wear white, like women, or at least light colours.

Okay, here's finally all my ideas, I had much more of them than I initially thought! It was so much fun to think about an alternative history like this, so thank you very much for your ask! I hope you found this fun or interesting to read at least, but please take my ideas as just my opinion and if any of it contradicts your vision, just ignore it. It's fiction and an alternative universe in addition so you can follow history just as much or little as you like.

Basically, your story sounds very cool, and I wish you good writing!

#historical fashion #fashion history #history #fashion #historical costuming #dress history #extant garment #costuming #regency fashion #fashion plate #painting #answers #queer history

[tremendousconnoisseurgardener]

Ruthless! Player.

A Poppy Playtime AU

Author's Note: hello! This is my first time writing a Poppy Playtime fic. This is a different version of The Player, us, from the game, my version to be more exact. It will be a series of 4 chapters (for now), each one taking place in one of the game chapters. Some will be divided by parts.

This first chapter will be more of a way to show the Players life and intentions, as well his problems. Hope you like it!

Ps: “Reader” is referred as “Player”

Introduction:

Player: The Player is a already in their middle age; when younger, they went to a war and fought for a year on the battlefield. The war undoubtedly left scars, both physical and mentally. Although cold most of the time, they are calm, they don’t want to get involved in fights. When they came back home, after the war, they became a parent and started to take care of their child alone, after their partner left them for another person.

Player’s Child: he is a young man with a bright future ahead, he and Player would help each other a lot. He started working in Playtime’s Factory to gain some money, so that he can pay for his college. But, he disappeared, along with all staff from the factory.

Warnings!

This fics will have sensitive topics:

PTSD

Death

Blood

Gore

Swears

Consumption of alcohol and smoking

If you do not like any of these topics, you are free to leave. Have a nice day/night.

Chapter 0: Prologue.

August 8th, 1995

Player sat down on their couch in their living room as they read a pamphlet, it was for a Veteran Meeting Event to celebrate the heroic actions of those veterans. Player was happy because they will be able to see some of his comrades once again.

their son came in and sat beside them, he was adjusting his uniform to get ready for work

“Oh, it’s the event today? I thought it was next week.” He said, a bit disappointed

“Yeah, is it a problem?” Player asked

“No no… It’s because,Today is the “Bring your family to Work” day at the factory. The staff can bring their children and parents to take a look around the place for free, I thought it would be fun to bring you for a visit.” The son explained

“I see. Maybe i can leave the event early and-“ He was interrupted by his son

“Don’t worry. This meeting is very important to you.” The son said “Don’t worry about me, I just wanna see you happy. Ok?” He hugged Player, which in return made them smile.

“Ok… I love you son.”

“Love you too. Gotta go now, see you later!” The son said, waving a goodbye, he went to the front door and exited the house.

Who knew that those would be the last words that Player would hear from their son?

.

.

.

(The Present)

August 8th, 2005

After their son’s disappearance, Player did not take it very well. But, you can’t blame them, the only family they had is now gone, without explanation.

Player wakes up on their bed, the alarm blaring beside them, they turn it off and starts getting ready for their job, as a delivery guy. They walks around the house retrieving their clothes and going to the bathroom; the place where they live was a mess, it looked like it wasn’t cleaned in weeks, empty bottles of alcohol layed around the ground, dirty dishes overflowing the sink, it wasn’t a pleasant scenery

After taking a bath, Player put on their working clothes and went to the delivery agency to start his shift. There, some colleagues waved them a good morning, but they gave them only the cold shoulder. They sorted and placed the packages inside a truck, getting ready to deliver the boxes of products. They drove the vehicle around the town, finding the addresses for the products. It was a very repetitive task.

Finally, after delivering most of the packages, it was already night and Player’s shift ended; they brought back the truck to the agency and went home to take some rest. Not before passing by a liquor store and buying a whisky bottle. drunk ass

On the doorstep of their house, Player saw an envelope with his name on it, he picked it up and started to inspect the object. They noticed a logo from a company stamped on the envelope… It was Playtime’s logo…

Player kept staring at the package placed on a table, while they took sips from a cup full of whisky and smoked a cigarette; they were rather scared to open it, even questioning if it was real. But, curiosity got them first; using a knife, Player cut open the package and pulled out a letter and a vhs tape written “Vintage Poppy Commercial”

They read the letter, their eyes widened about what it was written.

“This… can’t be real.” Player said.

“Everyone thinks we dissapeared 10 years ago, wer’e still here. Find the flower.”

That’s what was written on the letter.

After chugging down half of the whisky bottle and being clearly drunk, Player laid on their bed and went to sleep, trying to forget what they had just read.

.

.

“Find me. Save me, I need your help.”

Player woke up shocked, their eyes shot open. They sat on his bed while his face was covered in sweat. The alarm clock marked 6AM.

“It was just a dream.” They assured themselves. They dreamed about their son, the factory, and heard a voice talking to them.

Player grabbed the again letter that was laying on the ground and took a closer look, noticing the clear spelling errors of a 5 year old and how it was written with red crayons. Maybe it was a prank, but why would a kid do that? And if so, how did they know their address? The disappearance happened 10 years ago, most people moved on or just don’t remember. That gotta be a clue, it doesn't make sense.

“Maybe I should bring that to the police.” Player suggested “no… they will think I’m crazy…” they said with a sad tone.

They grabbed, inside their pocket, a photo of them and their son when younger and looked at it, a wave of determination started to spread inside.

“I guess I don’t have any choice, I’m doing it myself!” Player said, getting up from the bed

They started preparing for their new mission, investigating the old factory. Player grabbed only the necessary, they opened up the closet and retrieved an old hunting rifle, caressing the wooden part of the gun. Besides that, they retrieved 5 bullets.

“That's enough, hopefully.” They said, putting the small amount of ammunition inside their pocket.

Not only that, but Player got a hunting knife, a flashli and, of course, a whole ass bottle of whisky and a pack of cigarettes, placing them inside their jacket pocket. Get some help my guy

Player exited the house and got inside their car, turning it on and drove to the abandoned factory. The path was long, it took almost one hour to get there, but after sometime driving on the road, they finally saw the factory in the distance.

A metal fence was blocking the entrance for the factory parking lot, but Player only accelerated the car even more, breaking the gate open, the lock and chains being thrown away. With a screech, the car stopped in the middle of the big parking lot that the factory had.

Player exited their car and lit up a cigarette, puffing the smoke while eyeing the place.

“Well, if I don’t find my son… At least I might find answers.” They said, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground and stepping on it. They grabbed the rifle and carried it on their shoulder “Honestly, I actually wanted to visit this factory before.” Player commented, while opening the front door from the building. With a deep breath, they entered the abandoned place.

.

.

.

(To be continue)

#poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime #hope you guys like it

[olderthannetfic]

Okay first as a disclaimer... Yeah I guess my first disclaimer was unnecessary I'm just paranoid and stuff

But on to the follow up I might not have explained myself properly or given enough context or my question was incoherent? But for context while I do like plenty of canon ships, my favorite ships tend to be MxM ships of characters who don't have canon female love interests. My fandoms tend to be fujobait/card game anime plus video games. (Honestly I kind of feel like the guy you called 'some fuck' in your answer tbh lol (Hopefully I'm not as obnoxious and arrogant as them though)).

Anyway the stuff I was mostly thinking about was stuff like the Ike/Soren defenses and the Ash Ketchum shipping wars. (Although I only read that instead of participating) But from your answer and thinking over it I realized that I had actually seen a good amount of Hassel/Brassius hint finding etc but I didn't realize it was the kind of stuff I was thinking of (probably because they weren't being defensive or worried about homophobic attacks). So yeah the kind of stuff I was asking about does exist but I just didn't realize it.

Anyway on the anti stuff... I feared that people interested in this stuff disappeared because they became antis but fortunately it seems that's not true.

Anyway thank you for the answer and apologies for any inconveniences and vagueness in my asks.

--

Ahaha. Really, anon? Your whole preamble was pure canon het shipper from big US TV circa 2005 in its tone.

Now I'm even more confused about why on earth you think you and I have beef.

--

I think the basic answer to some of your questions may be that:

Yes, people who like all kinds of things exist.

But if you're looking for shippers of something very specific, 99% of media and ships never generate A Fandom™ in the Destiel/Sterek/Drarry/etc. sense. Canon, not canon, slash, het: doesn't matter, most are small.

Have a look at that other recent post about what percentage of AO3 fandoms are what size.

--

Guys from "fujobait" who don't have canon female love interests seem like... not actually canon ships?

This just seems like the same speculation and looking for confirmation that all the other m/m shippers are doing unless they're into MDZS or Jordan L. Hawk novels something.

I'm not clear on what sets what you're talking about apart from... just the average shipper on tumblr.

I don't know much about the social dynamics of Pokemon or Fire Emblem fandoms except for a vague sense that FE has the usual modern fandom full of young idiots harassing each other problems.

People do move on from particularly unpleasant fandoms... but... mostly, people just move on from everything and usually quite quickly.

The only fandoms people stay and stay and stay for are those that are generating a huge volume of new material, usually fan-made, often in the form of novel-length fic. And even then, it takes a specific fannish personality type to stick to one particular ship or fandom for ages. There are people still shipping those two dudes from The Professionals and nobody else, but they're a rare breed.

--

I still don't understand what you were asking in the first place.

Someone who knows these fandoms, explain????

[lenievi]

spones - older fics recs

seeing that people are interested in older fics, let me link some more that are not on ao3 but on personal websites (sometimes the formatting is a bit... you’d better just copy it into some text editor in order to read it comfortably) and that were written prior to 2010, but mostly in early 2000s. It’s not all of them (of course), I’m just linking those I at some point in the past three years enjoyed and that are long-ish. They can be a bit dated and sometimes a bit weird. Most of them are mature to explicit. If you want more warnings, you can message me.

Diagnosis and Treatment of Ply's Disease (explicit-ish at the end) - it deals with a disease, obviously, so proceed with caution if it isn’t something you want to read. Mention of McCoy/OC(m)

The Prayer of St. Francis (E) - I haven’t actually read this one, but one day I want to. The summary is “the triumvirate as we know them”, but it’s spones flavoured. And it’s spones who are bonded. It spans the series up to Spock’s death.

The author’s page in case you wanna read other fics by them.

Nets in the Wind - mirror!spones, has Sybok, set after Spock kills Kirk, in case you mind. It’s a bit open ended.

The World Bewitched - mirror!spones, interesting world building imho

The Other One (E) - “After the encounter with the Mirror universe, both men have some problems they have to deal with.” (I actually don’t remember this one, but I have it saved... but don’t judge me if it’s weird; read the author’s notes) sequel Sugar Magnolia. These were written in 1998.

On Vulcan genomic engineering and love - this one though is a bit weird (proceed with an open mind), but the premise is quite interesting - McCoy becomes a half-Vulcan (I think this was actually the only fic I’ve read with that theme). “Spock has wanted for a long time to become fully Vulcan and finally devices a formula to allow him to manipulate his genetic structure to do just that. But in a freak accident, he injects McCoy with the formula, causing the Doctor to become half-Vulcan. Now with pon farr on Spock's heels, he must help the doctor learn to deal with his Vulcan half, while the two of them both try to live with their feelings for each other.” some hints at McCoy/Vulcan OC(m)

My Little Town - takes place after TUC, I’m personally very fond of this one for some reason. It has a completely different background for McCoy than what’s common. “McCoy’s mother just died, and McCoy goes to deal with the house. Spock tags along.” McCoy’s parents had a huge age gap, so if you’re bothered by it, maybe don’t read it.

stories by Tempest - Blackbird has trans!McCoy, Yon t'Ashaya - McCoy and Spock both serve on a Vulcan ship, Spock goes into pon farr [these two fics are what stuck with me after reading them three years ago, but the author has a lot more]

now you can also go through this list, but a lot of the links are broken, some can be accessed through wayback machine, some can’t.

and then you can also look through the Spiced Peaches list, which has fics from 2005 and up. Just in case you’ve never heard of the online spones zine.

---

also a bonus tos!mirror!mckirk because why not. It’s a wip, unfortunately, but it’s still worth it because it’s tos!mckirk~ And like most other mirror verse fics on this list, it isn’t as dark as what’s written these days. It’s actually pretty tame. It’s by the same author as The World Bewitched and Nets in the Wind above.

The Getting or the Having & Dust - “In the Mirror-Universe Kirk finds out that his counterpart has a sexual relationship with McCoy. This makes him thinking things over.”

#spones #fic rec #idk if this post will also circulate but here it is anyway for those who'd want to read some spones fics written pre-2010 #these are only my personal selection - just don't judge me too much lol #i'm also gonna tag #mckirk #for that one link at the bottom #funnily enough some of these - if they were written now - i wouldn't read because they include some stuff i avoid - but since they're old #i make an exception #it's fun seeing what used to be written

[irisbleufic]

So, I spent the last 5 days of sitting around with this serious arm injury rereading the very first epic fic series I ever wrote. Although the posting dates on the below chapters are all 18 November 2013, the reality is that these were originally posted as individual stories on LiveJournal throughout the entirety of 2004 and into the spring of 2005. Those were my junior and senior years of college. This series was the last thing I relocated from LJ to AO3, and I was too exhausted to do a proper comb-through for typos and minor formatting issues.

Well, that state of things is no more. I cleaned up all of the editorial issues during this week’s rewatch-the-film-and-reread-my-fic binge. I also changed the names of a few of the chapters (they’re really stories strung together), although not drastically. The chapter called “Clippings” used to be called “Business,” “Spiral” used to be called “You Must Listen to Me Now,” and “Closer to Fine” used to be called “The Middle of Things.”

I had an ask a few days ago along the lines of: What the hell is Toy Soldiers, anyway? On the surface, it’s a 1991 action movie/teen drama. It stars a young Sean Astin and Wil Wheaton as Billy Tepper and Joey Trotta, the central protagonists among the cast of younger characters. At the time I saw it in early 2004, I had only ever seen Sean Astin in The Lord of the Rings. And, incredibly, I didn’t even know who Wil Wheaton was.

That might be one reason I was able to take this film to heart so earnestly (i.e. I completely lacked knowledge of Wesley Crusher, Wheaton’s Star Trek character from around that time who it was traditional to mock, although I still don’t get why). However, the primary reason this film wrecked the back end of my 2004 spring break was that I had watched The Celluloid Closet for the first time only days before watching Toy Soldiers.

I challenge any queer person to watch this documentary (about the Hays Code and the horrible fate met by queer-coded and queer characters in cinema) and this under-appreciated action film back to back and come out of it without feeling devastated and furious about what happens to Billy and Joey. Especially to Joey. And now, in an era of rampant school shootings and hostage situations, Toy Soldiers hits with even more gravity than it did in the 1990s and early 2000s.

These boys are where it started for me. Every every horrific canon media ending that has ever made me furious, every hundreds-of-thousands-of-words long fix-it series I’ve written in the past 19 years, can be traced back to this moment. This string of stories was what I wrote before I ever wrote the likes of Crown of Thorns (Good Omens), Anthology (Pacific Rim), and Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed (Gotham). Hell, one of my instrumental original characters in CoT appeared for the first time at the end of Book of Hours before I ever thought to use her in a Good Omens context.

This story has meant the world to me even though the fandom around it at the time of writing, and even now, was never more than about 20 people. Most of those people are still with me, the dearest friends I could ever hope to have 💙

*

Chapter Index for The Series / Book of Hours by irisbleufic

1. Stereotypical (2013-11-18)

2. Persuasion (2013-11-18)

3. Taste Testing (2013-11-18)

4. Leaving a Mark (2013-11-18)

5. Trick or Treat (2013-11-18)

6. Omerta (2013-11-18)

7. Translation (2013-11-18)

8. Sketches (2013-11-18)

9. Falling (2013-11-18)

10. Caught (2013-11-18)

11. What It Takes (2013-11-18)

12. Noteworthy (2013-11-18)

13. These Shadows Have Offended (2013-11-18)

14. Love Never Did Run Smooth (2013-11-18)

15. Within Reason (2013-11-18)

16. Composure (2013-11-18)

17. Clippings (2013-11-18)

18. Without End (2013-11-18)

19. Prologue: Every Hour (2013-11-18)

20. Book of Hours: Part 1 (2013-11-18)

21. Book of Hours: Part 2 (2013-11-18)

22. Flashback: Spiral (2013-11-18)

23. Flashback: Silver (2013-11-18)

24. The Orchids (2013-11-18)

25. Closer to Fine (2013-11-18)

#toy soldiers #fanfiction #wil wheaton #sean astin #good omens #pacific rim #gotham #fandom history #meta #billy tepper x joey trotta

[wanderingblindly]

Oh are we doing Director Cuts again? I'd love you to tlk more about Something In Seattle please!! Anything you want, but I'd like to know what inspired you for the forest scene?

Tbh it can always be director's cut time, i fucking love talking lol, so thank you for asking!!!!!!!!!!!! On to some more info dumping about Someone in Seattle's forest scene :)

Inspiration for Lando's Styling:

This is a bit layered. It started, I think, back in January with my regular rewatch of 2005's Pride and Prejudice. Of course, that naturally lead to the question: how would I make that into a landoscar fic?

After talking about it on tumblr, @redcowboy1 made the horrifically influential comment: "AND u can imagine lando in the iconic 2005 white outfit with pearls... in his curly hair!". It ruined me. It's still ruining me. It will always ruin me. I don't even know if I've told him how much that comment ruined me.

I thought of direct Pride and Prejudice fics, I thought of Pride and Prejudice inspired fics, but nothing really stuck? So when I realized this was the moment where I could do it all (ethereal white outfit, pearls in the hair,,, fae-like blush,,,,) I went IN.

Shockingly, that isn't the only super loose 2005 P&P reference in that scene. There's also this:

Giving in to childish instinct, Lando jumps up onto the stump; Oscar’s arm follows him like a guide, a gentleman helping his lady into her carriage.  Lando’s fingers flex against his.  Realizing his mistake, having breached professionalism, he drops it.

Hand Scene, anyone? No?

The Setting:

This was actually really heavily inspired by my own childhood. I grew up with my home backing onto a massive forest that you could explore via a broken fence post :) Just like in this fic :)

Almost all the key elements are lifted from my own experience in the forest, like the creek with the massive tree fallen across it. That was real!!!!!! it's actually the center of a lot of my happiest childhood memories.

In the winter, my sister and I used to go exploring in the woods -- the feeling of a river so cold that it makes the air around it painful is so visceral to me. We used to walk across the tree that Lando posed on to the get to the other side, though I fell off more than once lol.

Something that I tried to capture is the extraordinary alien-ness that comes with the Pacific Northwest's forests. They're incredibly dense, with a mix of obscuring low-crawling plants like ferns and massive evergreens like nothing you've ever seen before. It truly makes it feel like the air is green, like you can't see the sky -- and even if you could, maybe it wouldn't be the same sky you saw elsewhere.

I guess, in a way, maybe I kind of wrote it from the perspective of a small child. I kind of gave the impression that Lando and Oscar are dwarfed by the nature around them -- like I scaled the entire thing up, because that's how I remember it.

Anyways, enough rambling. I found a few pictures that inspired me while I was writing: the tree stump pose, general foliage 1, general foliage 2

Other Fun Facts:

Atypically of me, I wrote this fic out of chronological order. I started it when I was sick (yes, at the same time that i started the wildly different Choking on Greatness), and my fevered brain just produced a bunch of random little scenes. One of those scenes was a solid chunk of their time in the forest.

Honestly, that's probably why this scene feels like the "main event" -- in terms of how I wrote this fic, I really wrote most of it around this moment.

Another fun fact is that I tried to imply that Lando was waiting for a doorknob confession when they got to their cars; he wanted Oscar to come kiss him.

Lando’s hand is on his car’s door handle, but he’s looking at Oscar like there’s something left to say – to do. His lips part slightly, not enough to talk but maybe enough to tempt, if things were different, if he wasn’t here because he’s doing Oscar a favor. Lando’s eyes flutter closed, only opening when Oscar speaks.

don't think I actually nailed it, but hey. Can't win 'em all.

#THANK YOU OP FOR ASKIN!!!! #god if i could fucking draw #you know i'd have lando in pearls and a slutty shirt NOW #you just KNOW #ask me :) #Someone In Seattle #Landoscar #directors commentary

[sussexbound]

Lately I've been reminiscing about the internet/blogging/fandom cultures in the late 2000s and early 2010s. Specifically about how it was a culture of free and open sharing of art, fic, crafts, time and skill without people monetizing absolutely everything.

In fandom circles we would constantly write and draw things for each other. There were fan-organized gift exchanges, competitions, and big bangs. Friends gifted art and fic to one another and this encouraged more art and fic to be produced. No one dared to charge for their fanworks back then because there was a very real fear of getting sued by folks like Anne Rice.

I know that this still happens in fandom circles to a certain extent, but over the years I have watched organizers struggle to get the numbers they once had, and more and more people not wanting to spend time creating stuff they won't get paid for. People also seem much less likely to freely donate their time and skills, also. I don't think that a site like A03 could be started today, and I sometimes wonder how long they will be able to continue operating, given it is run entirely by volunteers.

Back then we kept all our fan created stuff in fan spaces, and it was shared and created out of love and passion. It was almost like private correspondence within our little fandom in groups, and outside the prying eyes of show creators, movie producers, actors and book authors, and it was glorious.

I am still friends with and am still sharing creatively with friends I made during that time period (some I followed into later fandoms). I'm not sure I could say that of fandom friends I made later, with a couple of rare exceptions.

I don't know, I just feel like the commodification and monetization of fandom has really stilted creativity and connections over the years, and I'm hardly involved in fandom circles anymore, because I don't find it enriching and fun. It's just one more space trying to sell me stuff, or is so mired down in unnecessary, quasi-political drama (I blame tumblr, twenty-teens sjw culture and then later twitter and puriteen fandom cultures for the way some of this drama took root, mutated, and spread).

I guess I just miss community. There was a time when fandom spaces truly felt like community. We talked about and debated things in good faith, for the most part, we created art and fic out of love and passion and then shared those creative works freely, and it just doesn't feel that way to me anymore.

Listen, I'm not going to begrudge anyone who needs or wants to make money from their art. I get it. Life is hard, and the economy freakin' sucks, but the commodification of fandom, and the growing popularity of social media platforms and their unhealthy community dynamics did absolutely change fandom culture and not for the better, imo, and sometimes I just miss that old sense of close-knit community and free interchange of art and ideas I used to get in fandom from about 2005 - 2013.

[stellanslashgeode]

Ooh, fun ask game, Geode! I'm curious about 14 and 22 with a headcanon for Barriss please. :D

Thanks for your interest! Let's see...

14. Is there a character/ship you were sure you would never write/draw but now you've changed your mind?

I must admit I do love writing a rare pair with Barriss and they kind of come spur of the moment. I just happened to have finished reading Queen's Hope when I was writing my first fic, and I liked this one background character who was in like 8 pages. And I thought they're should someone writing about this one hypercompetent personal assistant, Tepoh. So I wrote zher in the story. And then I realized the state Barriss was in when they met would really get Tepoh's attention, and that zhe could give her some great advice. And maybe they should eventually smooch.

I certainly never thought I would write anything related to the Chiss Ascendancy novel series but then we got Thrawn in the same trailer as Barriss and taking her to the Ascendancy would be a great way of getting her out of harm's way. And then wow, I get to write Ar'alani and Eli Vanto and all those great characters. That was a little intimidating, because those Chiss fans are a very passionate bunch, but it seems to have gone over well and I was even asked to include the fic on a Thrawn Rare Pairs list!

I even wrote a Resistance fic as an excuse for a very silly rare pair fic! I guess the most honest answer to the question is if a character gets my interest and I want to write them it just seems natural to see if they would be a good, or interesting fit for some shipping.

22. Give us a headcannon for Barriss.

One of my main goals is bringing in bits of Legends Barriss and grafting them onto her current version. Because there is so little left two work with, and she was a fairly well highlighted character for the old 2002-2005 original Clone Wars multimedia project.

One thing I find interesting is that she was born on a refugee ship and brought to the temple not as a 3–4-year-old toddler, but as an infant. That means someone in the temple, probably a lot of Jedi, cared for her and bottle fed her and stuff. That's like, really interesting to me. I don't think Luminara did it alone. It would have been her generation of Padawans and Knights, so Obi-Wan and Quinlan, Shaak-ti. You have to assume she needed a lot of care. And being brought up in the temple gives her a different perspective. You can see why she felt safe there, and why she bombed the hangar. That was the portal to the outside world and the war, from the place she felt safe and the place that did violence upon her. She wanted to shut it down as to delay as many missions as possible, to keep the younger generation safe.

It is a warped perspective born on grief and hurt, but that's what I think happened.

#ask game #barriss offee #rare pairs #headca

[saintchaser]

queerdeadwizards' fic rec list

(a/n: if you do not see my friends' fics on here, it's because i am making a fic rec list where there are no fics of my friends; i might be subjective, and i am friends with amazing writers, so you can safely assume that i am recommending all of their fics.)

Sunflowers & Sweetpeas by katialena

Language: English, WIP. Current Word Count: 7,462

Found Family takes a lot of work, but there is always room for one more. Even while teenage romance gets... complicated?

Texting/Social Media Fic Part Three. In Progress.

marginalia by spindrifters

Language: English, WIP. Current Word Count: 192,506

This story began a long time ago. That part is already written. Nothing can be done about it now. It began with two young men—barely more than boys—who upended the world, magical and mundane alike. Grindelwald and Dumbledore, glorious leaders of the revolution, who brought wizardkind out of hiding and into the light during those last, violent days of 1899.

But a winter's night seventy-seven years later is where things really kick off.

Because Remus Lupin knows what to expect when you’ve been sold somewhere new. He knows it better than he ever thought he'd have to by this point. He knows how to survive. And Sirius Black is doing his best to just graduate Hogwarts and get himself and his brother away from this goddamn house. He's got it figured out by now. He has a plan.

Neither of them, however, had accounted for the other messing everything up by the mere fact of just existing.

(Or, the one where Sirius is heir to a pureblood first family and Remus is a half-blood servant, but a chance meeting leads to healing old wounds, stumbling into love, and just maybe accidentally kickstarting a revolution.)

you wouldn’t like me by crushofdoves

Language: English, WIP. Current Word Count: 20,339

It’s 2005 and Sirius is trying to figure out his gender, his brother, and his new crush.

My Only Sunshine by Loua29xx

Language: English, Completed Work. Word Count: 28,973

“Sirius Orion Black, you are charged with the murder of Remus John Lupin,” Sirius draws in a shaky breath at the name, “in regards to this offence, do you plead guilty or not guilty?”

Guilty.

*******

Standing trial for the murder of the man he loves most in the world, Sirius can’t help but look back on his time with the light of his life. His sunshine.

#can't stop reccing mos because even though you need to be mindful of the tags it was absolutely beautiful and sould crushing #soul* #all of the other fics are beautiful too #i will do another fic rec list once i start reading more 😭😭 #marginalia #you wouldn't like me #my only sunshine #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #wolfstar fic recs #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #drarry fic rec #fic recs

[junemermaid]

writer interview

I was tagged by @vaynglories, @lynne-monstr and @la-muerta all at one point or another. Thank you all kindly, sorry it took me so long! 💗

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

120 unique works. I have two double entries from when the old Yuletide archive was imported to AO3, so the total on my author page is 122. It's missing any fic I wrote before 2005 but honestly I'm fine with those being lost in the mists of the internet. If you know, you know.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,004,161.

I didn't actually wait to do this meme until I passed the one million words mark, but I also kinda did.

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

bodies full of untold stories (malec, E, Shadowhunters) / 1,343

an act of faith against the night (malec, T, Shadowhunters) / 1,037

House of Ash and Salt (dorian x bull, M, DA:I) / 995

Walkers of the Winding Path (malec, E, Shadowhunters) / 933

Talking With Strangers (malec, E, Shadowhunters) / 930

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

I used to and it's my one continuing regret that I haven't been able to catch up with my inbox! The greatest reason why I currently seldom reply to comments is that I have such a backlog. The other reason is that I will either answer comments or write more fic, and I'm sure everyone rather that I do the latter. Still, I miss the conversation around fic that replying to comments often generated.

I mean: I need more writing friends and goddamn, please talk to me because I feel detached from fandom and it's the worst thing.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Probably to make the saints attend them long (malec, T, SH) which ends with extremely heavily implied MCD.

I tend to write hopeful to bittersweet endings, so this was a rarity for me.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Define happy ending? I do have one, all souls sheltered, (dorian x bull, T, DA:I) which IS the soft epilogue I wanted those two characters to have after all their toils and troubles.

These two questions mostly tell me that most of my endings don't fit well on the happy to sad scale. I tend to leave characters at points where they can look forward to the future and any acute crises are over, but I really wish "happy for now" or "a happy middle" would stick as ending descriptions because that's where I live.

7. Do you write crossovers?

I write fusions? Not traditional crossovers but I have a very niche fic thing where I take Alec and Magnus and stick them into the worlds of videogames I love. To wit, the Witcher (Walkers of the Winding Path) and Final Fantasy X (Servant of the Spiral).

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yep. Didn't much care for it.

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

I do! I've written my share of PWP but more typically the process goes something like this:

I find a kink/trope/sex situation I want to try writing

the fic grows copious amounts of plot/worldbuilding/interpersonal drama (exhibit A: the tentacle porn that came with 3,000 words of, uh, creature logistics so I could have tentacles)

I spend two years working on bullet point two before the characters ever get naked in each other's company

My smut fic tends to the tender/longing/emotional, though. I use sex mostly as a vehicle for character exploration or to drive the drama of a story, so most of my sex scenes pull double duty to also move the overall story forward.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. I'm a pretty niche writer in most of my fandoms, I don't think you would make either much fandom fame or big bucks with my writing.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! to make the saints attend them long is translated into Italian.

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

No. I'm a slow writer and I have to hew out writing time from the bedrock of my RL, so it wouldn't be very conducive to sharing a creative project, even though the basic idea appeals to me.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I was gonna make a joke about being asked to rate my children, but tbh I would rather not refer to fictional characters by any family term. However! I have changing obsessions and there's always some ship or canon that is eating up my brain at any given time, but I don't really get over ships. The details of canons fade with time but characters live forever in my heart.

Back in the mists of time, Ichigo and Rukia changed who I was as a person. (Then I added in Renji and It Got Better.) I adore Alec and Magnus but the fandom was categorically A Lot. Same with Dorian and Bull. Josephine and Cassandra were a total crack ship in the sense that there's no canon but I still love the idea of an f/f lady/champion pairing.

And right now I have two competing wuxia ot3s vying from my attention so. This is not a question I can answer.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

My general fic writing philosophy is "whatever you can, whenever you can". I've made my peace with the fact that sometimes I'll start a thing and post a bit and then it simply won't get finished. Fic is free and no one has to click on a WIP (much as I love those people who will!)

So, unfortunately there's a few old WIPs on my ao3 that I don't think will ever get wrapped. The older the fic, the less likely it is. I keep them up as testament to the process, I suppose, or in case anyone likes the idea enough to read whatever I managed of it.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Putting canon under a lens until I have a mental Wall of Crazy with ten thousand interconnecting red strings and obscure notes, and then wringing story out of elements in the text that might not seem to connect on the surface.

I know sometimes you have to just wholesale go "this makes zero sense" and drop a bit of canon, but what I enjoy is taking bits and pieces and adapting them to fic. My current project is writing all the Mu Nihuang POV she really kind of doesn't get in Nirvana in Fire itself, and I am having a blast.

Also: character voice, action scenes, evocative description, setting up an emotional punch and taking you out with it 2,000 words later

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm slow, picky, and obsessive. I have to be In A Mood before I can put words to paper (I'm trying to combat this by becoming more of a garbage goblin about my first drafts. All words are good words! Hissss!) I'm bad at humour unless I'm accidentally funny.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

It can be used to good effect but it's best used sparingly. I would generally always prefer that plot-relevant or important dialogue were simply, "This is the murder weapon," she said in French. Don't withhold information or emotional impact for the sake of showing off.

And oh god, never, ever put dialogue through MTL and expect it to come out right. If you absolutely need dialogue in a foreign language, consult an actual person that speaks it.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Very technically, ElfQuest. For actual published fic, Rurouni Kenshin.

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Mysterious Lotus Casebook tickles my brain but I don't yet quite know what I want to write about! I have enough trouble herding the rowdy cats that are my NiF ideas right now.

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Always the one I'm working on. So much of the joy of fic is bound up in the good creative rush of making it happen. Just as so much of the woe of fic is in the fucking toil of making it happen.

Anyway! Flowers in Dreamland Weather (jingsuhuang, E, Nirvana in Fire) got me out of a slump and gave me new characters and relationships to rotate in my head, and I love it for that.

Talking With Strangers (malec, E, Shadowhunters) actually got finished in a satisfying way, and I love it for that.

Maybe those are my current answers.

-

I will no-pressure tag — @theotherjax, @electricshoebox, @faejilly, @sinni-ok-sessi, @ladymatt, and anyone that still wants to do this! I've seen this doing the rounds, so if you haven't yet, please feel free to blame me for enabling you!

#meme me #june does a meme #june answers #june rambles #my fanfic #I've forgotten all my fic tags #the writing life #writing is the best hobby #writing is the worst hobby

[naranjapetrificada]

Fanfic Friday!

I still don't completely understand it, so this week I'm just gonna reflect on things that happened while writing this arranged marriage longfic, some of which I posted about on here and some of which I didn't.

I gave up on the Soup Paragraphs that were haunting me and realized I can introduce them later if I must.

I got in some "let go and let god" practice when I realized I don't have to get every little throwaway detail right, especially when it slows down my progress/makes writing miserable.

My therapist wants me to see about applying this Free Yourself skill in my non-writing life, to which I say I know you are but what am I

Characters put themselves in situations without my input and it was great!

Ceremonies are hard to write but at least I now know what Ed and Stede would be like if they were kids in a school play.

I started watching Rome again after thinking about it last week in the wake of the cancelation (I've had it on DVD for years). Still problematic in the way something made in 2005 will be, but otherwise it holds up incredibly well.

I've also stopped caring as much about all the people using the world's problems as a bludgeon against OFMD fans and the campaign to to save the show. For all the reasons other people have already articulated well but also, on a personal note, because of what this show has done for my relationship with writing.

I won't get into too much detail but suffice it to say I have a lot of baggage around writing, because of all the "gifted" nonsense of my childhood and my MFA experience as an adult. I don't blame anyone per se, but unhelpful social frameworks were unhelpful. Let's just say that when Pop-Pop said "if you were ever good at anything go do that" to Ed, it didn't not remind me of feeling obligated to do something that used to be rewarding but isn't anymore because it's what you're "supposed" to do. Anyway.

I wrote three short (<2000 word) fics between seasons 1&2, the first fic I've felt like writing in over a decade. It was liberating as hell to write again in a low-stakes environment, and with blorbo motivation to power me through the difficult parts. I never, ever thought I would write anything longer than 2000 words, but for the past (several?) weeks now I've been alternating between two drafts in tropes I can't get enough of, the shortest of which is around 10,000 (admittedly unedited) words.

The other is longer, and every time I work on it I keep having to break shit up so the chapters stay under 5000 words. This is unprecedented for me, and I've wanted to share it so much that I'm running out of shit to post on WIP Wednesday that won't reveal the plot or require too much context. I've never been in a fandom as creative (and creatively inspiring) as this one, nor have I every written so much in a single fandom before.

My relationship with writing wouldn't be healing like this at all if it weren't for this show and this fandom, and in particular I want to highlight the freedom in embracing the "David Jenkins School of Historical Inaccuracy." In fact, I've been keeping a running list of AO3 tags for the fic I've made the most progress on, and there are several "David Jenkins School of ________" tags, including Archaeology, Theology, and Comparative Politics. Thanks to seeing DJ's philosophy at work it's now possible for me to move on from certain details when I get stuck because they're "inaccurate" for the setting or whatever in a way I never could before. Now I feel empowered to move on from tricky details by asking myself:

Is it funny?

Is it related to the plot?

Is it character-building?

And if the answer to all of those is no, then so is the answer to question 4: "does it matter?"

Assuming I finish these longfics they'll be the longest creative pieces I've ever written and beyond the longest works of fiction I ever thought I would write, and for that I'm eternally grateful. Even if the world we live in is a crumbling disaster. Especially if the world we live in is a crumbling disaster.

#ofmd #our flag means death #renew as a crew #save ofmd #fanfic friday #WIP it good #edward teach #ofmd meta #fandom meta #writing process #writing woes #fic writing #arranged marriage AU #ancient rome AU (sorta)

[chaotic-goodsir]

Good morning, might I interest anyone in some hyperfixated rambling re:

1) Me being wrong about Wilbur Cross and John Macnamara's canon ages.

2) The newly explained Mega Bastards SaF lore (I know it's just Actor Curt Mega's headcanon but it's canon to me now)

3) The implications for my hcs about Wilbur being the Spankoffski bros uncle and John being related to Curt?

Keeping it under a readmore so I don't annoy everyone about this, because I have a lot of thoughts.

*

So it turns out I misunderstood John and Wilbur's canon ages in Black Friday.

According to the wiki they're around 42 and around 44 respectively in 2019. I'd imagined them as being 10 years older than this and therefore in their early 30s back in 1998, but in fact they should have been only 21 and 23 in that Saf/Hatchetverse crossover fic I wrote a while ago, and they were only 28 and 30 when the portal incident happened.

The question of whether Wiley can physically age post-2005 makes this interesting, though. Was Wilbur 44 in 2005, making Wiley eternally 44? That would mean that pre-portal Wilbur was a whole 15 or 16 years older than John, which works well I guess for the canon mentor-mentee context but not so well for my own MacNaCross headcanons. I think such a big age difference would change their dynamic a lot, plus I prefer the idea of Wilbur having been promoted at a fairly young age for a PIEP colonel.

For those reasons I'm gonna go with Wilbur being 30 in 2005 and Wiley being technically 44 in Black Friday, whether or not he ages in a normal human way. The most tragic implication of this is of course that I can't call Wilbur/Wiley a boomer anymore, since being born in 1975 makes them definitely Gen X :(

But it would also make the age difference between Wil and Annie (a Hatchetfield OC of mine who is Wil's sister and Pete and Ted's mom) much larger. Ted was born in 1984, so Annie would have to be at least 10 years older than Wilbur.

Having a 10 year age difference between the Cross Siblings would be kinda cool (it parallels the Spankoffski bros age difference!!) but it does mean rethinking all my headcanons about their sibling dynamic. Plus it would make Wilbur less than 10 years older than Ted and an actual uncle since the age of 9.

- Implications for my headcanons about where the Uncle Wiley character/voice came from? Perhaps.

- Would Ted have known Wilbur better when he was growing up? Seems more likely, especially if Annie helped her younger sibling out when he left home.

- What about Ted and Wilbur knowing each other around the time of the Jenny incident and the portal? Or when Pete was born in 2002? Or Homeless Ted's reasons for queuing up in Black Friday?

MUCH to consider and perhaps draw or write about some time.

*

Anyway. On a different note:

Combining Actor Curt Mega's headcanon about Agent Curt Mega having several illegitimate children with John and Wilbur's canon ages, it's completely possible (if you like SaF/Hatchetverse crossovers) for John Macnamara to be Curt's grandson.

If John is around 42 in TGWDLM and Black Friday, then he was born around 1976. So his mother or father could easily have been born in the early fifties as one of the illegitimate children resulting from Curt's spy activities. And it's likely John wouldn't know this, if the truth was kept a secret from him - which it probably would be, if his grandmother's line of work/status was the kind where you end up being seduced for espionage reasons by the world's greatest spy.

Again: Much to think about.

#hatchetverse #hatchetfield #starkid #spies are forever #wilbur cross #john macnamara #ted spankoffsi #time bastard #black friday starkid #agent curt mega #macnacross

[halfagone]

Hey! So I haven't watched Danny Phantom series for literal decades now, but somehow stumbled my way on this Fandom recently. Found DP x DC crossover is a thing and having absolute blast enjoying all those AMAZING fics, fancomics and arts!!!

What i want to ask is, since when DP x DC crossover is a thing? Sorry, i'm just really confused lol

One of us, one of us, ONE OF US!!

But in all seriousness, it's great to have you here! Always happy to see someone fall into endless pit with us (don't worry, it's a nice pit. Much better than the Lazarus Pits for sure). To answer your actual question, I will have to admit I'm not quite certain myself. I've perused DP/DC crossovers for quite some time, but haven't been around from the start. So if anyone knows any better, feel free to add on!

I know this was a very simple question, but I don't do simple. I write essays. So, sorry for that!

From my estimation, I would say most of this crossover starts with DP and Teen Titans. As you probably already know, FF.net has been around since before Ao3, and if you check the pages for DP crossovers on FF.net you can see that the DP x Teen Titans crossover has the most stories. You can also see that some of the very first DP x Teen Titans crossovers appeared in 2005. Which makes sense, seeing as DP and Teen Titans aired around the same time. This very likely contributed to some of the earliest crossovers between these two fandoms.

It definitely helps that Danny is, as we like to say, prime Wayne-adoptee material, and it all kind of goes nuts from there. I think early on there was a lot of either Danny/Dick fics, or Danny and Dick being twins or siblings of some sort. However, as more content aired with other Batboys, I'm sure that also helped with the variety of surprise (and/or mystery) siblings fics popping up. And then, of course, there's the ships. But we don't really need to get into that now.

I remember a time when DP x DC crossovers only had, maybe 100 fics on Ao3? Probably a little more than that? And this is with other fandoms thrown in there for some of these stories. I wasn't writing fanfiction for this crossover back then either, but as you can see it's grown a lot since then.

I don't know if this is technically correct (and perhaps an exact timeline would be helpful, but I wouldn't know how to find an accurate one anyways), but I think it was when Ghost Kings and Gotham Bats got popular, that I saw this huge surge in fanfiction for this crossover. Suddenly there were so many fics that had similar concepts, aka Damian and Danny being siblings/twins.

At this time, some of the most popular (by Hits, not Kudos) were:

Lazarus Green Eyes by Keetajet *One of the biggest fics of that time that really tapped into the potential of Jason's connection to the Lazarus Pits in conjunction to DP's ectoplasm.

A Ghost in Gotham by SassyAngel *Definitely one of my fav Damian/Danny fics. I hope the author's video game has been going well!

I Don't? Work Alone by DomesticatedOpossum *I think this was one of the only Jason/Danny fics I could find for a LONG time.

and

Crash Course by Carmic *aka the very first Anger Management fic that I know of!

(Do keep in mind this is not a full list, but simply some of the big titles from early on in the crossover days on Ao3 that I can recall.)

But if this tells you anything, back then the fics with the most hits only had... maybe 20-30k hits? Which is still a lot for a crossover, but when you think about how the top three fics of this crossover today is at, like, 300k? That's a huge incline of popularity.

All this is to say that I have no idea how it happened. I think it was a steady progression at the beginning, and then at some point it just blew up and never stopped blowing up? Not yet anyways. Tldr; it started with Teen Titans, it's never stopped. We have grown more powerful, we consume more souls into our fandom!

It's great to have you here, I hope this answered your question! Somewhat. lol

#halfagone replies #halfagone rambles #a lot #dp x dc #if anyone knows more #PLEASE add it #i myself would love to know!