He’s been eyeing the scale for weeks now. Finnick doesn’t like it, never has, he hated it when they used to measure him every time he went back to the Capitol to see if there was any tweaking that needed to be done on his diet and exercise regimen, but there it is, watching him, almost waiting for that moment when he’ll break down and step on. Annie’s been keeping it out since Maggie was born as part of her effort to lose the baby weight. She says it’s doing her good, and Finnick doesn’t question that. To him, she always looks radiantly beautiful. He’s the one that needs to be worried.
There’s nothing special about today, no reason his weight should matter more now than it does any other time, but still, Finnick checks that the bathroom door is shut before he climbs onto it. This moment is always the worst, when the digital numbers stutter between one weight and another before they arrive at their final verdict. Finnick hates it, so he closes his eyes and doesn’t open them until he’s certain it’s finished.
Two fifteen. Damn it. He does the mental math. That’s thirty, no, thirty-five more than he’s ever clocked in at before. Damn. And Annie spent good money on this thing, so he can’t even dismiss it as a fluke.
There’s nobody there to see it, but his cheeks flame. He knew that his abs were less obvious than they had been a few years ago; that was hard to miss, but now, studying himself in the mirror, he sees other, less obvious signs he’s missed. His shoulders are no less broad, but much of the tapering from them to his hips has disappeared. Everywhere, what were once sharp angles have been replaced by softer curves. He can’t resist running a hand down his chest and stomach, watching skin and fat glide along with his fingers in a way they never would have before. This isn’t how he’s supposed to look. Finnick Odair, dubbed Panem’s Sexiest Man three years in a row, letting himself go? A waste if there ever was one.
But yet, since he’s useless, he’s allowed it to happen. Finnick can hear the escorts’ scolding now Finnick, nobody will like you anymore if you let yourself get fat and the dietitian and trainer already coming up with something new.
Finnick’s still standing there, eyeing his reflection, when he hears the doorknob twist and the door begin to open. He hurries off the scale, tripping over his own feet in the process, and he has to grab the towel rod for support. “Finnick?” Annie’s voice is sleepy, and she’s still dressed in his old undershirt that she uses as a nightgown. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies. Fuck, where’s his shirt? Over there, next to the door. Could today get any better? Maybe he can grab it without seeming suspicious…
She frowns at him. “You don’t look like you’re fine.”
That hurts. Finnick fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest to hide himself from her. “Just a bit tired is all.” Now, he doesn’t care if she’s going to worry about him – he needs his shirt. He loves her, absolutely and forever, and he trusts her with his life and more, but right now…
“Finnick, if you need to be alone, all you need to do is ask. I didn’t realize you were in here – I thought maybe you were already out on the boats. I can shower later.”
Now that his shirt’s on, the world seems more manageable. He turns on the persona that served him so well for years. Brilliant smile – thank goodness he hasn’t lost that with his weight gain – give her a wink, and she’ll fall for you in seconds. “Yeah, I was just on my way out.” No little innuendo tacked onto the end this time – he needs out, not to stay for longer.
But even his most convincing acts have never fooled Annie. “Your hair’s not wet, and the mirror’s not fogged up, so you haven’t showered yet. What’s really bothering you, Finn?” She’s the only one allowed to call him that, and usually, it’s comfortable, because he’s her Finn and she’s his Ann and that’s just how the world is supposed to be, but this morning, the nickname is only another reminder of them. Annie reaches out to touch his shoulder, and for the first time in years, Finnick finds himself tensing at the contact. “Nightmare?”
“No.” At least that’s the truth.
She pauses for a moment. “You know that I love you no matter what you look like, right?”
His breath catches, and he’s not sure how to respond. When he meets her eyes, there’s no doubt in his mind that she means every word she says. Annie moves a little closer to him, not quite enough that their torsos touch, but close enough that he can feel her nightshirt soft against his skin. “And I, and everyone else in their right mind, still think you’re sexy as hell.”
That earns a snort of laughter. Annie’s never sworn often, and since Ronan’s birth a year and a half ago, he’s not sure he’s heard anything stronger than a few goshes and darns from her. There’s mischief written all over her face when she gets up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Way to say thank you.”
She squeals when he picks her up and kisses her. It’s warm and loving enough to not be spoiled by two cases of morning breath. “Will that suffice?” Finnick asks as he sets her back down.
“In a pinch, I suppose.” There’s a lovely flush to her cheeks, and his hand hasn’t moved away from her bottom, and he wonders if she wants something more. But no, they’ve talked about this dozens of times: sex isn’t payment for a compliment or a requirement of any sort. If he’s going to feel broken afterwards, she’s not interested.
Finnick smiles at her before leaning down for another kiss. “Should we find some breakfast?”
“Sounds great.”
“Mind if I steal some of that nasty-looking crud you’ve been eating lately?”
“Of course not. Misery loves company.”
Finnick had been certain she’d exaggerated the blandness of the new Capitol diet breakfast food, but when he took his first bite, he had to agree that misery was an apt description.
hi! im such a fan of quicksilver and wanted to take a peek at what you do on tumblr ! i scrolled a little to far back lol and am now wondering what is your doctorate in? 🤗
It's been 10 years since I wrote this, which is absolutely wild to me. I wanted to put my single foray into Pirates of the Caribbean fanfiction all in one place.
Philip knows well the dangers of giving into temptation, but he cannot pull himself away from Syrena. He finds himself willing to do anything to remain by her side. If she is the devil, then he will gladly be damned.
Chapter 1
"I can save you. You need only ask." She bobbed in front of him, dark hair pooling out around her. He wanted to resist her, for surely only a creature of the devil could cause the destruction he'd seen that night on the lifeboat. Perhaps Satan himself had created her, crafted her in the perfect form to lure men with lust. Philip, a priest and missionary, knew of these monsters, and he tried to stop himself from falling into the devil's trap.
But man had never been immune to Satan's charms, and Philip found himself moving closer to her. Pain wracked his body, radiating outward from the wound in his abdomen, but he did not still until his face was inches from hers. "I ask for only one thing," he said.
Her eyes never left his. "What is that?"
"Forgiveness. If it weren't for me, you would never have been captured." He wanted to reach out to stroke her ivory skin, to press a kiss to her lips and die with the memory of her touch still vivid in his mind. For there was no doubt that he would die; with the wound he had sustained, it was inevitable.
Long seconds of silence stretch between them, punctuated only by the splash of the waves against the rocks of the grotto. She rose up so that their lips were a breath away before finally replying. "Ask."
He swallowed, but his eyes did not wander from hers. "Forgive me."
She closed the remaining distance between them, pressing a firm kiss to his lips, and Philip was lost. His entire world, it seemed, consisted of only him, her, and the pressure between them. When she slipped her arms around his neck, he had no argument. He brought his hand to the back of her head, bringing her even closer.
Syrena pulled him with her into the dark waters, and Philip followed willingly. She could drown him at any moment, force him to stay underneath until the life left his body and she could rip the flesh from his bones, but, somehow, Philip felt safe with her, more safe than he had felt since the attack of the Queen Anne's Revenge on his ship. Death was coming quickly for him now, but he would accept it with open arms. He pressed his cheek against Syrena's and felt his chest burn as his lungs screamed for air. Eventually, the pain grew too intense, and he could no longer resist the urge to breathe. Philip expected water to fill his lungs, but, instead, he breathed air. His eyes snapped open in confusion.
Syrena's dark eyes peered back at him. She smiled and brought her lips to his ear. "You're safe now," she whispered. In the water, her voice sounded different, as though it were coming from several directions all at once.
"How?" his voice cracked before he could say anything else. Philip had not expected to live this long, and having accepted death, the tremendous gift of life finally became clear. He was overcome with emotion, but Syrena held strong.
"A mermaid's kiss," she answered.
He nodded in understanding. Yes, he had heard the legends the pirates had told of soldiers saved from drowning with a kiss from a mermaid, but he had never believed them. Of course, until a few days ago, he had not believed in mermaids either. "Thank you." He gazed into her eyes as he spoke.
Syrena glanced down at his wound before covering it with her hand. "We must take you to shore. You are safe for now, but your injury is severe. It must be treated quickly if it is to heal." She began to swim faster, cutting through the water at a greater speed than Philip had believed possible. He could not help but admire the gliding motions of her body as she propelled them forward. The undulation of her hips drew his attention, and he found himself trapped in her sensual movements. His training as a missionary whispered to him that this was wrong, that he had been sworn to chastity, but he could not look away.
Only her voice was enough to drag him from the sight. "Can you walk?" she asked.
Philip realized that they were now in waters no more than four or five feet high. With Syrena's help, he rose to his feet, but he collapsed almost immediately, unable to support his own weight.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
He could only grit his teeth in response. A fresh flow of blood ran between his fingers as he clasped his hand over the cut.
Syrena dragged him to shore as gently as she could, and placed him on the sand. Philip bit back a scream as she lifted his hips to remove his pants, leaving him clothed only in soaked undergarments. She squeezed his hand and murmured something into his ear, but he was too lost in pain to understand her words. He heard a rip as Syrena tore the fabric and forced his hand away from the wound so that she could press the makeshift bandage against it. "Hush, love," she said, kissing his cheek. "Keep pressure on the bandage, Philip, and I will return for you."
"My love," he said as she turned to crawl back into the water. Syrena stopped to look at him. "What is your true name?"
A smile came to her features. "I had none until I met you, but from this moment on I will be Syrena."
Philip's mouth opened in response, but no words were forthcoming. He did as she requested, pressing the remnants of his trousers against the cut. As he waited for her to return, he could think of nothing but her. The smile that came to her lips when she was amused, the soft strength in her voice, the way the sun shone against her perfect skin as she had tended to his injuries. It was her kindness, though, that truly drew him to her. Philip lied back against the sand as he thought of the compassion she had showed towards him time and again. Surely, she must be one of God's own creatures to show such selflessness towards another.
Chapter 2
Blood soaked the cloth beneath his fingers. Philip struggled to maintain consciousness, grasping onto thoughts of Syrena to stop him from slipping away. She had been gone for a long while now; was she even coming back? Perhaps she had left him here to die, marooned him alone and wounded for the gulls and her sisters to devour.
No. That was not the Syrena he loved. She would come back for him. She had promised to heal him, and she would. Now, he just needed to hold on so that he could see her again. Philip pressed his bandage even more tightly against his abdomen, determined to last long enough to see her again.
A glint of silver in the waves caught his attention. At first, he thought it nothing more than a trick of the light, but then he spotted another flash of scales. Syrena had returned. He smiled as he watched her drag herself onto land, her hands filled with unfamiliar plants and the shirt he had given her tucked under one arm. "You came back," he said in wonder.
"Yes," she replied. Syrena kissed his forehead before prying his hand away from his wound. She inspected the angry red cut and grabbed a few leaves of a dark green plant, popping them into her mouth. Philip winced in pain and instinctively tried to push her away when she spread the lips of the cut, but when she spat out the now-ground leaves and started to rub the mixture against his skin, he relaxed. The pain dissipated the instant the cool, creamy substance touched his flesh, and Philip moaned at the sensation.
"Thank you," he said as she pulled away.
Syrena smiled down at him and wrapped the cut again, this time using his shirt as a bandage. "Eat this." She presented a few pieces of what Philip guessed was seaweed and watched as he put them into his mouth. He'd had nothing to drink for hours, so he gagged around the vile-tasting plant when he tried to swallow, but eventually he managed to force it down his throat and smiled in gratitude towards the mermaid. Syrena kissed him, her lips warm and inviting against his own, and when she withdrew, he could not help but eye her nude form. Philip knew he shouldn't look upon Syrena in such a way; they were not married, and it was improper for a man of the cloth to lust after another under any circumstances. He had made his vows to the Church, and he had meant to obey the letter of their law.
But when he had taken those oaths, Philip had not yet met Syrena. She changed everything. He could never go back to the life of a missionary; he now belonged to her. So he felt no guilt as his eyes raked over nakedness, taking in the perfect ivory of her skin, the soft curve of her hips, and the gentle movement of her breasts. Philip looked up into her eyes. "You are truly beautiful," he said.
At those words, Syrena smiled and studied him as well. Clothed only in his underclothes, Philip had rarely been so exposed in front of a woman, but he felt no shame. If he could enjoy Syrena's form, then surely she could take pleasure in his as well. Philip licked his lips in anticipation and worry, nervous that Syrena would find him unattractive. For he knew he could not match her beauty, but he hoped she would not think him undesirable. He did not have to wait long for her response, though, as she pressed their bodies flush against each other and ground her lips against his own. Philip's flesh seemed to ignite, warmth and desire spreading to every inch of his being, and his hands explored her back, legs, and arms as their mouths moved together. He felt her breath quicken, and she clutched his arm with one hand while the other ran over his chest. When they separated, her pupils were dilated with desire.
"I love you," she whispered. Syrena kissed him again, this time gently, before rolling off of him.
Philip stroked her cheek with his thumb. "And I you," he said. His thirst drew him from his haze of love. "I need something to drink. Do you know where I can find fresh water?"
Syrena thought for a moment. "There is a spring in the jungle, but I know not where."
"I suppose I should start walking, then." Philip smiled and stood up. The movement jostled his wound, but he felt no rush of pain or blood this time. Syrena had healed him well. She helped him into his boots. "Do you know which way I should walk?" he asked.
"That way, I think." She pointed to the northwest as she spoke.
He needed water, but he did not wish to leave her. "Will you come with me?"
She shook her head. "No. Your wound." It was all the explanation he needed. Philip couldn't risk reopening his cut by lifting her.
"I'll see you shortly, then." He kissed her cheek and walked into the jungle. Philip marveled at the verdant foliage. Flowers carpeted the jungle floor, and heavy fruits hung off the limbs of trees, ripe and ready to be picked. The enormous trees, living testament to God's power, surrounded him, making Philip feel small and insignificant. Here, with reminders of the Lord all around him, he began again to doubt his vows. Yes, he had sworn his life and his love to the Lord, but he could not deny himself the bond he felt with Syrena. He must stay with her, no matter the Church's views on their union.
Remembering the press of her body against his only reaffirmed his decision. He felt again the pressure that had grown between them, begging to be released. Philip would not, could not, live without her. He could never again be a loyal servant to God, for he now belonged to another.
He plucked a red fruit from a low-hanging branch and bit into it, the juice it released into his mouth sweet and tart at the same time. Philip smiled as he walked deeper into the jungle towards the spring, which he could hear trickling in the distance, pleased with his choice. His infidelity against God, he was sure, would not go unnoted, but he would stay with Syrena.
If she was sin itself, he would gladly be damned.
Chapter 3
She fell back against him, and he held her tight against his chest for a moment before helping her back up to her feet. "You're getting much better," Philip said as her knees wobbled as she struggled to regain her balance.
Syrena took a hesitant step forward, and though he followed close behind to catch her, she did not fall. She gestured for him to stay back and walked six more uneven paces before collapsing to the sand. "Are you all right?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Lift me." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her head against his neck as he rubbed small circles onto her thigh with his thumb.
"Where do you wish to go?"
Syrena did not lift her head, but he understood her muffled words. He tucked her even more closely against his chest and started for their little camp. It was not a short walk, for over the weeks, Syrena's legs had grown strong, and now they often walked far from their camp site as she practiced. Philip could hear birdsong from the trees and the gentle movement of the ocean against the rocks, and he marveled at the beauty of God's creation in silence as they neared the camp.
Philip's love for one of His creations in particular had driven him mad, for he could not escape Syrena. She had closely overseen every step of his recovery, tending him with gentle, skilled fingers and keeping him company on the many long days when he could do little more than rest. Everywhere he turned, she was before him, completely exposed as Eve had been in the garden. Philip marveled Adam had not been seduced by Lucifer first, for he could not believe that an apple could be more tempting than a woman.
"Philip, put me down," said Syrena. He lowered her to the ground, only letting go once he was certain she was steady on her feet. "Look at me." She tilted his face with her thumb so that green and brown eyes met. "You wish to go back."
He nodded. "I must, Syrena. I have sworn to God –"
"You have married your Church and will leave me here with nothing!" Tears sparkled in her eyes, and she pushed him away, almost tumbling from the force it required.
But Philip grabbed her wrist with one hand and cupped her face with the other. "No, never. I hoped to take you with me, that we could build a life together, perhaps find a little house not far from shore so that you will still be able to swim with your sisters. I never want us to be apart again, Syrena." He bent down for a kiss, and she leaned up to accept his embrace.
With the warmth of her skin against his, Philip could feel his body beginning to stir. "Then why do you not want me?" she asked, pressing herself even closer.
His throat threatened to close as she ran her fingers down his arms. "I do want you, but I cannot –"
"Then take me." She captured his bottom lip between her teeth, and Philip was lost. He wrapped his arms around her as she kissed down his neck and across his shoulders. Philip groaned and tightened his grip on the warm skin beneath his hands. His eyes closed in ecstasy as Syrena continued her path down his body, but snapped open when she pulled away. "The cloth," she said, and when Philip's tilted his head in question, she continued, "the cloth. We need it."
Her knees buckled as she turned towards their camp, but she put out a hand to stop him when he tried to lift her again. "No. I will walk." She took his hand in hers and led him to the large flag the Spanish had left behind. As she lay down, he saw only the contrast of her raven hair with the white cloth, the pink of her lingering sunburn against the red of the cross of St. James. Philip hesitated for an instant, uncertain he could blaspheme the cross, but he soon lowered himself down as well.
Weeks of fantasies had not prepared him for this moment. Syrena waited for him to make an advance, but when she realized that none was forthcoming, she pulled him flush against her. Again, he felt as if on fire, and when she guided his hand to her breast, Philip felt ready to burst with his need for her. His hands moved of their own accord as he kissed her neck, and he smiled with satisfaction as the tempo of her heartbeat increased under his ministrations.
Her hands continued to wander his body, pinching here, soothing there. She draped one of her legs over his and rolled onto her back, pulling him along. Philip could see the certainty in her brown eyes, but he asked all the same. "Take me," she answered, settling her legs over each of his shoulders. Philip kissed her again, but she was impatient and broke away from him quickly. Though he maneuvered himself into position, still he hesitated. Here lay the precipice, and beyond this point, there could be no possibility of returning to God. But when he saw the anticipation in Syrena's face, Philip's own mind was made. He pressed forward, and all thoughts of God and church disappeared.
They moved together, heat and pressure building inside and between them. Philip groaned her name as he entered a bliss he had never before experienced. He opened his eyes to see Syrena below him, her face still contorted in unfulfilled desire. She brought his hand to her hips, and together, they brought her the same pleasure. Philip pulled out from her and wrapped the flag around them. "I love you," he whispered against her ear.
"I love you," repeated Syrena. Her lips still swollen, she gave him one last kiss before cuddling into the curve of his body and falling asleep. Though Philip's eyelids were heavy, he could not join her in sleep. Visions of hell and flames tore through his mind, twenty-five years of masses echoing together in a horrible cacophony.
The sun sank low on the horizon, orange and violet dancing over the waves. As night overcame day, Philip banished those demons. He prayed before he joined Syrena in sleep. For though he had chosen to walk in the valley of darkness, he was not afraid.
[About the Nightmare Machine on Hologram Fun World]
Lando Calrissian: All major theme parks have delays. When they opened Disneyland in 1956, nothing worked!
Han Solo: Yeah, but Lando, if Pirates of the Caribbean breaks down, the pirates don't eat the tourists.
What is your favorite type of comment on your fics?
Oh Anon, you have no idea what you've done here. I have personally been so freaking lucky with both the level and the range of types of responses and comments I've gotten on my fics. I'd say that about 90% of the comments I've gotten over the years have been the kind that I love to receive. So here we go. In no particular order, my favorite kind of comments are:
Keysmashes
Coded in emojis (caveat of positive comments in emojis, i've received negative comments coded in emojis and don't care to repeat that experience)
Tell me how I made you cry/laugh/heartsick/horny/furious with the characters I don't care I just want you to feel things when you read my stories and tell me how I tortured you because I feed off your emotions... that sounded kinda dark
"This really resonated with me because..." Yes. I love hearing your real stories and how you connect to my works of fiction.
"How dare you." I see this as a challenge mwahahaha
Quote the story back to me and I will die in a puddle of writerly happiness. Quote it to me and comment on my words with your humorous take on it and I will love you forever.
"I forgot to eat/sleep/bathe..." Incredibly flattered but please practice better self care. <3
There is almost always at least That One Thing that I put into every chapter I post that made me personally cackle with glee or think that Hey maybe I'm not so bad at this writing thing. Find the thing and comment on it and you will have my undying love forever.
Regular commenters who comment often enough that I can tell who the comments are from without looking at usernames. you have no idea the kind of nirvana this experience causes.
Tumblr asks that start with "This made me think of your story..." I may explode with happiness.
"I'm so glad I found you/this story."
In short. Comment on the fics you love to give a writer instant serotonin boosts.
idk if this is controversial or not, but I really like when non-professional writing like fic has hints of author bleedthrough when it comes to like, what different people assume is common knowledge. Like sometimes I’ll be reading a fic and it’ll just be obvious that the person writing it is either obsessed with medicine or has been to medical school, because they’ll use terms that are just a shade too technical without explaining them. It’s never the super specific stuff that they’d know other people are unaware of, it’s always the things that once you’ve known it for a while you forget it’s niche knowledge. It’s fun because as a fanfic reader it reminds me of how this is a fun hobby community, where everyone has their own thing going on outside of fandom. Everyone’s got their own specialties and they can’t help but write that into their work sometimes
aww is there a reason we can't see your writing? when you click on the hyperlinks it takes you to the page where tumblr says nothing exists :/
Oh no! Thanks for pointing this out.
I haven't updated my writing pages in years, so it might just be link rot. I don't foresee myself having the time to sit down and fix this over the next couple weeks, so for now I'll just point you towards my AO3 page: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamemakers/pseuds/Gamemakers
Thanks for the ask, friend! And sorry for the delay in answering! I'm trying to catch up on a lot of things right now, both on here and away from here lol.
🙅♀️ What is one trope you refuse to ever write?
I hate to say I'd never write it because there are a few tropes I used to claim that I'd never write, but then discovered that really what I didn't like about it was the way they usually get written? Anyways, my biggest hangup is always large power differences, so things like teacher/student and slave/owner or massive age gaps are usually off the books for me, at least in regards to fanfic. Not interested in romanticizing those situations and I feel like writing my fave ships into them implies that romanticizing, even if the content does not. Does this make sense? I think it stems from the fact that I don't enjoy writing one half of my otp taking advantage of the other or forcing them into a dubious consent situation where they can't say "no." As I said, though, I've ventured into the world of age gap here and there and I don't hate it, lol, but I feel like that's because I've tried to equalize the power they hold. And I'm rambling. Next!
🗑 What is one fic idea that you loved at first but then scrapped?
Too many to count at this point. I've written a lot of short pieces for prompts here on tumblr that I ended on pseudo-cliffhangers or with open endings. At some point, I planned expansions for some of them, outlines and a few even had a couple chapters written before I fizzled out. This is one of them, featuring law office Everlark with a dash of former stripper!Peeta. I got stalled on it because it turned into fluffy romcom with no sure direction, and other projects distracted me. *sigh*
✏️ What is your fave fic from another writer?
So difficult to narrow this down, but here are two fics that I love beyond reason. Unfortunately, they are neither of them finished entirely. Technically the one is marked as complete, but it's sequel is not and I may die and ascend to the next plane if these either of these two writers ever return to finish them.
I am planning to finish Quicksilver! I spent 2021 finishing my doctorate and moving for a new job, but I’m dipping my toes back into non-academic writing after a long time away. I suspect I’ll post a couple smaller things just to get back into the groove before you see a Quicksilver update, but time will tell.
I have to finish this story. There are some threats and insults in there that are too good not to use but are entirely inappropriate for my personal life.
(back of a quirky literary novel voice): Sometimes, things are not what they seem. An architecture critic disappears for three months to follow bike racing around Europe, rife with questions of becoming and desire. A real estate agent uploads a listing to an aggregator, knowing that it will be a difficult sell but thinking not much of it, for, like Tolstoy's unhappy families, all houses are difficult to sell in their own way. A house is built in 1980 in Staten Island and would have thrived as an anonymous bastion of tastelessness had the internet not been invented. But the internet had been invented. All of these things are brought together here, through truly unlikely circumstances.
Let's not bother with the formalities this time.
None of you will buy this house.
Sitting Room
Does anything here make sense? The periwinkle sofa, the twinkling of bronze glass, a truly transitional material, a mall exiting stagflation and entering the sultry trap of Reaganite libertarianism that would leave it empty twenty-five years later. The sense that one is always changing levels, trapped in a landing of some sort, never quite arrived on stable footing. But that's just the style, one assumes. One foot in the seventies, with all their strife, one foot in the beginning of what felt like the end of history. One's ass on the iridescent pleather sofa, waiting for the centuries to change.
Sitting Room II
My suspicion is that there are no pictures of the mirrored mystery foyer because the photographer's identity would be henceforth revealed, and the point of all real estate photography is for the viewer to imagine themselves as the only person in a given space.
Dining Room
The shinier things are, the richer one is, obviously.
Kitchen
This serious sociological research also happens to coincide with the Giro d'Italia, one hopes.
Landing
(crediting @cocainedecor on twitter for their term. but also, where can i get some chevron mirrors, asking for a friend.)
Master Bedroom
just asking questions
Bedroom 2
Ostensibly bad opinion that I will nevertheless defend: the corner bed slaps, let's bring it back.
Basement
(Staten Island accent): Hey, I'm workshoppin' some metaphors here!
Alright, we've entertained this monstrosity enough - time to wrap things up.
Rear Exterior
You know, McMansion Hell has been around for five years now, and has coined many terms - an art, ahoy matey, lawyer foyer, brass n' glass, pringles can of shame - but I have to say, I hope fireplace nipples also sticks.
Anyway, that's all for 1980 - join us next month for 1981.
If you like McMansion Hell, support it on Patreon!
Remember, if you’d like us to showcase another work of yours (or if you have any questions), put it in an ask, and we will answer it with a link to that work. Thank you!
Everlark
Writer: @mockingjayflyingfree - The Miner’s Wife (Rated E); Katniss and Peeta go to IKEA (Rated T); The Wedding (Rated E)
Artist: @parcai Everlark in Catching Fire
Writer: arollercoasterthatonlygoesup - If The City Never Sleeps (Then That Makes Two) (Rated T); With A Storm Like This (Rated K+); Canary In The Coalmine (Rated T)
Writer: @bubblegum1425 - Skimming The Surface (Rated M); When You Wish Upon A Star (Rated E); Beneath You’re Beautiful (Rated E)
Writer: Court81981 - Highland Fling (Rated M); Spin (Rated M); A Favorable Wind (Rated M)
Writer: @peetaspikelets - A Love For The Ages (Rated E); Wanted (Rated E); Sink Or Swim (Rated T)
Writer: @gamesmakers - Ensuring the Enduring Happiness of Katniss Everdeen (Rated G); Don’t Stand So Close To Me (Rated E); That Time We Took Over the World (Rated T)
Writer: @porchwood - When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun (Rated M); Wedded Bliss (Rated T); Prince Peeta and the Mockingjay-Maid, or The Prince Who Loved Birds (Rated M)
Writer: Panskiss123 - A Father’s Love (Rated G); Terror And Healing (Rated E); Stiff Muscles, Sore Heart (Rated E)
Writer: @silvercistern - Flux and Dustjackets (Rated E); The List (Rated T); Happy Endings (Rated E)
Hey, I'm not sure if you're still writing, but I would LOVE to read more Airtight! Do you plan to continue? <3
Writing (or at least fanfic) is on hold right now as I’m finishing up my doctoral dissertation. I’m really hoping to get back to Quicksilver and Airtight in particular once I’m finished and settled into my new job!
Thanks for asking. I’d been meaning to make a post along these lines for ages but just hadn’t gotten around to it.
‘Bridgerton’: Simone Ashley Lands Female Lead In Season 2 Of Netflix Hit From Shondaland
Simone Ashley (Because the Night, Sex Education) has been tapped as the female lead opposite Jonathan Bailey in Season 2 of Netflix and Shondaland’s hugely popular Regency-era period drama series Bridgerton, based on Julia Quinn’s romance novels.
Ashley will play Anthony’s romantic interest, Kate Sharma. Newly arrived in London, Kate is a smart, headstrong young woman who suffers no fools — Anthony Bridgerton (Bailey) very much included.
In Season 2, Bridgerton continues to break conventions on race. Anthony’s love interest (named Kate Sheffield in Quinn’s novel) and her family were conceived by the series’ creative team as being of Indian descent in a continuation of the reimagined world created in Season 1, which included several major Black characters, including the Duke of Hastings (Regé-Jean Page), Lady Danbury (Adjoa Andoh) and Queen Charlotte (Golda Rosheuvel).
has a comment someone left on a fic of yours ever made you laugh out loud?
has a comment someone left on a fic of yours ever made you cry?
and because i know we’re all egocentric, have you ever made yourself laugh out loud or cry with a fic you wrote?
what would this fic be about, based on the title? (asker provides fake fic title) (x)
if you couldn’t finish (one of) your wip(s) for some reason, what writer would you trust with finishing it, if any? (asker can choose what wip)
what is your favourite sense to incorporate in your writing and why?
what is you favourite sentence/paragraph? read it to us! (asker can choose what fic) (x)
if you got a computer virus that deleted all your fics but had just enough time to save one before they were wiped out, which fic would you pick and why?
the “you got kudos“ e-mail is usually much appreciated, but is there a fic you wish you didn’t get these e-mails for? if so, which one and why?
what word do you keep using like it’s going out of style?
what grammar mistake do you keep making no matter how many times your beta corrects you?
what headcanon will you keep implementing in your fics, even if canon ends up contradicting it?
do you make playlists for when you write? if so, share!
what trope would you refuse to write even if you were paid to do it?
describe (one of) your wip(s) in the weirdest/most contrived way possible! (asker can choose what wip)
