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training4theapocalypse · 4 months

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a fine wee lass, a bonnie wee lass ch.1

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 2k

Warnings / Tags: Smut, infidelity, size difference, references to previous underage romance (when they were both teens).

Summary: You're the bridesmaid at your brother’s wedding and his best man, John MacTavish is back in town. You just hope he doesn't remember when you last saw him, when you tried with all your might to stop him from joining the army.

A/N: I've not played COD since like 2012 but I keep seeing clips of Soap on TikTok and my wee Scottish heart just fancies the pants off him. This is inspired by a Scottish folk song called 'Bonnie Wee Jeannie McCall'. The dialogue is written in Scots - I hope you can follow along.

ALSO I just found out about @glitterypirateduck’s challenge by a happy accident the day after I wrote this and this fits nicely into:

Prompt 28: They don't need to know

Masterlist (there’s no other COD stuff here sorry)

Chapter 1: The first night I met her she was awfy, awfy shy

You pull your shawl around you as you stand outside the old castle. Rain lashes down across the sprawling Falkirk countryside while revellers laugh from the wedding inside. The music hasn’t started yet - you think that you’re safe to have a breather before you need to go inside for the first dance.

You stand as close to the wall as you can, taking cover from the rain. Your pink satin shoes are getting soaked. Not that it matters. The shoes your brother’s new wife chose for her bridesmaids are so ugly it’s unlikely you’d have worn them again anyway. But she’ll be fuming when she sees the state of them.

The door to the castle opens behind you and you move over, dodging a puddle to let the newcomer seek the shelter of the castle wall too.

“Awryt, darlin?” asks a voice and you look up from the puddle at your feet to see John MacTavish, your brother’s best man, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. “I didnae think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” you say, putting your vape to your lips and raising your eyebrows once.

He pulls a sour face. “Them? They’re fulla chemicals and like, mercury, and that.”

“Oh aye? What’s in these? Vitamins?” you ask, flicking the pack of cigarettes in his hand with a forefinger. “You didnae smoke afore joinin’ the army.”

“Aye, well, I was sixteen when you last saw me. And you were, whit, twelve?”

“Fifteen, John.”

There’s only a year between you and your big brother, Tam. But the way he and John treated you, you’d have thought there was a decade between you. Acting like you were an annoying wee tag-along. You just wanted to be included from time to time.

But that was ten years ago. Last time you saw John, he was just a boy, and you, just a lass. But now he’s older, with a scar on his chin that’s only highlighted by his coarse, dark stubble. The scar cuts across the hair there like white lightning. He’s taller, and broader than when you last saw him and his hair is shaved much shorter and neater than the teenage John you remember.

“Aw, aye. I mind now. You and your pals had wangled your way intae the sixth-year leavers’ gaff. As usual.”

“Did I? Any excuse for a drink back then, I s’pose.”

“Aye, but I remember ‘cause I wis leavin’ in a few days for the army. And you were -” He cuts himself off suddenly.

“I was whit?” a smile cracks across your face, waiting to hear his description of how you looked that night. Beautiful? Stunning? Mesmerising? You see yourself as you had been - your hair perfectly straightened, your Oh Polly bandage dress hugging your form in all the right places. In your memory, you were the embodiment of a siren. You had dolled up that night to impress the older boys. Or, if you were honest, one particular older boy.

“Well, I mean,” he says putting a cigarette between his lips and flicking his lighter. The orange glow briefly illuminates his face, casting shadows that seem to momentarily harden his features, making you remember he’s no longer a boy of sixteen but a man of twenty-six. “You were absolutely gantin’ for it.”

Your mouth falls open and you hit his arm.

Mortifying.

“Whit? Fae you? Aye, right !” you say, sarcastically but your face flushes bright red, immediately giving you away. You might have been drunk but John MacTavish rejecting your drunken advances as a teenager was probably the defining moment of your formative years.

As your words, brushing off his teasing, hang in the air, the jolt of embarrassment reminds you of a different party.

On that fateful night, ten years ago, the music was much louder. The floor was littered with empty cans and bottles and you’d ‘accidentally on purpose’ bumped into John in the hallway before pulling him into someone’s parents’ bedroom. You’d recklessly thrown your arms around him.

“Woah, woah, woah. What you daen?” he’d whispered in a panic.

“Please, Johnny,” you’d slurred drunkenly. “I dunno when I’ll see you again. Somethin’ tae remember me by.”

You had leaned in to kiss him but he turned his head. You were so drunk you didn’t care. You sucked on his neck, feeling that dark stubble under your sloppy tongue as your hand found his cock in his jeans.

But he’d stopped you in your tracks. Pinned your arms to the side. He was stronger than you, even as a teenager.

“Naw, look, I cannae,” he had said. And even though your eyes could barely focus on his, you could tell he was annoyed at you. But you didn’t care. You just wanted him so badly.

“Aw, come on, John. Please? I’ll show you my tits,” you had said. “I’ll - I’ll go the full way. I’ll do anythin’. Just - just don’t leave, awryt?”

The sound of cheers from the reception hall cuts through your memory and snaps you back to your current, rainy surroundings.

“Aye, well, I was probably just dreamin’,” says present-day John. “It probably never happened.”

It’s considerate of him, to pretend that it never happened.

But no matter how hard you try to pretend, there’s no denying that you made a fool of yourself, plain and simple.

Sometimes late at night when you can’t sleep, the memory makes you cringe as you replay that embarrassing moment. You try and cut yourself some slack, remind yourself that you were just a desperate, heartbroken teenager who’d drunk half a bottle of vodka working up the courage to make the move she’d always thought about. Begging John not to join the army. Begging John to fuck her.

He had declined both requests.

But that doesn’t matter because you’re a fully grown woman now. One that hasn’t spent more than a second thinking about John MacTavish coming home for her brother’s wedding. No, sir. Not one second. Definitely not.

You exhale a laugh like it’s a funny memory. “Maybe it did happen. I cannae really remember, I must have been steamin’ drunk,” you say. But you know what happened. He knows what happened. And he knows you know.

John's response comes with a delay, his chuckle soft and tinged with a hint of meaningful self-deprecation, to try and frame some of the embarrassment back onto himself. “You must’ve been steamin' to have tried it on wae the likes of me. You were always far too good for me,” he laughs, but this time his smile doesn’t quite reach those bright blue eyes.

There’s a long silence as you say nothing. With a deliberate motion, you bring the vape to your lips, inhaling deeply, the action grounding you back to the here and now as the artificial kiwi-passionfruit-guava fills your lungs with something that you know must be bad for them. As you exhale, your gaze drifts down to your soaked shoes, the pink satin darkened by the rain. They’ve changed beyond recognition.

“Woah,” he coughs his own puff of smoke. “Now just whit is that ?” asks John, his eyes clocking your left hand.

You tilt your hand subtly, letting the diamond catch the cloudy daylight. “Did Tam no mention it?” The words linger between you, almost casual. “I’m engaged, John.”

For a moment, John just stares at your hand, his face unreadable. Then, a low whistle escapes him, a mix of surprise and something unspoken. He glances up at you, his eyes searching yours for the answer to a question that he doesn’t voice. “Engaged, eh? Tam never said a word.” His gaze shifts away, a frown creasing his forehead. “Where’s the lucky man the night?”

“He’s offshore the now - he works on the rigs.”

“Christ, I’ll say,” says John, taking your hand and examining your ring. “He’d need tae be workin’ in oil for a big rock like this wan.”

Your hand feels small in his. His thick brows soften from a frown when he pulls his gaze up from your engagement ring to meet your eyes. His eyes are blue and full of a warmth that you wouldn’t expect from someone who, from Tam’s account, is a hardened soldier.

Your heart thuds in your chest when you realise that he’s been holding your hand for too long. But you don’t retract it.

“Aww the best tae the happy couple, then,” he says softly. “I suppose Tam never telt me ‘cause he had a lot to be dealing wae his own wedding and that.” John lets go of your hand. “Dae you no miss your fella, wae him being offshore?”

“Four weeks on, two weeks off. I see him plenty… More than your missus sees you, I expect. How often d’you come home? Once or twice a year?”

“I’ve no got a missus so I don’t need tae worry about that.”

The raucous laughter from inside the wedding venue dies down suddenly. And you hear the master of ceremonies announcing the entrance of the bride and groom.

“Gads,” says John, stubbing out his half-finished cigarette.

“If we miss the first dance, we’re fucked,” you say. “I’ll never hear the fuckin’ end of it.”

You try to carefully step over the puddle - John takes your arm and holds on to you so you don’t fall. He opens the oak door for you but as you’re about to pass, he grips you tighter, stopping your movement.

“Listen, darlin’, there are some things that are just off-limits,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in your ear as he leans close. He smells like cigarettes - normally that smell would turn your stomach but there’s something sweet in his aftershave, like vanilla, that makes the tobacco smell musky and warm.

“Meanin’?” You look up at him, confused.

“The last time I saw you,” he murmurs. “You were mad wae it. I couldnae, in good conscience, take you up on that offer when you were that drunk. And you’re my best pal’s wee sister tae boot. I couldnae dae that tae Tam.”

“John, that was - that was a long time ago. It was nothin’.”

“And now,” he continues. “Now you’re engaged. Which means you’re even more off-limits.”

Off-limits?

He’s talking like you’re in that bedroom again, begging for his attention. Except you’re not. You’re not begging for John again. He’s just assuming that you’re about to.

That presumptuous bastard.

“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, John MacTavish. Who are you tae try and let me down gently? It’s been ten years and I’m no even slightly interested in you anymore.”

“Naw, I know,” he says, refusing to match your volume or tone of indignation. “I’m just tellin’ you out loud why I won’t be trying it on with the most beautiful lassie in the room. And why I said no back then, as well.”

“Haul! You two!” You and John spring apart to see your tiny, furious wee auntie storming down the hallway. “You’re missing your brother’s first dance with his new wife and you’re both supposed to be on the dancefloor.”

“We - we are?” you stammer.

“Aye, did you no hear the emcee telling the wedding party to join the bride and groom? That means bridesmaids and groomsmen, ya pair of glaikit idiots. Your maw’s fuckin’ ragin’”

And with that, John lets the door behind you swing shut and you both leg it past your auntie to the reception room, with you leaving wet footprints in your wake as you go. The music from the room swells into clarity as you burst through the doors and skid inelegantly onto the dancefloor.

Your brother and his wife are too absorbed in their own happiness to have noticed your late entry and you breathe a sigh of relief. But it’s short-lived. You immediately stiffen again when John takes your waist and you realise that he’s your dance partner.

As the two of you begin swaying to the music, your mind races. You’re no longer that sad, rejected teenager, yet here, in John's reassuring grasp, you feel the ghost of her stirring. His gaze is careful, and guarded, but there's still that question in his eyes that he’s forbidden to ask.

And behind your own eyes, you can’t help the stream of curses going off inside your head.

You curse your nerves for being the reason you got so drunk at that party.

You curse John for being Tam’s best man.

But most of all, you curse yourself as you watch your left hand rest on John’s shoulder as you dance, the giant diamond ring glittering like a heavy disco ball.

#scotland forever #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #task force 141 #smut #soap cod #soap mw2 #john mactavish x reader #burns night #cod fic #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #soapitup

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arcielee · 2 months

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Interview With a Writer

Thank you @st-eve-barnes for going over your Saltburn series with me! Just a reminder, you can view volume 1 & 2 of my ongoing series Interview With a Writer, where these talented individuals allow me to pick their brains over the brilliance behind their writing!

Name: st-eve-barnes

Story: Leverage

Paring: Michael Gavey x Female!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

So, when did you start writing?

I guess I have to say as a teenager, though I never shared anything I wrote back then. I still have the notebooks I used to drabble in (in Dutch), it wasn’t very good at all but I guess even back then I had that need to be creative and make my own stories.

I officially started writing fanfic in 2013. I watched Thor the Dark World, fell in love with Loki, made a Tumblr and a whole new world opened. After a few months of reading fanfic, I started writing my own. Again, it wasn’t very good at all but even my bad stories slowly started to find an audience on here, so I stuck with it.

Loki is amazing, just Aemond energy in a different font.

He truly is! I've written different characters since, but the moment I saw Aemond on screen I was transported back to the first time I saw Loki. His intensity, that quiet threat like you don't know what he's going to do next, combined with this, "I was made to be king but my stupid brother is the chosen one."

And a certain sadness, of course. We know they're the villains, but we understand them in a way and can feel their pain. And they are sexy as hell of course ;)

Where did the plot for Leverage come from?

Okay, so first of all, I am someone who never plans an entire plot when I start a fic. I am very much a "make it up as I go along" writer. I start with an idea and a dynamic I want to write between two characters and then I build from there.

For this one I wanted Reader and Michael to have a common goal and a common enemy, something that would push these two different characters to want to work together. I wanted the enemies to lovers vibe but soft. Like, you can tell very early on in the fic that they have empathy for each other. When Reader is crying, Michael softens up easily, and when she sees Michael being vulnerable about not being able to get girls, she feels for him as well.

Their personalities will still clash even after that, but you can (hopefully) feel the connection between them as well. I wanted Ben's threat to loom over them for the entire fic but also never make it the main plot point in every chapter. The main plot for me here was how Michael and Reader could help each other change and grow, and then either accept that change or turn away from it.

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal?

No, not really, I think. I wanted to make her independent and confident, but also a little bit lonely, all traits you can also find in Michael. And anything else, as usual, I make up as I go along. I get to know the characters as I write them and often I'm surprised where they take me. In this fic I think it was Michael who surprised me the most though, he really turned out different than I initially had planned.

Explain your interpretation of Michael. What drives him? How did he differ from what you originally had in mind?

Salburn didn't give us much to work with, and I actually love that because it gives us so much freedom to play with the character.

I went with what the movie did give us: Michael's obvious hatred for the popular privileged kids. It's the reason he initially hates Reader, but warms up to her when he learns that she is actually working for her place at Oxford and she is not a real part of Ben's group. I think he is driven to help her purely because of that common enemy in the beginning.

Then he gets to know her a little and the promise of sex comes into play, which he definitely doesn't say no to. What surprised me in writing him is that I initially planned on writing him as a sub throughout the entire fic, but then half way in the tables started turning and he started taking over control a bit (of the Reader and me as well apparently!). And then suddenly it made complete sense to write him that way, because he would be that overeager student who wants to do well and who does the homework to get it exactly right, it doesn't matter whether it's math or sex, he wants to show how good and smart he is.

Him just accepting his feelings for her so calmly was also something I didn't plan, but just sort of happened as I was writing.

My initial plans there was going to be a big fight between her and Michael right before they would call things off. He would force her to admit her feelings and the sex would turn quite rough; Michael just being Michael and saying a lot of wrong things to her that would eventually shut her down completely. But I never wrote that scene and by the time I got there in the story it didn't seem to fit their characters anymore and it also seemed too heavy for this fic so I let go of that idea.

Do you feel your Reader and Michael complement one another?

I definitely think they complement each other, but I also think they are quite alike in many ways. As I said before, they are both quite confident in different ways and insecure in others.

I do think they complement each other perfectly with Michael being more book smart and focused, while Reader is (a lot) better with people and social skills. I think them being together changes them both for the better cause they can learn from each other's personalities and bring out the best out in each other (but also the worst, of course).

Let's say that in their future they definitely learn to focus on bringing out the best and not the worst in each other ;)

Do you think you'll ever continue their story?

Never say never, but there's no plans to write more for them for now. I don't think I've written many sequels over the years, but I love writing different ideas and dynamics between two characters and once they are together, it's like "my work here is done."

Do you have a personal favorite story (on ao3 or Tumblr) you'd like to share?

My absolute favorite story is from a previous fandom that I'm not in anymore, but I have to share that one as it is the single most beautiful thing I've ever read. It was the fic that pulled me into the fandom. It's a Stucky story and it's called Not Easily Conquered, known as NEC in the fandom.

It will crush your soul and heal you and I will give anyone the same advice I got before I read it for the first time: be prepared because this one will hurt. I cried for like a week after I read it and I don't cry easily so this one should come with a warning. But it is absolutely worth it!

Do you have another story in the works?

The only thing I'm working on right now is a Felix Catton x Reader story called Pretty Little Liars. Two chapters have been posted and I'm working on the next ones, but it may be a while as life has been a bit full on here lately.

Would you like to share a snippet of what's to come?

“I think he has a little crush on you,” you stated while Felix opened the door to his room and let you step inside first. Felix shook his head but the little blush on his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by you. “It’s not like that,” he denied, “He’s just…a bit lost and I’m trying to be his friend.” “You sure that’s all he wants?” “Yeah,” he laughed, “Ollie doesn’t want me, he just wants to be like me.” “If you say so,” you sighed, not convinced. Felix grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you down to sit on the side of his bed, leaning forward to look into your eyes, “Hey, come on, don’t ruin this by becoming jealous.” “I’m not jealous, I’m…concerned.” That wasn’t a lie. Jealousy was never a factor, you knew right from the start that Felix would never truly be yours, you would always have to share him with the rest of the world. And you always accepted that. But the idea of sharing him with Oliver somehow made your blood boil. Felix kneeled down in front of you, eyes locking with yours as his gaze darkened and he smiled that irresistible smile of his. “Now, did you come up here to chat about Ollie, or to get your pussy eaten, hmm? Cause I can’t do both at the same time.” His lips connected with your knee, kissing your skin softly and you bit your lip and sighed deeply, “Fine, I’ll shut up.”

#interview with a writer #bts #of their brilliant writing #writing community #writing stuff #writers on tumblr

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tennessoui · 5 months

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kit's fics year in review (2023)

it turns out i wrote a LOT this year (last year now, i guess) according to my ao3 stats, and i saw one of those recap games for another fandom floating around my dash so im absolutely gonna pilfer some of those questions for my own little review + add a few!!

how many fics did you write in 2023? it was definitely the year of the silly short fic for me -- i published a total of 6 new oneshots on ao3 along with 5 fics only on my kofi! i also added at least one chapter to 9 other fics that were already posted. and i started and completed 1 long stand alone fic this year (if you love me let it remain unnamed, clocking in at 37k)

what are you most proud of fic-writing wise in 2023? i finished foolproof, foolhardy! it took more than a year to write, from first published to last updated, but i think the lion's share of the work happened during 2023; it's sort of rare for a fic of mine to get that long (72k), so it was fun to write through all the developments. truly a cracky premise that grew legs and ran away from me, but i'm really proud of how it turned out. the last 4 chapters contain some of my best writing in my opinion and the whole story is a love letter to padawan obi-wan, who will always be my beloved lol

what is the fic you had the most fun writing? this is a tough question because i'm torn between two fics; sun, sun, sun here it comes is probably my favorite oneshot that i've ever written. it sorta incorporates everything that makes a silly little au in my mind, from miscommunication to banter to bonus babies. but then there's i pray the same, but my gods have changed, aka the democratic fic- now that's such a fun fic to write, and i'm going to get more into it this year again. it's the one where tumblr votes on what should happen next, which i absolutely enjoy - especially when people send me propaganda about which option should win....thought the amount of ties that have happened is mind-boggling lol

what is a fic you didn't expect to write? hahaha well this is easily 'a more perfect union' which has been sooo fun to write so far but also definitely has had a very short gestation period from nascent tumblr au post to 25k on ao3 lol and still one more chapter to go!!!

what fic surprised you when you were writing it? oh hands down this is 'hand me down dreams got me high in the rafters', aka the pool boy au from tumblr. the adaptation of it from tumblr au to a fic on ao3 has a crazy tone shift where the obi-wan in that fic is much, much darker than the one in the tumblr au - i really ended up leaning into the unequal power dynamics of a boss/employee relationship and exploring how unhealthy it could be while keeping it consensual -- but only because anakin would allow obi-wan to do whatever he wanted to him

what's a fic you wanted to write but didn't? my poor neglected hunger games au!! i really want to get the first chapter of that posted because i am so excited about this fic and writing it as a new big, long project -- i'm excited about the dark anakin, the differently dark obi-wan, the hunger games set in the gffa, etc etc etc

what is something you learned this year that you'll take into 2024? set is the only acceptable name for anakin to use undercover <3 we will be taking the set cinematic universe into 2024 <3

what's a project you're excited to carry into the new year? um all of my wips lol but especially time & tide and the couples counseling au - i have about half of the next chapter of t&t written, and before i got sidetracked by a more perfect union, i was on track to get that posted by christmas....obviously that did not happen lol but i'm expecting to get back to working on a few more chapter updates at the beginning of this year!

#kit to kit #obikin #i would tag people but i think im really late for this sort of review #and people probably did it a few days ago #but i would love to see any fic reviews other writers do if you use these questions!!!#pls tag me <3

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uncouth-the-fifth · 20 days

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pythia, a supernatural rewrite. bloody mary, rough draft.

read it on ao3.

words: 6k notes: hi y'all! yes, you read that chapter title right - this is a little unconventional, but since I've unfortunately shifted hyperfixations and have drifted away from SPN, I thought I would post what I have for the next part of pythia. since I'm moving into resident evil land, I'm not sure if I'm going to come back to this fic—but I absolutely didn't want to leave you guys empty-handed!! I'm so so sorry that this fic will go unfinished (for now), and I'm so grateful to those who were along for the ride with me. I have so much love for all the people who motivated me through writing this fic. all of you are beyond kind!! and I hope you enjoy this dose of pythia content, featuring some of my notes and process-work, lol. I only had a few heavy chunks of the beginning written, but the prose for this chap (ironically) started to get into the meat of what I really wrote this fic for—psychic bullshit between reader and Sam. It was just too plain juicy to not share!! All of my spn fics will remain up, but if you keep up with me, expect lots of Leon Kennedy bullshit and tomfoolery. Again - thank you so much for your endless love and support, I had so much fun writing what I could of season one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this unfinished chunk of silly/ansty Christmas drama :)

EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - Dec 21st, evening.

Sam drops the stack of glossy, brand-new legal pads into his lap, and flashes his brother a plain smile. “Thanks, Dean. I needed more of these.” From your spot seated on the living room rug, you twist your rings and wait for Dean’s witty reply. With all those notes you’re always makin', Sammy, I’ll hafta buy you some for New Years, too. You wait for him to make a crack about the gift he got Sam, something about diaries or his brother’s girly handwriting.

Instead, Dean shrugs, “Well, then there ya go.”

Voila. And with that, the feeble threads you’d tried to braid into a proper Christmas are cut. Without a word, your Mom picks up the little wooden jewelry case the three of you had thrifted her and recedes into the dark hallways of the house. Dean peels himself out of his seat to clean up. Sam sighs, picking at the plastic seal around his legal pads. Hilariously, this all plays out while Paul McCartney chimes about what wonderful Christmastime he’s been having from the radio in your kitchen.

Technically, you hadn’t just been celebrating Christmas. No, you managed to completely bomb both Christmas and the sacred Winter Solstice sabbat that the Proctors had been celebrating for a bajillion fucking years. The special sabbat that would have a real spiritual effect on you for the next couple months.

You’d given it a good ol’ college try. First, you’d painstakingly picked out gifts for the boys and your Mom. Good ass gifts, too, that you’d been hiding in your duffle since summertime. Hell, you’d been looking for the Eagles album you bought for Dean in tape form for at least two years. (Cool, Dean had said, half alive in his armchair after your chupacabra hunt in Illinois. He was at the ugly front end of a cold. He’d sniffled, Don’t have this one.) And knowing that this would be Sam’s first Christmas without Jess—the one person who had given him any kind of good holiday when he was away from home—you’d poured extra love into his gift, too.

He’d been begging you to read Frankenstein since high school, and you’d dodged it because sometimes books that pushed too far into the “classics” category could lose you. Mary Shelley got a little wordy at times. But you were a big girl with a big brain, so you’d read the whole thing for Sam… and annotated the whole thing for Sam…

He’d taken one look at your labor of love and murmured, “Good. Glad you read it.”

…Yeah. You had half a mind to check if he’d been replaced by a clone, hearing that. Fifteen-year-old Sam would have melted into a babbling, ecstatic mess if someone had carefully combed through one of his favorite books and shared their thoughts on it with him. Bare minimum, you figured he’d at least enjoy having his own copy of Shelley’s work. All his other books had been lost in the fire.

But you’d given the book to a Sam who was twenty-two, not fifteen. Fine. People changed.

The boys being a collective bummer was something you could deal with. Sam was always sullen around the holidays, and you couldn’t exactly be mad at Dean for being exhausted after a stressful hunt. But your Mom…

Beth used to make Yule her bitch. When you were a kid, come December 1st, the Proctor House could easily have been the center of all Wicca celebrations in the world. If working retail during the holidays tested one’s love for festive music, then the non-stop winter songs bouncing off Beth’s vinyl player would’ve made Santa beg to hear something else. Every room would gush with the smell of evergreen branches and holly. Your family’s altar, the home of all the love and joy for the season, would be lush with offerings and presents. The candles you lit as a family to welcome the light of the new year would glow in a neat row—your little silver candle, your mother’s tall red one… and the biggest. Your Dad’s.

Now, your Dad’s candle was tucked away with the rest of the unused decorations in the attic. From your spot on the floor, you couldn’t help but stare at your piss-poor excuse for a family altar. Beth hadn’t “had the time” to find the table runner your great-grandmother had embroidered just for that space. The small bouquet of mistletoe you’d brought sat pathetically on the wide, barren surface, framed by your family’s dollar-store candles: silver for you, red for Mom, and twin green candles for the boys.

It was stupid. Really, you shouldn’t have cared so much. You were almost twenty-five, and the older you got the less people cared about silly, trivial things like a single holiday out of the year. That was just a fact of life.

Still, an ugly ball of bitterness sat in your gut. She couldn’t have tried to decorate? Even out on the road, you’d still found ways to make today a little special for the people you loved. Did she really have such little strength left in her? You’d dragged the boys up to Wisconsin with you so your Mom didn’t have to be alone. Was it really that impossible, after eleven whole years without your Dad, to try and be happy?

Fuck this. Yule isn’t over yet. There’s still time for you to squeeze some life out of today, and you’re going to start straight at the source. You find your Mom in the kitchen, mindlessly swiping invisible crumbs off pristine counters. When she senses you paused behind her in the kitchen doorway, clutching in both hands the gift she got you this year, the radio suddenly needs to be toyed with. Then cleaned. There are gray strands in her hair that shine like tinsel in the low kitchen light.

“Hey,” you say, your voice bright and christmas-card perfect. “I don’t think I got to say thank you for the gift.” (You did. More than once already.) “It’s been a bit since I read this one.” The gift in question is your Dad’s second edition print of The Shining. It’s even older than you are, with soft, petal-thin pages that reek of that wonderful old book musk. Rolling the flexed and cracked paperback between your hands, your Gift automatically picks up the distant echo of the hands that had touched these pages when they were new.

When you were little, you’d always found it kind of strange that your Dad considered this book his favorite. He was a sweet, soft-spoken person, and the mental image of him indulging in uncensored horror novels didn’t mesh with the Ray preserved in your head. Having since grown up and read it for yourself, you understood that it was less about the gore of the Overlook and more about “the shine;” the array of psychic abilities that kept five-year-old Danny Torrance alive through the book.

Years of having book-club with Sam had trained you to form cultivated opinions about the stuff you read, but The Shining existed in a realm that made it hard for you to describe how you felt about it. See, you had Danny Torrance’s shine—on the same level, too, enough shine to power the decades of ghostly ballroom parties and mob conspiracies inside the Overlook for a century. Seeing your Gift put onto a page so nakedly and cinematically made you uncomfortable. Yet, feeling the weight of your father’s book in your hands, standing in the kitchen he hasn’t touched in a decade, you know that it must’ve comforted him. Back then, surrounded by a psychic mother-in-law, girlfriend, and daughter, it would've been impossible to survive without a little shine of his own. You’re sure that your Dad's Gift was faint and unimpressive next to the psychic blackholes of your Mom and Grandma. Just enough to know if you’d skinned your elbow or had a nightmare. On the days that you came home from school tear-streaked and ruddy-faced, Dad would be waiting on the porch with soup.

You can still feel the faint psychic imprint of one of his whiskery kisses on your face. You don’t have many vivid impressions of him left to feel; none that haven’t been rubbed again and again, like the hollow of a fingerprint smoothed into the face of a rock over time.

Your Mom gives a non-committal hum at your attempt at conversation. Not because she doesn’t care—you can feel how much she cares from across the room—but because she’s tired. Adult Tired, like when she’d turn down your pleas to play together as a kid. Not tonight, baby. Momma’s exhausted.

“Mom,” you say, sounding as glossy and clean as a brand-new cookie tin. You open your mouth to say more, maybe to start in on one of your long-winded book-rants that had everyone wondering where Sam had suddenly appeared from. You know the answer, but you ask anyway, “This was one of Dad’s favorite books, right? I vaguely remember him talking about the hedge animals.” Beth accidentally hits a button as she’s dragging a rag over the shiny front of the radio, forcing Paul McCartney to have yet another wonderful Christmastime. She doesn’t look at you.

“Yup. But you knew that already, honey.”

C’mon. Nothing? She won’t even throw you the smallest, most pathetic olive branch? A psychic battle occurs. You get so frustrated all at once that your throat closes up, and that frustration balloons out into your family kitchen like the expansion of a bomb. You push. There is no give. The bubbling stormcloud of grief and loss hanging around Mom is there, then it’s not. The side of the kitchen your mother stands on is suddenly a void of absolute nothingness, empty of any feeling whatsoever, good or bad. She’s cutting you off from reading her—and protecting herself from your explosive emotions, as per usual.

Beth keeps cleaning the radio, her back to you.

Your rage bubbles out of you all at once. One day! One day out of the entire fucking year, the day your Dad always made special, and she can’t even pull herself together for that. You know you should be a good daughter and empathize with the woman who made you, but you’ve been a good daughter about this since you were twelve years old. Eleven Yules have gone by since your Dad passed. Just for one measly moment, you want to talk about him like he’s not a corpse rotting in the living room.

And the worst part is that Mom knows that. She’s known you’ve felt that way all day, a slow-bubbling pot building to a boil across the room. The two of you can always feel each other. You’re the only two who can; she’s the only other radio tower that can receive your station in its purest quality, and yet she has the gall to shut all her signals down.

“Fine!” You burst out, making the conversation physical.

It should feel good to yell, really. After the slow, ungratifying day you’ve had, you’ve been a shaken soda bottle waiting to implode. Instead, since you’re the crazy person yelling at nothing for no reason in the kitchen, your anger booms out of you and fizzes out in the same breath like a faulty firework. Fine. Fuck all of this. If you can’t beat em’, join em’. If everyone’s determined to rot the day away, then you’ll go wallow in self-pity the Proctor-Winchester way, too. Merry fucking Christmas, and a happy fucking Yule.

There is no satisfying door to slam on your way out of the kitchen. You take a sharp right down the front hall, hoping to veer up the stairs and slam your feet down on every single step up to your room. If your Mom wants to live forever in the year your Dad died, by all means—you’ll even bring home your thirteen-year-old self and her childish tantrums, just for time-accurate ambiance. Sam’s standing frozen just outside the kitchen archway, and you catch his deer-in-headlights look as you go peeling around the corner. You’re still keyed up with enough lashing rage to spare, so seeing him, just as hollowed-out and not there as your Mom, only feeds your pyre.

As you get to work thoroughly stomping the staircase to death, you hear him go into the kitchen and ask Beth about soup for Dean’s sore throat.

Upstairs is even more painfully quiet. Through the floor, Paul McCartney muffles down to a cheery mumble. All old houses shift around a little, but yours settles like it's alive, clicking, creaking, swaying. You don’t look at the portraits of Proctor women up the stairwell. The dusty grandfather clock in the hall watches you with its stained glass face, and you’re so lost in your own head—

—and Dad’d be so pissed we didn’t decorate the altar or listen to the Tull Christmas album, he’d riot, he’d talk some sense into her—wouldn’t think any of this is stupid— —that you don’t hear it when it chimes. Muscle memory plants you right in front of your bedroom door. Having a good cry under the covers sounds like a perfect end to the night, right? And yet you stop. Your hand drops on the knob and stays there, unmoving. Maybe it’s your Gift, or good old-fashioned human instinct knowing when something in the home has been nudged two inches to the left, but the air in the hall tastes staler than usual. A draft? Your gaze is pulled all the way down to the opposite end of the hall, where the untouched, stately storage room door is ajar.

Your Mom probably left it open. Maybe she’d gone in there to hunt around for all the heirloom Yule decorations, only to rediscover Dad’s football memorabilia or Dad’s engraved cigarette case and go bolting out of the room. —everything’s different without him, Sam and Mom and Dean too. So am I. Everything’s twisted—without him— Still riding the whirlwind, you stomp from one end of the yellowing, starry zodiac carpet (Aries) to the other (Pisces), the floorboards squeaking under your weight. You push the door and it goes shuddering into the darkness. This was one of many rooms in the house that Mom had banished you from as a kid, mostly as a way to shoo you away from the hunting world. It’d given you this insatiable fascination with it as a result, but when you tug the chain to turn on the closest lamp, what it illuminates doesn’t come close to the spectacular stories you’d made up in your head.

It’s just a room. It has windows and shelves and old things, some from your childhood, some from your Mom’s. Some from even further back than that. The closest fascinating thing is a shiny gold blob poking out of your baby things, which turns out to be Sam’s eighth-grade mathlete trophy. You had no idea what possessed Mom to come up here so often. There was no way she wasn’t in here at least a couple times a week; the tall metal storage shelf where she immortalized your Dad’s things was never dusty, and yet the whole room reeked of rotting books and insulation. You shove the box with Sam’s trophy aside with your foot until it skids out of your way, and then send the heavy door shut behind you with a wall-shaking bang.

A flurry of dust hails down from the ceiling. You cough through the cloud, wandering in your blindness towards the neat row of plastic storage tubs labeled with your Dad’s name. Clothes. Misc. Books. Maybe that’s where Mom had gotten your new copy of The Shining from, halfway through one of her sacred meditations over Dad’s things. You drop a hand onto the cold lid of the tub. Nothing, not even the slightest psychic imprint, reaches back.

What is she even holding onto anymore? You try the clothes next. The rounded corners of this bin have been scuffed gray from how many times it’s been pulled off and then pushed back on its shelf, again and again. The case feels as lifeless to you as it would for anyone else, but you try your luck and slide it out onto the floor. It comes loose with a solid thud.

When you were old enough, Beth would sometimes send you up into this room to grab things (spell ingredients, books you didn’t keep downstairs). You would run full-tilt right up until you hit the storage room door, then pass inside like a stranger in a dangerous realm, watching where you stepped and always, always keeping your Dad’s shelf in the corner of your eye. On brave days you would pick up his silvery cigarette case and roll it between your palms. It grew harder and harder to feel him each time, the ghost of him whittled down like a rock made round by the current of a river.

When you crack off the lid, you expect some kind of smell. You don’t remember what he smelled like, but you have a few guesses—cheap, vanilla-sweet aftershave, or maybe the woody stale smell of cigarette smoke you know you shouldn’t love. Maybe both. It doesn’t really matter. The neatly folded stacks of your Dad’s old shirts and jackets don’t smell like a damn thing. You dip your face into a holey band-shirt with the sleeves scissored off, but all that comes back to you is the rotten smell of dusty insulation. He’s here—he’s right here in front of you, right in your fucking hands, and yet the whole world is dead of him. You can’t sense even a sliver of him left.

The same old reservoir of despair pushes and pushes at your composure, wiggling through your cracks, widening them with a hundred thousand tons of pressure bearing down on you a minute. It is a day by day task to handle the reservoir. You like to think you’re good at handling it, at patching the cracks as they come and letting them breathe when the moment calls for it. But when you lift your face from the bin, the leak springs—really, genuinely springs, like it hasn’t in years.

You fall back onto your haunches, swallowing back sudden stinging tears. The bin and its askew lid go shrieking back onto the shelf with a lash of your foot.

The music downstairs stops. You can’t tell how long it’s been.

When his death was fresh, and you were stuck deep, deep within the reservoir, you’d wondered if it would always feel this way. It got easier, right? And in many ways it had—on most days you could talk about your Dad without it hurting, letting the dam’s water run. The battle was still there, but it was a burden you were proud to carry if it meant his memory lived on in you. He would want you to be happy, your Mom used to urge. So you gave being happy your best shot, loving and giving as much as you could.

That’s what frustrated you so endlessly about your Mom. She’d been right; your Dad would’ve wanted the two of you to move on, and yet she still entombed herself in the bottom of her reservoir far too often. There was no release, no acceptance with her. The dark part of you that wanted to pass blame wondered if this was all because of John, and how well Winchester grief happened to mingle with a Proctor’s. How would your mother’s life be different, if the evil that’d taken Dad hadn’t been put down a week later? Would she be just as hellbent? With your knees sore from pressing into the floor, you knew the answer. You knew if the thing that’d taken Sam or Dean from you was right in front of you, you’d chase it until you were in your own grave. You knew that even after it was dead, you would be digging your nails into the backseat of the Impala and clawing for every psychic molecule of them left in the leather.

And that’s what scared you—was she just going to be chasing Dad forever, til’ there wasn’t a wisp of him left in the world to feel?

Something dawns on you, thudding through your mind like a rock dropped down a chute. With limp hands, you slide The Shining towards you on the worn wood floor, part the pages with your thumbs, and press your nose into the binding. There’s the smoky, earthy scent of old paper first… then something just underneath the surface that no one but you and your Mom can pick up.

Old books. Yes. Yes, that’s what Dad had smelled like.

You’re seated on the floor of the storage room, back pressed to one of the ancient metal shelves holding up your gramma’s VCR collection, when a blot of the future is tossed at you. Cheap deodorant and lemon cough drops.

Around a minute later, the stairs beyond the door squeak under someone’s weight. Even without the roulette glimpse of the future, you can tell by the footfalls who it is. Heavy knuckles rap the door and come straight in without waiting for an answer. Behind him, the silence of the rest of the house is even heavier.

You try to sound like a reasonable adult, but the mopey teenager slips out anyway. “Thought you were sick, Dean.”

He artfully dodges your point. (Dean is, after all, a master of the craft.) You don’t look back at him, but the lemon cough-drops glimpse you got of him creates a clear picture: Dean’s whole body listing into the door frame, one hand on the knob, his face lacking its usual color. His cheeks have graduated from stubbly to scruffy, neglected. “Hey,” he says. It’s the, okay, you’re done cooling down, let’s have a grown-up conversation kind of hello.

You don’t know what to say back. You’re not sure if you can have any kind of conversation right now.

Dean rolls with it, trying to decide if this silence is begging for a subject change or a heart-to-heart. You’re not sure what he goes for when he says, “I had an idea.” “Did it hurt?” You joke. Jokes you can do.

There’s his opening. After a beat, you’re—

—fucking lobbed with a foam football. Like you’re fucking twelve. Dean’s throw arcs straight towards your head and bounces clean off the top, a perfect spiral. You yelp in outrage, and before you can think you’re following where the stupid ball went so you can clock him right in the face with it. Asshole. It loop-de-loops on the floor around an old dining chair, and you clamber on your knees to fish for it.

Just when you get the toy in your hands and you’re about to demolish him with it, Dean ducks behind the doorway, chuckling, “Woah! No face shots! You wouldn’t bash a poor, sick guy’s face in, would’ja?”

God. You can’t fucking believe him. If anyone else did that…

You lower your hackles and drop the foam toy into a basket, far out of reach of congested troublemakers. When his shining eyes appear in the slit of the doorway again, your cheeks are aching with an impossible smile. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, loser. What is it?”

Dean hesitates a moment more, just in case you’ve got something else to throw at him, then joins you in the storage room with the evil little oily smile you love. The same dust cloud that got you earlier descends on him in a rough coughing fit, but this lets him get a good look at the little mess you’ve made: the book on the floor, your Dad’s things open and askew. When he clears his throat for the last time, he looks pained.

For your sake, you pretend it’s an empathetic kind of pained. And you know that’s a part of it—Dean doesn’t enjoy seeing you and your Mom like this. But it’s an unfortunate fact of your life that you will have four times as much context for him than he will ever have for you. Just breathing the same dusty air as him, you know he’s been nursing a sinus headache since Monday, one that’s made his head feel like it’s chock-full of stuffing, and that Sam made him canned chicken noodle soup—and at first he felt a little smug making Sam play nurse, until he stewed on it more and—

—hate it when he gives me that dead-eyed look, like he can’t even pretend to care anymore. Like he’s just dragging himself through this for our sake. Poor kid scares the shit outta me. Is this how it’s always gonna be? Sammy aching over her, night after night after night—

You know just touching the bins holding your Dad’s things that on a icy February afternoon in 1994, fifteen-year-old Dean had picked up the plastic tubs for your Mom from the store.

So when he gives you that pained look, you know it’s part-concern, part-fear. If this is what you look like eleven years after your Dad’s passing… if John never comes home from his hunting trip, is this what Dean will become? The loyal son, waiting and waiting on that porch for a man who would never come home?

Your whole life, you’ve felt like you were becoming more and more like Dean; lately, it feels like he’s becoming so much like you. Your last four years on the road together had slowly but surely melded you together.

“Okay, so, Yule’s a fire festival, right?” Dean grasps around in his memory for the yearly history lesson your Mom gives about the Wicca calendar. “Uh, we lit candles… I thought about burning Beth’s Muppet Christmas CD with my lighter a couple times. That’s about all the fiery, burny-stuff we did today.”

“I love the Muppets Christmas album,” you pout.

“After the millionth partridge in John Denver’s goddamn pear tree, you’d change your mind,” Dean swears. “But I was thinkin’—we got the firepit in the backyard, marshmallows, and I think I could put together some vodka shots. Then we can blow em' out and eat em' with the s'mores.” Your eyebrows raise. Only he, of all people, could take your sacred family traditions and twist them into such a wonderful, stupid-ass thing. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but… there is chocolate and graham crackers downstairs… and with how cold it is outside, a fire would be perfect… It’s the best blend of weird Proctor-Winchester traditions you need to save Christmas and Yule. Dean takes your silence as glowing awe. “Exactly. I told you, I'm a fuckin' genius. Helluva way to start the wiccan year, right? You in?”

You’re well aware that this is an elaborate plan to coax you away from your moping. Still, it’s just too Dean to turn down. “...Hell yeah.”

At first R hopes that it’s just her and Dean, and that Sam and Beth keep their grief to themselves. But then she realizes how cruel and selfish she’s been—everyone grieves in their own way, and just because she works through it by talking about it doesn’t mean it will work for everyone. It’s not good that Beth is holding on so tightly to her loss, but that doesn’t mean R wants to leave them out.

Lead this into a touch of psychic!Dean and how he has a teeny tiny second sense for what she needs, just like her Dad did. Just enough shine to get by.

R and Dean come downstairs and invite Sam and Beth to their campfire 😀

Or, at the very least, all the psychic happenings in the house echoing between them; if Dean's sharper instincts were as psychically heavy as a shadow falling on grass, then Sam's Static was six feet of snow in an arctic blizzard.

It tingles all the way up to your shoulder when Sam touches you. And that, oh, that was a whole new can of worms. As they get dressed for the snow outside and assemble the s'mores and flaming shots, you try not to head down that train of thought again.

Every time you’ve glanced at Sam these past few weeks, you’d been unable to hide from what you’d sensed there—from what you’d seen in the demon, and what you now knew to be completely and utterly true after reading its mind.

Sam had It. The Gift, the Shining, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. Not the vague imprint of psychic-ness from loving one or sharing the Impala with one for four years; full-on, unlatched, REDRUM, I-saw-it-before-it-happened psychic abilities. In the weeks you'd had to sit with that revelation, you'd poked carefully at Sam from afar. Obviously, you knew what a fucking psychic felt like. The five-year-old Sam who'd cut Dean's gum out of your hair had not been psychic. Yet this Sam, twenty-two with three-fourths of an ivy league law degree under his belt, was as psychic as a fucking—well. You. He was just as psychic as you.

Without even a sliver of the same control or even understanding of—of what he had, yes, but you were confident that if Sam was pushed, he could reach into your mind just as easily as you could reach into his. There had been a shift, then. At six, having gum cut out of your hair, you had been decidedly less psychic than you were at twenty-four. So Sam had gone through the Proctor Rite Of Passage; some terrible moment had cut him deep, deep enough to pull a new kind of blood to the surface. After Jessica, he had been... yeah.

It was fucking crazy. And yet it also slotted perfectly into some of the weirder things you understood about Sam; about who he was now and the vague, strobing flashes you got of his future. It freaked you the fuck out. Did Sam know? Did anyone know, besides you? Had your Mom recognized that spark in Sam, the same way she'd seen it in you? Had John?

And the plain existence of the Gift in Sam begged the question—why? Had he just happened to drop from the tree as a different kind of apple? Or was this something you could trace back to his mother, the same way it traced back to yours? Had Mary…?

The implications of that took pretty much everything you understood about Sam and Dean’s life, lined it up on the chopping block, and cleaved it in two. Needless to say, thinking about it made you sick. How could you even begin to bring this up to them?

You cursed your abilities with all you had. There were nights when you sat on the bathroom floor, wishing you could dig in with your nails and rip out whatever had put It in your head. Never in a billion fucking years would you have wished It upon anyone else; especially not Sam, good, selfless, wonderful Sam, who already ached so deeply for other people. Seeing their future, too? And even more often, seeing it and being helpless to change it?

He used to cry over squashed spiders as a kid. You'd felt a whole lot more than just spiders die.

…Beside that shuddering horror was another, far more selfish feeling. As scary as the implications could be, when you thought less about the Winchester family and more about your relationship with Sam, you were… excited. Relieved, even.

There were only four people in the entire world that you could share your Gift with. One of them has been six feet under for over a decade. Your Gift was a clingy, possessive creature, too. It was maybe two steps shy of being an eldritch horror. It poked through Dean’s dreams when you slept beside him, sucking them up like cigarette smoke. It breathed down Sam’s neck wherever he went. If you wanted, no one could lie to you—all punchlines and stories were spoiled for you, you knew when people found you annoying or pretty or stupid. If that particular Proctor gene had skipped you, then maybe you’d be able to form relationships with people where you didn’t immediately, intrinsically understand who they were and why. Dean would say, You need a drink. You would know without asking that he meant, You scare the ever-living hell out of me n’ I know I can’t hide it from you. Fucking hell, kid, I wish I could.

You knew you were a freak. The tiny human vessel for the lashing, bubbling, soul-melting, cosmic weight of a star about to bloom into a black hole. Only your mom would ever understand what it felt like to exist on the fringe of time, between the exhaustive influence of the past and the vast, spotty expanse of the future. You were a tool to men like John; an anomaly for men like Bobby; and a responsibility to men like Dean.

But Sam… Your best friend Sam, he’d always tried to understand. Maybe he’d never fully get it, but the point was that he tried to. You remembered sitting with him on the curb outside your old high school, the concrete thrumming with music from the junior prom you’d both left behind inside.

How either of you had gotten dates was a miracle. You, the class weird-freak-emo punchline, and Sam, on his fourth round being the new kid that year, were two peas in a pod. Your date had never picked you up; Sam’s had escaped with her friends long before their first dance. Neither of you were very broken up about it.

The future had sprawled in front of you that night as clear as could be. You must've sat and talked on the curb for three straight hours, pressed together at the hip with Sam’s blazer around your shivering arms.

He was always beautiful in the boy-next-door kind of way, dimples popping with every good smile and freckles rising out of the too-short sleeves of his button-up. But that night he’d been fucking Helen of Troy, and the roar of the past and future slowed to a halt around him.

Do you really see the future all the time? Every second? Sam had curiously tilted his head, sending a gleaming swish of chocolatey hair out of his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you’d hesitated, Not every second. But a lot, yes.

Again, the head tilt, then the swish. His gaze was innocent and intrigued. No existential dread, no sweeping sense of fear. Just plain curiosity. Not even morbid curiosity. Sam had asked, What about right now?

Sam’s cologne—oh god, his cologne—was steaming off his borrowed jacket and floating around your head in a wonderful rosy fog. You’d poked at the future. Sometimes things came back, sometimes they didn’t. That night, the future had come back tasting like Sam’s vanilla chapstick and junior prom punch, and your face had gone up in flames just sensing it. He’d waited for an answer. You’d blurted out the plain truth: In a minute or two, you’re gonna kiss me.

This kind of absolute, unshakable certainty about the future had made other hunters’ blood run cold. You’d braced yourself for Sam’s displeasure or worse, his fear. But instead, there were those dimples again, and Sam had the gall to bat his lashes at you and delightedly ask, Really? That’s what the magic eight ball has to say?

His big hand had dropped onto your knee and you’d squeaked out a shrill, Signs point to yes!

Sam loved the stupid magic eight-ball joke. You could feel him smiling about it as he kissed you, kissed you, hand-on-knee, his face tipping down to yours, the shitty school punch staining his lips as the two of you connected. At fifteen and sixteen respectively, this was the first kissing that either of you had ever done. It’d been wetter and warmer than you’d expected, and Sam’s vanilla chapstick had left the slightest print on your mouth, one that your tongue swiped over obsessively for the next month. Your Gift had chased him for weeks after that, silently and invisibly swarming him every time he entered a room.

Back then, your mind had been on the Curse. But now, you thought about what had led to the kiss in the first place. Sam hadn’t kissed you on a night when your Gift had been crammed down deep where it could bother nobody but you. He’d instead chosen the precise moment where your Gift was most raw, one of Its fingers coming down from the sky to press against the pulse of the future. It was small, but at a time in your life when you’d wanted to claw your Gift out with your bare hands, Sam had gotten the smallest glimpse of It and had fallen in love.

You couldn’t help but see this thing inside him, his Static, and feel the exact same way. His powers were twisted and unavoidably demonic, and yet you kind of loved them. It made perfect sense to you. No one really understood you like Sam did. Now, it's clear why.

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan @notanotherthembo

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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steamberrystudio · 9 months

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27/08/2023

So now that Gilded Shadows is wrapping up, I am promoting When Stars Collide from "Spare time project" to "Part time project"

What is the difference? Well, when I work on something in my spare time, that means it is late at night or the weekend. Literally when I am not doing anything else and just feel like tinkering with it.

As a part time project, this means that I will be spending an hour or two each day during the work week to do things for this project. It will start making more steady progress even if I'm not focusing on it full time.

This is basically taking it from me spending 0 - 4 hours on it a week to 8-10 hours on it a week.

My goal is to have the draft complete before the end of the year (by 'draft', I mean 'rough draft'). But more on that below.

Summary

Finished all scenes for the new chapter three

Finished Yren chapter 6 scenes

Started catching Kav's route up to the others

Edited Asher's CG to account for the new conference room BG

Small adjustments to Wil's first CG

Ramble

This week my big focus for WSC has been on writing. As I mentioned, I really want to get the rough draft completed by the end of the year. Currently the draft is nearly 70% complete (for those following updates in multiple places, when you see different percentages....it's because I've written more since then. Rofl).

Now, the draft was nearly 70% in the past as well but I added another route since then, so I lost some progress due to the increase in target word count. I'm also calculating things more precisely now as I created a newer and fancier writing spreadsheet to track my progress and keep myself on track.

I went back and wrote in the new chapter 3, reorganising all the existing chapters and scenes to accommodate it.

I finished Yren chapter 6 (which catches him up to Noel and Raif).

And now I'm working on catching Kav, the new character, up to Yren, Noel, and Raif. (Remember, Daaz and Asher's routes are already fully drafted).

I have written about 15000 words since my last update here. I don't expect to write that much every week and my goal is actually a fair bit more modest than that. Gilded Shadows is not 100% complete yet. I still have multiple KS related things to finish and, of course, I will be making corrections and focusing on its beta testing once testers have had a bit more time with it.

WSC is still a part time project. This was just a particularly good week for it.

I have also worked on a few other things for WSC - mostly UI related and some art related things.

I received a new BG since my last update, and realised that...I have to revamp all the existing CGs. Or at least update them to change the background elements. I've only edited one so far but I don't think it'll be too much effort to fix the others.

And I continue to streamline and adjust the UI to make it look nicer and be more efficient.

So...

Kav. The new character. Kav'isari Tiaine, a Ka'mérian crew member who works in the space labs most of the time and specialises in identifying alien technology (what species it belongs to and what it does).

To explain where Kav came from, he actually popped into my head months ago. And every so often, I would contemplate whether or not I wanted to add him. I would say I first had the idea in January or February of this year. I would repeatedly think about it and dismiss it.

I then mentioned it to a friend sort of off-handedly back at the very beginning of June. A month and a half later, I mentioned him on a voice call on my server knowing full well that if I really talked about him and had a conversation about him, I would probably end up doing enough character brainstorming that he would become "real." And I talked about him anyway.

And that's exactly how he became an actual character. I think I had his sprite sketched out by the end of that day.

But he had existed as a concept long before that. The main reason I was willing to add him instead of ruthlessly telling myself no is just that I felt there was a gap in the cast for a gadfly style character who has a little mystery to him. And I just knew I could manage another route based on the length of Asher and Daaz's routes.

So...yeah. That is how Kav came into being. His introduction into the story has caused a few minor changes to standing lore or things in the prologue (just mentions of him, etc). But the changes to the currently public content of the game are pretty minor.

Kav won't actually appear in the game until Chapter 3. He gets mentioned a few times up to that point. There are some logistical considerations to his route but I have talked about those more on Patreon.

Speaking of Patreon, now that WSC is moved into "part time" status, I will be starting to slowly release some Patreon-exclusive lore posts for this game there. Like most games monetised through Patreon content, the lore posts will not be critical to having a full and complete game experience. Rather, it is going to be comprised of additional and extra lore content.

Some of the lore content released on Patreon will be in the game (such as character back stories) but Patrons will get to see it early and will get it presented in a different format.

Much of the content can be considered "extras" rather than necessary.

I will also be updating on the development progress weekly there (available to all patrons) rather than bi-weekly, and my updates there (going forward) will tend to be more detailed than the ones here.

Once episode releases start, Patrons will be able to access them before they the public releases. But backing on Patreon is not necessary to be able to play the game and get a full and complete game experience. It's just how this particular game will be monetised as I'm looking for more sustainable release styles so I can continue to make games.

That is all for this update. I will see you in a couple of weeks to talk about WSC again!

#when stars collide #updates #amare game #indie otome

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eternalglitch · 2 years

Text

Some advice on how to write a long form fic and actually stick with it / survive.

In writing communities, you will hear that there are two main types of writers. Planners/pantsers or architects/gardeners are some of the common names for the types, but basically either you make meticulous notes and plan the entire story out before starting, or you start with an idea and make it up as you go. (Pantsing comes from the phrase "by the seat of your pants".)

Note that these aren't black and white categories; MOST writers will fall in between, but that's normal with most types of things. I started out with a pantser/gardener inclination; I had a cool idea and I posted the first chapter with NO idea where I was going next.

What I learned in that decade of writing was that this will not get you through long pieces of work in a satisfying way. Character arcs are hard to get right, thematical consistency and payoff can happen but it's more luck and chance than your actual skill as a writer. There's always a few geniuses that can do it, but I do not recommend trying to stick to this method alone.

I fall significantly more in between these as a more mature writer after trying and failing at gardening alone. When I posted Like Father Like Son, I went and typed out one bullet point for each chapter I thought I would write. There were 13 planned chapters, so obviously this plan was not accurate – except I have remained true to almost all of the general plot points I had written down in January 2020 at the current time of September 2022. I just expanded on the plot by a significant amount.

As I got used to the tone and got more inspired, I came up with the idea to utilize arcs to break the story down farther. I decided 6 arcs felt right, with a vague idea of what each one would entail, and as I started each arc I would go back in and bullet point what I thought each chapter would be like in more detail. Things still had room to change and grow once I saw where each arc took me, but it is much less daunting to plan 7 chapters at a time instead of 40. It still gave me time to change the little things and have fun seeing where each chapter took me, but it also never left me stranded with no idea where I was trying to swim.

Once I hit the big climax / turning point, which is in Chapter 21: Flatline, I changed tactics a little. I've kept a doc where I write out scenes that I was too excited to wait for, and had accumulated about 20 different little scenes with no order. I put them all on sticky notes and grouped them until I got a clear path, and then I went and solidified the last three arcs in order to get character arcs and themes tied off in a satisfactory way. I had given myself enough time to really think about what I wanted to do, and now that I knew where I currently stood it felt effortless to fill out.

Now. Planning advice aside, how do you actually write a long fic? You will need two main things.

Stamina. This is a skill in and of itself, and unless you have completed at least a novel-length story before, you are new to it! This muscle isn't developed! The best way to throw yourself into training it would be challenging NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) in either November or July. In thirty days, you have to write 50k which pans out to 1,667 words a day. I have challenged and won it twice. I totally pantsed both times, which means I think both novels I wrote are severely lacking in quality, but they absolutely trained me to think on my feet and just push through writer's block. It's grueling and at times painful, but the feeling of crossing the 50k mark on November 30th? That's why I've stuck with writing. Genuinely it is worth doing at least once, you WILL become a better writer even if that piece of work itself is a mess.

Find something you are wildly excited to write in every single chapter. Yes, every single one. You tend to start a story very excited about a few select scenes, but when I start a chapter I try and find at least part of it that I am SO excited to type. This will give you energy and I think people can tell when you actually are enjoying writing rather than slogging through it. Bored of the chapter you're writing? Back to the drawing board, there IS a better way to get from points A to C. Even one chapter I wasn't interested in in between two I loved could make me procrastinate for months instead of just enjoying getting back into the writing.

#glitch speaks #writing advice #maybe this is helpful #maybe not #my writing

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thissortofsorcery · 9 months

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💞A different type of rec list ask game, to rep your own fics and other authors you enjoy.💞 Spell out your user name with fic recs. If the letter correlates to one of your fics you rec it (no duplicates use a different fic for repeat letters.) If you get to a letter you don’t have a fic title for you rec one you‘ve liked from someone else. 💖Send this to someone who might need a little love on their own fics or just like spreading the love.💖

Oh, my username is LONG, this is gonna be HARD (haha get it). Keeping it Harringrove to keep it simple (for myself. I have over 3k bookmarks on ao3)

The Green Hawkins Tigers Sweatshirt, by me. 1k, Steve comforts Billy after a run in with Neil.

Hook Possum, by @platypanthewriter. 16k, Steve's a camp counselor and there's a guy Possum Mascot he's very friendly with. This fic had me laughing and giggling from start to finish. It's ART.

I Had to See You, by me. Almost 2k, Billy and Steve broke up three weeks ago, and Steve shows up on Billy's doorstep. One of the fics I'm proudest of.

sad-eyed lady of the lowlands, by @whenyouwishuponastar7. 94k, Steve is a professional babysitter, and is hired to look after Max after she and her older brother move to Hawkins. This was the first fic I read from her and I FELL IN LOVE. Absolute masterpiece. Every time she posts new fics I run to read them so fast.

Shout At The Devil, by @writerwhowritesao3. It's actually a series (155k) that has me by the balls, but the first fic(68k) can be read on its own just fine. It's a retelling of season 2 and it's delicious. It also gives Susan a personality. I would tag just the first fic, but I don't have a J in my username and I HAD to.

Of Cats and Men, by @ihni. 39k, Billy hits a cat with his car, and has to take care of three little kittens. Steve helps. This fics is EVERYTHING to me. Billy and cats get me every time, right in the heart. You will need to hug your pet when you read this, though.

Run for the Shadows, by @shieldofiron. 36k, this fic is DELICIOUS. Friends with benefits to lovers, OBLIVIOUS STEVE. So oblivious. Pure of heart, dumb of ass. I had such a great time reading this fic.

Towel Talks, by @weird-an. 10k, after s3, Steve finds Billy in the community pool sauna. I love this one because An does caring Steve SO WELL. I was like this 🥺 the whole time I was reading it. It's so so good.

On Loving Billy, by lilpeas. I don't know their tumblr. 16k, this is THE break-up and make-up fic. It hurts SO GOOD, their emotions are so beautifully written out. It wrung everything out of me. Love.

for what you have tamed, by skoosiepants. Don't know their tumblr either. 10k. Billy is a cat and a dragon, and he keeps saving Steve's life. I LOVE magical realism, and this fic builds the world incredibly well. It's such a good read.

Sideways, by @robthegoodfellow. 46k. THIS FIC. It spins season 2 on its head so fucking well, oh my god. Rob is such a good writer, I've read this fic more than once and it gets to me every time. Their Billy is incredible.

Only The Freaks Come Out at Night, by shippingmyarmada (idk their tumblr). 67k. GREAT post s2 fic. You know I cry from happiness when I find a post s2 fic. This one is really, really well done.

Rotten Apples, by @weird-an. 14k. It's. a. WITCHER. AU. Do I need to say anything else???????? I love this so much. So much. You have no idea.

Camaro, by @lovebillyhargrove. I'm cheating a little on this one bc I don't know the name of the fic and I wanted to include it, and it's about the Camaro coming alive after season 3 and going on a killing spree to avenge Billy. It gets EVEN BETTER from there. Ana wrote this so well, whenever a chapter dropped on tumblr I lost my shit.

every night fucks every day up, by anonymous. 8k. It's a modern AU, and you know I love my modern AUs. Steve and Billy interact through snapchat. I have a soft spot for snapchat because i first heard about this app reading a Sterek fic in january 2014. This has nothing to do with the fic.

Read to Me?, by lemonlovely (idk tumblr). 12k. Someone leaves books with marked passages at Family Video for Steve. It's SO CUTE. SO CUTE. I love it.

Yeah, It's Me, by @callieb. 29k. Another fic that's between s2 and s3, and this one is SOOOOO GOOD in that their relationship starts as a FWB that's kind of unhealthy and I just about died reading this. Happy ending though. Trust me, it's worth it.

And that's done! It took me over 2 hours to put this together lmao so go give these fics and these writers some love! They deserve it.

#sorcery asks #anonymous #harringrove #fic rec #reclist #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington

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bedlamsbard · 2 months

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Hey, big fan, I loved your AU Star Wars fics, by far some of the best stories I've read. So when I saw the trailer for the new Disney show and saw Barriss as an inquisitor I was shocked, was this always the canon? I wondered if you were inspired by some SW novels or is this just a weird coincidence?

Thanks for reading, I'm glad you enjoyed the fic!

Barriss Offee has not appeared in any Star Wars media set after TCW S5 since "The Wrong Jedi" aired in 2013. On the Edge of the Devil's Backbone was written between May 2015 (began posting in July 2015) and October 2018, when the only media that existed that dealt with the Inquisitors was Star Wars Rebels, which introduced the Inquisitor (not yet called the Grand Inquisitor) in 2014 -- you'll note that in Backbone it's the Inquisition rather than the Inquisitorius, which is a name that canon didn't use until much later. Backbone was written so early that canon wasn't even using the Brother/Sister naming conventions that appeared in Rebels S2, which the first few chapters of Backbone predates (it started posting in the summer of 2015). That is the reason that Backbone Inquisitors use naming conventions that the canon Inquisitors do not: because it predates the canon naming conventions.

Back in 2015, there was speculation that the Seventh Sister who appeared in the S2 trailer that aired at Star Wars Celebration Anaheim was Barriss, thus leading to a brief period of time when the Seventh Sister and the Fifth Brother were known as "Barriss and Clyde" within the fandom, and for a long time afterwards people still called the Fifth Brother Clyde. The Seventh Sister when introduced in the original trailer only appeared helmeted, leading to the speculation that she might be Barriss Offee. When her VA was announced, there was widespread dismay that Sarah Michelle Geller might have replaced Meredith Salenger as Barriss, and at one point Freddie Prinze Jr had to deny that SMG had been recast as Barriss: that was how predominant that theory was. My use of Barriss as an Inquisitor came out of the original "there are more Inquisitors!" reveal from the Rebels S2 trailer but I made the decision back then not to make her the character that would later be known as the Seventh Sister since I was pretty sure canon wasn't going to do that. That decision was not based on anything that was actually in canon and certainly not on any of the novels at the time, because back in 2015 when I started working on Backbone there were only, I think, four new canon books out.

Backbone was, in fact, so early that when I wrote it, Cham Syndulla had not been re-introduced in Rebels -- the episode "Homecoming" aired in February 2016. (He was not actually revealed as Hera Syndulla's father until the April 2015 novel Lords of the Sith; it had previously been speculated he was Hera's uncle, not her father.) It was written years before Jedi: Fallen Order came out and revealed more information about the Inquisitorius, their recruiting patterns, or their headquarters; it also predates the appearance of the Inquisitorius in the 2017 Darth Vader comics.

All that said, it's not really a weird coincidence -- TBB also made Hera's mother green, for example, the same way I made Alecto Syndulla green. (This was more than a year before we saw that portrait in Rebels S3 (October 2016) and even more years before she was actually given a name in TBB.) That Barriss had become an Inquisitor was speculated as soon as the Rebels S2 trailer revealed that the Inquisitor was not the only Inquisitor. (He was not called the Grand Inquisitor in canon until the episode introducing the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother aired in late October 2015, which by the way Backbone predates. He was introduced in 2014 only as "the Inquisitor," which is why and some older fans will still call him Quizzy.)

Backbone is nine years old. I started working on it in May 2015, even before "The Siege of Lothal" aired. Even though it wasn't finished until 2018, it was fully plotted by the end of summer 2015 and it predates most current Star Wars canon, because the new canon only started in fall of 2014, with the novel Star Wars: A New Dawn and soon afterwards Rebels. There was not much canon then! The Inquisitors were introduced for Rebels! At the time, there was nothing else! All of that stuff we now know about the Inquisitors? It came out well after Backbone started posting. (Hell, Jedi: Fallen Order not only postdates the beginning of Backbone, it postdates the end of Backbone, which was October 2018.)

#THIS FIC IS OLD #saltywolfparadise #bedlam replies #kanera agents of the empire tag #sorry this was loopy I was so incredibly tired

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thewebcomicsreview · 1 year

Text

Anonymous said:

do you have any advice on writing character motives and backstories? all of my characters either have motivations that are too extreme when their stories are taken into view, or their backstories feel laughable and it makes their motives look ridiculous

My snap answer is “Lean into the extreme-ness and have it be part of the character”. My more detailed answer is thus:

A character’s motivation is the most important aspect about them, because a character that is not motivated is a character that doesn't want to do anything and it's hard to write a character who doesn't want to do anything.

Making Comics, by Scott McCloud

So, while I suppose it's possible there are excesses, I would say that giving your character a strong motivation is worth giving them an outsized backstory to fit. If you're writing a series about solving mysteries and your main character doesn't want to solve mysteries, then you'll have to keep coming up with excuses to make the plot happen. So, one way of writing character motivations is "I want the character to do X and if the character also wants to do X it'll be easier to write".

When I wrote Legend of the Hare, the idea was that Jill would join up with the rabbits right away and we'd be off into Magical Girl Adventures, but when I was actually writing the pages (which I was doing as the chapter was being written, which is a terrible habit), I realized that I couldn't come up with a good reason for Jill to agree to join the rabbit war, so....she didn't. I got her super drunk and sent her home with a weird new tattoo and basically had to start the comic over until she had a reason to sign up and we could start the plot. I think I did an okay job of making it all look planned, but I basically threw out my entire outline for the entire comic because my protagonist wouldn't go along with it.

In Saffron and Sage, which is in many ways a reaction to Legend of the Hare, Saffron's motivation is clear from literally the first panel of the first page. I have thus never, in nearly 200 pages, sat around trying to figure out what Saffron would do. But this created its own problems, which is that Saffron's entire motivation wasn't really "established" so much as "thrown out offhandedly" for the sake of having a cool in media res opening chapter. It wasn't clear why Saffron was so invested in rescuing Faunus, and I got enough feedback that I eventually did a flashback chapter that I'm not super happy with but c'est la vie.

So those are the two lessons I've learned. Your character should want to do the thing you want them to be doing, and there should be some definition for why they want that. Sometimes the "why" is pretty obvious

And sometimes it needs a bit more meat.

(Another aspect that's important, though, is that motivations often drift over the course of a character's arc. Indeed, the most famous kind of character arc out there is the Pixar "want vs need" style, where a character's initial motivation is "bad" and they get a "better" one after they grow as a person, but the initial motivation is the one driving most of the plot)

And it's sort of difficult for me to answer your question of "how to establish backstories for motivations" when I don't know what your characters' motivations are meant to be, but lets use the example of a high school romantic love quadrangle, since those are often kind of silly. Here's a basic setup

Sweet Dear Innocent Melody, the protagonist, is in love with Chad Footbalman, the quarterback. But Chad is in a somewhat dramatic and troubled relationship with That Skank Felicity, who is way hotter than Melody and also the villain. Meanwhile, local nerd The Virgin Simp keeps flirting with Melody, who rejects him. Melody will do the generic teen movie makeover thing to get Chad's attention but eventually he'll realize he loves her for who she is. Our planned endgame is that Melody and Chad get together, and Simp improbably hooks up with Felicity, so everyone ends up happy. Very generic teen movie plot. (It's also a very straight one, but shh)

Just from this setup of point A to point B, some potential motivations start to come out of the void. Felicity is hotter than Melody, and we know that Simp's happy ending is getting with Felicity. So Simp's motivation can be "wants to touch boobs". He's kind of a creep and a big part of why he's harassing Melody is that he thinks she's "achievable". We want him to be unlikable (so that Melody doesn't look bad for rejecting his advances), but not so much that the audience wants him dead or anything. We don't wanna go full Mineta here. He can also be the one who gives Melody the fashion tips to get a proper makeover, since he's been studying hot girls enthusiastically.

....Actually, having the dude who's super about wanting to have sex with women also inexplicably being an expert in women's fashion is a very stereotypical "closeted gay dude pair" of traits, which is a possible different ending. Hm. Lets table that thought for a minute.

So Melody wants Chad. That's easy enough, you don't even necessarily need to explain it in more detail than that. Why does Melody want Chad? Is it because he's a handsome jock and she has more in common with Simp that she wants to admit? Well, the story is "She tries to get a makeover and Chad loves her as she is", so Melody's character arc is learning to believe in herself. It's not a story about learning to see the inner beauty of other people. She knows that Chad's actually a cool dude and not just a handsome jock, she sees the real Chad etc. She saw Chad, like, pet a bird or something and now she's head-over-heels for him. We don't need an elaborate backstory here.

Chad wants Melody but he doesn't know it yet, so he starts off wishing his girlfriend was [character trait here], which just so happens to describe Melody. He really wants to start a ska band and wishes he knew a trumpet player who shared his love of ska, which just so happens to describe Melody, sure. The ska obsession doesn't have to be revealed early on, it can be a twist that's revealed around the point he and Melody start connecting.

Chad's basically just Sami Zayn

So, when I started writing this, my idea was that That Skank Felicity wanted someone to wait on her hand and foot, which is an "evil" motivation that'd make Simp the perfect boyfriend for her in a Meghan Trainor's "Dear Future Husband" kind of way, but then I decided that Simp's aggressively horny because he doesn't want to admit something about himself, so the planned ending doesn't fit the motivation I came up with. I could change Simp's motivation to have him be straight, or change the planned ending, but let's see if we can't come up with a way to square the two ideas...hm...

Okay, got it. Felicity is super into the tradwife aesthetic. She wants to look and live a certain way, and she doesn't care about Chad as a person at all, she just wants to have a quarterback boyfriend because it's part of The Aesthetic and she cares about The Aesthetic to an extreme degree. She's the villain in a cheesy rom-com, she's allowed to be kind of ludicrous like that. Plus it fits into our theme of "looks aren't important it's what's inside that counts" to have a villain who's obsessed with looking a certain way. And then she can be catty about the makeover outfit Simp made for Melody, and Simp and Felicity can have like an entire enemies-to-lovers arc in five minutes. Boom. Okay. And then Simp realizes she's trans and Felicity's all "The only thing better than ONE hot 1950s housewife..." and they start dating.

Now we have our motivations:

Melody wants Chad (and needs to learn the self-confidence to get him) Chad wants a ska enthusiast Felicity wants to live the aesthetic of a stereotypical hot girl So does Simp, who is a trans girl spending most of the story as an in-denial egg, which is a bit of representation I wasn't actually planning to put into this story (Maybe, um, we change the name) but it fits all the needs of what the character has to do.

And that very long tangent is kind of how the thought process works. What needs to happen in the story? What motivations get me there? Are there any unexpected details of the motivations and do I like them enough to put them in the story? Those kinds of questions can be really helpful, especially early on when all you've got is a doodle of your OC and a dream.

Off to visit their girlfriends

#Writing Advice

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itwoodbeprefect · 5 months

Text

Fic Writing Review 2023 🌈

i wanted to take a moment to reflect on the past year and bring it to a nice close, so i took to tumblr search and google to see if there was some sort of tag game going around. i frankensteined this list of questions from a few different versions of what was probably originally the same thing, but the nature of The Website of course makes it impossible to locate an original, so this is me just sort of, well, joining the fun by starting a parallel thread.

Words and Fics (on ao3) 📚

words posted: 73,947, but this is a little deceptive because all the words for A flip-flop state of mind currently get counted for 2023, so it's probably something closer to 45-50k

fics posted: 21, which will eventually go down to 19 when i update the two multi-chapter works and they get sorted into the new year

first fic: Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream Throuple [Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948)]

last fic: Bases loaded, do your dance [h50]

Ships and Fandoms ⚓

ao3 tells me the following:

Starsky & Hutch (8)

Hawaii Five-0 (2010) (7)

Ted Lasso (TV) (2)

Stargate Atlantis (1)

Hard Core Logo (1996) (1)

Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948) (1)

Top Gun (Movies) (1)

and for each of those it's probably the ship you most expect if you know the thing (and the way fandom works), except maybe ted lasso (both fics are keeley/roy/jamie) and sga (a gen team fic, no ships).

Top 5 Fics by Kudos 🏆

no big surprises here. ted lasso was easily the biggest fandom i've written for this year (not to mention that these two fics had the good fortune of being posted very soon after the finale), followed by h50 long before s&h comes on the scene:

How To Build A Triangle (or accidentally fall headlong into one, or whatever the fuck) [ted lasso]

Honey honey, how you thrill me (Honey honey, nearly kill me) [ted lasso]

A flip-flop state of mind [h50]

Oh, kiss me like the final meal (Yeah, kiss me like we die tonight) [h50]

Something old, something new [h50]

Top 5 Favorite Fics 💖

these are in no particular order!

3 AM, the time when most people die - this is a hard core logo (1996 canadian movie) fic which just kind of Happened, and it hung around on ao3 for a solid few days in a 0 kudos 10 hits sort of state, which had me giggling every time i thought about it. 2023 goal of writing for me, myself & i achieved (0 kudos on a fic)! ✅ (that said, it does also bring me great joy to see that the number is upwards of zero now. lovely to see an obscure thing find its audience. <3)

Your hands in my back pockets - a starsky/hutch fic, and in some ways the opposite to the previous one. i had a "this is alright" sort of feeling about it when i hit post, and the (lovely! very flattering!) way people responded to it surprised me somewhat. reading it back now, i don't know what bothered me about it at first - it's nice, it flows, it's all good! plus, i really like the title. it's a good s/h title.

POV: It’s a lovely day, you’re sipping a refreshing cold drink on your 70s apartment balcony, and the upstairs neighbor who always waters the sago palm outside your front door when you forget about it has that one friend over and his windows wide open. - this is a starsky/hutch all dialogue fic, and it was just plain fun! very easy to write, thankfully not hard to read, and the title is completely ridiculous in a way that still gives me a kick.

How To Build A Triangle (or accidentally fall headlong into one, or whatever the fuck) - can't not mention this one, i think. it's the roy/jamie/keeley ted lasso fic i wrote in record time (for me), and i had a blast doing that and i think that's palpable in the end result. i have warm memories of this!

Oh, kiss me like the final meal (Yeah, kiss me like we die tonight) - h50! steve/danny! they'd gotten swamped by all the starsky/hutch in 2022, but they made a minor comeback this past year. and again, this fic was just plain fun - a scene that really needed the mcdanno rewrite, and i'm glad it happened, and that it decided to flow so smoothly it grew twice as long as intended. the gag with the gun is still good, the banter works, and i like "it tastes like a laugh".

Fandom Fic Events 🤝

my knee-jerk first thought was none, which would have been a blatant lie for this year! i wrote a fic for the SHareCon (starsky/hutch con) zine, which is currently still zine-only but will appear on ao3 at some point in the future, and i also wrote something for this year's Starsky & Hutch Advent Calendar, which can be found here (which will also lead you to all the other lovely advent calendar gifts of 2023 and previous years!). neither of these things would have happened if starsky & hutch fandom hadn't been such a warm, welcoming, unbelievably well-organized space. <3

Projects for 2024 👀

oh god. oh god i have so many things on the grill.

the end of 2023 was a stretch of time where i did write some, and at times even a very decent amount, but nothing seemed to be getting finished - which was annoying for a bit, and then sort of petered out into oh well. it'll happen, eventually, when it wants to. which means that currently i have a whole bunch of nearly finished things for a whole bunch of fandoms:

bad buddy - should this be top of the list? who knows. but oh, i need to write something for this - i have to, i need to, you know. it's just that it's turning out to be more of a challenge than most new things i start writing for, because i do feel i have a reasonable grip on the characters, but the fact that it's a thai series which i'm only consuming through fan-generated subtitles is clashing with some of the fundamentals of how i usually write fic, as it turns out. usually i watch a thing and then mimic character voices to write a section of (probably mostly, maybe only) dialogue, which then gets filled out with descriptions and an actual setting later on. the problem with bad buddy is that i love, love subtitles, and i love, love the people who write them, but they do (understandably! naturally!) lead to some very clunky english at times, and i just can't write things like "are you chickened out, fierce eyes". i cannot. which means i need to half-invent the right english character voice (and how that blends with the little i know of thai speaking patterns and customs), which takes away the thing i usually lean on way more heavily than i previously realized i did, so. it's a journey! it's an experiment! i'm learning things! i'm making choices! and i'm pumped about it but it's also REALLY slowing down the bad buddy fic production.

starsky & hutch - many things are happening! many many! they're just happening slowly. there's one particular fic about starsky and hutch comfortably out at a party and hutch fielding questions about names which has been 98% done for a month or two, but i need one (1) more connective paragraph to wrap things up, and apparently i'm in no hurry. and i love that for me, at the same time as i'm tempted to flick my brain and go Do It. Just Do It. oh god, and then there's a much older comedy fic stuck in close to the same situation only there it's 95% and the missing part is the end, which is at least a little more serious, and there are. i think literally a dozen probably. things that are cooking, bubbling, making interesting little noises. it's yet to be seen which of those turn out tasty.

h50 - there are some shorter wips here that have great potential to go somewhere, but mostly i want to finally (finally!) wrap up a flip-flop state of mind, which only needs finishing touches (albeit a bunch of them) on the final chapter, and then maybe 200 more words for the short epilogue to round things out. i had somewhat hoped to get that done before the new year, but it didn't work out that way, and i'm at peace with it - the longer this fic takes, the more comical my initial estimate of "i can probably get this done within the month" becomes. and after that's done, i can refocus my energy on Sweet like a chic-a-cherry cola, another ill-fated plan which i Will see through (while also enjoying myself), dammit, but i think for that one i'll need to pre-write the whole thing before i start posting again or i'll just keep going in circles.

nashville - it's been a while since my rewatch, so i'm not sure it will ever really come together, but i have a fun little 5+1 will/gunnar thing which lives half in a google docs file and half in my heart. could be nice!

sga - there's One Fic that's near done and has a few turns of phrase in it that keep making me go "oh, this might be worth finishing, actually" every time i return to it, but i think i'll need to let that happen a few more times before we actually get there. there's also a light and comedy-ish aro/ace john fic (heavily featuring john&rodney and john&team) on a low boil. i think that one might need to wait for me to rewatch the show at some point so i'm correctly immersed in the Vibes of it all, but it's very dear to me, so it still gets a permanent In Progress label.

due south - there's one particular thing that i might get back to? maybe. it could happen. @redgoldblue's dedicated live reporting on their due south watch, as well as their ds fic, did stir something in my brain.

other - there's literally two paragraphs of hard core logo fic kicking around in my notes which might turn into something some day. (when i started writing 3AM those new words were intended to blend with the two existing paragraphs, but they never did.) there's some ted lasso that can still be considered wip, but my ted lasso fic moment burned bright and short, it seems, though it's nice to know the framework is there if i ever do a rewatch. oh man, and there's a weird homoerotic over the top (because that's what this canon is) tango & cash wip which i hope will make it across the finish line some day, but i wouldn't be surprised if in the end that's, like. coming to an ao3 page near you soon! in 2026.

Tagging ✨

tag any number of people you want as far as i'm concerned (which can be zero! that's a valid number), but i haven't spotted this going around in my fandom circles yet, so i'll shoot for some good coverage: @redgoldblue @luredin @actingcamplibrarian @stephmcx @pterawaters @the-arya-silvertongue @logicgunn @incognito-insomniac @dedkake @spaceradars @spurious @sparrowsarus @flownwrong @theroseandthebeast @jimmyandthegiraffes @soleadita @ivycross @murphyhatesme @bgharison @thekristen999 @cowandcalf @msbeeinmybonnet @ruztyryan and you, reading this. i fully tagged myself to do this, so please don't feel shy about doing the same! i really do want to read your answers, if you feel like giving them.

obviously there's no pressure, and also feel free to modify this any way you want! give different stats, list top 5 by hits instead of kudos, name just one favorite fic, add in fics you only posted to tumblr rather than ao3, skip a category or invent a new one or throw the whole thing out and only reflect on a single piece of writing in more detail - it's all fair game, as long as it suits you.

#biggest regret is probably that neither flip-flop OR any of the bad buddy fic got finished before dec 31st #but that's okay. there'll be another dec 31st. we've got time!#*#tag stuff

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mastersoftheair · 3 months

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So just to clear the air (and I guess my massive confusion) Harry never slept with Sandra, correct? I gotta say I need to read his memoir at this point as he is so intriguing to me, as well as masters of the air book, but like you said it’s a “blink and miss it” thing. I didn’t interpret it as anything more than having a few friendly conversations. It was more about emotional infidelity to me than physical, but given the circumstances and that exact heartbreaking point in time for Harry I can’t find it in me to blame either of them.

for me, ig i'm coming at my position from a place of bias. i'd read crosby's "a wing and a prayer" sometime in either 2021 or 2022 (those years blend together tbh), so i've had a lot of time to think about those 2 and their relationship and i lean towards "yeah, it likely happened" (this is a long response btw bc i'm quoting from the memoir):

crosby introduces his new friend, alexandra "landra" wingate (aka sandra westgate), in the chapter "learning about americans from the british" (this chapter was basically what we see in episode 6). moving on from this tho–

in the chapter "with landra in london", he expands on their growing relationship and the reader learns more about landra (she is genuinely Such an interesting person, and probably a spy). crosby writes about her with such admiration, regularly bringing up how smart she is. also, she's a captain!

this chapter's pretty important in how i formed my opinion on the matter. i understand the argument that the closeness of their relationship was intentionally left vague, but this chapter reads in a way that makes it feel Heavily implied despite not saying a lot (especially alongside crosby's emphasis on his wife jean being "four thousand miles away", as well as his own loneliness and despair wrt to all the missing and dead). there are some standout lines here:

-"I had Jean at home and Landra in England." (not a red flag, but it's a flag) -"I started seeing Landra every time I could." (cool) -"All I knew was that [Landra] was making my life much more endurable." (also cool) -"I did not tell Jean about Landra." (the last sentence of the chapter. it gave me pause and almost instantly reshaped the way i viewed that whole chapter)

the next chapter, "r&r with jean", crosby recalls how much the war took a toll on both him and his relationships. for a time, jean wrote more letters to croby than the other way around ("I began to skip writing to her."). i assume crosby must've been radiating Exceptionally negative energy bc he gets told this: "Croz, we can't stand to have you around. We want you back, but we want you to go home for a while." (i found the phrasing here really funny tbh. your vibes Suck! just Get Out of here!!)

so, crosby contemplates seeing jean again, wondering how both of them may have changed. he also brings up landra, for Some Reason: "What would I think of her? Protected in the States as she was, how would she compare to Landra? Now that I had grown so much, had such experiences, how would Jean and I fit together?"

the rest of the chapter Is about meeting and catching up with jean, however, and you can tell that he loves her a Ton. it's very sweetly written (he also basically ends the chapter saying "btw, we conceived our first child ;) ")

the final chapter about landra is "london junket" which begins with "When I returned from the United States and my idyll with Jean, I knew I had to do something about Landra." i think that sentence alone is pretty damning. if landra was just a friend, why would you be anxious about calling a friendship off? is it a guilt thing?

the context here is that crosby feels Far less lonely and depressed. he's met up with jean, life in london is finally "a delight". i found that important bc it gives me the impression that crosby desperately wanted companionship (possibly of two kinds), and he found that in landra– a friend and a maybe a [REDACTED]. now that he's having a great time with his friends in the 100th And he's met up with his wife, that itch's been scratched (that's just my opinion tho). bc of that, he decides to say goodbye to landra. they have this exchange:

"When a month passed after you were to return, and you did not phone me," she said, "I suspected that it was over. You found things good with Jean?" I told her about R&R in the U.S. I told her more about Jean. I told her about Stephen Patrick, Jeffrey Allen, or Evalyn. "When I realized you were gone," she said, "I no longer said no to a nice American at my office. I have been with him several times. I like him." (interesting) "I’m glad." (also interesting) "He is not married, He is not so dashing as you, but we have good times together." Me "dashing"? That was not my self-image. So much for Landra."

all put together (and with over 2 years to think about it), i Really kinda saw That Scene coming. but, like i said, i had that bias. and since i'd had a good amount of time to think about them, i came out the other end still excited to see them on screen. i found (and still find) landra a fascinating woman who must've had an exciting life (crosby's okay too ig lol). i also see them as a couple of imperfect, even selfish, 20somethings (speaking as an imperfect and selfish 20something). not to be corny, but "it takes 2 to tango". landra is Very intelligent, and crosby recounts how that aspect of hers left him in awe. she'd've 100% known the guy was married. and if signs point to her having had sex with the man, then she either made peace with it or simply didn't care (a lot of women are like that). plus, they're real people and real people contain multitudes idk. maybe some wife somewhere across the atlantic is hard to care about if you've never met her and never will. maybe it's hard to consider your wife's feelings in the midst of your own misery. a female character doesn't have to be wholesome and pure to be considered well-written. that certainly doesn't apply to most male characters. like you said, no one is perfect!

maybe, crosby left it vague out of respect to his wife. maybe it's vague bc nothing happened anyway (funny way to write it tho). maybe the wingate family wanted to avoid association with MotA bc it Literally didn't happen. or maybe they know it happened, but want to keep her name clean out of respect (who wants one brief relationship that happened 80 yrs ago to define you/your loved one decades later? that's 100% understandable). whichever the case, even crosby's kids are in a 50/50 split. i still lean towards "it happened", but it doesn't make me dislike either of them. they're flawed and i can respect that more than the show portraying either as picture perfect.

NONE of this is to say that i'm cool with cheating (or giving a "world war cheating pass", so to speak). while i find it realistic, it still wouldn't have been fair to jean, whether she knew about it or not (being a woman in the 1940s wasn't easy by any stretch). this Also isn't to dismiss anyone else's opinion on the matter, bc cheating on your partner is still a shitty thing to do. this whole spiel of mine is bc i like to share my opinions and i'm allergic to being concise. i write like i talk and on all levels except physical, anon, i'm giving you a long-winded rant over coffee and croissants lol

thanks for the ask!

#you can see why this needed a 'keep reading' lol i have Thoughts on the matter #masters of the air #hbo war #asks #book #harry crosby #landra wingate #sandra westgate #it either happened or it didn't. it is what it is!#if i'm annoyed at anything it's at the thought that sandra's character has been diminished or ruined in any capacity #she's a captain and a possible spy during ww2! she's Easily one of the best characters on an hbo war show Periodt!#(i would've said 'one of the best female characters' but lmao that isn't saying much there's like less than 10 of note)#also- croz is an awkward navigator who vomits on the job. he's Good at his job but he's kind of loser-adjacent #in conclusion- i'm not broken up about it

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cleolinda · 1 year

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Varney the Vampire: A Preface

I want you to think back to what it’s like to reread your old work from years ago—your old stories or poetry, your old school papers, or even your old tumblr posts. Sometimes you’re actually kind of pleased, sure, but I want you to really go back and locate yourself in the heady cringe of that feeling.

In related news, I'm going to pick back up with the Varney the Vampire recaps I started in late 2010 CE. I got about nine chapters in, and then something, who knows what, derailed my life, as things tend to. Like, I'm used to this, it happens with the regularity of a lunar cycle. But I like writing about vampires (clearly), and since I feel like Dracula has been tread pretty thoroughly in recent times, I figured I might go back to something different; we had some lively discussions about Varney back then.

But 2010 was a time before A Lot of Things happened. I was in my early 30s at that point, so I won't say, "Oh, I was so young," but I had a very different energy as a blogger 12-13 years ago. So I've decided to rewrite the recaps a little—some more than others, some not much at all. I just feel like I have a really different perspective on the first chapter in particular, in 2023.

As before, I'm using the full, unabridged text. It is hideously long, something like 230+ chapters, but go big or go home, I figure. The thing is, I was using the files hosted at the University of Virginia, and now you can only get those through the Wayback Machine, but they are still usable for now. I have various backups saved, but I do want you to be able to see that I am, as ever, Not Making It Up.

I'm also not going to quibble anymore as to whether James Malcolm Rymer or Thomas Peckett Prest wrote this behemoth. Per Wikipedia sources, scholars seem to agree that it was all or mostly Rymer. When it's mentioned that they figured this out based on his dialogue style, I went... yeah, that checks out. Because it sure is A Style, and I'll be honest, the repetitive filler dialogue in chapter 10 was such a speedbump for me that I just threw up my hands and said, "I don't know how to recap this. Something I can't remember now is going on in my life and I Cannot. I no longer Can."

Well, it's the 2020s and we're gonna. Like I can't tell you how much stress I do not have about this. I've had covid three times and also spinal surgery. Varney the Vampire can no longer hurt me.

To start, this ordeal has a preface—apparently written upon the occasion of collecting the serial into book form—wherein The Author expresses his gratitude for "unprecedented success of the romance of Varney the Vampyre." First off, Rymer uses "vampire" and "vampyre" interchangeably, because fuck me for caring about consistency, I guess. Second, as Wikipedia notes,

It first appeared in 1845–1847 as a series of weekly cheap pamphlets of the kind then known as "penny dreadfuls." The author was paid by the typeset line [YEAH, I NOTICED], so when the story was published in book form in 1847, it was of epic length: the original edition ran to 876 double-columned pages and 232 chapters. Altogether it totals nearly 667,000 words.

For comparison, all of Lord of the Rings plus The Hobbit is 576,459 words. I sure do blanch every time I see those numbers! It's fine. We're gonna be fine. Back to the preface:

The following romance is collected from seemingly the most authentic sources, and the Author must leave the question of credibility entirely to his readers, not even thinking that he is peculiarly called upon to express his own opinion upon the subject.

"Seemingly" is doing a lot of work here.

Nothing has been omitted [for real, nothing down to the tiniest fly-swat has been omitted] in the life of the unhappy Varney, which could tend to throw a light upon his most extraordinary career, and the fact of his death just as it is here related, made a great noise at the time through Europe, and is to be found in the public prints for the year 1713.

I've seen more than one Dracula multimedia art project where people recreated the letters and diaries and recordings in the book (have you heard my whole thing about how Dracula actually was a cutting-edge techno-thriller back in 1897?), but I've never heard of anyone creating ARG-style media for the Totally for Actual-Fact Real tale of Sir Francis Varney the Vampire, and I think it would be hilarious if someone did.

I won't belabor the entire preface, but what I do want to touch on is Rymer's mention of "unprecedented success." Varney is actually standing on the shoulders of a vampire giant, and it's not the one we would think of. Nowadays, our big touchstone—the influence so great that most works either evoke it or take the trouble to say "Our vampires are different"—is Dracula, obviously. Which was published exactly 50 years after Varney, in 1897. But Varney's touchstone is Polidori's short story "The Vampyre" (1819). And for most of the 1800s, this was everyone's touchstone. Per Wikipedia (which I'm going to lean on for how concise it is, but I concur with this from my own research as well):

An adaptation appeared in 1820 with Cyprien Bérard's novel Lord Ruthwen ou les Vampires, falsely attributed to Charles Nodier, who himself then wrote his own dramatic version, Le Vampire, a play which had enormous success and sparked a "vampire craze" across Europe. This includes operatic adaptations by Heinrich Marschner (see Der Vampyr) and Peter Josef von Lindpaintner (see Der Vampyr), both published in the same year. Nikolai Gogol, Alexandre Dumas [note: I have the Ruthven play he wrote around here somewhere] and Aleksey Tolstoy all produced vampire tales, and themes in Polidori's tale would continue to influence Bram Stoker's Dracula and eventually the whole vampire genre. Dumas makes explicit reference to Lord Ruthven in The Count of Monte Cristo, going so far as to state that his character "The Comtesse G..." had been personally acquainted with Lord Ruthven. [...]

In England, James Planché's play The Vampire, or The Bride of the Isles was first performed in London in 1820 at the Lyceum Theatre based on Charles Nodier's Le Vampire, which in turn was based on Polidori. Such melodramas were satirised in Ruddigore, by Gilbert and Sullivan (1887); a character called Sir Ruthven must abduct a maiden, or he will die.

Back when no one gave a shit about copyright, Polidori's work was spun out into a cottage industry of knock-off stories and plays, an entire horror zeitgeist. Lord Ruthven was, for 78 years, who you copied, who you riffed on, who you parodied, what Count Dracula is to us now: the archetypal vampire. The Big Guy. And Varney is clearly cut from his cloth—the ostensible gentleman who worms his way into the lives of respectable, unwitting people. Unlike Dracula, there's no foreigner Othering, no "historical basis," no undercurrents of contagion and infection, no ambition to make the world his wine-press, none of that; Ruthven is a simpler figure, but the dominant one of this time no less. He is a stranger who shows up in the middle of London high society, icy and distant, his eyes “dead grey”—stern, yet somehow compelling when he cares to be. And when he cares to be, you're in trouble.

And this is the cultural consciousness when Francis Varney shows up.

[Chapter one will go up sometime this week, March 8-10 or so.]

#varney the vampire #vampires #vampire studies #honestly I am nervous about what I want to say about the first chapter #not sure it's gonna go over very well #long post #welcome to hell it's my blog #tv tropes warning. here is your rope to climb back out

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buckybarnesss · 7 months

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on fire: a teen wolf novel chapters 1-3

on fire was published on july 17, 2012. the day after raving had aired during the show's second season.

it was written by nancy holder who has written many, many tie-in books for multiple franchises but most notably she wrote novels for the buffyverse.

by tapping nancy holder to write the novel confirms to me that mtv was trying to do what teen wolf's spiritual predecessors did and create tie-in novels with the show and on fire was testing the waters for that.

it did not succeed because teen wolf doesn't have the kind of space for that. the timeline is too tight. teen wolf was part of the new netflix binge era. it had a seasons of 12 episodes that were wall-to-wall plot. there weren't silly filler episodes and they didn't do monster of the week plots.

on fire assumes that you have seen episodes 1-5 of the show but it is also an AU of season 1 post-the tell.

i get the vibe that the author was given notes, some information or like an outline that she used to build a plot so it's interesting to see what tid-bits holder uses and refers to that still gel with canon or is consistent with what we know.

this isn't a novelization of season 1 that's for sure but, hey, i took notes.

i'm going to break the novel up into 3 chapter chunks.

so without further ado let's get into it. on fire: a teen wolf novel or as i've been thinkin of it as.

the novel starts right at the very end of the tell after the parent teacher conferences.

the way it's described when argent shoots the mountain lion brings to mind the scene in to kill a mockingbird when atticus shoots the rabid dog. chris argent is no atticus finch but he sure does learn to walk a mile in someone else's shoes doesn't he?

i somehow always manage to forget that the tell is the episode where allison turns 17. she doesn’t live to see her 18th birthday. shot through the heart man.

oh my fucking god scott. the way this is written i imagine holder is trying to invoke derek and kate as if there’s some wild age gap between him and allison when they're like 9 months apart in age. allison is not kate jesus chris. look at this shit:

“scott hadn’t known allison was seventeen, a year older than the other kids in their class -- older than him -- and didn’t want anyone to know.”

Fuck Rafael McCall. Meet me outside and catch these hands.

“he knew his dad wasn’t keeping up with child support payments. not that his mom had ever mentioned it.”

this is where the transition into heart monitor would be. it is a pretty terrifying dream scott has. peter’s such a dramatic bitch. scott’s dreaming of being in the woods with everything on fire and then he’s being compelled by peter to come kill with him. which just reinforces my whole thing about peter and scott being psychically connected. we don’t see this with any other alpha-beta connection to this degree. derek senses victoria killing scott in raving but we really do not get this in the show very much as it seems to be a Dark Sided power. but we do see peter use it again in season 6a with the whole “you were my beta first” scene.

scott mentions stiles’s having ADHD so to me that means that nancy holder was definitely working with the idea that stiles does have it. stiles having ADHD seems like a plot thread that got dropped really quickly by the show but remained in dylan’s acting choices and in fandom’s mind.

scott is the only beta we see experience sleepwalking episodes. it seems tied to the compulsion and mental link he shares with feral alpha peter.

the entire paragraph is something. firstly, it wasn't until night school, the episode after this one, that peter tried to push scott into killing his “pack”. but lol melissa called stiles scott’s “litter mate” and stiles wearing his target shirt that he wore in wolf moon and the one that subtextually could reference the nemeton and eventually scott's pack symbol. i don't believe we ever actually saw that shirt again. the tragedy.

“stiles had on his bullseye t-shirt, and it kind of freaked scott out when he wore it. as if it meant that stiles were a target. They both knew the Alpha wanted Scott to kill him to cement Scott’s acceptance that he was a member of the Alpha’s pack. Who better to take down than the guy Scott’s mom had once referred to as his “litter mate”?”

this is where it's starting to get kind of weird because the plot of this book takes place during season 1 but it’s not strictly following the plot. it feels like an alternate season 1.

jackson has gone missing. when is he not missing is the more appropriate question?

so chapter 2 starts with scott and stiles joining lydia and allison at The Popular Kids Table to discuss jackson being missing. this wouldn’t have happened in season 1. this dynamic didn’t exist until at minimum season 3. lydia didn’t even acknowledge stiles’s existence until the winter formal at the end of the season.

jackson’s parents apparently went to paris right after the parent-teacher conference, leaving their high school age child alone for an extended period of time in the middle of the school year? what? no wonder jackson’s fucked up. why didn’t they just go around christmas and instead they waited another three weeks or some shit. that is weird.

jackson’s been left a note from a supposed private investigator about his birth parents while his parents are out of town, which is totally not sus at all. 🙄🙄 lydia's concerned about him looking stupid so she won’t go to the sheriff and she doesn’t even approach jackson’s best friend danny. like, danny would know a lot more about jackson than scott or stiles would. lydia, i know allison is the one who involved scott but for fuck’s sake.

look even a page later lydia says “he and jackson barely know each other.” then why are you involving scott in what you seem to believe is a personal matter?

do people just generally know jackson was adopted? i can see lydia knowing but scott and stiles? allison just fucking moved there so she doesn’t know anything about anyone. this is quite the personal piece of information i doubt he’d want others to know lydia.

this is such an AU because after the parent-teacher conference stiles was giving scott the cold shoulder due to his dad being hurt.

also stiles is supposedly sitting at this table the entire time lydia, allison and scott are talking and has not given his opinion on the matter yet. very unlike him. if there's one thing stiles has it's opinions on jackson and his father's job. stiles would be all over this.

this fucking line is brutal man -- “stiles was the only person on the planet who knew he had become a werewolf. well, derek knew, too, but derek hardly counted as a person.” that said, i do think it’s accurate to scott’s headspace at this point regarding derek. avoiding seeing derek as a person is a way of detaching himself from the situation he’s found himself in.

alright so we’ve got a POV change to allison --a nd it’s all about how cute acott is. allison I love you but chill please.

okay so this is interesting. “her mom had been angry, too. allison could tell that if had been left up to her, she wouldn’t have been so harsh about having to stay all weekend. her mom liked scott.” are we sure we’re talking about the same victoria argent? granted this is pre-werewolf reveal so as far as victoria knows allison is just mooning over a nice normal human boy but i have a hard time imagining this being the same victoria who gave us the crazy eyes and the sharpening your dick metaphor.

this still haunts me.

"except i won’t get to spend time with scott except at school until i’m, oh, 112.” oh right in the feels

this book really assumes you’ve seen episodes 1-5 of the first season. allison’s mentioning aunt kate and the necklace in a way that makes the assumption the reader knows who and what they are.

jackson’s password for his tracking app is “captain”. that is worse than the password being lydia or like scott famously having allison as his password. y’all suck and have shitty computer security.

these kids are sophomores in high school and lydia and allison are really having a discussion about jackson going to a pay by the hour motel as if that’s a thing 15-16 year olds do in the california subburbs on a regular basis. as if jackson would lower himself in such a way to begin with. he’s snobby as fuck. it’s such a weird conversation.

i am page 20 and i feel like so far this author hasn’t been very nice to stiles. not having him say a word in the lunch conversation about jackson despite not only being very opinionated about jackson whittermore’s general existence he’d also have thoughts on a missing person. like, he didn’t even speak when his dad was brought up as a possible avenue of help which is odd. then about a page later there’s this sort of tone used around stiles that feels condescending about him being hyperactive.

this paragraph is, uh, something that could’ve only been written in 2012 because it feels gross:

“lydia shrugged. then she turned to allison. “tell you what. if the boys are willing to the motel for us ---” “to a motel. to look for a guy,” stiles said. ”maybe you should ask danny?” danny, their lacrosse team goalie, was gay, out and proud. “he could act, you know, more casual about it.”

that said, it does track with stiles being overly occupied with the perception of his sexuality and that danny does shit he’s way too young to be doing which is written around his sexuality. remember the whole older boyfriend and going to the jungle thing is season 2?

it has been like 23 pages and allison’s got this subplot where she wants to have sex with scott. like girlie you’ve known scott for 2 days, keep your pants on. (it keeps coming up with scott too and it's annoying, okay).

it took stiles barely a paragraph to mention derek hale when the point of view switched to him. sir.

i’m laughing at how derek’s point of view is paired with stiles in the way that scott and allison’s are. even in the non-canon book the Sterek Agenda is there.

“a prankster with a wicked sense of humor.” is what derek refers to peter as before the fire. is that what we are calling it derek because i would disagree.

“i dreamed of other alphas coming after me. why? it’s not a crime to kill an alpha. i’m a werewolf. the way we progress in status is through challenge.” now this is an interesting perspective. werewolves progress via challenges. that's still sort of in-line with what we see in canon.

allison and scott are driving into the seedier side of town. AKA what seems to be where the poors live. scott describes seeing boarded up buildings, pawn shops and “some kind of clinic where you could sell your blood.” which I assume is a plasma center where people donate and get paid in return and this little classist shit says “remind me to never get a blood transfusion.” god he’s such a 16 year old..

i saw kate's name on the next page where chapter 4 is

#my blog #thoughts on teen wolf #teen wolf #heather reads #on fire: a teen wolf novel #or teen wolf the AU

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unpredictable-probabilities · 1 month

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20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by @dandywonderous

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

19. I'm fairly new to fanfics, I only started reading and writing them in 2020.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

356,543

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I'm currently writing for The Sandman, but most of my works and my WIPs are for Twisted Wonderland, and I had written one chapter of a fic for Love Never Dies.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Granting Favors (Twisted Wonderland) 2. The Two Princes (Twisted Wonderland) 3. A Way In (Twisted Wonderland) 4. Tomorrows Over Centuries (The Sandman) 5. Post-Gala Celebration (Twisted Wonderland)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I love interacting with my readers in the comments section~ Sometimes it takes me days to respond sdkjfkdslfj but I do respond! And I'm trying to make a habit of replying sooner.

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

Hmm, I always write happy endings, but currently The Repertoire Continues (Love Never Dies) and A Dragon's Soft Spot (Twisted Wonderland) have angsty endings, but only because so far I've only written their first chapters 😅

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

Probably Tomorrows Over Centuries (The Sandman). Mostly because almost the entire fic is the characters just having a fun time. (Also it's Explicit because of the third chapter, just a heads-up in case you wanna check it out.)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

So far no. I'm actually low-key scared of getting some, haha.

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

Yup. All smut I write have a lot of Feelings, even if there's no plot to the fic. It's always romantic smut. It's just fun to write.

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

So far no. Though I really wanna write a The Sandman and Good Omens crossover someday. The idea itself is a bit daunting for me, haha, but I've read a fic with that crossover, and I genuinely wanna attempt it myself.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, that would be super cool, though.

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

Yes, I've co-written a few fics with @patchyegg87~

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling (The Sandman) Azul Ashengrotto/Jamil Viper (Twisted Wonderland) is a close second!

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

I would like to believe that I can finish all of my WIPs, haha. But the one that would probably take the longest to finish is The Repertoire Continues (Love Never Dies), which I realize is ironic given the title alskjdfsldf. I rarely see any other content from the fandom so my brainworms for it don't get activated. I would still like to finish it someday, though.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and emotions. Character voice is one of my favorite things to write, discovering how different characters would have various reactions to the same situation. I've often had to modify outlines because I'd realize that the original flow of the scenes didn't make sense anymore because the characters' reactions wouldn't lead them to that outcome. And bringing emotions out of characters is fun too, especially the stoic and tsundere characters. It's why I like writing Hurt/Comfort, haha.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing descriptions for places, outfits, and food 😣 Especially places. I have a hard time imagining what a place might look like. That's usually what I ask @patchyegg87 for help with when we co-write fics. And she has recently taught me how to use Pinterest as a reference when writing descriptions for stuff, and I'd been practicing that. I really wanna get better at writing visual descriptions, it's always so cool when I read a fic that has such vivid imagery.

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

I have no problem with it. The very first fic I'd written, A Rival in Scarlet (Twisted Wonderland), has some French sentences in it that were translated into English when the POV switched to the French speaker's. Fanfics are for having fun, and sometimes part of that is incorporating another language you know or are trying to learn~

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Twisted Wonderland

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Ooh, I don't know, that's a hard one. Granting Favors (Twisted Wonderland) would always have a special place in my heart because it's my first multi-chapter fic and I honed much of my writing skills in that one. "I Do": The Long-Term Deal (Twisted Wonderland) is also very fun to write and that's the fic where I really learned to write character voice well because it's post-canon and the characters have aged a few years, and it was fun to figure out how they had changed in that time while retaining their core personalities. And of course Tomorrows Over Centuries (The Sandman). I'd read a lot of Dreamling fics before writing that one, and I was so happy to finish a Dreamling fic of my own. I love them, Your Honor.

Tagging:

@patchyegg87

@signiorbenedickofpadua

@cerealmonster15

@hardly-an-escape

@beatnikfreakiswriting

@takohebi

and anyone else who wants to do this!

#tag game #fanfic writing #fanfics #20 questions for fic writers

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scarisd3ad · 7 months

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Superstar | football player!joel miller x popstar!reader

Chapter Four - labyrinth

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Masterlist

Taglist

Warnings - angst, cursing

Summary - when you find out about a certain football player showing up at your tour you decide to reach out just because of all the dating rumors, but what if thoughs rumors turn into reality?

a/n - okay so since I've never really introduced Joel parents they are introduced here. his mother is named Juliana in this, and his father is named tom (because tommy just feels like he'd be a jr) <3. also, song reader sing is labyrinth because I love labyrinth and Taylor sang it at n1 in Argentina.

‘Oh no, I’m falling in love’

I let out a deep sigh as my fingers pressed against the piano keys. The same piano I sit at weekend after weekend with a large screaming crowd showing all their adoration for me through screams and chants. I pull my in-ears out so I'm able to hear the actual volume of the crowd. "Holy shit," I whisper into the mic in front of me. They're loud, so loud it's impossible to believe that this is my life. Screaming crowds, fans, concerts at venues this big it's incredible. "you guys are so unbelievably awesome you don't even understand," I say as I place my in-ears back into my ears. I can still hear the screams the in-ears just kind of lower the volume. "So, I um, I wrote a new song and I want to see if you guys like it," I say with a smile. They scream as I begin to play the notes on the piano. I take a deep breath before starting the first lyric.

"It only hurts this much right now...was what I was thinking the whole time" It's a little nerve-wracking performing a song that I had just written last night to a whole crowd of people. I didn't even know if they were going to like it, let alone like that I was playing an unknown song rather than a song that they all could sing along to. But despite my anxious thoughts, they scream, scream like this is their favorite song ever. "Breathe in breathe through breathe deep breathe out. I'll be getting over you my whole life," they scream again, astonished by the lyrics, astonished by what these lyrics might mean. I know there's already a video posted somewhere speculating what these lyrics mean and who they're about. That's just how the internet works. But I'm the only person who will ever truly know what this song and its lyrics are about.

"You know how scared I am of elevators, never trust it if it rises fast, it can't last" I hear a loud "I love you y/n!" from a girl sitting in the very front row closest to the stage. I smile as I start the next lyric. "Uh oh, I'm Fallin' in love. Oh no, I'm Fallin' in love again" Screams from the crowd start up because these lyrics just have to be about Joel, right? I know that's what they're thinking and they're right, or at least partially, about him. "Oh, I'm Fallin' in love. I thought the plane was going down. how'd you turn it right around?"

"Sooo, why aren't you out with Joel?" Tara asks from her spot at the end of my bed. It was my off weekend. I had one weekend off from performing, and this was it. I let out a sigh. "Um, he invited me to something just didn't feel like it" She rolled her eyes; she knew I was lying somehow. it wasn't anything about 'not feeling it' it was all about the kiss, and the 'good job' afterward, the way my heart dropped right after he said that too. We just needed some space. I needed to be away from him for a little while to try and rid myself of this crush I had on him.

"Is that true?" I let out a sigh as I shook my head and murmured, "I don't want to talk about it, kay?" I wrap my arms around Ollie, who is nestled up beside me, and pull him closer. He lets out a tired "meow" but forgets about the fact I had moved him about 2 seconds later. "c'mon y/n tell me y'know I don't judge" I roll my eyes as she props herself up with her arm. "He kissed me," I whisper. Her brows furrow in a confused curl, which sends me tumbling into an explanation. "He kissed me, and I think I'm in love with him. And the kiss was all for the paparazzi," I whisper as I lay my head back down on my pillow. She sits up quickly, snatching my phone off the bed. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?!" I shout as I quickly sit up. She tumbles off of the bed running away. I let out a groan as I scurried off of the bed to follow after her. She's letting out giggles as her thumbs type away. "Seriously T, what are you doing?!" I shouted as I followed her down the stairs, almost tripping as I came to the bottom.

She stops in the kitchen and pushes herself against the counter. "You're going out with Joel" my eyes widen. I plan on ignoring him for a few weeks before cutting the deal off. "Because you need to figure this shit out 'cause I know it's not fake for him either" She hands me back my phone and I'm quick to open the messaging app.

Joel Miller

y - hey, plans changed. I'm able to go to that thing if I'm still able to.

J.M. - what happened to your sisters?

I rolled my eyes it was obvious that I did not write the text. This was just going to break my heart even more. I don't even know why she'd do this. "Tara...why seriously this is just going to hurt me even more" I whisper, she shakes her head as her arms cross over her chest "he likes you too, y'know have you seen the way he looks at you?" I don't even know how her brain works; he looks at me like how a normal person looks at another human. There was not even a hint of love in his eyes. I stare at her, waiting for her to explain. "Oh my god seriously, are you blind?"

Joel Miller

y- canceled, can you pick me up?

y- please?

J.M. - yeah, sure, be there in 15.

I let out a sigh as I stuff my phone into my pocket. "he's gonna be here in 15 so I better..." I whisper, my voice trickling away as I make eye contact with Tara. I'm not mad at her because I just can't be mad at her, but I'm just so anxious that I seem mad. "Are you mad?" her smile immediately drops. Sometimes Tara just plays too much. She didn't realize how brokenhearted I was after he kissed me, not until now. I turn around and begin to walk away. "Hey y'know, he does like you, I wouldn't lie to you." she chases after me, "I know I just don't trust your judgment," I whisper. It wasn't that Tara liked to lie and make things up, she just embellishes the truth sometimes, especially when I like a guy. She likes to add things to make me feel good. "Just let me get ready...by myself," I whisper.

I throw on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt before putting on some makeup and doing my hair. I was anxious to meet his entire family. That was the main reason I didn't want to go because it just felt like a little too much for fake dating. my heart pounded against my chest as I sat on my couch waiting for him to show up. I was trying to hype myself up in my head, but I had no luck in doing so. I was still a big bundle of nerves who didn't want to be talked to at the moment. My hands shook and my chest was rising and falling so fast it was concerning. And then when I heard three soft knocks on my front door, I wanted to hide.

knock knock knock

I take a deep breath in mutter "I've got this" before standing up and stuffing my phone into my back pocket. "Hey Tara, I'm leaving kay?" when I hear a muffled "okay!" from upstairs I open the front door. I'm met with Joel standing at the door dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a cowboy's tee shirt.

"Hey, darlin', how have ya been? Haven't heard from ya in a while." My heart flutters at the nickname, and at the thought that he cares about how I've been. "I-I've been good, you?" he waves me off. "No, I wanna hear about you. How was your concerts last weekend, huh? Heard they were all sold out," I giggle, flustered that he had even thought about my concerts. "Go-good, I um performed a new song," I say as I smile up at him, a disgustingly lovesick look on my face. But I can't help it, he just makes me feel so good. So free, so loved even if it is fake.

"Need ya to sing that to me, darlin," he says as he grabs my hand. It felt so weird having a man care so much about my music. Every time I see him, he asks about my concerts or how I write my songs. I've been with men who cared I made so much music with Andy, but Joel just feels so different. "y-yeah um I can if you want me to," I whisper as he leads me toward his car. Unlike every other time I had seen him, there wasn't even any paparazzi outside my house. So, him holding my hand is pointless.

When we pull up to his house, it's nothing like I imagined it to be. Unlike most other celebrities his age who have large mansions that span many acres, it's a normal 2-story suburban home. It's a stereotypical picket fence home with a large tree in the front yard and faded chalk drawings on the driveway. It was unexpected for a man with so much fame and wealth, but not unexpected for a man like him. Joel was a regular Texan man, a father, a son, and a brother. A man who lived in a simple 2-story, 3-bedroom, 2-bath house. Picket fences, scrapped knees, and handmade drawings stuck up on the fridge. Normalcy, that's what his house felt like. It felt like my childhood. It felt like suburban neighborhoods playing with the neighborhood kids, and ice pops on the front porch. It felt like playing in sprinklers, puddles, and mud. It felt like baseball in the backyard. I felt happy that his kids got that, although their father was such a star. They didn't have to grow up in a large mansion with no kids around like other celebrities' kids got.

As we walk into his house, Joel's hand is splayed across my lower back. There were a lot of people sitting on his couch, some women, some men, but they all felt older than me. "Back...Um, this is my...girlfriend y/n...y/n this is my uncle Walter, aunt Gabriela, my mom Juliana, my dad Tom, and our neighbor Jason" My eyes widen a bit at all the new names and faces I'm taking in. "hi" I squeak with a tiny smile. "She's a superstar, famous singer, right darlin'?" I didn't even have enough time to become flustered at the fact that he had called me his girlfriend because I was met with bunches of hands and people trying to hug me. "I um yeah, yeah I sing a little" I whisper as I try my best to hide myself behind Joel. it's a weird feeling being around all these people who are just so much older than me, I felt like I'd fit in more with his young daughter than with these people. "'Sing a little' c'mon darlin', don't sell yourself short. This girl is performing for sold-out stadiums" he says with a chuckle, "I-I yeah um-" Thankfully, I'm cut off by a scream and the feeling of a little body smashing into my leg.

I look down to see Sarah with her arms wrapped around my torso. "you're here! Daddy said you couldn't come" his family begin quiet 'aww's and 'look how cute's "y-yeah I um I could make it after all," I say with a shy smile. For someone who has stadiums full of people cheering me on, I'm so shy in front of a room of just 5 people. I look up to see a smaller girl standing just a little behind Sarah. She has a paler complexion and straighter brown hair. She's got her arms crossed over her chest; she can't be any older than 5. when she opens her mouth and begins to talk, I can see that her two top teeth are missing. "Who's this?"

"This is daddy's friend I told you about don't be rude Ellie" Sarah whispers as she turns so she's facing her sister. Ellie looks up at me, her head cocking to the side as she takes me in. "I went to your concert" she whispers, "it was too loud" she mutters before walking a bit closer. Her father chuckles behind me. "We-well, I'm sorry bout that," I whisper with a little laugh. "she's the one who has a cat," Sarah whispers and it seems like Ellie's eyes instantly turn into two hearts. "Cat? what's its name?" Ellie asks as she approaches me. "His name is Ollie," I reply as I kneel, so I'm face to face with her. "Can I come see him?" she asks. I nod "Yeah if your daddy lets you" She looks up at her father and puts on the cutest puppy dog eyes. "Can I go see the cat, Daddy?"

"Maybe one day El" I feel a tiny hand wrap around mine before I'm quickly pulled back to my full height and pulled out of the living room "Let's go play y/n!"

I'm outside in the backyard chasing around all the kids in the backyard while Joel and his father grill burgers on the deck. "ahhhh you can't catch me!" Ellie screams as I grab ahold of her arm and pull her towards me. We both topple to the ground as I begin tickling her. She screams out loud giggles as she tries to squirm away. Once she finally gets away, she stands up and places her hands on both her knees, trying to catch her breath. I sit up noticing Joel has now walked back inside. "Hey, I'm gonna go get a drink alright?!" I shouted, not only to acknowledge Ellie but to the other children who were playing as well. Ellie just nods as she breathes heavily. I push myself up off of the ground and begin to make my way up to the back door.

"May- maybe she could be like their mom. They need a mom, Joel. I know you are all they need, but they need a mother," I hear Joel's mom say as I open the back door slowly. Joel's mom stood at the counter, staring out the window above the sink as she prepared a salad. Joel stood next to her, chopping up the chicken. "I-momma she-we're-" I know what he means we're not real, this is temporary. I clear my throat before saying, "I-um, is there anything I can drink?" Joel's mother begins to swat at her son's arm. "Oh god sweetheart, I am so sorry. Joel, get your girlfriend a drink," she says before shoving him my way. "I-um..." he stutters, as he opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. He hands the bottle to me.

"Let's go outside," he whispers before turning back towards his mom. "You got this, Mom?" she nods before shooing him away. His hand slots into mine perfectly as we walk outside. Everything about him made my heart just leap with excitement. It was embarrassing. We stand on the deck watching as the children run around screaming and laughing. "I don't know how they have that much energy," he chuckles as I twist the bottle cap open and take a swig. "Yeah, they wore me out in like 2 seconds," I reply with a smile. "They like you a lot, y'know Ellie and Sarah" I nod, I just wished they didn't. it wouldn't be this hard to break things off if they didn't like me. "Wish they wouldn't get so attached," I whisper. "It's not going to be easy on them when this ends." his face contorts into an expression I can't read. It's a mix of sadness and realization.

"y-yeah but you can still come around. As my friend, we don't have to not talk after this" I nod acting like I would, but I knew I probably wouldn't because it'd be too hard on me. I can't just be his friend, that's the problem. I wouldn't be able to see him with another girl without being heartbroken. "I know"

Once everyone had left, I sat on the couch with both his children while Frozen was playing on the TV. "You need me to take you home?" Joel asks as he walks into the living room. I've been trying to convince myself it's time to break this off before the kids get too attached. I decided I should just rip the band-aid off before I had time to overthink it and not do it at all. "Um, actually..." I quickly rise to my feet. "Can we talk...alone?" Joel nods, his brows furrowing together in a questioning look.

I follow after him as he leads me to a room far enough away so the kids won't be able to hear us. His arms crossed over his chest as he asks, "What's up?" I take a deep breath in before saying, "We should stop this. I can't do this anymore." his brows furrow into a knot as I see the look in his eyes change from curious to hurt. His head cocks to the side "Wh-why? did you-" I shake my head as I run my hands through my hair "I-I um I can't talk about it." his hands shift so they're placed on his hips. Why did this hurt worse than any breakup I've ever experienced? Why was my heart shattering over a man I was never even in an actual relationship with? "I-I just need to know why. closure y'know," he whispers.

"I-I-" I sigh as my head lowers so I'm not making eye contact with him, "y/n..." my hand squeezes against my opposite arm hard as I try to keep quiet. I can't tell him. I can't, I just can't. "I-I think... I think I'm in love with you and I know you-" lips pressing against mine interrupt my words, instantly alleviating all my fears. Nothing mattered but his lips against mine. He pulls away and places his hand against my cheek. My lips chase after his, which makes him chuckle. "Do you l-" he cuts me off with a simple "mhm," and I nod before our lips meet again.

Taglist

@taylarxse @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @ktheunready @camixkami @skysmiller @mars743 @romeestrvjds @lightxzhan @alyhull @jenna-mcgraw19 @raindropsandteaandtears @winkuchu @lexloon @greensabereyesforcevictim @cozylibraries @celebrities-imagines @joeldjarin @nezukos-number1fan @abbysgirll @sadbloatedegg @hopelessromantic727

#fanfics #x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #ellie williams #Sarah miller #tommy miller #no outbreak!joel miller #tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #fem!reader #female!reader #Taylor swift #travis kelce

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