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crystal-snowing · 3 years

Text

oblivious | bang chan

synopsis: the four times that you almost confess to chan and the one time that he does it for you. or in which, you have the biggest crush on chan and the one time where he finally notices.

genre: fluff, slight angst, best-friends-to-lovers! au, non-idol! au

pairing: bang chan x reader

word count: 2.9k

a/n: this is for the @districtninewriters’ winter fic exchange, and my person was minnie ( @lveletters ) ! surprise !! minnie is such a fantastic writer, and i had an enjoyable time writing this and definitely writing for chan, i hope you enjoy !! <3

a/n part two: this gif was made by @/prodskz and i just edited it !

one

At the age of eight, there were only two things that you relatively seemed to know about Bang Chan: one; he was your next-door neighbor, two, (because of fact number one, he, therefore) was your best friend. Your relationship with him seemed simple enough, and there was nothing more that you could expect from the boy other than occasionally sharing his food with you during snack time and holding your hand as you both crossed the street on the way home. Life was simple, and you were content, as much as an eight-year-old could be—happily sipping on a juice box and munching on some graham crackers.

It was any other day at recess, both you and Chan taking up your resident spot on the swing set next to each other, pumping your legs as fast as you possibly could to swing higher than the other. Everything between the two of you was a competition; it was only natural. There was something about Bang Chan that seemed to awaken this drive within you even at such a young age. Your competitive side heightened by his presence—the need to invoke a response from him was too great to ignore.

“You know, I went to my uncle’s wedding this weekend,” you started, slowing the swing down just a bit so he could hear you over the playful sounds emanating from the playground. “And my uncle told me that one day I’m going to get married too!”

“Yeah, right! As if someone would ever marry you,” Chan scoffed, rolling his eyes lightly at your declaration.

You gasped and pouted slightly at his words. Reaching down with your right leg, you allowed it to drag across the wood chips below, slowing yourself down to a stop on the swing so that you could honestly look at him as you spoke.

“It’s true,” you huffed, puffing out your chest as you spoke, “plus, you’re my best friend, so we have to get married.”

His nose scrunched up and his eyebrows became furrowed at your words, clearly dissatisfied by the response that you gave. Chan began to slow down his swing before coming to a stop next to your own, as he shot you a frown.

“No way! I’m never getting married, especially not to you!”“What, why?”

He stood up from his position on the swing, dusting off his pants slightly before shooting you a pointed look.

“Because you have cooties,” he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You paused, glancing up at the brunette boy from your seated position on the swing with your mouth agape. There was an expression that seemed to flash across your face, and upon realizing, Chan broke off into a sprint before you followed after him.

“Bang Chan, come back here! I swear we’re going to get married one day; you just wait and see!”

two

The winter formal was perhaps one of the most important social gatherings at your middle school. It could possibly make or break your social reputation. Pairings between the student body had already begun three weeks ago, and the dance was about forty-eight hours away. However, your dilemma was that you were unsure if you even had a date.

There was a simple enough fix to this whole situation, and all you had to do was ask. Still, it was times like this where you couldn’t help but overthink everything in your relationship with Bang Chan. You assumed the two of you were going together; it only made sense. But considering the proximity of the dance and since he hasn’t said anything about it to you—well, the seeds of doubt have begun to sprout slowly.

An opportunity had continually presented itself every afternoon when both of you walked, side-by-side, home. You just needed to gather the courage and ask. Still, the walk seemed to end far too quickly for your liking. Before you knew it, you were bidding him goodbye with the repetitive excuse of having “too much homework.”

There was no way for you to explain the difficulty of putting these feelings into words. You couldn’t even begin to describe the unnecessary panic that you felt at the mere thought of him going to the dance with someone else. The idea of this was too much for you to bear. You were practically intoxicated on the very thought of him, which caused you to lose almost all sense of control when you were around him. The panic you felt closing in on Wednesday afternoon continued to grow as you both arrived closer and closer towards your respective houses. The mounting pressure caused you to suddenly stop short and yell out the one thing plaguing your mind.

“Chan, I like you! Please go to the dance with me!”

You couldn’t bear to look at him, quickly averting your gaze and attention into memorizing the intricate pattern of the sidewalk below—mentally preparing for the backlash and consequences to follow.

He blinked once, then twice, before finally taking a step closer to you and speaking.

“I like you too, [N/N], you’re my best friend,” he chuckled, causing you to look back up at him with wide eyes, “of course I’ll go to the dance with you.”

There was something about how he looked in the afternoon sunlight that seemed to make him glow, his eyes radiating warmth as he offered you a breathtaking smile. Your heart skipped a beat at his actions, and with your palms becoming sweaty and your knees weak, you were unsure what was coming over you.

And just like that, it was over.

With a slight ruffle of your hair, Chan turned away from you and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

He gave you a small wave and the promise of walking to school together tomorrow as he walked into his house. This left you standing dumbfounded on the sidewalk with slightly messy hair and an overwhelming feeling of bittersweetness sitting on your tongue.

three

The brisk night air served as a bitter reminder of the impending doom that you felt. Your high school was bustling for this time of night, the remnants of the party fizzling out and became merely a low buzzing in the background. Both of you were situated away from the rest. Sitting with barely an inch between you two on a picnic blanket behind the school, sipping cans of Coke as you watched people from a distance.

As the moonlight reflected off of his tan skin, your breath couldn’t help but get caught in your throat. He was ethereal, his skin glowing. His suit jacket was discarded somewhere on the grass elsewhere, his red tie loosened around his neck with his white dress shirt unbuttoned slightly as he leaned back on his arms. His legs outstretched in front of him. You drank him in as if he was fine wine, savoring every last drop, your body feeling slightly warm in his presence.

“You know, I’m always just one call away,” he spoke softly, his voice contrasting against the quiet murmur of the background. He looked at you, noticing the way your eyes seemed glossier than usual tonight, and he couldn’t help but grab your hand and rub small circles into it.

“But that’s not the same as being with you.”

The tears were pooling at the bottom of your eyes, gathering around your lower lashes and threatening to spill onto your clothes below. Your lips trembled at the thought, both you and Chan separating after so long together, going to different colleges and traveling on different paths in life. Some tears had spilled over, splashing silently down on the blanket below as they began to dribble down your cheeks and chin. It was only until you couldn’t contain yourself any longer then silent sobs began wracking your body.

“No matter what, I promise we’ll always make our way back to each other,” he continued to speak, but you couldn’t comprehend the rest. Your head continues to swirl with that particular sentence, playing it back like a mantra. You looked up at him, his brown eyes staring into yours—and you could swear, at that moment, you were home.

You practically lunged at him, tackling him in a hug and burying your tear-stained face into his chest. His body was stiff as he froze for a second before his arms came to wrap around your frame. Patting your back with a steady rhythm, he attempted to calm your cries as you soaked his dress shirt. Your grip around his frame was tight, and you held onto him as if your life depended on it as your sobs turned into soft sniffles and your eyes began to dry.

“I love you,” you muttered, nuzzling yourself further into his chest. You were unsure what had come over you, but at that moment, everything just felt right, and the confession that you have been harboring suddenly slipped out. The hand patting your back paused for a split second before resuming so swiftly that you chalked it up as a figment of your imagination. He didn’t say anything in response to your confession; instead, he opted to bring you closer in his embrace, and you dismissed it on the grounds that he probably didn’t hear you.

For now, you were content with the way things were, slightly thanking whatever god was out there for keeping your feelings hidden for another day.

four

By the time Chan arrived at the party, he was surprised that you were still standing on your own two feet. It wasn’t often that you would drink past your limit, but he knew you, and there were often times where you became a bit overzealous, biting off a lot more than you could chew. He knew that it was the competitive drive within you, and you couldn’t help yourself, but he would be damned if he ever let anything happen to you in this state.

That’s how he found himself at this end of the semester party, which was in a neighborhood that he was not familiar with at a quarter past one in the morning.

“Hey, did you know that I have a super hot best friend named Bang Chan?” your words were definitely slurred as they escaped your lips as you clung onto his back like a koala. You shifted yourself slightly on his back as you attempted to make yourself comfortable with your arms around his neck, and his jacket draped over your shoulders.

“Oh, really?” Chan mused, holding your legs tightly against his hips as he made his way down the sidewalk and towards your childhood neighborhood.

“Yeah, and I really really like him,” you paused before puffing out your cheeks and pouting, “but he doesn’t like me that way.”

“But, you guys are best friends; I’m sure he likes you at least a little bit,” he tries to reason with you, readjusting his grip on your legs. Even though he has had nothing to drink tonight, he was hanging onto every word that you spoke—enthralled and curious by this hidden information.

It was silent on your end for a bit before you leaned closer towards his ear to whisper your response.

“I’m going to tell you a big secret,” you paused slightly for dramatic effect, “I like like him, actually, no wait, I love love him and not in the friend kind of way.”

At your confession, he almost drops you but quickly catches himself and continues towards your house, his head clouded with thoughts. His eyebrows were furrowed deeply—scrunched together—creating deep indentations in his forehead as he attempted to make sense of everything that you just unloaded onto him.

After dropping that bomb on him, you were mostly silent on the ride home. Chan assumed that you had fallen asleep, and by the time he arrived at your doorstep and successfully managed to fish the keys from your pocket, did he come to two realizations. The first being that you were, in fact, awake the whole time.

“I also have another confession,” you mutter, your voice significantly quieter than it was a few minutes ago. He hummed a response, gingerly opening the door to your house and shutting it behind him. Removing both his shoes and your shoes before making his way to the couch positioned in the living room. “I don’t feel so good; I think I’m going to—”

Chan didn’t let you finish your sentence before shoving you into the nearest bathroom, holding back your hair as you emptied your stomach into the toilet below. Sitting on the cold tiled floor of your bathroom with the sounds of you dry heaving, did he come into his second realization.

My god, there was a possibility that you felt the same way.

five

Bang Chan was having a crisis. The uncomfortable night’s rest that he had on your living room couch did not do him any favors either. Instead of sleeping, he spent most of his night, letting countless scenarios run rampant through his head. After getting fed up with staring at your white ceiling all night, he found himself taking up residency in your kitchen. Watching the coffee pot heat up while drumming his fingers pensively on the countertop.

“Good morning,” you mumbled, yawning slightly as you padded into the kitchen. Chan jumped slightly at the sound of your voice, shoulders tensing up but then relaxing at your presence. For lack of a better term, you looked like a complete and utter mess. Your hair was sticking up wildly in all directions, your skin significantly paler than usual, and the bags underneath your eyes were more prominent than usual.

Nevertheless, he still thought you looked breathtaking.

“Thank you for taking care of me last night. I honestly can’t remember much from last night besides rambling about anything and everything," you laughed, rubbing your eyes as you grabbed a mug from the cabinet above.

You reached in front of him to grab the coffee pot and poured yourself a cup, brushing your arm against his own as you turned away. His heart immediately skipped a beat, heat flooding to his cheeks as he recalled your confession last night.

Sipping the hot and bitter liquid, you glanced at his flushed state, taking note of his slightly disheveled appearance as well as his bed head. It was evident that he slept here and took care of you; that was noted by the aspirin and glass of water left on your bedside table. You were more than grateful for everything that he has done for you. However, even in your slightly hungover state, you could notice the way he was avoiding eye contact with you, choosing to fiddle with the sleeves of his sweatshirt instead.

"Oh god, don't tell me,” you groaned, “what did I say to you last night?” You placed your cup down on the counter, rubbing your temples slightly as you braced yourself for his response.

Taking another sip of coffee, he paused before flitting his eyes up to meet your own—a small smile dancing across his lips. You were taken aback by his sudden burst of confidence, as you could feel your cheeks heat up in response.

“Well, you told me that you have this super and extra-hot best friend named Bang Chan. Isn’t it weird that this guy and I have the same name?” Chan had this shit-eating grin on his face before continuing, “oh, and you also mentioned that you might have a big crush on me.”

The coffee that you were currently drinking almost sprayed across the kitchen, your eyes wide as you quickly swallowed the liquid. If the world could swallow you up at this very moment, you would probably let it—anything to escape the utter embarrassment that you felt. It was now your turn to look everywhere except his eyes, hands fiddling gingerly with the handle of the coffee cup, desperately attempting to think of a way out without confessing the truth.

Chan took a step closer to you, placing his cup on the counter before running his hand through his disheveled brown locks. He cleared his throat softly, causing you to glance into his eyes. They burned with a type of determination and passion that you have never witnessed first-hand, your lips slightly agape as he began to speak.

“Because if that’s true, I feel the same way. I like you more than a friend, and I have for a while,” he stopped for a second, wiping the clamminess of his hands off on his jeans, shooting you a sheepish smile. Every single confession that you had given him throughout the years suddenly became apparent, from the warm glow of your cheeks to the bashful smile that adorned your lips—everything became clear. And just like that, his mind was made up.

“I want to ruin our friendship; let’s date instead.”

#skz imagines #stray kids imagines #districtninewriters #stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan scenarios #my writing

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Troll In Love: Part 1

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Exes to Lovers, Non-Idol AU

Rating: PG-17

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Swearing

Summary: What happens when your work nemesis and your ultimate troll team up to flip your world upside down?

Note: This piece is for the #thebtswritersclub fic exchange! Look out for Part 2 later this week.

This fic is dedicated to, written for the incomparable @xjoonchildx, who I have been lucky enough to be paired with. A major fan, this was an intimidating endeavor, and I’m kind of in love with what I’ve created for her. And if she hates it .... it’s trash okay? jk... kind of.

Banner by me.

Monday: Pitch Meeting

“Everyone has an inherent archnemesis,” Claire began her presentation, eyes peering across the conference room, attempting to make thoughtful eye contact with her peers.

Finally, a staff writer, this pitch marked her first foray into feature writing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, in her three years at the company as a freelance writer, it wasn’t that she didn’t draft proposals, complete preliminary research, no, she absolutely did. But there was always someone in front of her, someone who always came around the corner, nicking first place with seconds to spare. Claire hated you from the moment you arrived, bright eyed and excited, a recent college graduate gunning for a position at the magazine. While it took her years to pitch a cover story feature, years to move from an assistant to full-time staff writer, you had done so in a handful of years.

Today, Claire decided, that would change. She had prepped and planned for weeks, laid in wait for Marissa to give her the go ahead to pitch her idea to the team. Adjusting her Dior, she shifted from heel to heel before speaking again.

“We all have that one person who no matter what we post, they find a way to demean it, turn it negative, make it about something completely unrelated. Whether that’s politics, or religion, or sex, there is that one troll we can’t help but root against. My proposal is to use a few members of staff to find their internet trolls, to engage with them over a period of time, and if they’re willing, interview them, both separately and together. I want to discover what it is that makes them keep commenting, why they always seem to gravitate towards certain posts, who their audience is and how it relates to our greater understandings of our enemies.” Claire sighed, the heavy lifting of her presentation just beginning.

“I like it, who do you want to use?” Marissa asked.

“Someone from each of our most high-profile teams, or the people in our office that have the largest social media followings. For a few that overlaps,”

“Who are those people?”

“Y/N, Jaxson, Hoseok, Emma and Bridgette,” Claire explained. “They have an average Instagram following of ten thousand, and on Twitter it’s twelve thousand.”

“What do you post that gets you so many followers?” Gillian questioned.

“My ass,” Jaxson laughed. “But really, it’s Drag Race content,”

“Good, you have a list. I need written permission from each of you to interview you and your top internet harassers.”

“I’d like to request that my name be off the list,” You asked, hand still raised.

Hoseok asked, knowing the answer deep in his bones. “Why?”

“I just, I don’t think it’d be a –

“Nonsense, you have a large following, I’m sure there’s someone who pisses you off regularly,” Marissa interrupted.

“Yes, there is! What’s his name? Jimin?” Claire pretended to scan her page, her cursory glance perfunctory instead of practical.

You heard the gasp leave Hoseok’s mouth before you registered what was happening.

“Fuck you!” You snapped. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate, but the sentiment remains.”

“It was, but it also sealed your fate.” Marissa stood. “Start assembling your team and listen to Claire, I’m sure she has a list of things she needs from you.”

“I do!” Claire chimed.

“Great, get me the contracts from legal and get it to each of the people you’ve listed before 5PM today, I want signed consent before you leave this building.”

“What if I don’t want to?” You asked, your final plea.

“You owe her for the debacle with your last interview,” Marissa reminded you.

“It’s not my fault they were drunk both times! I got the article done and out. It was one of our biggest issues in the last year and was followed up by two other feature pieces by me that beat that record,” You countered, your success an unnecessary brag in a room full of people who feared and admired your work.

“I don’t care, Y/N, handle it,” Marissa sauntered out, her assistants following close behind.

Slouching in your chair, your eyes landed on Claire, glaring daggers into her perfectly straight midnight bob. She was everything you hated, a brown noser, a narcissist, a career driven monster who had been biting at your heels since you arrived. She was jealous, blinded by some lofty goal that she’d be an editor or editor in chief before 28, a feat rare in fashion, unless you were Elaine Welterwroth or Margaret Zhang, of course. They had become editors and editors in chief by ages 29 and 27 respectively. Though Zhang had begun her career blogging at 16, a fact that only infuriated Claire who was too busy popping pimples and trying to lose her virginity to her junior varsity boyfriend.

Claire could spend days listing everything she hated about you. She hated your easy interactions with coworkers, the ability to have the entire room stop and listen when you spoke, the craft of your written work and relationships maintained with subjects years after interviewing them. She hated how you left work with Hoseok on your arm or went to drinks with the assistants and interns. How you achieved so many bylines, becoming an editor in your own right without so much as breaking a sweat, while she was scraping the barrel to be noticed. You seemingly had everything Claire wanted, and Claire was sick of it.

Monday: Your Office

“Thank you, for your participation,” Claire said, sitting across from you in your office.

“You aren’t welcome, I’m actually rather unimpressed with your ability to ambush not only me but the other people you’ve trapped into doing your article,” You crossed your legs, adjusting the waist band of your trousers and continued to scowl at her. Claire had only heard of your less than cheerful personality, though it remained largely rumored, she had never had it confirmed or dared to see it in person.

“How, charming,” She rolled her eyes.

“Look, you don’t want to be talking to me, I don’t want to be talking to you. Just tell me what you want so I can send you on your way.”

Claire watched as you reached across your desk to grab your black and white planner, flipping open to the weeks page and holding your pen at the ready. The inside, covered in stickers and hand lettered phrases, fit the persona Claire so desperately wanted to mimic.

“I need you to read and sign this,” Claire slid the agreement across your glass desk. “Then, I need you to identify the username of your troll, and I need to borrow an intern from your team.”

“You can’t have one,”

“Marissa said I could have whatever I needed, and I need an intern to comb through your tweets.”

“I can save you the trouble, I rarely tweet, when I do, it’s addressing the same ass hat,” You explained.

“Well, I need their handle,”

“Fine,”

“And the intern,” Claire was firm.

You rolled your eyes, before pressing the intercom. “Hey Alexis, can you send Erin to me?”

“Sure thing,” Alexis replied.

“Thank you,”

Claire rolled her eyes.

“Jealous?” You questioned.

“Read the contract, sign it and send it back to me along with answering the Form that’s in your inbox,” Claire directed.

“Great,”

“I’ll be back on Friday to go over your tweets and exchanges before we decide on a tactic to reach out to them and ask them to come in for an interview,” Claire explained. It didn’t annoy you that she was prepared, but it did piss you off a little to know how much she had thought this through. Maybe you should give her a chance, professionally, not socially, Claire would remain a bottom feeder.

“Who says they’re in the city?” You questioned.

“If not, we’ll Zoom with them, okay?”

“Excuse me, you wanted to see me?” Erin peered through the door; wavy bangs parted slightly to expose her forehead and freckled cheeks.

“Yes, your projects are on hold. Claire here needs your help with her feature article, and as my intern, you are to report to her for the remainder of the project,” You explained.

Erin’s eyes widened, never had she been reassigned to a special project, let alone with Claire who was notorious for running interns and assistants into the ground. “Who will take over my work?”

“Can you make a list of where you’re at and send it to me? I will meet with the team tomorrow to talk about where we need to fill in the gaps,”

“Okay,”

“Claire, this is Erin, if you are a bitch to her, I will ensure you don’t ever write a feature piece or move past copy editor here or anywhere,”

“I don’t know where you get off thinking you can speak to me like –

“I am your superior, and you will respect my intern or face the consequences,”

“Fine,” Claire turned and left, leaving Erin wondering what on earth she had been roped into.

Tuesday: Happy Hour

“You gave the real handle?” Hoseok asked over drinks after work, a little happy hour to celebrate leaving the office before 7PM.

“What was I going to do? She could easily look at my Twitter and Instagram and find out, why lie?”

“What happened to preservation?” Hoseok mocked.

“Either I give in and get Claire off my back, or I get called to Marissa’s and have consequences, like I’m a fucking child.”

Hoseok eyed you suspiciously. “Did you give her his name?”

“You saw in that meeting, she already knows. I blame you,”

“Me?”

“Yes you, always talking about dance classes with Jimin, the good old days of photographing him and styling him in college. He abandoned me to go to school with you, and you’ve taken it all in stride.” You explained. It wasn’t a new story, a new plea, a new exploration of your tempestuous non-relationship with Jimin. It was sad, really, listening to you express the hurt you’ve never let go of.

“He didn’t abandon you to come to school with me,” Hoseok laughed.

“Potato, Tomato,”

“You should talk-

“Nope, you made your once monthly ‘you should talk to Jimin’ comment a week ago over margheritas, you don’t get another for ten more days,” You scolded.

“Fine, fine.”

“I don’t even know where he is,” You muttered, pink liquid of your Paloma slipping down your throat.

“That’s a lie,”

“Can you stop calling me out and let me hate him?” You hadn’t meant to snap, but the constant chatter revolving around Jimin was too much to handle, it was too much in two days, too much in the years since you last saw him. Park Jimin was, and has remained, too much.

“Fine,” Hoseok resigned. “Have you looked at your tweets lately?”

“No, I refuse to go back and read whatever horrors I wrote in 2019,”

“You should,” He suggested.

“I guarantee Claire will force me to read them. Probably aloud at some last-minute staff meeting she puts together on Friday to fucking fillet me,” You rolled your eyes again, the last dregs of grapefruit clumping together as they slid down the side of your glass.

“Maybe if you weren’t so,” He starts.

“Bitchy?”

“Your words, then she would like you,”

“She’s hated me since I got there, I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried being cordial. Claire and I will never mix,” You explained.

“He’s gone blonde you know,” Hoseok’s eyes have flittered past you, glancing down the street at the setting sun, glad he brought his latest Gucci jacket to keep him warm in the early spring evening.

“Didn’t you hit your moratorium on how long you can talk about Jimin in a conversation?”

“You said his name!” Hoseok argued.

“He isn’t Trump, Hoseok. I can say his name, sometimes.”

Hoseok let the moment simmer, cooling gently before turning it up to a raucous boil. “I’m having a kick back next Wednesday, will you come?”

“If he’s not there,” You answered.

“I can’t promise that,”

“Then I can’t promise either,” Chewing the ice from your glass, you let your mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen should you show up to Hoseok’s party and are greeted by Jimin. Blonde Jimin. Jimin with the sparkling eyes and winning smile. Jimin who harasses you on the internet weekly, Jimin who you haven’t spoken to since you were 22, Jimin whom you hated with every fiber of your being.

Worst case scenario, you couldn’t avoid him and would be forced to speak words to him. Best case, you time it perfectly and he’s either just left or hasn’t arrived and you can doll out pleasantries before Irish-goodbying and never having to confront him.

“Y/N, please, you haven’t seen my new place yet and it’s finally furnished,” Hoseok pleaded.

“I’ll think about it,” You resigned.

“Great!”

“I fucking hate you and our friendship,” You scoffed, signaling the waiter to bring you the check. You should’ve ordered food, being buzzed and talking about Jimin was never a good idea.

“I know you do.” Hoseok winked before picking up the tab for you both.

“At least tell me you haven’t invited Seokjin,” You asked, slipping your coat over your shoulders.

“Well-

“You’re fucking with me, right?” You questioned. “You fucking invited both of my exes to a, I’m sorry, kick back? Hoseok, no.”

“I love you, and I’m sorry, Seokjin helped me find some great pieces for the place, and you know he’s friends with Namjoon and Jungkook,” He tried to explain.

“That doesn’t mean I want to stare at them over my tenth flute of champagne and my plate which will be piled high with cheese and crackers and pieces of salami.”

“You and Seokjin are fine though, you ended-

“Don’t say amicably,” You cut him off.

“Well, close to it. Please,” He begged. Begging never looked good on Hoseok.

Staring into his dark irises, a shade mimicking your own, you couldn’t hold the anger brewing. Being around Seokjin was always a better alternative than Jimin. Though the pity he often felt towards you, at your angered state which has never really subsided, was embarrassing. “I’ll think about it.”

“I love you,” Hoseok pulled you into a hug.

“Yeah, yeah, then why do you keep doing this to me?”

“Because I love you,”

“Tell Taehyung to call me,” You said, waving to him before stepping into the waiting Lyft you’d called at the bar.

“I will, can’t make any promises,” Hoseok winked before turning towards the subway, where he’d pull out his head phones and scan through the photos he’d taken throughout the day, waiting to get home to Taehyung to analyze, edit and critique them.

Thursday: Claire’s Makeshift Office

“Are you ready?” Claire asked, sifting through the papers on her desk.

“You had me come to your office, after you scheduled a meeting to ask if I’m ready? Yes Claire, I’m fucking ready,” You snapped.

“Erin,” Claire gestured towards your intern who tried to hold her eye roll.

“So, I combed through your tweets, sifting through your interactions with Mochimin, which is a very creative username,” Erin began.

“Yeah, his name and nickname combined,” You rolled your eyes.

“And we read through them all, well mostly me… and I have to ask, are you sure these are your tweets?” Erin questioned.

“Yes, and what should be his responses,” You answered reaching forward to grab the printed copies waiting for you. You scanned over the interactions, the subtweets, the blatant tags, the retweets and comments not just by Jimin, but a few of your friends too.

“Why have you been telling us he’s the troll?” Erin asked.

Her question caught you off guard, eyes wide, shock echoing in your bones.

“What the fuck? What do you mean? Look at how he fucking responded!”

“Y/N, you’re the troll!” Erin laughed. “It’s you, not him,”

“I am not! This is a fucking joke! It’s not April Fools yet, way to put the cart before the horse!” Your voice radiated throughout the small conference room.

Claire, not having an office of her own, had requested it to conduct most of her teams work. It was your least favorite of the conference rooms, colder both in décor and temperature than the others, it was situated on the corner leading to the kitchen. Glass on two walls, it was the definition of exposed. Everyone could see your outburst. Everyone could watch you fall to pieces. You guessed Claire had planned it this way, to demonstrate how focused her team was, how dedicated to the project they were, to show everyone her value as a staff writer instead of a freelancer. You also assumed she did this to ensure that whatever break down you were beginning to have, would have at least ten witnesses, ten people to side with her that your behavior was irresponsible and reckless.

“Oh please, get over yourself,” Claire chuckled. The light in her eyes proved your assumptions, she was enjoying this. “Do you see how you interact with him?”

“What do you mean how I interact with him? He started this!” You lowered your volume, side glances from colleagues passing by alerting you to the unprofessional decibels you’d began reaching.

“In almost every interaction, you bait him, hook line and sinker. It’s you, Y/N,” Erin explained.

“No!”

“Yes, this poor man, just living his life while you’re purposefully harassing him!” Claire feigned shock, eyes widening, mouth slightly open. It was taking everything in you not to resort to physical violence.

“I would never,” You glowered.

“You have! For years, it’s always you,” Erin said again.

“I, no, that’s impossible. He started it!”

“Admitting is the first step,” Claire’s placid smile was demanding to be smacked off.

“Fuck you! This is ridiculous!”

“July 10, 2020: Thinking of one man in particular, hoping the bleach in his locks burns in the summer heat.Followed by his comment: thinking of one woman in particular, hoping she knows I wear a hat and use purple shampoo.” Erin read.

“I, I, no!”

“October 13: Nothing makes me happier than not being invited to a birthday bash with all my friends. He responded: All you have to do is ask. On your birthday, he tweeted: Happy B-Day to the girl who … oh never mind she hates me. You responded: nobody asked for your half-hearted bullshit, next time I hope you choke on it.”

“He started it!”

“Why are you so awful to him?” Erin wanted to know.

“I am not, he began harassing me first,” You tried to argue.

“Does Hoseok know?” Claire chided.

“Know what?”

“About your vendetta,”

“It’s not a vendetta!”

“Then explain why you tweet or subtweet him at least twice a week, and then when he responds, tweet him again! You don’t even tag him, just vaguely mention discernable parts of his personality or appearance,” Erin explained.

“I do not! How do you know what he looks like?” You tried to counter.

“His profile picture, and a certain friend of yours doesn’t mind sharing-

“You asked Jungkook? Or was it Taehyung? Or I’m sorry, both?” Your eyes were wide, breathing labored, anger boiling to inhumane levels.

“Well, if we asked Hoseok you would’ve kno-

“You called or texted or DM’ed Jungkook and Taehyung, and asked about Jimin?”

“Yes,” Erin bowed her head, guilt written into the freckles her blush tried so desperately to hide.

“I cannot believe you, Erin,” You spat.

“I’m sorry Claire wanted me to,”

You turned your gaze to Claire, who had begun to cower in her seat.

“You did the one thing, the absolute one thing that you knew, you fucking knew, would set me off. You did this on purpose, you fucking bottom feeder, you fucking dillweed you crossed the fucking line, Claire,” You spat. Your volume had lowered into a low growl, far more deadly and intimidating than any yelling you had done.

“We have the proof, Y/N, you can’t deny it, you attack Jimin regularly,” Claire unskillfully attempted to move the conversation away from Jungkook and Taehyung. Like you would balk at her intrusion.

“You don’t get to violate my personal life, to violate the lives of the people I care deeply about, to expose sources and put them in danger should this article go south, poking and prodding into the lives of people who are dealing with their own bullshit to push your own fucking agenda, Claire,” You were seething, Te Fiti in Moana, Mrs. Weasley against Bellatrix, Kim Kardashian against the ocean searching for her diamond. Your wrath knows no bounds, and Claire had finally crossed the line into territory she could never come back from.

“It’s for the job, nothing personal.” Claire shrugged. You could see it in her eyes, she wanted blood and was elated to be getting it.

“This is entirely personal.”

“Well, you can ask Jimin about it when we interview him,” She smiled, lips upturning revealing her veneers, red lipstick perfectly matte and shaped against her thin flesh.

“No, absolutely not,” You shook your head.

“Yes, that’s part of the deal you agreed to,”

“I take it back. I revoke my consent!”

“It’s non-negotiable,” Marissa said. She had sauntered in during your berating, watching as you tried and failed to continue believing that you weren’t the troll. “You have agreed to this, and you will sit through the interview and cordially answer Claire’s questions.”

“Marissa, this is crossing a line,” You stated.

“You have to be held accountable,” Claire said.

“Fuck you, Claire. Believe it or not, there are somethings that are beyond your understanding and a few that are not appropriate for work,” You continued to scold her.

“Y/N, why are you being so hostile?” Claire was mocking you, with Marissa by her side, she was invincible.

“You picked me on purpose. What have you been working with Hoseok? Is this some larger plan to get me to talk to Jimin? I don’t want to talk with Jimin or talk to Jimin, isn’t it bad enough he’s being brought into my work? Oh and let’s not forget you using Erin and Hoseok to gain access to Jungkook and Taehyung, who are beyond off limits.” You listed each of her offenses, careful to leave out indiscretions that occurred before this project of hers began.

“You agreed to-

“No, I was forced to do this by you, Marissa,” You began.

It wasn’t hard to glower at Marissa, one of the most decorated editors in chief, beloved by Condé Nast, best friend of Anna Wintour… Everyone aspired to be her, but in the last year, through your promotion and growing turbulence within the magazine, her leadership had begun to falter. Her steady hand, guiding each staff writer and editor towards success and elevating everyone’s work, was crumbling at an alarming pace. Yet, no one knew why or if anything was being done to rectify the damage her wake was leaving.

“I was coerced into this under some pretense that I owe Claire something for a so called fuck up that resulted in the biggest boon in our magazines readership in the last year, which was followed up by not one but two feature bylines and my promotion. I have done more than enough at this company, in this industry, to sit here and be forced to engage with a man who destroyed my world. I will not speak with him, or to him or listen to him. I will not, and if you force me, I will get legal involved. Should this bullshit continue, you can expect my letter of resignation next week.”

Standing and shoving your chair in, you turned on the heels of your Oxfords and marched straight to your office. Closing your laptop and shoving your planner into your tote, you grabbed your phone.

“Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He moved in time with you, following down the many corridors of your office and towards the elevators.

As you stepped in, you pressed lobby and waited for the doors to be closed before turning to him.

“Did you tell Erin she could contact Jungkook and Taehyung?” You asked.

“She did what?” Hoseok yelled, soundwaves bounding off the metal and plastic of the elevator, reverberating in your ears.

“Did you?”

“No, I can’t believe she, are you serious?” Hoseok couldn’t lie, a fundamental flaw in his design made it impossible for him to tell the smallest fib.

“Did you work with Erin and Claire to get me involved in this feature? To get me to talk to Jimin?” You didn’t mince your words or pad your language to make him feel less attacked. You needed the answer, and you needed it now.

“No, I didn’t know Claire was doing this until she pitched it. You think I would-

“Hoseok, they called Jungkook and Taehyung. They want Jimin to come in to be interviewed, they won’t stop until I-

“Until you what?”

“Marissa has always supported me, championed me. But Claire has her number, she has her locked and loaded, aiming for me and I don’t know why,” You confided.

“She has been slipping lately,” He agreed. “There’s only one way to stop this,”

Together you stepped out of the elevator, moving past the turnstiles to the revolving door.

“Am I crazy?” You asked, the insecurity beginning to overtake your bravery.

“No, something weird is going on,”

You clarified, “No, I mean, am I crazy for… for doing this to Jimin?”

“I don’t know if you’re crazy, but you’ve definitely not been your best self,” Hoseok answered.

“He makes me so-

“You still love him,” Hoseok interrupted.

“I-

“Go talk to him,” Hoseok encouraged. “Call me after, we can get drinks and wallow or pick out an outfit for your hot date.”

“What if he-

“Just, talk to him, okay?” Hoseok requested.

“Okay,”

“I’ll check in with Jungkookie and Taehyungie,” He assured.

“Thank you,”

“I’ll also scope out open positions, we can’t stay here,”

“I love you, Hobi,” You confided, a statement that flowed so easily past your lips, you didn’t have to think or parse through the emotions that went along with it. You’ve always loved him, always will.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Hoseok draped his arm around your shoulders before placing a kiss to your forehead, a gentle embrace, a squeeze of confidence, a gesture of love. He moved swiftly from you back into the building, and as you watched him walk away, you took a deep breath.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, you dialed a number you had tried to forget.

“To what do I owe this unexpected delight of a call?” He asked. His voice was the same, chipper and cunning in the same breath.

“I need to speak with you, ASAP,” You told him.

“Okay, I’m working from home today, come over whenever,” He invited you without hesitation.

“You still live at the same place?”

“No, moved up. I’ll send you the address,”

“You know who this is?” You asked, uncertainty back in your bones.

“What, Y/N, you thought I deleted your number?” Jimin laughed, one of only a few sounds that shot right to your knees, making any posture unstable in the docile sounds of his joy.

“I, I don’t know, I guess. Look I’m going to hail a cab, I’ll be there in 20,”

“I look forward to it, just tell the doorman you’re here for me and he’ll let you up,” Jimin said.

“Okay, see you soon, I guess,”

“I can’t wait,” Jimin was smiling, you couldn’t see it, but the lilt in his voice was all the assurance you needed. Bracing yourself for the impact of him, of his voice, of his laugh, of the way he looked at you, you hailed one of the last remaining cabs in the city and prayed for courage.

Next: Troll in Luv Pt. 2

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kurofai-olympics · 3 years

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KuroFai Olympics 2021 - Sun Vs Moon - FAQ

What are the KuroFai Olympics?

The KuroFai Olympics (or as I usually end up typing, Olympfics) are a friendly team-based writing competition between two teams writing opposing themes of fiction, based around the same set of subthemes or prompts.

This year, it is Team Sun and Team Moon.

Each team will have the same number of competitors, and each competitor will square off against the other team’s competitor using the same prompt, with both posting their fics on the same day as determined by the posting schedule.

Where are the Olympics held?

The home of the Olympics is the KuroFai Dreamwidth community. You can also keep up to date with us on Discord, Twitter and Tumblr. We also have a collection on AO3 and you contact the mods via [email protected].

Roles within the Olympics

Moderators: a small dedicated group tasked with planning, coordinating and overall, doing what they can to make this year another success.

Writers: wordsmiths ready and willing to write a story where the main focus is about KuroFai, will be either fluffy or angsty, and fits into the subtheme.

Artists: folks with a passion for the visual arts. While each year, we are blessed with an Artist willing to create a header for the year's Olympics (this year, we thank ValdrickV), for the tenth anniversary, there is an additional role for Artists. To create art based around the prompts. This can be done based on one's interpretation of the prompt or in coordination with a Writer.

Betas: A second pair of eyes for a Writer, offering insight, advice and or a grammar check in exchange for an early reading of the story.

Pinchhitters: Brave and generous folks willing to take on the role of Writer should the need arise.

Read and Reviewers: Lovers of KuroFai who participate by reading the posted stories and then afterwards, leaving a Review for the author. Let's face it, Kudos is wonderful, but a review leaves a greater impact.

Scorers: by popular demand, rather than leave a Review with a score, Scorer fill out a brief survey where they score the fic. A form of online presence will be required - no going entirely anonymous allowed.

What are Pinch-hitters?

A stand-by writer, in case someone who signs up with a team has to step down for any reason (life obligations, sick, believe they won't finish on time, etc.) so they will step up to write for the prompt left vacant. If a competitor feels they need to step down, please let a Mod know as soon as possible, and the Mods will then ask a pinch-hitter to take over their prompt. Should you be unreachable for two days after a scheduled check in, a pinch hitter will be called upon to take over.

To give a Pinch-Hitter the most time to write, their posting day will be moved to the last posting day. Should two need to step down, the first Pinch Hitter and their competitor will get the day before the last and the newest Pinch Hitter and their competitor will have the last posting day

Posting Dates?

The posting schedule for the Olympics starts on the 8th of August. Each of our sub themes will be assigned a posting date with the first fics being posted on the 9th of August.

The schedule is prone to change but the mods will ensure that all writers know what date they will post on. If a Pinchitter is called upon their prompt will always move to the end of the schedule.

Time zone for posting?

We are currently considering what Timezone to use. This will be updated once it has been decided.

That said, time zones are an illusion we gave ourselves, so as long as you post within an hour or two of midnight on the day of your posting, you won’t be docked points. If you post after the next competitors’ have started posting for their prompt, however, that late penalty card comes into play.

Checkins?

All writers and artists will be required to checkin with the mods three times during the creating period. These checkins are just to see how you are going and to figure out if the posting dates need to be altered. While participants can reach out to the Mods at any time if issues arise the checkins are just a formalisation of this process.

Can I write a joint fic?

All fics entered in the Olympics must be new, original works written for the appropriate prompt by a single participant. You may ask your teammates/friends/family to help you out with coming up with an idea and you can ask anyone even Mods to beta your fic once it's written, but you have to write it.

Can I reuse an older piece of work?

No, you can't take a draft fic you had prepared earlier and jazz it up for the prompt. (We may not have proof but this is where your honor comes in. Write something new for your honor.)

Fic outlines are acceptable and allowed so long as you have not begun writing fic for it before you receive your prompt.

Length of fic?

There's no minimum or maximum length of entries; if you can tell a story in a thousand words, more power to you, and if it takes you fifty thousand, that's great too. However, a word count of between five thousand to twenty thousand for the length of your fic is generally recommended.

Can I share my work before posting day?

You can share up to 10% of your work as a teaser on various social medias before your posting date. You can of course share your work with your Beta and Team Mates before hand if you like.

Do I have to post my fic on Dreamwidth?

The fic, not necessarily. But you will need to make an entry post on Dreamwidth. That is, a post where you either post under a cut or provide a link to the location where your fic is posted. A template for fic entry posts will be provided closer to the posting date.

How do I post on Dreamwidth?

You will need a Dreamwidth account to post your entry and be a member of the KuroFai Dreamwidth Community. Copy and paste the template provided into a new Dreamwidth post making sure you choose HTML and not Rich text for editing. Also remeber to chose KuroFai community as it is easy to accidentally post it to your own Dreamwidth. Example of last years template post https://kurofai.dreamwidth.org/131379.html

Do I have to submit my fic to the AO3 collection?

While we would love for you to put your fic in the KuroFai Olympics 2020 collection it is not a requirement of the competition. This year collection is 2021_KuroFai_Olympics

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2021_KuroFai_Olympics

What if I can’t write competitively?

There is nothing to prevent you from writing a fic of your own to match the theme or a prompt you really like. We simply ask that you don’t post it during the Week (give or take) that the Teams will be posting theirs.

How can Artists get involved?

This year artist can sign up to do Art for the various prompts. The lovely Valdrick has created our banner art this year. Once prompts have been assigned to the artist there are no restrictions beyond relating to the prompt and KuroFai. Any size, any medium, any colour what ever takes your fancy.

How are fics scored?

By popular demand, this year rather than leave a Review with a score, the reader will be asked to fill out a brief survey which will be linked to at the end of the fic. A form of online presence will be required - no going entirely anonymous allowed for scoring.

Rules for scoring a fic?

Mods will not be allowed to leave a score but can still read and leave a review.

All Writers will be allowed to leave a Score EXCEPT on their fic and the corresponding fic from the other team.

Betas, Artists and others who aided in the Olympics and are not Writers or Mods are free to Score any fic.

People from across the fandom are free to Score any fic but will be required to leave a form of contact in the scoring survey.

The Scorecard

With 1 being the very worst and 10 being the very best, how well do you think this story did?

1. How well did this fic fit the prompt?

2. How well written was the fic?

3. How much did you enjoy the fic?

And please answer Yes/No

4. Was this fic tagged properly?

Questions 1-3 will have a maximum of 30 points available (and when you divide that by 3, you could get a solid 10 Pointer)

Regarding 4, if the Yes outweigh the No, then +2 Points. If the No outweigh the Yes than -2 Points.

Penalty Card

If the Penalty Card had to come in for Late and or Unfinished, then those Points will be taken out when we do the scoring.

No Story Posted: While this has happened due to unfortunate circumstance, it does result in a total loss of points. A zero for that story.

Late but Complete Fic: 1 Point Docked.

Incomplete Story Posted: 1-2 Points docked from that story.

Not Tagged Properly: 2 Points.

Not Tagged Properly?

Because of the sensitivity of subjects, all of these subjects MUST be clearly warned about should they appear in your story. At the bottom of the story under the cut is not clearly warned about.

Non-Con, Sexual violence, Dub-con, Underage, Sexual Kinks, Omega verse, Graphic Violence, Self Harm, Suicide or Suicidal thoughts.

Things like Language, Drug Use, Implied (sensitive subject), etc. are not required but are welcome to make the story that much more reader-friendly.

While not mandatory, stories featuring material from the events after Acid Tokyo, AU or Canon based, have a new tag available to them. It’s called NSFN (Not Safe for Nick/Newbies) and will make this even more reader-friendly.

Failure to comply with the Must be warned about rule results in a 2 Point loss for that story.

#KuroFai Olympics 2021 #mod post #FAQ

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hopetwink · 4 years

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Fic Analysis: Yellow Somethings

Yellow Somethings by @kidcarma

I’ve been in a creative rut lately, so one of the things I’m doing in the meantime is analyzing my favorite fics written by friends and/or acquaintences. This work was one of the first that came to mind, so it’s the first one I wrote an in-depth character analysis for.

Some people tell me I’m scarily good at psychoanalyzing both fictional characters and authors, so I’m harnessing that ability here in hopes it’ll give both you guys (and maybe also me) a greater appreciation for these well-written works.

So yeah, enjoy!

When I first read this work, one thing that immediately stood out to me was the dialogue. Good dialogue can stand on its own. If we cut out everything except the first exchange of dialogue between Hinata and Komaeda, the strength of this dialogue becomes evident.

“I hate you.”

“I can live with that.”

As any skilled writer knows, well-written first lines are crucial to the allure of a story. The first line must not only be an enticing hook, but an informative and non-expositional string of words that give the reader a strong sense of the work as a whole. It instantly sets the tone for a piece, allowing us to get a sense of where the characters are now, and what direction they’re going in.

The author’s choice to make the first line a piece of dialogue tells us they want to plunge us headfirst into the story. In fanfiction, which cannot exist without source material to draw from, it’s safe to assume one’s audience already knows a great deal about the canon lives and fates of the characters the story explores. It’s a nice shortcut that lets writers avoid having to excessively recap the events of the canon storyline, but the way this particular author makes use of this shortcut is significant. The intensity of the language they chose to use serves another purpose--to give the reader exactly what they promised the fic would contain in the summary, notes, and tags, and knock anyone who isn’t ready to read it off balance.

In less than a hundred words, Komaeda confronts Hinata with intensely negative feelings that most people wouldn’t hesitate to take at face value, and Hinata makes it clear that regardless of if Komaeda truly hates him, he has no intention of abandoning him.

‘Hate’ is a funny emotion; you can’t hate someone and be indifferent to them at the same time. To hate someone is to care about them, though even the mere suggestion that we care for the people we hate on some level is uncomfortable and counterintuitive. So yes, Komaeda’s telling the truth, he does hate Hinata. I don’t think he holds Hinata’s past against him; that would not only be unfair, but go against Komaeda’s efforts to promote and embody hope. Lingering on a past full of despair instead of looking towards the future does nothing to further the great cosmic goals of hope.

Komaeda wouldn’t hate Hinata over something so broad and vague; no, the reason Komaeda hates Hinata is simple: Hinata’s the only one who isn’t fazed by Komaeda’s delusions, and he refuses to give Komaeda the dignity of rotting away in peace.

In taking care of Komaeda, Hinata forces him to confront every last ounce of shame in his body, because somebody decided he was worth keeping alive, worth helping to heal and protect, when that goes against what he thinks with every fiber of his being. He has to sit helplessly and watch as Hinata emotionally strips him down and sees what he believes to be the ugliest parts of himself, the ones that he genuinely would rather die before willingly showing them to someone else, and being subjected to such humiliation at the hands of someone with good intentions is too much for him to bear.

The only remotely empowering emotion he can cling to at the moment is bitterness, which enables him to find little ways to resist Hinata’s attempts to nurse him back to health at every turn.

We see him try to reclaim some leverage in their power dynamic when he attempts to psychoanalyze Hinata and determine the reason he hasn’t given up on Komaeda yet through quips like “you do this because you feel bad” and “is it because the image of my dead body lives on in your mind.” Komaeda cannot allow Hinata to see him be vulnerable, because if he does, all the effort he put into building an impenetrable wall around his heart over the past fifteen or so years will have been for nothing.

This feature of the fic is only made more poignant by the fact that it’s written from Hinata’s perspective--we don’t see what Komaeda is thinking or feeling, only his words and actions. But we see Hinata’s, which brings me to another underlying message: sometimes love isn’t gentle. Sometimes love isn’t soft and sweet, or pretty. Hinata loves Komaeda, even if he himself doesn’t realize or understand it. Because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t bother. He would’ve simply walked out of Komaeda’s hospital room the first time he refused to take his medicine. And he didn’t do that. He would never do that, not to Komaeda.

Hinata’s love for Komaeda is reflected in the yellow flowers he leaves next to his hospital bed, and that is why we catch a glimpse of his frustration when Komaeda breaks it. But in a way, this is a good thing--as Hinata begins to open up about his emotions, the pair move further away from their cycle of codependency and towards something closer to a symbiotic relationship. Perhaps someday, instead of needing to need each other, they will be able to love each other with no strings attached.

This is what makes Komaeda’s decision to replace the flowers in Hinata’s vase much more significant than it appears on the surface--not only is it a gesture of goodwill and apology, but a sign that Komaeda is finally taking initiative in their relationship. No longer will Hinata have to carry both of their burdens; Komaeda is willing and able to reciprocate the love and effort Hinata has selflessly given him.

The fic ends on Hinata doing some much needed introspection, and eventually coming to the conclusion that he isn’t happy with the way his life has turned out. Because, despite everything he’s been through, all the knowledge, talent, and skill he’s gained, and the external validation he’s received from his friends, it’s not enough. What Hinata wants is a purpose beyond caring for Komaeda. One day Komaeda will be fully recovered and then Hinata will have no other meaningful task to do, and nothing to distract himself from his inner turmoil.

What Hinata needs is to see himself as inherently valuable, and he’s incapable of doing that until he learns to forgive himself. Right now, he’s not ready to accept his or Komaeda’s forgiveness yet, but deep down he knows that’s the only way to pull himself out of the pit of self-loathing he’s buried in.

Perhaps I’m reading too deeply into this clean, clear-cut fic, but I highly doubt the author went into this scenario with little to no knowledge of both Hinata and Komaeda’s mental predicaments. The underlying whispers of each character’s desire to love and be loved, to feel something--anything--when they’re too numb to care, is not a dynamic that an unskilled writer would be able to execute so gracefully.

At the very least, Carmen has quite the natural aptitude for extracting the real life emotions they and others around them experience, and at the most, they have done extensive research involving both outside sources and (multiple) character studies. Regardless of whether either or both are true, I’m extremely impressed at how well they’ve managed to nurture the seeds of creativity in their mind, and I look forward to more opportunities to explore their works with in-depth analyses.

#komahina #danganronpa #dr2: goodbye despair #danganronpa fandom #dr2 spoilers #nagito komaeda x hajime hinata #mild to moderate angst #long post

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actualbird · 4 years

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nobody (okay, well, 2 people DID ask, but it’s too late to change the title of this essay series now) asked but here are three main humor techniques i apply a lot in my fanfiction | a 2k word long post where i talk humor theory at you for entirely too long

I love humor. A good 75% of my personality is based primarily on whether or not it would be funny and thus, the study and application of comedy is something of a very big huge large interest of mine. I love watching standup comedy, I love telling jokes, but most of all, I love literature that makes me laugh.

I write humor, and I put a lot of thought into it, and here, I will do the least funny thing ever: I will over-explain my jokes.

Before we do that, we must set some ground rules first. What is humor? Well, in Humor: Its Origin and Development, Paul McGhee contends that no single theory could encapsulate the entirety of humor. Additionally, according to McGhee, humor does not physically exist. It is, instead, a perception brought about by certain scenarios with certain characteristics. What we can take away from here is that first, humor is vast, and there are many ways to both explain it and achieve it, and second, that humor is something caused by certain other things.

I do not claim to be an expert in humor, just an enthusiast, so what I will not be giving a cheat code to humorous writing. I will, instead, share three techniques that I frequently use and explain how they work.

The three techniques are the following:

INCONGRUENCY: Things that don’t fit.

SLAPSTICK: I hope that doesn’t happen to me.

CHEKOV’S GAG: If the gun is there, it better be funny.

My examples for each of these techniques will come from various sources of media. My examples of my own writing will all be coming from the most recent fanfic I have written, my Polygon Cyberpunk Red high school au “teenagers scare the living shit out of me.” Examples will sometimes have overlap in the technique they utilize, but I’ll try my best to keep everything clear on what exactly I’m trying to explain.

Without further ado, let’s jump right into it!

INCONGRUENCY: Things that don’t fit.

Göran Nerhardt, in McGhee’s book, states that “Humor is seen as a consequence of the discrepancy between two mental representations, one of which is an expectation and the other is some idea or percept.” Nerhardt’s definition of humor is one that relies on incongruity: wherein there is an element that is not in accordance with the other elements. An incongruous element is one that is not the expectation, and in this subversion of expectation, humor is achieved.

In simpler terms, a congruent situation would be “A man walks into a bar and orders a beer.” An incongruent situation would “A man walks into a bar. ‘Ow!’ He says.”

In the first example, everything is as expected, and in the second, the word “bar” has the characteristic of being a homophone, a word with different definitions. The second example takes advantage of the other definition of the word “bar”, that is to say a metal tube object, and thus the reaction of the man.

Incongruency plays on the unexpected, the out of place, and the odd. This technique in particular I learned from writers like Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett. They use incongruence, they use it A LOT but what I want to talk about is, first, its use as a descriptor.

“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.” -Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

“In a distant forest a wolf howled, felt embarrassed when no one joined in, and stopped.” -Terry Pratchett, The Light Fantastic

Description is a fertile ground for humor. You have a thing, there are expectations to how that thing will appear or act, and then you describe it in a way that’s unexpected. I pull this trick off in so many fics, but here is an example from chapter 4 of the high school au.

Mr. Hypo sits at the desk in front of the classroom, staring all three of them down. Vang0, Dasha, and Burger are seated in the stupid circle again, looking at Robbie as it powers up like a man with gout.

Incongruency here is Robbie, the animatronic. Expectation is that it will be described in a robot like manner. Reality is that I describe it having the same condition that occasionally ails my nearly 50 year old father.

Aside from description, incongruence is also something I play around with in the events of situations themselves. The most clear example I can give is this scene, from chapter 6, is this:

Burger picks up the closest thing.

That thing happens to be Peter.

“Peter!” Burger looks at Peter in the eye as Edmundton picks up a chair and starts menacingly walking towards Burger. He says, very quickly “Do you consent to be used as a self defense projectile!?”

Peter, pigeonly, nods.

“Thank youuuuuuuu!” Burger yells as he throws Peter at Edmundton’s face.

The context of this scene is that Burger has just entered active combat. Combat is serious. Combat is deadly. Combat is hitting and getting hurt. So what’s something unexpected you can do in this situation to make it funny? Have Burger ask a pigeon if it’s alright with being thrown at an enemy, and then make Burger actually throw the pigeon at the enemy.

Incongruence is something that is present in a lot of humor situations and it’s very, very fun to play around with. Messing around with incongruence makes you think about what is expected in writing and forces you to think outside of the box in a manner that will elicit laughter.

Let’s move on to our next topic now!

SLAPSTICK: I hope that doesn’t happen to me.

Kevin Casper in his article I’m so glad you’re fake! describes slapstick comedy as a physical type of humor wherein actions are done in an excessive, ridiculous, and sometimes violent manner. Slapstick is Mr. Bean exploding a can of paint to paint his apartment. Slapstick is Courage the Cowardly Dog’s eyes popping out of his sockets when he sees something scary. Slapstick is the ending of Polygon’s video on Slapstick and Doom Eternal (a very good video about slapstick and horror violence) where Pat Gill gets hit in the face with a tube of paper.

The excessiveness of slapstick creates a non-reality for viewers to enjoy in safety. It is a type of humor that revels in the suspension of reality, but more than that, it is a type of humor that you particularly gain enjoyment from because of the fact that it’s not happening to YOU.

Now, I use slapstick comedy sometimes, but I deviate from excessiveness and instead lean more into that last thing I said. I write situations that are funny and that you also don’t want to ever happen to you as a person. One example of “fuck, that’s hilarious, but I hope it never happens to me” is the following scene from Spiderman: Into The Spider Verse, where Miles Morales, invisible, has to find information on Doctor Octavia’s computer. When he accesses the computer, he is met with this.

You don’t want this to happen to you. But damn is it hilarious that it’s happening to somebody else.

When I am creating scenes that I want to be funny, I think about whether or not it would be funnier if I made it excruciating for the characters involved. So excruciating that you really, really, wouldn’t want to be in that situation. An example of this technique in play is from chapter 4 of the high school au, where the gang are in a room they shouldn’t be in, somebody is about to come in and stop them, and they are all at the mercy of a program slowly, slowly uploading.

“Hey!” The somebody outside says, jangling the doorknob more violently. “Club time is over, nobody should be in this room!”

“Vang0, how long until the program is done?” Dasha hisses.

“43% Uploaded,” Vang0 says, panicked.

“Hurry.”

“I can’t make technology be faster.”

“Who’s in there!” The person outside yells.

“Should I answer?” Burger asks.

“Do not answer.” Dasha says.

Burger nods. “I’m gonna answer.”

“BURGER—”

“WE’RE JUST A COUPLE OF NOT FRIENDS. JUST LOOKING AROUND.”

“Who are you!” The person outside yells.

“Do not answer, Burger,” Dasha says, sounding like this conversation is actively shaving years off of her lifespan.

“But he’s asking,” Burger looks at Dasha then at the door then at Dasha again, looking very nervous.

“Just lie then,” Dasha tells Burger.

“Gotcha,” Burger nods, determined, and turns to the door to yell. “I’M NOT BURGER CHAINZ.”

“Oh my god,” Dasha thunks her head onto Vang0’s shoulder. “Is it done loading, yet?”

“98% Uploaded,” Vang0 says, feeling his blood pressure in a way he’s never felt before.

I make this situation worse for the characters by making Burger completely fail at being stealthy. As one reader told me about this chapter “I love Burger, but if I were in that room, I would strangle him.” Exactly! It’s not a situation you’d ever want to be in!

But the characters are in it and you get to enjoy their suffering from a safe vantage point as a reader.

Slapstick comedy is all about making situations outrageous and ridiculous and something readers wouldn’t want to legitimately experience. It’s about tapping into your audience’s mind and wondering what they want to see but not want to go through.

And last but not least!

CHEKOV’S GAG: If the gun is there, it better be funny

The principle of Chekov’s Gun is a principle that emphasizes that objects in a story should have a use. According to Bill in Chekhov: The Silent Voice of Freedom, Chekov says “If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there.”

Chekov’s Gag is that same rule, but instead of the gun going off, the gun better be fucking hilarious at some point.

The first example I can think of is from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. In the beginning of the movie, King Arthur stops by a castle and asks the guards to tell their master that he is here. This exchange happens:

Now, this, on its own, is already hilarious. It plays on incongruence (guards being very enthusiastic about bird’s holding coconuts and the logistics of that), slapstick (if you were Arthur and you wanted to have a simple conversation, people suddenly talking about birds and ignoring you is not a situation you want to be in), but what about Chekov’s Gag?

To become Chekov’s Gag, this situation must be brought up again in a funny manner later in the movie.

And so it does.

An hour later in the movie, The Knights of Camelot are at the Bridge of Death. There, they have to answer 3 questions correctly. If they do not have an answer, they are shot into a deadly cavern of doom.

King Arthur steps up to answer his 3 questions. Here is what happens:

The African swallow or the European swallow has achieved Chekov’s Gag-age.

Chekov’s Gag is something I’ve only started doing recently, in fanfiction. An example of this in the high school au is that, in the first chapter, I introduce two things. 1) Peter, an overfed pigeon, and 2) Robbie the RoboDog, an animatronic of the school.

Throughout the fic, I don’t forget about Peter or Robbie. I bring them up again and again and I make sure to make their presence not just integral to the winning of the final boss battle in chapter 6, but I make their presence funny.

Chekov’s Gag is a new trick I’ve started doing, and it definitely requires foresight and planning. It makes you think long term but at the same time forces you to think about the things you already have present in your story and make you re-evaluate just how else they could be used. If done correctly, the effect is hilarity, but also deep, deep satisfaction.

So there we have it! Three humor techniques that I use in my fanfiction. Shit that doesn’t make sense, shit you don’t want happening to you, and shit that you saw a while ago which you’ll see again later and when you do, it’ll be awesome.

Thanks for reading!

#nobody asked but #long post

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thisbluespirit · 3 years

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Fic writer interview

I was tagged by @captain-aralias to do this, so here I am:

Name: thisbluespirit. I previously went by lost_spook and also a very long time ago as vvj5. (You don’t get my real name, because unfortunately, it’s comparatively uncommon & too easy to find online).

Fandoms: I’m very multi-fannish. I like the challenge of writing for different fandoms and getting the tone right and so on, and I also love exchanges, which often leads to writing unexpected gifts and treats when somebody’s prompt bites me hard. As a result, I have quite a ridiculous number of fandoms, but my main ones are probably Doctor Who, Sapphire & Steel, Blake’s 7, Once Upon A Time, Spooks, The Librarians, Adam Adamant Lives! and a lot of very old British TV I love that few others do, like The Shadow of the Tower, the 1968 Dracula, Enemy at the Door, The Power Game and Public Eye and so on. Recently I fell into the Star Wars Prequels fandom, which was a bit scary but very nice (it’s generally a friendly & very pretty corner of the GFFA) and I definitely want to write some more things for it, and not just Obidala.

Where you post: My fic? To AO3, and before that (when I was much more mono-fannish) the Doctor Who archive, A Teaspoon and an Open Mind (which we refer to as “Teaspoon” - something that confuses non-DW people). I once posted three non-DW works to ff.net, which I found so difficult and awkward, I never tried it again, especially not after it later on ate my scene breaks. (ff.net’s war against scene breaks is apparently eternal and baffling). Although I used LJ a lot (it was my primary fannish platform for years, and Dreamwidth still is), I was on it for the social and community aspect and find it strange to think of archiving fic there. I only posted it there if it was for a particular comm or meme or challenge being run there.

Most popular one-shot: By kudos, this is my Yuletide treat where Miss Marple is a genius loci, and by hits, this is my flash ficlet where Miss Marple dusts Dracula. I write hardly any Miss Marple, but when I die, she’ll be on my fannish tombstone and, at the end of the day, that’s probably a nice way to be remembered!

Most popular multi-chapter: This is impossible to say. Since I’ve been so ill (for ten years now, much as I hate to say that aloud), I’ve written about 3 multi-chapter works, and only one of them was posted in progress, the others were posted complete. The rest are very old and are either still only on Teaspoon, or I posted them to AO3 but backdated them, so these just aren’t comparable things. None of them, being rare fandoms or in OW or backdated Doctor Who works, are popular in any case. The one with the most kudos is a Yuletide fic, The Poison Tree, for Dracula (1968).

Fic you were nervous to post: Lots of them! The most nerve-wracking are gifts for exchanges, especially if they were serious or shippy, where I have to wait to find out if the recip liked them. If I’ve written something fun and humorous I tend to know instinctively if it works or not, but when it’s serious, I just feel... terribly stupid and exposed until that comment from the recip, or someone at least, comes at last!

I think, particularly, some of the historical ones and the two Shakespeare ones, understandably, because it would be so easy to go out on a limb and just make a fool of yourself falling off: i love the rose both red and white, (sotT/15th C) his wonders to perform (even though it wasn’t for an exchange- it was a bit outside my usual and I’m still not sure if it really worked) (15th C RPF); movements of the mind (Twelfth Night) and Vigil (Measure For Measure). The last two proved quite popular-for-Yuletide & I had some of my nicest comments ever on both, though, so obviously I did something right! \o/

How do you choose your titles? Well, either something comes, or I find a poem or song or proverbs quote or I just go dammit and come up with something simple. Remix is easier because you play on the original fic’s title, the fic and your fic, and that always seems to work.

I would worry about this, but I posted a whole bunch of meme fic that I just called “AU Meme: [Character’s Name]” and the summary for each one is “10 AU scenarios for [character] in a Dreamwidth meme” and people read those more than plenty of the others, which does kind of put the whole thing into slightly ironic perspective.

Do you outline? If it’s a long fic, to a certain extent, but only a few notes, or jotting down the ending and so on. With shorter pieces (which most of mine are), less so, but usually the same things - this scene, or the ending or this line, or a research note or two where needed.

Complete: Number of completed works? 596 on AO3 (599 on my dash, but three are fanvids), but there are more at Teaspoon that I’ve never transferred over.

Do you take prompts? I write nothing else these days, one way or another, most of the time - bingo squares, random generators, prompt tables, fests, exchanges, writing memes. I just don’t take them generally, because I am still working on my last writing meme... from April (among other things). But, yes. I love prompts.

In progress: 0. Well, no, actually, I tell a lie, there is one abandoned WIP on Teaspoon, which I started just before I became so ill, a Fifth Doctor crossover with the William Monk & Hester crime series. Since it is abandoned, though, I don’t think it counts.

Coming soon: My Yule-fic. Hopefully the last two from the AU Meme before the year is out, maybe a long origfic for Rainbowfic/genprompt_bingo I’ve been working on for ages, which is still in the editing stage, and I’ve a Good Omens/Doctor Who crossover in my notebook that I want to type up soon. (I promised astrogirl on Dreamwidth I would.)

Tagging: whoever would like to do this and hasn’t been tagged yet - @allegoriesinmediasres @pers-books @human-nxture @luthienebonyx @scarletmanuka @maryellencarter & whoever wants to, feel tagged! And if you’ve been tagged and you don’t want to, that’s okay, you’re excused.

#writing #meme #fannish nonsense #my fanfic #captain-aralias

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pebblysand · 3 years

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OF CRYSTAL ROSES (EXTENDED AUTHOR’S NOTE OF CHAPTER VI. OF CASTLES)

-- TO READ THE CHAPTER ITSELF, SEE HERE ON AO3 --

well, well, well. here we are. spoiler alert, gryffindors make plans they don’t stick to, lolz. all the good intentions in the world, i had. study, i said i would. yet, here were find ourselves, eighteen thousand words later. this appears to be how i roll. slept about five hours last night, too, so apologies if i’m slightly non-sensical/rambly. this chapter ought to be sponsored by deliveroo and teapigs tea, a brand of tea that appeared in my local supermarket a few moths ago and that i steadily refused to buy because - can tea really be worth this much? low and behold, once you’ve tried it once, it appears to be addictive. i’ve, while writing this chapter, worked my way through about four packs of their different teas - they are just this good. i have a job interview tomorrow so wish me luck in gaining employment which will hopefully fund my expensive habits.

now, before we get into the nitty gritty of the chapter, itself, i just needed to say this: i cannot thank everyone enough for the incredible response on last chapter. i’d kind of grown accustomed to getting a couple of reviews for each of them and to writing in my little corner of the internet but boy, you guys are bloody legends! i am so overwhelmed with gratitude for everyone who commented, kudo-ed and generally gave love to this fic in general. i really didn’t expect such a response and it’s meant the world to me. i think it’s probably also the reason why i’m posting so early because i kept being like, god, i can’t leave this many people waiting in this cliffhanger hell. i think this chapter ends on a more positive note (although, i’ll let you judge), one that might be more conducive of a few weeks’ wait (more on that below), haha.

this being said, as i explained on here before, i come from very tiny fandoms where basically everyone knows each other and the number of people reading would usually fit in my flat. the fact that over 80 people are now subscribed to this fic just blows my fucking mind. you’re all magnificent and i love you. i try to respond to all the comments so let’s keep chatting if you feel like it (although, no pressure - comment if you want to, but do know that it makes me very happy when you do :)). you’re all fabulous and i wish you all the best!

anyway, spoilers for castles, chapter vi under the cut.

guys, guys, guys, i am so tired. i’ve spent four days editing almost 20,000 words and my brain is fried. but, we are officially at the halfway point of this story, yaaaay!!! my plan, at this point, is that we’ll have six chapters on each side but even if i do end up splitting this one later (more on this below) i’ll end up with seven chapters on each side so either way - yay to the end of act 1!

i think that’s also why i tried to turn this chapter around this quickly. to me, i always kind of saw this fic as having two parts. part 1: the immediate post-war aftermath with the heartache and the love-fast/burn-fast start to harry/ginny. part 2: a slow and actually healthy rebuild of their relationship, and of the world around them. i have genuinely been writing towards that last harry/ginny scene in this chapter for months. it feels like such a relief to finally have that weight off my shoulders. and i actually do think it’ll allow me to focus on study later. act one is finished, and act two can wait a bit, i suppose.

now, obviously, given that i already apologised last time, part of me still wants to apologise for the length of this chapter, even more so, actually. it sits at about 18,000 words which, by nanowrimo’s standards, is over a third of a full book, wtf. yet, you guys also said last time that you didn’t actually mind long chapters, so perhaps i shouldn’t beat myself up too much?

as i said in the a/n, this is a little bit of different set up than chapter v. though. i know exactly where to split this. as you’ve probably seen by now, there’s a very natural split point after harry has his breakdown on the couch with ginny, before Christmas properly "starts." the reason i didn’t split this one there, though is: a) selfish: i needed to get this out. stop working on it. i need to study. when it’s out, i’m not thinking about it anymore. it would have been a bit non sensical to split this just for the sake of it and post two chapters at once, which means i probably would have held onto the second part for another couple of weeks, and fuck that. additionally, b) you may not have noticed this but: the chapter titles rhyme. why did i bring this additional difficulty upon myself, i do not fucking know. especially because i will soon run out of one-word construction materials to draw from, lol. as a result, though, i need an even number of chapters to close out this story and because i’m sort of planning six chapters from now to the end (more on that below) i can’t really split this one right now. like, if i end up with another overlong chapter in the next few months, i probably will take that opportunity and go back and split this one, just for readability. but at this stage, at this stage, because i don’t know how many chapters i’ll have for act two (six or seven), i’m keeping this chapter like this for the time being. i kind of hope i end up with seven chapters on the other side and am able to split this one down the line, but we will see. in the meantime, my most sincere apologies to the folks who read fanfiction before bed and it’s now 4 am by the time you’ve finished this. i’ve been there before, believe me.

from a personal standpoint, though, i have to say, this chapter (compared to the last one) was incredibly easy to write. i think i’d spent so much time imagining and writing these scenes in my head as kind of a culminating point for the first half of the story, that it quite simply poured out. i did have a little bit of an everything is shit crisis yesterday and today, but sure look, that always happens. overall, i am quite happy - i think - with the end result.

now, when i say "easy to write" i mean, technically, easy to find words to write down what was in my head. i do not mean: easy to write on an emotional level. oh boy. i’m generally not a crier. i have been asked, a number of times, by people who said my writing made them cry: do you cry when you write, too? and my answer was always ‘no’. i don’t judge, but i’m just not that kind of person. i know people who cry every day but personally, we are in the middle of a pandemic, my father recently passed away, i’ve lost my job and am studying for an exam my life is pretty dependent upon, and i haven’t cried in months. yet, i swear, there were a couple of times, both writing this and editing it, when i had to step away from the screen because i could feel a lump in my throat. that had never happened to me before. i didn’t, like, bawl or anything but god i felt it. i don’t know if it’s because it’s my first time killing an oc, someone who was really mine but boy. giulia. i kept trying to find ways not to kill her, or apologising to her. to me, she’s tom’s last victim and that really, fucking hurts. if you’re hurting too, i don’t really know what to tell you. i’m sorry, i suppose. her death was needed for … plot purposes, lol. god, i’m the worst haha.

re:harry/ginny: i must say i really like where they end up, at the end of this. i had planned this to a certain extent. i was always under the impression that they would talk over christmas, but not get back together. however, the reason why they weren’t getting back together, in my head, was initially quite different. i initially didn’t have ginny dating someone else. i think i mentioned i was toying with the idea in the a/n for last chapter, but at the time i wasn’t truly sold on it. then, i ended up writing the scene i’d originally planned for them and it didn’t quite fit. what i’d planned, at the time, felt rather ooc for ginny when actually on paper. on the other hand, harry, under my fingertips, kept trying to kiss her and i kept hitting the delete button. i swear, i know it sounds weird to people who might not be writers but sometimes, your characters really do seem to have their own agendas. when i caved, let him kiss her, then the scene took on a different meaning, and, i hope, a better one. i think something clicked there and it feels like a good place for act one to end. obviously, they’ll get back together cause this follows cannon so you know, not much suspense there. it’s more about the how than the what, to me.

re:ginny’s letters: this idea came to me a while ago, actually. i was thinking that they’d need to talk about what happened last year, but i was kind of struggling on the how. having character a tell a story to character b is always a bit difficult, in writing, because it can quickly end up being boring. like, when ginny tells harry about christmas last year and lupin, in this chapter, telling that in dialogue is already rather long an laborious, and it’s overall such a short story. for harry, it’s easy. i’m in his head so he can just say ‘he told her about the hallows’ and the dialogue can be about their reaction, rather than the events itself. but ginny, she needs to share facts, as well as feelings. and doing that through long monologues just didn’t appeal. first, it’s quickly boring and second, it’s also kind of ooc. she’s not giulia, you see.

i did entertain the idea of completely skimming past it. ‘she told him about last year and he was horrified.’ - moving on. but, i don’t know, that didn’t feel quite right either, because i think they need to exchange, and talk, and that just felt like a copout. also, to be honest, it’s a very difficult story to tell. like, i’ve seen people in fics being like ‘so, harry sat down all of the weasleys and told them everything the trio did in seventh year,’ and i’m like that’s so difficult, though. sitting someone down and telling them all about your trauma, with little preamble, just setting it all out there, i can’t imagine ginny (or, frankly, most people) actually doing that, you know? we reveal bits of ourselves bit by bit, not all at once.

then, it hit me: she’s a writer, isn’t she? at least, she is canonically in first year, with not only the diary but also the poems, then writing for the prophet. obviously, the diary thing would have riled her up a bit but i do think in the end, she would probably have been like: no, i won’t let him take writing away from me, you know? so yeah, letters. daily letters. you won’t see all of them in next chapter, but probably quotes from the most important ones, things that harry reads. that’s where he gets his facts about her story last year, and then they can focus on their feelings about it. fab! something to look forward to, haha.

now, re: the future. as i said, we are entering act two. act two will gradually become more "fun" and fluffy, i suppose, but i won’t lie, we will be keeping the same happy/sad vibe that a lot of you have commented on with this fic. it exists for a reason (as i said, life is about sex, but it’s also about funerals). as i said before, this fic is, above all, an exploration of what ‘all was well’ actually means.

this being said, this isn’t an 8th year fic. there is a very specific future pov from which this fic is being narrated, and that’s in october 2027 (i know, precise). obviously i have 28 years to get through in act two so that will affect the way that the timeline is designed. it will obviously be more spread out, especially in the later chapters. this being said, while i have about a million of ideas for all the space in between and a very clear view of what the last chapter will be, the exact layout of each chapter is still slightly blurry. i haven’t sat down to put all my ideas in chronological order yet, as well as into some sort of chapter structure, which is also why i can’t really tell if it’ll be six or seven chapters in the end. all of this to say, there’s still quite a bit of work to be done.

this means that, as i said in the a/n, i don’t think you’ll get next chapter until at least, may. please don’t think that this means i’ll be abandoning this fic or anything, it’s just that i’ll be doing work you probably won’t see. i’m probably going to take the rest of march off writing to study (bar maybe a roar-series Harry&Hermione friendship one shot? maybe) then take april to plan and write as much of the next chapters i possibly can. ideally, by the end of april i can have a first draft of the whole thing. i desperately want to write as much as i can now that I’m jobless in the hopes that when i do find a job (again, interview tomorrow, pray for me), i can just have editing to do at the weekends. but we all know i relate to harry on a very deep level when he says ‘when have our plans ever worked, anyway?’ so we will see, haha.

anyway, these were all the thoughts off the top of my head, re: this chapter. if you have any questions or other things you’d like me to ramble about, feel free to send in questions, my ask box is always open. i know i probably think about this fic (and hp) way too much but i’m an extrovert and my hobbies used to include travelling, pints at the pub, dating and, well, there’s none of that anymore, is there, lol? the uk has stolen our vaccines (fucking brexit) so here’s to being obsessed with fictional worlds i wish i could live in for a while longer,

i will now go and endlessly refresh my email for reviews and kudos, like the attention seeking basic bitch i am haha.

have a fab evening, everyone!

#castles #is out baby #whoop whoop

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fangirlxwritesx67 · 4 years

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I was tagged by @stusbunker. Thank you and also stuff you, this is tough! But fun, as I got to dig up some stuff from the last year.

Which of your fics…

…did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got?

Highway of Regret. 100%. It was what I consider my first (and only to date) Winchester brothers canon gen fic series. I got really good feedback from the people who did read it, but for the most part it didn’t make a ripple. I wrote my heart out for that one, I really did. At first it stung a little (needy writer mode, I know) but I came to realize that I needed to write that story, and I love it, and neither of those things have anything to do with notes or feedback.

…got a better reaction than you expected?

Two different Dean one-shots that I wrote more or less on a whim. Each one I was afraid to publish for fear of reaction. It wasn’t the sexy swooning hero Dean, more of a broken and very human Dean. Ultimately the feedback I got was deep and very meaningful to me. Serenity - 500 words, a Dean in AA ficlet A Great Dad - 1000 words and a pregnancy scare

…is your funniest?

A Very Good Bed 1200 words of Ikea fluff, Sam x Eileen with platonic Dean.

…is your darkest or angstiest?

Angel: A Lament This was a really tough one because I dont really write dark and angsty. Every long dark night has a dawn, and every bit of angst more than makes up for it with fluff at the end. Even this one is more prose poem than angsty fanfic.

…is your absolute favorite?

Taken By The Wind: A Sam x Rowena love story I love this one with my whole heart, you can see so much of my own journey as a writer and as a person, and I just love this OTP so much. My favorite chapters are Green Velvet and Taken By The Wind

…is your least favorite?

I try very hard to maintain an attitude that every story played a role, to embrace the progress without being ashamed of the past. That said, there are still a few out there that, when I see them getting reblogged, I think “Oh god not that. A One Night Offer is definitely one of those.

…was the easiest to write?

The easiest thing for me to write are the fluffy one shot requests, especially when I get a song or gif along with the request. It’s not that they don’t matter, but I’m writing them to make someone else happy, so it usually doesn’t require as much digging and self reflection. And of course, they always turn out to be surprisingly popular. Long Distance Lullaby is not one of those. It was both easy and excruciating, as I sobbed it into my voice-to-text one morning on the way to work. It was in the early days of the pandemic as well as my marriage breaking up and I just needed some comfort. I got a bit tangled up in endings and graphics and opinions, but looking back, there was something really painfully pure about writing it.

…was hardest to write?

May Be Home I had been writing fanfic for an entire 3 months when decided to write this 15 chapter series that included an au rockstar!Dean, an OFC, and more sex and emotions than I was really equipped to write. It was hard, because I was growing. But I treasure it now, because I wouldn’t be half the writer I am if it wasn’t for this story, and all the work that MJ put in with me on this piece.

…has your favorite lines/exchange/paragraph? (share it!)

I didn’t set out to write fanfiction. At first they were just stories I told myself. And then they got too big for that, and here we are. But some of my very favorite lines come from my series No Lover Like A Hunter, if for no other reason than they lived so long in my heart and mind before I ever wrote them down. Dean found himself watching Jody as she talked. In the firelight, she was radiant. Her high cheekbones and straight nose were striking in the shadows. The flames leapt in her dark grey eyes when she laughed and played in her messy hair, streaking the salt and pepper color with golden light. He had never seen her quite like this- so soft and desirable. Eventually, they settled into comfortable stillness. ... Dean’s voice was husky and certain, “Disappointed? Hell no.” He leaned back on the couch and reached for her, “You’re magnificent, Jody, everything I dreamed of and more.” ... Dean and Jody lay on the floor, facing one another. They gathered pillows and blankets around them until they were comfortable. The firelight played over their faces, warm and flickering. There were so many things that could have been said, but none of them needed to be spoken. They knew one another now like never before, inside and out. And from Pt 2 “So,” she murmured between kisses, “Last time- wasn’t a mistake?” Dean pulled back and looked at her, his green eyes locked on hers. “Jody, baby. You would never be a mistake.” ... Jody shivered under his touch. Her hunter’s body was strong and scarred, but her skin was like velvet. Her legs went on for days and her face, lit up with desire, was straight from his dreams.

Do I sometimes wish I had a little more experience under my belt before I tackled this pairing (and eventual threesome)? Yeah, of course. Do I regret it? Not a word. I love this story.

…have you reread the most?

Celebrations: a Sam x Rowena holiday series I love this one because it’s an au where the two of them are together and happy. He’s still a hunter, she’s still a witch. But they get to enjoy the little things like good food, online shopping, gift-giving, and all the other soft and lovely sparkly things. Also, I can’t reread these stories without recalling the feedback from Lou and Val, which is a treat in itself.

…would you recommend to someone reading your work for the first time?

If I can convince them to read it, Sam and Rowena, anything Sam and Rowena. (just ask Kathy.)

For Sam one-shots tho: Like Art, Like Fire or Welcoming Him Home

For Dean one-shots (which are much more popular): Whiskey Glasses or Stay

Also, it’s a bit of an odd one out (again not that popular) but I feel like Looking for A Black Cat actually hits most of my non-smutty high notes.

…are you most proud of?

I’m proud of all of it. I’m proud of the fact that I’ve written as much as I have, improved as much as I have, that I’m still out here learning and growing. I’m proud of the fact that there is a little bit of my heart even in the easiest requests, and much more so in the personal stories.

I’m less proud and more grateful for the community that I have discovered through fanfic, for the very real friendships and support that extend beyond the stories.

If I have to pick a story tho, I will say I enjoy this one for a lot of reasons: Lucia

#viv answers #writer problems #things ive learned writing fanfiction

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fmasecretsanta2020 · 4 years

Photo

Interest Check Questions Answered!

Mods Tas, Waddi, and Flour have reviewed your interest check responses, adjusted our rules and schedule, and are ready to respond to all your questions about the event. To begin, we’ve pulled quite a few questions from your interest check responses and are publicly answering them below the cut.

Want to learn more about out the 2020 FMA Secret Santa? Check out our FAQ, rules and schedule.

Have a questions about this event? Don’t be shy! We’d love to respond. Send us a tumblr ask!

‘Tis almost the season! Sign-ups open on Monday, October 19, 2020!

I’m new in all of this, so I’d like to know what’s the purpose of the check-in dates. What do we have to do in those?

The first check-in is just to make sure that you are still interested in participating and are ok with your assignment. We understand that real life can get in the way sometimes. We ask that people let us know as soon as possible if they think they need to pull out. The second check-in is to ask when the gift will be posted. The reason for this is that last year we had several dropouts who confirmed they were going to make a gift at check-ins but did not post a gift. The second check-in will allow us to assign to pinch-hitter sooner.

-Mod Waddi

Maybe the second check-in is too close to the posting time? If a pinch-hitter is needed.

Thanks for your thoughts, anon. The second check-in is a little late, and we will adjust our schedule to give you five days between the second check-in and the posting period. However, we are keeping it at a later date for a pretty good reason.

Unfortunately, we assigned most of our pinch-hitters at the end of the posting period last year. We had several dropouts who confirmed with us at our midpoint check-ins but did not post a gift. To avoid that this year, we’re having two check-ins, and at the second check-in, we will ask you when you plan to post. We understand that some people need less time than others to complete a gift, but everyone should have started and have an ETA for completion five days before the posting period. A late second check-in might help us make sure everyone receives a gift on time!

-Mod Flour

Could you perhapse have multiple days for assignments incase someone has a personal issue with someone they are supposed to make content for and can let you know?

We certainly understand where you’re coming from with this suggestion. Unfortunately, since we give people 72 hours to respond to each moderator contact (and we will be asking our participants to confirm that they accept their assignment), separate assignment days would have to take place over (possibly) weeks—6 days at least for 2 assignments, 9 days for 3 assignments, 12 days for 4 assignments, etc.—if we waited for each wave of participants to accept before moving on to the next. We feel that this approach would significantly cut into the creation period. Additionally, the sign-up application will provide a space where you can list people that you do not want to receive a gift from or make a gift for. We encourage everyone to be honest on their application, and if someone is uncomfortable with the person they are assigned, contact a moderator sooner rather than later.

-Mod Flour

what about art styles that don't really do clean lineart but do include colors/complexity/etc, or multiple sketchier drawings/comic strip type things?

Thank you for this feedback. As writers, we appreciate you pointing this out. We will do our best to take this into account.

-Mod Waddi

A minimum of 8 gifs could be a lot if it's an edited gifset. I can see it being okay for a slightly colour-changed gifset with a filter over it, but for more creative gifs it can be way too much.

Thank you for this helpful feedback! This is exactly the kind of thing we want to hear. Admittedly, all three moderators are writers. We do our best to make good rules, but sometimes we don’t take all the variables into account. We’ll lower the minimum from 8 to 4.

-Mod Flour

I tend to write a lot when I get excited; would it be a problem if I write more than 1k?

Not a problem at all! We totally understand this excitement and allow our Secret Santas to produce at or above the required minimum for their specific type of gift. When creating these gifts, please take into consideration your assigned person’s likes and dislikes.

Two things to keep in mind:

1) Please consider the number of days for creation (a maximum of 47 days). Assignments will go out on November 15, with two check-ins occurring on December 1 and December 15. All gifts must be 100% complete before posting between December 21, 2020 and January 1, 2021.

2) If you decide to produce your gift above the required minimum, please do not expect your Secret Santa to do the same. As long as they meet the minimum requirement, it is considered a complete gift.

-Mod Tas

I think they're mostly fine, although, would ships that have them meet when one is a minor and the other an adult, but they're currently both adults be allowed? I understand that this exchange is a way to build bridges in the fandom, but I'm not sure if that's going to work if one of the most popular ships is completely excluded.

Yes, as long as you portray both characters as adults when including romantic or sexual content in your gift, you are free to ship whoever you’d like to (besides incest) no matter when they met. Our rules prohibit major/minor sexual or romantic relationships—minor meaning 17 years old and under and major meaning 18 years old or older. As long as you’re not including sexual or romantic tones that take place when one character is a minor within your otherwise adult/adult ship gift, we’re good. Keep it all non-sexual and non-romantic until both characters are adults.

(As an aside, some people may remember that this exchange had an additional exception for major/minor shipping for small age gap relationships last year; however, no one took advantage of that exception, and it complicated the rules quite a bit. Therefore, we decided to draw a hard line and leave it at that. There’s no judgment there; we’re just trying to craft rules that work for most people.)

Please also keep in mind that we also allow alternate universes and canon-divergent situations in this exchange. A hallmark of fandom is being free to imagine! We feel it would be almost impossible (and unfair to the differing, though equally valid points of view in the FMA fandom) to set ages for every character and then to enforce such a restrictive rule.

-Mod Flour

I think the exchange should allow M and E works, and to create/receive them you have to be 18+—but in order to not pressure minors to self-identity, have the question of whether they're over 18 be optional. (So it's basically, "If you're interested in NSFW and meet the age requirement, check this box.") And unless I misread the definition of pedophilia, it seems to exclude kid/kid relationships. Which I don't personally enjoy, but I know some people like kidfic or "through the years" fics, which are pretty harmless IMO as long as they're not physical/sexual.

We hear you anon. My fellow moderators and I have had many conversations about the rating of this event. We think it’s best to stick to a blanket PG-13 rating. However, there is a footnote that you might be interested in:

This Fullmetal Alchemist Secret Santa Gift Exchange takes no stance regarding “Mature” or “Explicit” content added to the original Secret Santa offering. Please post additional content separately from the Secret Santa offering (separate reblog, post, or additional chapter). Such additions or continuations are at the discretion of the gift giver.

The second part of your comment requires a more in-depth analysis. While there are some restrictions, kid/kid ships are not completely excluded. We exclude sexual interest, sexual attraction, or sexual relationships between any character and another character who is 13 years old or younger. We don’t have many shipping exclusions for characters who are 14-17 years old as long as they are shipped to other 14-17 year old characters.

Specifically, our rules prohibit pedophilia (which we define as a sexual interest, sexual attraction, or sexual relationship by any character to a character who is 13 years old or younger) and major/minor sexual or romantic relationships. While we regret that the pedophilia definition is overbroad, in that it can define someone under 16 years old as a pedophile, subdividing the rules further would make them even more complicated. To grasp the intent of both the pedophilia rule and the major/minor exclusion as it affects kidfics, look to our wording, particularly the part where we say sexual interest, sexual attraction, or sexual relationship.

To wit, sexual can be defined as, “relating to the instincts, physiological processes, and activities connected with physical attraction or intimate physical contact between individuals.” For example, if an 8 year old and a 9 year old hold hands and walk down the street having thoughts about how special they are to each other, we would not consider this sexual. If that same 8 year old and 9 year old hold hands and think about wanting to act intimately while jaunting down the street, we would consider that sexual. Innocent physical contact alone wouldn’t break the rule; it’s a character’s intent that matters most here.

Therefore, a participant can make a through-the-years work with a prepubescent setting included so long as any kid/kid shipping is not sexual in nature. To the extent that these rules may appear to allow romantic relationships between minors of all ages, all I have to say is that it wouldn’t be PG-13 to have a 9 year old with a romantic, albeit non-sexual, interest in a 16 year old (or vice versa). I haven’t run across a a lot of media with older minors being romantically linked to younger minors in the fandom, so I’m hopeful that we don’t need to be too worried.

Oh my, that was long. I hope that helps explain our rules a little better.

-Mod Flour

Just a question: out of curiosity, will this event be having a discord server or some other way for the members to talk to each other?

There will be no discord server for this event. Several reasons include:

1) Secret Santa identities should remain anonymous until posting dates. No participant should be able to figure out who their Secret Santa is,

2) we want to avoid conversations which may allude to a participant’s specific gift,

3) after a long consideration, the moderators have decided that this year’s event will be conducted via Tumblr platform only. All participants will need to have a Tumblr account in order to be contacted via the chat.

-Mod Tas

there are a lot of options for the type of gift that can be created-- can the person being gifted ask to have a specific gift (ex: art only)? thank you

Yes, the person being gifted can request for a specific gift. However, the sign up form will also ask for a backup gift type that the participant is willing to receive. The mods, to the best of our abilities, will match up a participant with a Secret Santa who will be able to produce said gift.

Assignments will go out on or after November 15, 2020. Should you have any concerns with the person assigned to you--their gift requests or otherwise, please contact one of the mods as soon as possible.

-Mod Tas

Will there be an option (if ships are allowed) to opt out of ships of adult/minor characters over the age of 13?

The sign up form will ask your likes and dislikes (i.e. favorite pairing or preferred genre), including what kind of gifts you are not and are willing to receive. If you prefer to opt out of a specific type of pairing, please note it during sign up.

Based on the rules of FMA Secret Santa 2020, “Media containing, suggesting, or portraying incest,* pedophilia**, or minor/major sexual or romantic relationships*** is prohibited.” The age of majority is defined as 18 years old.

Adult & minor relationships, which are non-sexual, non-romantic, and bear no indication that it would become such, are allowed. We are also allowing alternative universes, which may include characters depicted as younger or older than their canonical age. If a fanfic or a fanart depicts canonically minor characters as adults, they will need to explicitly state this.

-Mod Tas

If you are looking for other moderators to help facilitate, I'd be interested in filling out an application.

Oh, thank you! This is a really kind offer. We decided earlier this year not to run formal moderator applications, and we are unsure if we need any other moderators at this time. However, we may review this. If you’re interested in helping out, just message @waddiwasiwitch or @flourchildwrites on tumblr, and we’ll go from there.

-Mod Flour

I haven't participated in this before so I don't know if tvis is already a thing, but I think that during sign ups you should have the chance to write a list of topics, characters, and ships that you would rather not do for the exchange, because there's a difference between respecting ships from a distance and having to draw your notp.

Yes, an option for specifying likes and dislikes will be available in the sign up form. This is the case for both what gift you will create and receive. We will be matching people whose interests align, and we will take likes and dislikes into account. The more information provided in the form, the easier our job will be.

-Mod Waddi

Manga edits/colorings okay?

Yes, that's a wonderful gift! In fact, we're going to add manga edits/colorings to the category of gifts available by a recipient’s request or suggestion just to keep the idea at the forefront. If a participant requests a manga edit/coloring or if they say they are flexible on their application and you indicate you'd like to make one on your application, we'll do our best to send you their way during matching!

-Mod Flour

Are sculptures ok with this?

That is a very interesting question. As this gift exchange is entirely digital and doesn't involve physical gifts, we are unsure what that would look like. Us mods were talking about it, and we were wondering if it would be possible to show us an example of what a gift like that would look like. Please get in touch with either myself @waddiwasiwitch or mod @flourchildwrites by Tumblr message. We would need to know more to answer your question. When a gift is unusual, it means we need participants who will be open to such a gift too.

-Mod Waddi

#fma #fullmetal alchemist #gift exchange #secret santa #fmasecretsanta2020

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

Only For A Moment Ch. 47

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Canon violence, trauma, feels so many FEELINGS

A/N: Excuse me. I’m just sobbing in a corner. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS OVER. I started writing this a year and a half ago never imagining it would be what it is. I’ve made dear friends through this fic (my tumblr wife @wonderlandmind4 lookin’ at you bby, thank you for the love and support and betaing and everything). I’ve grown as a writer. So many thingssss.

Thank you to EVERYONE who’s still reading, who’s been patient with the delays, who has reblogged and said kind things. You’re all amazing and my life would be a little darker without you in it sweet pumpkins!

Come get in the feelings with me and these two characters one last time... (until Part 2 that is 😘)

Tags are open!

Steve paces another circuit around the back of the jet.

“Steve,” Natasha snaps, “just sit down for fuck’s sake.”

“Extracting them shouldn’t be too hard,” Hill says eyes skimming schematics once more.

He tosses them both a sidelong glance before sitting, eyes fixed out the window. It wasn’t that he was worried about getting everyone out—with Natasha at his side neutralizing who they needed to in order to get to the team would be easy.

No, the thought making him shift in his seat is who of them would even want to come…

Everything, every ounce of stability they had was gone because of him, because of the choices he made. He led them all into this fight and somehow he was the only one standing free and unharmed. It felt like failure. How could he blame any of them if they hated him for this? If they refused to stand with him now?

Then there was you.

Would you trust him without Bucky by his side? Believe him when he said Bucky was safe? Even after all that had happened… did he trust you?

“I’ll be taking us down in five,” Hill says.

No more time to worry about any of that now. All he could do was try.

Just as he suspected, they make quick work of quietly clearing the section of the vessel they need to. Before entering the block where the team is they both pause.

“Do… do you think they’ll forgive me?” Natasha looks up at him in a rare moment of vulnerability. “For making the wrong call?”

“We all made the right call for ourselves, Nat.” He forces a smile, “They know that.” If only he could make himself believe it.

He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until he sees Sam’s smirk.

“Took you long enough,” Sam quips.

“Five days vacation not enough for you?” Steve asks, prying the cell door open.

“Oh, it’s been five stars.”

Natasha pulls Wanda’s cell open, helping her out, he feels his blood boil seeing her in that straitjacket. While she sees to freeing Wanda and Sam opens the other cells Steve steps to your cell and freezes.

You’re strapped into a chair reminiscent of the one they held Bucky in, clearly unconscious. Before he can move to open the door Wanda’s red haze engulfs it, practically ripping the metal from the wall. She pushes past him, tearing the shackles from your arms and legs while her hands cup your face, fingers checking your pulse.

“Thank god,” Wanda sighs out.

“How is she?” Sam asks from behind Steve as he steps into the tight space.

“Breathing. Her pulse feels strong.”

Sam opens one of your lids, but you don’t react. “They probably drugged her.”

“Any time they tried to take Wanda or any of us elsewhere she stopped them,” Clint says, arms crossed. “They must have a small crew because rather than just take her and us they’d focus on her.” He’s right, that small crew was the only way they were able to get everyone out.

Steve studies the dried blood from a place your lip had busted, your black eye, a painfully dark bruise on your cheekbone. He hears Bucky’s voice in his head, “She’s like you never knows when to just stay down.”

Whatever questions about trust, he had before are gone. You protected his team, his family when he couldn’t.

“I’ve got her,” gently he lifts your pliant form in his arms, cradling you close. “Let’s get moving.”

“Y’all head on without me,” Clint says.

“What?!” Natasha spins on him.

He gives her a sad smile. “I can’t be on the lam, Nat.” Clint rests his hands on her shoulders. “You know I can’t put Laura and the kids through that.” She looks away before flinging her arms around his neck.

“Same for me,” Scott says. “I got a daughter to think about.” The two men exchange a knowing look.

Steve feels his chest tighten with guilt. “Are you both sure?”

“Yeah-” Clint shrugs- “besides, being stuck in close quarters for an indiscriminate amount of time with all of you? Think I’d prefer prison.” Natasha punches him in the chest playfully.

“Look out for each other,” Clint says.

“We will,” Sam says. Steve nods in agreement before leading them all to the jet and an uncertain future.

It feels like your body is being torn apart… No. It feels like a million imperceptible particles are trying to get in. You can feel the dust in the air, the fibers of the bandages on your chest, the tiny mites in the old mattress beneath you eating away. Even through the darkness of your closed lids, you perceive the unfamiliar room you’re in clearly; every piece of furniture, every corner, visible to your mind’s eye like a relief sculpture.

Too much! Your brain screams as it tries desperately to process every bit of information slamming into it.

Move, you have to move, come on Y/N! You try to open your eyes, move your hand, get a grip on your body.

Finally, you break through, shooting from the bed, gasping for air. The salt in your own sweat feels like tiny needles running across your skin, the particles thundering into your lungs threatening to choke you.

Gripping your skull you press yourself into a corner, trying to hold your head together as you feel the pain begin at the top of your spine spreading up.

You didn’t know where you were or what the hell they did to you. The last thing you remembered was the sting of a needle before falling into blackness but you were pretty certain you were still on The Raft. This was a shit time for your brain to overload.

Pushing your back into the solid wall you force a deep breath into your lungs. Think of anything else but the countless sensations bombarding your awareness. You think of Bucky—his smell, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, his gentle hands.

Slowly the doors slam shut, damming the flow, allowing your tired mind to process simple things like the stale smell of the small room, the dim light, the worn carpet.

“Y/N?” A tentative voice asks. You gasp a little, startled.

“Oh,” Sam says softly. “I’m sorry. It’s ok.” He stops a few feet away holding his hands open in a non-threatening way.

He crouches down, “Can you tell me what you’re seeing?”

“You?” You answer, confused.

“Just me? In this bedroom?”

You understand suddenly that he thinks you’re having a flashback. A small smile rises to your lips at his kindness and caution.

“I’m good, Sam. I’m here.” You look around the room, “Where is, here, anyway?”

He stands, clearly more relaxed, and extends a hand to you. “Some small town in Switzerland.” You take it and let him help you up.

“Bucky and Steve?”

Sam doesn’t meet your eyes, just turns for the door. “Steve and Natasha are doing a perimeter walk.”

“Sam,” you say, unmoving. He looks back at you, expression uncertain. Suddenly your stomach is in your knees, heart in your throat. The lamp on the table behind you begins to shake your fragile control wavering.

He looks around the room as it shudders before answering. “All I know is he’s ok. You’ll have to talk to Steve when he gets back. But…” He sighs, “He’s not here.”

He wasn’t dead, that was what mattered. But… you knew there were things almost as bad. Your power slides back into you, the room calm once more. Still, your chest is tight with worry.

“Come on,” Sam nods at the door. “You’ve been out for almost two days, you’ve got to be starving.” As if in affirmation your stomach growls loudly.

Sam leads you downstairs through what feels like the home of someone’s grandmother—maybe it was at some point—to a cozy kitchen. Two people you don’t know sit at the table, talking easily over steaming mugs. The man looks up at you with one good eye as you enter.

“Y/N this is Nick Fury and Maria Hill.”

“Just Fury,” the man says. He stands, hand extended.

“Hill or Maria is fine,” the woman gives you a warm smile. You shake her hand as well, eying the man.

“You were the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.” It wasn’t a question just a statement of fact, your tone flat and cold. You hadn’t wanted to get anywhere near the Hydra files but you had read enough in the aftermath of everything to know the name Nick Fury, to know that Hydra had existed just beneath the surface while he collected superheroes.

“I was.” He meets your stare, jaw set.

The gurgle of a coffee pot breaks the tense silence.

“Coffee open to anyone?” You ask no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “Though maybe water would be best-”

“Maybe. But I’ve been denied caffeine for almost a week-” realizing how little time had passed made your head spin a bit- “it’s in everyone’s best interest for me to opt for the coffee.” Sam shakes his head but pours you a cup anyway.

That first sip sings through your senses. Closing your eyes you breathe in the scent, imagining that you’ll open them and see your kitchen, Bucky at the table reading the paper, Billie or a brass band playing in the background.

“Y/N!” Wanda stands in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Hey,” you offer up as much of a smile as you can muster.

“How… How are you feeling?” She asks, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m ok.”

She opens her mouth to say more but is cut off by Natasha and Steve entering through the back door.

“Everything looks clear,” Natasha announces to the room. Her eyes sweep the space, landing on you. “Oh! You’re up. Good,” her smile is warm.

You give her an acknowledging nod but look to Steve, desperate for answers that only he can give. He says nothing though, just focuses on slipping out of his jacket.

“Steve,” you say. It almost sounds like a greeting but your desperation is curled between every letter. His shoulders tense a bit.

He finally meets your eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing hard. “Let’s talk. If you’re ready.” Not waiting for a response he walks from the kitchen, heading to the back of the house to a small office where a cot is set up in one corner.

Steve tosses the jacket on the cot followed by his baseball cap. Sighing heavily he runs a hand through his hair.

You can’t wait any longer. “Where is he?” Your voice cracks, hands white-knuckled around the mug, barely holding it together.

His eyes are sad as he says, “He’s safe.” It should be relieving. It isn’t.

“That’s not good enough, Steve. Where is he?”

“Why don’t you-”

“I don’t want to fucking sit down-” the coffee in your cup swirls, the window rattles- “I want answers.”

“I can’t tell you.” A book flies from the shelf behind you, landing with a resounding thud on the hardwood floor. Steve looks at it, raising an eyebrow. “I’m asking you to trust me, Y/N. He is safe and with people who are going to help him.”

Your eyes narrow, “Help him how?”

Steve sighs, “He was hurt…”

He explains everything that happened once he and Bucky left you all at the airport. At some point you drop onto the cot, hands shaking so much you have to set your coffee down. You hardly breathe as he tells you about Bucky’s arm, unable to imagine the pain he must have been in, aching that you weren’t there.

“Where is he?” You growl out.

“Y/N, like I said-”

“No” —you shake your head—“Zemo.” Hatred burns cold throughout your body.

You may want to rip Tony Stark’s own arm from his body but Zemo… You knew how to hurt someone just enough to not kill them. Already you’re imaging snapping small bones one by one, the muscles you can slowly shred, calculating just how long you can drag it out.

“Don’t go down that road.” Steve’s hands ball into fists, belying his own feelings. “Zemo is being handled.” He strides across the room, retrieving something from a pack.

“Here,” he holds out an envelope with your name on the front in Bucky’s neat script. Your mouth goes dry. “I think it will help fill in the rest.”

Steve sits in the desk chair, staring at his hands, as you slowly open the letter.

Y/N,

There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to tell you, but the words just aren’t coming to me. I hope Steve has told you what he can about all that happened. Don’t be too upset with him about the blanks he can’t fill—some promises need to be kept.

As for my decision… even he is struggling to make sense of that.

I am so sorry I’m not there, wherever you are. I don’t think words exist that express how much I want you with me but—and I know you’re going to be furious with me for saying it—you aren’t safe with me right now.

What happened in Berlin was one of my worst nightmares made real. The fact that someone would only need to mutter a few well-placed words and I could… Well, we both know what I could do.

You are everything to me, Y/N. And the truth is I am not strong enough to live with the burden that I could put you in harm’s way. Especially not when I have a chance to remove that threat.

The people here truly feel they can fix whatever Hydra broke in my head. I swear once they do nothing will keep me from you. If you’ll have me still that is.

I hope you can forgive me… for everything. I hope you know the depth of my love for you.

I will be dreaming of only you my darling.

Yours always,

Bucky

Futilely you try and stop the tears sneaking from the corners of your eyes by looking at the ceiling. Still, they come, flowing silently down your cheeks.

How could he think for even a moment you wouldn’t have him? That you could ever begrudge him enough to not forgive him? You dig your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from sobbing, squeezing your eyes shut.

Steve rolls the squeaky chair closer to you, covering your fist, resting on your thigh with his large hand. You look into his own pained face, blue eyes dark with emotion.

“He loves you.”

You look away. Wherever he is he’s unconscious and alone and you cannot protect him.

“As soon as I know anything I swear I will tell you,” Steve says giving your hand a squeeze.

Time opens like a black hole in your mind. “Soon,” meant nothing. There was no telling how long it would take for them to figure out all the damage Hydra did, let alone fix it. The thought of going years without him shoots despair through your heart like a dagger.

“Thank you,” Steve says. You look at him confused.

“For what?”

“You looked out for them when I couldn’t. I-” He clears his throat, running a hand over his face. “Just thank you.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to thank me. It was the least I could do.” It’s his turn to be confused.

“If it wasn’t for you, for all of you, I would truly have lost him.”

Steve cocks a crooked grin, “I only owe him a few hundred for saving my ass so many times.”

You huff out a small laugh, “I’ve heard about a few of those.”

His grin blooms into a full smile, “Oh? Should I be scared?”

“Definitely.”

A knock at the door draws both your attention. Hill opens it popping her head in.

“Sam made breakfast if you two want some.”

“Thanks, Hill,” Steve says. Hill closes the door, the smell of bacon creeping in.

“Food?” He asks.

“God yes.” Tenderly you fold Bucky’s letter, tucking it into the pocket of the sweats you found yourself in.

For a few awkward seconds, the two of you stand staring before you embrace each other so tight it’s almost hard to breathe.

“You’re family now, you know that right?”

And you do. Bucky was his family just as Nix had been yours. Even though your heart was broken, it felt good to have a family again.

“Sam!” You call out into the house. “Did you use all the chili powder?”

“What kind of monster do you take me for?” He hollers back. “It’s on the top shelf.” You have to float up a bit to find it, tucked behind the cinnamon Sam liked to sprinkle on his toast.

He saunters into the kitchen. “What ya makin’?”

“Chili and cornbread. Picked up some stuff for it while Hill and I were on recon yesterday.”

“Good luck with this chili powder. Not sure how good it is.”

You open the container and smell it. “Seems ok.”

“Yeah but my ribs last week were off.” He plucks the container from you looking at it.

Playfully you shoo him away. “Your ribs were excellent. Now get out of my kitchen.” It was the same thing he said every time it was his turn to cook.

“Ok, ok!”

You can’t help but smile as you fall into the familiar motions of chopping and sautéing.

Most of your days were spent like this, with good people and good food—between you and Sam, no one in the house was going to go hungry. True, you often found yourself longing for the peace of the farmhouse or the cozy feel of your apartment; but you had forgotten how comforting it was to be in a space filled with chatter and warmth.

Each night it felt like you were lost at sea though, untethered without the reassurance and comfort of Bucky’s presence. Every morning starting with a cup of coffee and a desperate look to Steve that was always met with a subtle shake of his head. After a little more than a month it began to feel like your new normal--caffeine and heartbreak to kick off the day.

Rather than wallow you buried yourself in as many daily tasks as you could. The old two-bedroom one-bath house was a tight fit with five of you which meant there were often things to clean, cook, or fix.

A few times you’d even gone with Hill to work recon on some intel Fury had gotten from god knew where. One other you’d joined Natasha on what she called a ‘quickie’ to neutralize a small arms dealer in Ukraine. Each time had felt like an audition like you were unwittingly trying for a part you didn’t ask for but you wouldn’t mind having either.

As you clean the kitchen, trying to think of what to fill the next few hours with, you see someone you weren’t expecting chatting with Steve in the back of the property. Fury.

Bitterness touches your tongue. He’d left a few days after you came to and hadn’t been back since. You were glad of it—you hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of dislike you had for the man, despite the help he’d provided. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You turn away before they can see you, not wanting to chance an uncomfortable exchange if you don’t have to. Quickly you dry your hands, leaving a few things in the sink, and turn to head upstairs.

Wanda dodges you on her way down. Her headphones are in but she gives you a smile and a nod.

“Why’s Fury here?” She asks while opening the fridge.

“No idea,” you say, pausing halfway up the stairs.

“Hey-” you turn back and she gives you one of her knowing looks-“wanna go for a hike?”

The house was nestled close to the mountains. With the tight space, it had become pretty normal for each of you to head out into the idyllic woods a few times a week at least. You smile, appreciating the out she’s giving you.

“Sure.”

It was early summer but there was still a crispness to the air that was bracing. Under the soft green shadows left by the trees, you forgot your discomfort at seeing Fury and let everything fall away.

You’ve lost yourself in the sounds of the forest when a small twig smacks you in the face, still glittering red as it falls to the ground. Your jaw drops as you spin to see Wanda laughing, disappearing into the woods, flying into the canopy.

“That was dirty!” You call after her, your own feet leaving the ground.

This game of telekinetic tag started one night that neither of you could sleep. The room you shared, hell the whole house, felt claustrophobic so you both headed into the woods. Now, if you were alone one of you could be counted on to kick it off.

Halfway up a pine tree, you perch lightly on a branch. Your eyes scan the trees for a red shimmer. When you finally find it you reach up, plucking a pinecone from the tree, and propel it through the air.

“Dammit!” You hear Wanda call out.

A soft laugh rolls from you as you step off the branch, guiding your fall with your ability. At the ground, you don’t let your feet touch the earth to avoid making a sound. Instead, you push yourself between the trees like a human pinball, pivoting to make it harder for her to get a lock on you.

This endless game had an unseen advantage, it allowed you to flex your power in ways you never truly had. Even training with Bucky you’d always fought to keep it in check, only use it when necessary, always afraid of just what it could do.

With yours and Wanda’s game though, all those fears were gone. Neither of you was afraid of the other or worried you’d unsettle them--the fear of being a freak fell away and for just a moment you were both free. With that freedom, you felt yourself getting stronger.

Though it hadn’t been the intention when this game started you were glad of it, the stronger you were the better. Your hand settles for just a moment on the still-healing wounds on your chest, a reminder of why you needed to be as adept as possible. You would become strong enough that no one could take him or anyone else you love from you ever again.

One of the tendrils of power you sent out snaps back to you, indicating she’s close by. In less than a heartbeat, you’re into the canopy once more. Your toes barely touch the flexible pine branches as you fly.

Just ahead you can see the clearing which was the unofficial neutral ground. Focusing you make a beeline for it. You’re almost there when a deluge of leaves and pine needles drop on your head from above.

You drop to the ground, landing lightly, sputtering bits of foliage from your mouth while Wanda cackles.

“I cannot believe you,” you say tossing a handful of debris at her. Slipping your jacket off you give it a few good shakes, though some things still stick to the soft fleece.

“Oh come on-” she nudges you with her shoulder- “that was hilarious and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say as you lay your jacket on the ground--it was already going to need a wash so why not use it as a blanket. Laying down on it you sigh contentedly looking up at the picturesque blue sky with its fluffy white clouds dancing around.

Wanda settles close by and you both take in the peace for a time, comfortable with the silence. You’d actually dozed off a bit when her voice wakes you.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” You respond groggily.

“I… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” the hesitation in her tone makes you nervous. You turn onto your side to look at her.

“I didn’t mean to see it but…” One of the pebbles she was orbiting above her falls. “You were dreaming last night, you said a name--Nick, maybe? I’ve seen him before, it just seemed particularly strong--er, painful--last night…” She tilts her head to meet your eyes, “Are you ok?”

It was easy to forget that Wanda had more than telekinesis under her belt.

“Yeah-” you force a tight grin- “I’m good. Just a dream. Sorry, I woke you.”

“Who is he?” Her eyes hold an emotion you can’t quite name and she doesn’t even acknowledge your weak lie. Something about the whole thing shakes you.

Sighing you sit up, resting your forearms on your knees. With effort, you swallow the lump in your throat, focus your gaze on the tree line to keep the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” her voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “I try not to pick up things from people. Just when I’m asleep it’s harder and I-”

“Wanda,” you cut her off. “It’s absolutely fine. Never apologize for things you can’t control, especially not to me.” Looking over your shoulder you see her up on her knees, eyes focused on the grass she was plucking up blade by blade.

“He was my brother.” At the telling word ‘was’ her eyes shoot to yours, brimming with emotion. “His name was Nix. Hydra-” Your voice cracks, forcing you to draw in a trembling breath. “Hydra killed him.” You don’t say, And everyone else, or, Because of me, but god you feel the weight of those truths.

“I’m sorry...” She dashes tears away on her sweater sleeve. Your lips purse in something you hope looks more like a smile than a grimace.

After a long pause, she says, “I lost my brother too.” You feel your chest tighten. “When we fought Ultron.” She sniffles, “He died a hero so I guess that should make it better…” You almost pull her into your arms but you don’t know if she’d welcome the gesture.

Instead, you sigh, “No, it shouldn’t.” Because she deserved to know that just because he died for a good cause didn’t mean he deserved to die at--you did the math--17 maybe 18.

She nods. When she looks back at you her expression is desperate, “Does it get better?”

For a moment you’re struck dumb. She looks so young, suddenly. All you want is to protect her from this brutal world that takes so much mare than it gives. You want to tell her that it does, want to believe that lie so very much. But you just can’t…

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think anything will ever fill that blank space. At least for me.”

“Not even Bucky?” She doesn’t mean for the question to hurt. She’s just a girl who wants, on some level, to believe that love can heal all wounds, even ones this deep.

“Not even him. But-” you reach out for her hand, happy when she takes it- “it helps. Knowing you can love someone, even after you know how much it hurts to lose the ones closest to you. It makes you… start to feel like a person again.”

Wanda nods, wiping at her eyes. Neither of you says more. The silence holds you close and you allow yourselves to be lost in it for just a little while. By the time you pry yourselves from your peaceful getaway, the sun is setting.

Just before you exit the trees by the back of the property she rests a hand on your shoulder. Wanda opens her mouth to say something but nothing falls out.

You’re about to ask when she flings her arms around your neck hugging you tight. You return the hug, hoping that maybe she felt less alone in her grief.

You look toward the house, “You’ve got something here, Wanda, with these people. It won’t ever be the same but it doesn’t make them any less family.”

“I know,” she says with a soft smile.

As you get closer to the house you allow thoughts of sweet cornbread and spicy chili chase away the clouds of sadness hovering around your mind. Wanda lets out a contented groan as the smell of the chili envelops you both.

“When can we eat that?”

You laugh, “About an hour. Cornbread needs to be made.”

“Can I just-” The lid of the pot is suddenly enveloped in red.

“Nope,” you say, slamming your power on top of her own.

“Fine,” she sighs. “But tell me when it’s ready before Steve and Sam.”

“I will absolutely give you first dibs since you won today.”

Nodding with approval she floats a banana over to her. The glowing fruit follows her as she heads upstairs.

Before you start the cornbread you make a fresh pot of coffee. Honestly, who would expect you to cook without caffeine? Humming whatever song pops into your head you line up the few ingredients you’ll need, determine that you’ll likely need a triple batch for this crowd, take a swig of coffee, and dive in.

Once the oven is loaded you’ve all but forgotten the ache that opened up when you and Wanda spoke. Not wanting to lose this feeling you take your coffee to the breakfast table and pick up a book someone, Natasha you’d wager, left. You smile at the bawdy image on the cover, the woman had a thing for a good smutty romance, and open it up.

Quickly you lose yourself to the words and the homey smells. You could be almost anywhere good in your past. It was wonderful.

When the kitchen door opens you expect to see Steve or Natasha but instead Fury is there sniffing the air. All the comfort you’d been wrapped in immediately falls away.

His gaze finally lands on you, “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

“Where else can I go,” your tone is frigid.

He doesn’t acknowledge your snipe, “Can I have a word?”

You glance at the timer, “You have eight minutes.”

Nodding he sits across from you, sliding a manila folder over. You take it, opening the front flap slowly. Immediately your mouth goes dry.

“Do you government types get off by showing people documentation of the worst things that have happened to them?” You fling the file across the table.

“Technically I’m not a government type anymore.” You raise a brow at him but he continues. “But no. That file is, to the best of my knowledge, the last remaining documentation of your time with Hydra.”

He slides it back to you. This time your hand rests flat on the smooth surface as you try to process exactly what he means. Thankfully, Fury wasn’t in the mood to hold back.

“You’ve been wiped from the dark web, every IP that accessed your information has been hunted down, any paper copies that could be located were destroyed-” he pauses, meeting your disbelieving stare- “and I pulled that one from Ross’ personal files myself.”

Almost reverently you open the file once more. Flipping through you stop at the photos Ross had displayed, the ones with just the faintest glimpses of your family. A trembling finger traces the edge of Nix’s image, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Barnes-” the sound of Bucky’s name makes your eyes shoot to Fury once more- “was well before my time. But you… What happened to you, to your people, that was on my watch.” He pauses, expression sincere, “I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

Guilt rushes over you in a wave. You had greatly misjudged this man. He deserved better than that.

“Thank you.”

Fury nods, “Well, that’s what I was here to deliver.” He stands, turning to go.

“You should stay and eat. I promise it’ll be good,” you say with a genuine smile.

He takes a deep breath, “I think I will.”

Within the next two weeks, it’s time for you all to move on.

For a few days, you light in the Austrian city of Strausberg, waiting on instructions from Fury. Once received you head just outside of Krakow in Poland to work on flushing out a human trafficking operation.

Though few would argue Steve’s de facto position as the leader of this group the necessity to stay as under the radar as possible means you all rely heavily on Natasha’s espionage roots. Her masterful ability at laying out quiet but extremely effective plans and countermoves ensure that not a whisper of who was behind this mission slips out.

The more you’re in the field the more you’re surprised to find that you’re able to put your ill-begotten skill set to good use. It feels like spitting in Hydra’s face which, of course, makes victory all the sweeter.

You’re also surprised at how it makes the ache of missing Bucky lessen even a little. This does, you’re ashamed to admit to yourself, make victory just a touch bitter.

Six weeks later you’re all packing your bags once more though you don’t all head in the same direction. Natasha and Wanda opt to take some personal time away, for what exactly neither specifies but they agree to one be gone for a couple of weeks and to be in touch. Hill goes with Fury, focused on some other clandestine mission. This leaves you, Sam, and Steve to fend for yourselves with little to do in Belarus of all places.

Sam walks into the kitchen of the small house the three of you were staying in as you and Steve clean blood off each other’s faces.

“Y’all…” He sighs, setting bags of groceries down. “I swear, we need to find something to do before the two of you kill each other.”

You laugh, “A little training never hurt anyone.”

“Your black eye begs to differ,” he says from behind the fridge door.

“You should see what she did to my back,” Steve groans dramatically as he plops into a dining chair.

“Wow. Hangs up his shield and turns into a big beardy baby.” Steve hurls his washcloth at your face playfully. Sam just rolls his eyes at both of you.

Looking at Steve’s bruises, your bloody knuckles, and feeling the swelling on your own face--maybe Sam had a slight point. It felt good though. Steve’s style was different from Bucky’s and since he was less afraid of hurting you, it was closer to a real fight. To Bucky’s credit, he hadn’t been wrong when he said neither of you knew when to quit. But what were a few bruises between friends?

“Sure you don’t wanna go a round, Wilson?” Steve asks.

“Yeah-” Sam sits at the table with you both- “don’t think I need a reminder on where I fall in this ranking. Last time I went around with her I thought I was gonna lose a lung.”

“I did not hit you that hard.”

“Some of us are just plain old people and have a very different definition of hard.”

“Oh come on Sam,” you say with a smirk. “You’re not plain.”

“Why must you wound me, woman?!” He exclaims.

Between the banter and laughter from the three of you, the sound of Steve’s phone ringing is lost. When it goes off again he notices, glancing at the screen his expression shifts from joy to severity so fast it’s jarring. His eyes dart to you and away before he pushes away from the table.

“I need to take this,” he says heading for the door.

“Steve?” You don’t try to hide your desperation as you shoot up, sending your chair slamming into the wall behind you.

He turns, a tight smile on his lips. “I promise I will tell you everything I can as soon as I know.” His hand rests on the knob as he says over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.”

Sam rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, guiding you into the living room. You curl your legs under you on the squeaky couch. He sits beside you, offering his hand. You hold it, taking comfort in his firm grip.

“He’s gonna be ok, Y/N.”

“What if he’s not?” You say in a flat tone.

Sam’s hand squeezes yours, “If he’s not, you will be. You’ve got us.” He pulls your hand toward him, “Come here.” You don’t resist him and lean into him as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, holding you tight.

Surrounded by Sam’s warmth you try to convince yourself that he’s right. Maybe you could be ok, maybe you could keep your promise to Bucky… Maybe. Something in your heart knows that you’re just trying to lie to yourself.

Right back, turns into over an hour. Sam doesn’t try to give you any other words of comfort. He’s just there for you and that’s enough.

When the door opens you literally fly up from your seat, power coming in one rush. Forcing yourself down, you look at Steve, unable to speak. When you register the genuine smile and wide eyes a lump rises in your throat.

He reaches up, pulling you the rest of the way to the floor. “He’s ok. They did it.” You stare in disbelief, it had been only four months...

“He’s awake, healthy, and they got that shit out of his head. Hydra’s triggers are gone.” You shake your head, unwilling or unable to accept such good news. “He’s gonna be fine, truly.”

Your hand rushes to your mouth to contain the sob as you fold at the waist, hot tears spilling out. Steve envelopes you in his arms, tugging you to his chest. A moment later Sam joins, and you’re surrounded by love and support as you weep, for once, in absolute joy.

Pushing away you take a jittery breath, “Can--When can we see him?”

Steve’s blue eyes sparkle with his own happy tears, “I don’t know yet. Soon hopefully.” He brushes a tear from your cheek with a calloused finger before pressing a brotherly kiss to the top of your head.

“Woo!” Sam whoops. “I knew I got steak for dinner tonight for a reason.”

“Fuck yes!” You turn, giving him a tight hug. “Whiskey, we need to celebrate.”

“If you can stand more good news,” Steve says a bit coy. You and sam stare at him waiting, “Heard from Nat too. She’s meeting up with Wanda and they’ll be here tomorrow evening.”

The thought of bringing Bucky into this collection of people one day, maybe far sooner than you ever allowed yourself to hope for, keeps you on a cloud of happiness for the next few days.

You’re enjoying your morning coffee with Natasha and Wanda, pulling bits of information about their individual time away when Steve pops in.

“Can I steal you?” The smile playing at the edges of his lips make your heart skip.

“Sure.” You follow him to the backyard.

“We head out today,” he says. It takes all you’ve got to not jump up and down like a kid hearing they’re going to Disney. “1100 hours.”

“Are we all-”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Just us. We should pack everything in case they need to move on before we get back. We’ll be catching a ride so they’ll keep the jet.”

“Where are we going?” You ask, brows knitting.

“Can you wait a bit longer to find out?” You shrug in aquesiance.

The next few hours are both the longest and shortest of your life. Your heart aches for him but you hate to leave so quickly. When you’d asked Steve if you had a timeframe he wasn’t sure, it made this goodbye feel strange.

“Ok, be sure to tell your cyborg boyfriend-” Sam begins.

“I thought we agreed that per your definition of cyborg he no longer qualifies thanks to Stark’s fuckery.” You still wanted to rip that assholes arm off to show him how it feels.

“Nerds,” Natasha shoots at you both.

“Whatever,” Sam shakes his head. “Be sure to tell him he doesn’t have my approval yet.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s gonna go over beautifully.”

Sam laughs pulling you into a hug. “I’m happy for you,” he says by your ear. You give him a big smile as you pull away, not trusting yourself not to cry if you speak.

Clearing your throat loudly you say, “It’s not like this is goodbye, I’ll be back.” Though Steve admitted he didn’t have an exact timeframe.

Natasha sighs, “It better be soon. We can’t just rely on Sam to cook. He’ll kill us.”

You giggle, “This is true.”

A red glowing spiral bound book smacks into your head drawing your attention to Wanda who had been lingering in a corner. You pluck it from the air, opening the sketch pad to reveal crisp blank pages.

“Your other one is getting full,” she says with a sniffle. Surrounding her in your power you drag her to you and hug her close.

“Your it,” she whispers.

“Fair,” you say, dashing a tear as you release her.

See you soons exchanged you and Steve head for the door.

“Hey!” Sam yells after you both. “You should also be sure to tell him who gave you that shiner!” Steve looks down at you, back at Sam, and lets out a pained laugh, fingers running through his hair.

Leave it to Sam. The two of you walk into the bright day with a chorus of laughter from your friends following you, chasing away the sadness of leaving.

The meeting place was about an hour’s walk from where you were staying in an industrial park that had shuttered for the night. Steve leads you into a warehouse building, clearly confident in where you were headed.

Fluorescents lit the space, the harsh light almost brighter than the sun. Looking around you notice two women, arms crossed looking somewhat annoyed, speak by the loading ramp of a jet that puts the Quin to shame. They silence as soon as the two of you are close.

“Captain!” An oddly familiar voice calls.

When Prince T’Challa rounds the jet you immediately flinch back, feeling the fresh scars on your chest burn with the memory of sharp claws. Another woman following him joins the other two.

He holds his hands up, “I come in peace.” His smile seems true but you still glare at Steve, demanding an explanation.

“Prince T’Challa-”

“Just T’Challa, please.”

Steve nods, “Has been harboring Bucky.”

“What?!” Your tone sounds more venomous than you mean it to.

“I made a poor judgment call and acted out of grief and vengeance. Sergeant Barnes wasn’t deserving of the blame I put on him. I wanted to make it right.” His eyes move to your chest for an instant. “I hope I can make right the harm I did to you too… If you’ll let me.” You look back to Steve, still in shock.

“I trust him,” he says with a nod.

T’Challa extends a hand to you. For just a breath you hesitate before taking it in your own.

“You swear he’s safe?” You ask, eyes boring into his.

“I do.”

“Ok.”

“Can we leave?” The woman asks T’Challa.

He laughs, “Yes we can leave as long as these two are good.” You and Steve exchange a quick glance and nod. “Good. Let’s move out.”

According to the three-dimensional map, that you can only comprehend as fucking magic, you’re already almost to Wakanda in a little over four hours. Your brain can’t fully comprehend how but this jet was full of mindblowing elements.

Your foot begins to bounce rapidly, anxiety spiking for some reason the closer you get.

“Hey,” Steve sits beside you, nudging you with his shoulder.

“Hey.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“I’m not-” He sets his own heavy boot over yours, stopping your bounce. “I don’t know.”

“Here,” Okoye holds out a glass. “Tea, it will help.”

“Thanks.” You hated tea but she didn’t strike you as the kind of woman who’s kindness one took lightly. Taking a sip you’re actually surprised that you like the spicy earthy taste. “What is this?”

“Tea,” she says with a smirk sitting across from you crossing her legs casually. You raise a brow and she laughs. “It’s a special, personal, blend.”

“She bought it at a tea shop,” T’Challa says walking past her. She scoffs and kicks the back of his calf. He laughs, “But they made it for her so I guess it counts.”

“Three until we’re at the barrier,” Nailah calls back.

Okoye’s smile fills her face, “You’re going to want to see this.’ She stands, nodding to the front. You look to Steve and he has the same smile, nodding for you to follow.

You all crowd the front of the jet as you rapidly approach what looked to you like the side of a mountain. No one else seemed nervous though… Assuming this wasn’t the calmest suicide mission ever you swallow your exclamation and watch… Just as you brace yourself for the impact the goddamn mountain opens--no fades away like a hologram--revealing a massive river city nestled in the mountains. The late afternoon sun makes the structures sparkle, trams seem to hover around the buildings, green spaces seamlessly flow through everything.

“Holy shit,” you breathe in absolute wonder.

“Welcome to Wakanda,” T’Challa says, beaming.

When the jet gently touches down you finally look at Steve.

“I know,” he laughs, “believe me.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you toward your waiting bags, the weight of his arm the only thing keeping you from floating off the ground in sheer excitement.

The two of you follow the others off the jet onto a large landing deck.

“Finally!” Someone calls as you all step off. A slight woman with a smirk on her face stands waiting with her arms crossed.

“What?” T’Challa responds. “We made excellent time.” She sighs loudly, rolling her eyes.

“Shuri, this is Y/N.” He turns to you as you walk up. Her face explodes in a Cheshire-like grin, extending a hand to you.

“It’s so good to actually meet you!” Her handshake quickly turns into an enthusiastic hug.

You huff out an awkward laugh, “Do I even want to know how my reputation proceeds me?” Your eyes slide to Steve who shakes his head to indicate it wasn’t him.

“Oh! Bucky talks about you often,” she says with a soft smile. At the mention of his name you look around the platform, perhaps a little desperately. “He’s not here. We’ve got a raft ready to go see him though.”

“Is going immediately a good idea?” T’Challa asks cautiously.

“Of course!” Shuri says with a shrug. “Plus, he hasn’t had a positive surprise like this yet. It will be good research.”

Steve shoots you a glance, his fresh worry mirroring your own. There isn’t time to ask more questions before you’re loaded up and heading off once more.

You want to be awestruck by the goddamn hovercraft you’re standing on, and the breathtaking… everything you’re passing but all you can hear in your head is Shuri saying he hadn’t been surprised yet. What could happen? What risk was there? Was this a bad idea? Would everything be broken by yours and Steve’s sudden arrival? Would he even want-

All thoughts cease as the craft crests a small hill. There, sitting by a small lake was a man looking out at the water and the fiery sky. His hair, so much longer, hid his face but then you see a hand raised in a familiar motion, fingers running through this hair.

You weren’t sure you could have stopped it if you wanted to. A burst of power propels you from the craft, sending you into the air. Vaguely you hear Shuri let out a sound, Steve says something, but you’re quickly too far away to hear. You push against the air with all you’ve got, body humming, heart thundering, arms aching to hold him.

Ten feet away from him you land silently, suddenly nervous again. Worried of breaking him somehow… But then-

“Bucky?” You say softly, almost a whisper.

His back straightens but he doesn’t move immediately. Fear fills you, bad call wrong fuck-

Bucky plucks a small earbud from and turns, blue eyes glassy, face filled with wonder. He stands, rounding the bench so slowly it feels like forever.

“I’m not dreaming?” He asks sincerely. Tears make his image ripple, turning everything into a watercolor. Biting your lip you shake your head no, taking a few steps forward, each one less grounded than the last.

“Y/N…” His smile, unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

You don’t rush into one another’s arms. The space between you closes with tentative steps. So like how you fell in love, a short distance carefully traveled until… A familiar calloused hand tenderly wipes the tears from your cheeks.

Reaching up you take his face in your hands. His eyes flutter closed as you dash away his tears when they open once more you nearly gasp at their beauty.

Bucky’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair, pulling your lips to his. There’s no resistance as you melt into him.

The kiss begins tender but quickly succumbs to your hungry need for one another and the world falls away. This is all there is, he is all you feel, taste, breathe.

Gasping for air, you both pull away. Resting your forehead against his you realize that the world literally fell away. Unconsciously you’d enveloped the both of you in your power, sending you about five feet off the ground. His eyes glitter with the wonder they always hold when it comes to your ability.

Gently, you lower you both back down, unable to look away from him. Once gravity has you again though you can no longer hold back the question that weighed on you since Steve handed you Bucky’s letter.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t still have you?” He looks away and you tilt his face back to you. “I will always love all of you, James Buchannan Barnes. Always.” Your voice cracks on the final word, emotions overwhelming you.

He kisses you once more. “Goddamn, I love you, Y/N.” You let out a little laugh and press your lips to his briefly before he pulls you away, thumb lightly touching the bruise at your eye.

“What happened?” His tone suddenly concerned. “Who-” Steve clears his throat from behind you, cutting him off. A snicker slips from you as you turn to face your blushing friend.

“Uh-” Steve runs an awkward hand through his hair- “That would be my fault.” Bucky’s eyes dart from his best friend back to you in confusion and worry.

“Friendly fire,” you shrug.

He rolls his eyes hard, laughing, “I knew I shouldn’t have left the two of you alone.”

Steve laughs, clearly relieved Bucky wasn’t pissed about giving his girl a shiner. Your heart swells as the two of them exchange a long tight embrace. When they separate Steve sniffs hard, clearing his throat.

“You should see what she did to me,” he says with a sidelong glance at you.

Laughing you respond, “Oh my god. You are not going to let it go, are you? It’s not even that bad.” Steve raises a brow and lifts his tee, a dark plum bruise spreading from his back around his ribs.

You grimace, “Ok. Maybe…”

Okoye lets out a low whistle, “Damn.” She looks to you, “We absolutely have to go a round.” She, T’Challa, and Shuri stroll up from where they’d been waiting, giving the three of you some space.

“Oko, loves a challenge,” T’Challa chuckles.

“I’m down,” you say lightly. Bucky’s arm wraps around your waist, holding you close.

“Tomorrow,” she says authoritatively. “Though-” she eyes the two of you playfully- “we’ll make it in the afternoon. I won’t steal your woman away before you two get to catch up, Wolf Man.”

“Wolf Man?” You ask looking up at Bucky’s smiling face.

Shuri laughs, “The kids started calling him the White Wolf. It just sort of stuck.”

“Steve’s looking a little more like a Wolf Man than me though so I may not keep my title for long.” Steve rubs his beard and gives an agreeing nod.

“Why don’t we all stay here to talk,” T’Challa takes a few steps toward a circle of low stone benches by the edge of the water. “The sunset is too beautiful to miss.”

As the sky burns in magnificent colors above you all T’Challa and Okoye walk you and Steve through what happened after the events in Siberia. Shuri exclaims that’s why it took so long to get Bucky’s treatment completed if what she accomplished wasn’t miraculous. She explains how she managed to circumnavigate the triggers and how it should remain effective longterm. Sometime during the talk a few folks arrive setting up a table quietly with food.

“I definitely want to continue monitoring for any changes but it seems that this treatment could be helpful in a lot of cases,” Shuri’s voice drips with excitement. “Honestly, I don’t know why others aren’t utilizing AI in this way. It just makes sense.” You can’t help but laugh. It seemed that she often forgot that not everyone had a mind like hers.

“If we’re going to have any more technical talk I can’t do it on an empty stomach,” Okoye says standing.

By the end of dinner, your cheeks ache from smiling.

T’Challa stretches, letting out a long yawn. “I think I’m ready to head back.” Okoye nods and Shuri lets out an exasperated sound. He laughs, “You can keep pummeling Y/N with questions tomorrow if she’s not ready to scream.”

“After what you’ve done, Shuri, I’m an open book.”

“You may regret that,” she says with a wink.

“We’ve got a room for you Captain,” Okoye says. “And you, Y/N.” For a second your chest tightens, the thought of leaving Bucky’s side draining the joy you’d been soaking in. “If you want it that is.”

“Thank you but…” You look up to Bucky, suddenly unsure. “I’d rather stay with you if-” His smile silences you.

“Of course,” Okoye’s warm smile coloring her words.

Once they all head back to the city Bucky leads your into his cozy hut. Fire-like lights illuminate the space as soon as you enter, belying the low-tech aesthetic of the space.

Your eyes wander around, soaking it all in until they land on Bucky. His expression is so tender and full of love, it makes your stomach flutter.

Without a word, he closes the small space between you. His lips press against your forehead before he looks into your eyes, right hand cupping your cheek.

“I dreamed about you,” he says in a rough whisper. You can’t help but smile.

“I dreamed about your smile,” his thumb gently touches the laugh lines at the corners of your mouth. “Your eyes,” a finger tracing your brow. Your hands rest on his hips, holding him close.

“Your touch,” he presses his body even closer. “Your taste,” he kisses your prone lips, savoring the feeling. Your body shivers with desire as his hand slides down your back, fingers slipping just under the hem of your shirt. “The way you feel.”

“I dreamed about all of you, but here you are and I realize my dreams didn’t do you justice.” He studies your face before continuing, “You are so much more than I could ever have dreamed, Y/N, than I ever could have hoped for. And I love you so much more than I think I ever realized before.”

Your eyes sting with tears as you pull his face to yours, kissing him softly. He was right. You thought you knew how much you missed him, how much you loved him--but you didn’t really know until you had him back in your arms.

When you pull back his hand wanders to your chest, softly touching the thick pink scars there. For a moment pain floods his features before he leans down and kisses each one, causing your breath to catch.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin.

“No,” you say firmly. “Don’t.” Your hand gently runs down the beautiful fabric draped over his left shoulder.

When you meet his gaze he nods subtly. Hooking the knot with your fingers you pull it over his head. Your fingers undo the buttons of his shirt, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest before peeling the garment back. Only then do you slide your eyes over to his left side.

The silver metal you’d grown so used to seeing is gone, replaced with a dark smooth material. It’s warm to the touch, the end a smooth cap.

“Does it bother you?” Bucky asks.

“Of course not,” you assure him. “I just… Stark...” There’s a bite to your voice.

“Honestly, I’m glad it’s gone.” His eyes are steady and you know he’s being honest. It was a reminder.

His fingers run along your jaw, a smoky grin curling his lips. Desire explodes in you.

At first, you’re both fumbling a bit, the new mechanics of the situation and the time away needing to be worked through. It doesn’t matter. You laugh, kiss, and relearn one another inch by inch.

Bucky wakes but doesn’t open his eyes, too afraid that yesterday was a sweet dream.

He notes the earthen smell of his hut, the feel of his soft bedding, the sound of the lake… The sound of your breathing, deep and steady.

Not a dream. You were really here. You were really safe.

He opens his eyes, looking over at your sleeping form. The golden light from outside slips beneath the curtain making you practically glow. One arm is curled under your pillow, the other languidly reaches in his direction.

Sitting up slowly he studies you closer. The way your hair falls into your face, the length starting to dust your shoulders. The gentle curve of your spine. And he hoped he wasn’t imagining the slight smile on your sleeping lips.

Before you and Steve arrived he knew that eventually, you’d come together, but that he’d have to choose between the safety Wakanda afforded him and you. For a brief period, he wasn’t sure what the right choice was. Was it better to stay away, to avoid putting more of a target on your back?

Now he knows it doesn’t matter. Be it the right choice or not, nothing could make him leave your side again. Nothing.

Tenderly his fingers run a path down your back, not wanting to wake you but needing to touch you. The latticework of scars there looking like golden embroidery in the light, just something that makes you all the more beautiful to him.

A small noise slips from between your lips. He rests his hand on your low back as you stir.

“Bucky,” you breath out, expression almost disbelieving.

“Goodmorning, sweetheart.” Your smile makes his heart rabbit in his chest.

Shuri glances from the readings before her and back to Bucky, a look of mild concern coloring her features.

“Everything alright, Bucky?”

“Of course,” he lies. He’d spent the morning oscillating between suffocating joy at having you back and paralyzing fear over knowing he won’t be able to say goodbye to you… and just what that means.

“I’m sure Okoye won’t go too hard on her,” she gives him a reassuring smile.

He huffs out a small laugh. While he went to Shuri’s lab for his daily check-in Okoye had stolen you away for a sparring session. Admittedly, he wasn’t the most comfortable with that either, though he wasn’t worried about you.

“We can call this good for today. We’ll meet them at the training field.” Shuri, ever four steps of everyone, doesn’t wait for him to agree just begins grabbing things to leave.

It’s a short walk from Shuri’s lab to the training field. His mind doesn’t have time to wander with her constant excited chatter. While he may not fully comprehend half of what she tells him he knows she likes to have a sounding board, talking helps her narrow in on whatever brilliant thing her mind is working on. He’s happy Shuri is comfortable enough with him to do this.

They stop under a large awning, slightly elevated from the large open-air training space, to watch you and Okoye have at it. She lands a hard blow to the side of your face and he flinches, knuckles white as he grips the railing.

“Come on!” He hears Okoye taunt, circling you. “You’re holding back,” she tosses a blunt spear between her hands. “I want to see what you can really do.”

A smirk curls your lips before you spit red into the dirt. “Alright.”

Your shoulders roll back, feet planted like he taught you. With an almost imperceptible twitch of your head, the spear flies from Okoye’s grip, landing in your hand. It’s a showy move but you’ve left yourself open just enough.

Bucky bites his tongue to keep from calling out as Okoye takes the chance, moving with the grace and speed of a trained warrior. The moment she moves to kick your abdomen you’re suddenly airborne, using the spear as a pivot point. Okoye’s foot meets nothing but empty space sending her stumbling while you bring both feet down into her side.

She rolls away, body already coiled to right herself. You’re faster though.

He watches, slack-jawed, as your toes barely touch the ground before you propel yourself with speed through the air to Okoye. She’s barely registered your presence before the spear point is pointed at her throat.

“I think by your rules that’s a win,” you say, a bit breathless.

The sound of slow clapping from behind him makes Bucky jump. He’d been so engrossed in watching that he hadn’t noticed T’Challa and Steve enter.

“Why thank you my king,” Okoyes says as you pull her to her feet.

“Don’t be a sore loser now general,” T’Challa teases. She throws him a sideways glare.

“Impressive,” Bucky says as you walk up.

“I had a good teacher,” you say before pressing your lips to his briefly.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t teach you that.”

“So,” Shuri begins, a peculiar tension in her tone, “does she pass?” You give Bucky a questioning look but he only shrugs, just as confused.

“Oh yes,” Okoye pours water over her head, wiping her face with a towel. “If only because I demand a rematch.”

“Did I miss something?” You ask turning to face the others. They all have grins on their faces, even Steve.

“Let’s sit,” T’Challa nods to a small seating area. Glancing at Bucky, you slide your hand in his before following.

T’Challa’s expression is open but he lets out a long sigh before beginning. “I offered Bucky asylum in Wakanda because I realized he’d been just as much a victim of Zemo’s hatred as my father. I feel the same goes for you.” He pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts. “You had no choice but to become involved in this mess, your whole life was turned upside down… again. I feel partially responsible for that.”

“I don’t-” He cuts you off with a raised hand.

“I’d like to offer you the chance to stay here as well.”

Bucky draws in a sharp breath. Your eyes, large and disbelieving turn to him. Neither of you dare speak.

“There is one stipulation.”

“Of course,” you say almost breathless.

“Given our recent… incident, we are aware of the need to bolster our forces. If you chose to stay you’d be expected to serve as a defender of Wakanda under General Okoye should the need arise.” Shuri makes a small noise and T’Challa laughs. “Go on.”

“I’d also be interested in studying your ability,” she says. Bucky sees your body instantly tense.

“Nothing without your consent,” Shuri tries to assure you. “I can also do as I’ve done for Bucky and look into exactly what those monsters may have done to avoid any potential issues in the future.”

Your gaze falls to Steve, an unspoken question hanging between you both.

“They’ll understand,” Steve says smiling.

When you look at him once more his mouth goes dry. He should tell you to do what feels right, to do what was best for you, but the words stick in his throat along with his breath.

Bucky watches as all question and doubt drains from your expression, replaced with a softness he can’t name. Your fingers gently trace his jaw and air floods into his lungs, tension fleeing him.

You turn back to T’Challa, “Yes. I… anything to stay I’ll do it. And Shuri-” you take a deep shaky breath- “I’d like to know what they did too-”

“Everything at your pace I swear,” Shuri cuts you off, almost bouncing with excitement.

“I believe you,” you say with a small laugh.

“Thank you,” he says to T’Challa, holding his gaze. T’Challa smiles and nods, understanding the weight of Bucky’s words.

You expected saying goodbye to Steve would be hard but not this hard. His arms crush you tight into his chest and you just know your tears are soaking into his tee. Sniffing hard you pull away.

“Tell them…” You trail off, wiping your eyes. Sorry wasn’t right, you could already hear Sam calling you out on that bullshit, and you didn’t know when you’d see them again.

“Tell them, I’ll miss them and that this isn’t goodbye.” It hurt to say it, fresh tears finding their way down your cheeks, but it was the truth. You wouldn’t let this be goodbye. Steve nods, quickly wiping at his own eyes. He looks at Bucky, forcing a slight smile.

“There are a few people you’re gonna have to answer to later, Buck.”

“I look forward to it,” Bucky says, his hand resting on the small of your back. Steve looks at you both before pulling you into a group hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” he says softly before releasing you.

“We’ll see you later, punk.” Bucky’s smile is soft and sad.

Steve laughs softly, “Jerk.”

You and Bucky stand on the landing deck until the jet is out of sight, silent, just holding tightly to one another. After all what was there to say?

Shuri offers to give you both a lift back to Bucky’s place… your place? How strange to think of it that way. On the ride her easy conversation is comforting.

As soon as you say your goodbyes to her you head to the edge of the lake, a bit dazed after everything. The sun is just barely above the horizon, casting the sky in breathtaking shades from yellow to deep twilight purple. You take it all in, the beauty almost overwhelming.

“Y/N,” Bucky calls to you. Turning back you see him by the doorway. He extends his hand but you don’t go to him immediately. Instead, you take him in, lit in soft golden light.

He was impossible, this man you loved. Impossible that his kind heart could remain after so much pain, impossible he could survive all he did, impossible that he loved you with all he was despite all you were. And the most impossible of all, he was here, safe, reaching out for your hand. He was yours.

Finally, you go to him, his palm engulfing yours, tugging you in for a kiss. Bucky pulls back, looking down at you with such love it takes your breath away.

“We’re home, doll.”

Nothing had ever felt truer.

[THANK YOU ALL AGAIN!]

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