Scream's Fics

Just an outlet for my selfworks, Fanfictions and little quips about whatever characters I'm into at the time. *ASK BOX OPEN* DISCLAIMER: I do not own any artwork, but will try to give credit to their creators or state otherwise. AVATAR: illustrated by Esra Roise

[finding-a-whim-deactivated20210]

Me: I write for three people only: me, myself, and I

Also me: LIKES? REBLOGS? COMMENTS? ANYTHING!?! Was it… WAS IT GOOD?!? DID SOMEONE LIKE IT!?!?

[raevenlywrites]

I write for me.

I share for the validation.

[shadesfalcon]

send an ask: get to know your author

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

4) favorite character you’ve written

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

7) when asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

8) favorite genre to write

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

12) your weaknesses as an author

13) your strengths as an author

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

15) why did you start writing?

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

19) when it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

22) are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

[count-snekula]

hey all

i’m sorry to keep asking for help like this but i need it.

my fiancé has had to take several days off of work and i’m disabled to the point of being unable to work, so we’re pretty screwed in the way of food and bills.

we have 1396 coming up this next month in bills and won’t be able to cover it all unless we starve ourselves and the cats.

please, help us. we want to keep the apartment and feed our babies and ourselves.

my paypal: paypal.me/katsighsalot

[count-snekula]

guys please we have no food and $1300 in bills that we can’t cover. a dollar helps. a reblog helps.

[tobermoriansass]

Gay Stories for Straight Allies

It’s said that the representation of queer people on television has been revolutionised over the past ten or twenty years. But has it? While

I was profoundly moved the first time I watched Angels in America. And perhaps the only way a wider straight audience could grasp the intensity and scale of the abandonment was for them not to perceive it as an accusation. The moral enormity of the subject makes that a difficult call for a playwright to make, and perhaps in communicating the enormity he erased the importance of making the accusation. I say that not to accuse Kushner, but because it provides a useful framework for thinking about what has followed. What if, following Schulman, the successful emergence of queer figures and queer culture into the wider mainstream has only been possible by removing the problem of the heterosexual.

What I liked about QEftSG was, for all its myriad failures, its problematic jokes (I haven’t watched back but I’m certain they’ll be in there) and its relentless aspirational consumerism, its whiteness, it did at least acknowledge the problem of the heterosexual. It acknowledged that amongst gay people, between us, straight people are a problem, and that queer people in general, enjoying hanging out with each other, have a culture that does not revolve around the figure of the heterosexual. Most early manifestations of queer culture breaking through to the mainstream in fact understood that, and focused on intra-queer dynamics. Queer as Folk was about gays; its storylines were about gays wanting to fuck other gays, or not. There were no straight men really in Will and Grace, and the complex friendship between two different modes of being a gay man was central to the plot. Perhaps this sounds stupid, but The L Word was made for lesbians to watch. In Tales of the City the gay characters drank at gay bars, went to gay saunas, and had gay sex. Even in the notoriously homophobic Friends, when Ross’ ex-wife became a lesbian, well, she became a lesbian, and put away childish heterosexual things.

Seeing a queer person on screen has become more palatable to a straight audience (Generally this means a gay man, occasionally a lesbian, rarely a bisexual, and trans representation is a horrific nightmare all of its own, such that I won’t focus on it in this essay, but instead point you towards the Laverne Cox and Sam Feder film Disclosure.) For many, this represents progress. Perhaps it is, but the price of that representation has been, in my opinion, a shift away from the context in which gay life is portrayed. A gay person is acceptable on primetime television, but as an adjunct to the heterosexual story; their issues, such as they are portrayed, are increasingly seen as moral thought experiments on which the straight characters can dwell, or even just as a signifier that the heterosexual characters are liberal and open-minded enough to have gay friends. But the depiction of queer lives operating independently of the heterosexual, of queers who have aspects of their lives that don’t concern the heterosexual, or a culture that acknowledges the problem of the heterosexual, are few and far between.

While there are more individual gays on screen than ever, the absence of life as it exists between queers is almost more pronounced today than it was twenty years ago. Short of Pose, an historical drama set in the early nineties, and Tales of the City, a sequel to a show first broadcast at the same time, I’m not sure I can think of a single show like Queer as Folk or The L Word which portrays such a culture. The issues that face LGBTQ people are almost entirely gone from our screens, except from when, as Schulman points out, they are intensely personal, stripped from the political, and provide an opportunity for growth for a heterosexual. The trials of coming out are in, the trials of finding a job or apartment when faced with homophobic bosses and landlords is out, learning to love yourself is in, learning to find one remaining bar still open in this damn town where I can get a cold beer and a blowjob is out, a gay best friend who seems to have no other gay friends is in, access to fucking healthcare or an appointment at the gender identity clinic is out.

Of course, the use of a queer person as an audience surrogate is nothing new, but that feels different. The external eye that a queer character, especially a narrator, can bring to a story can be used to help explain the dynamics of an otherwise closed society from the perspective of someone who might pass, but nonetheless is chronicling and analysing with the eye of the queer, watching for dangers and idiosyncrasies. In Brideshead Revisited, a novel by Evelyn Waugh adapted for TV in 1981, Charles Ryder plays theexemplar of the queer audience surrogate. His sexuality lets him through the gates of Brideshead, allowing him to explain and decode from the inside, to the outside, the vagaries of upper class morals and priorities. Christopher Isherwood plays a similar trick in Goodbye to Berlin; the homosexual is somehow outside of the class system and marriage market just enough to look in, in his words as “a camera with its shutter open, quite passive, recording, not thinking.” Lesbian author Patricia Highsmith’s stunning character of Tom Ripley, a sociopathic fag par excellence, allows him and the reader to move effortlessly through the class dynamics of the rich leaving bodies in our wake, and in The Line of Beauty gay author Alan Hollinghurst provides a cognizant riff on the theme, with the protagonist Nick Guest (guest, geddit?) slipping between the heights of the wealthy Thatcherite elite and the working class gay lives they were maligning and destroying. But all of these characters perform a similar function; observing from the outside a social circle relentlessly obsessed with itself, blind to the existence of the different, the other. They are our mole on the inside, and they allow the reader to see it with the fresh eyes of a queer who can never belong. “What the fuck,” you end up thinking, “are these people doing?”

This is fundamentally different to gay stories for straight allies. Within all of those stories, it’s conceivable that the queer view of heterosexuality might make an accusation of misdeed or oddness in which the heterosexual reader is complicit. But in the gay story for the straight ally, there is always a more pressing concern: to make the good heterosexual feel included. While it may be in some way important to “see yourself on screen”, what good is it if you don’t see yourself within the context of a wider queer culture, if the purpose of your story as a queer person is solely to confer some moral benefit, to offer a fable, for a straight life? It feels like, as queer individuals are ever more present on our screens, actual queer stories are increasingly absent. Mainstream manifestations like RuPaul’s Drag Race feel more like an outreach project for straight people, offering an exciting chance for people to watch competitive TV without having to endure heterosexual men, than anything that speaks to and for queer people. Even the more specific stories of gay life that slipped through in earlier seasons, testimonies against shame, or even the rare invocation of queer solidarity, seem to be replaced with a series of self-help mantras based on personal growth and self-realisation.

A recent commissioning brief I read for a broadcasting opportunity that claimed to be “for and about LGBTQ+ communities” included the following paragraph, which I include here not to pick on them but because I think it sheds a light on one of the reasons for this subtle shift. “Queer perspectives are central to popular entertainment and learning,” it began. “What is key to their success is not only reflecting these characters and issues authentically, but creating a space for a broader audience to engage with the world seen through a Queer lens.” What if the things queer people need to say to each other, the things that we say amongst ourselves, don’t create a space for a broader audience? What if the very point of queer culture is the exclusion of the figure of the heterosexual? What if the things queer people want and need to say and hear with each other are things that straight people might find challenging, unfair, accusatory?

These queer stories for straight allies appear on the face of it to be acts of representation for queer people. But if the stories are always told with one eye on a potential straight audience, always hoping to snag a little of that market share, to sprinkle a little of that charismatic queer pixie dust on the heterosexuals, to make them feel a little better, a little more included, a little more fabulous, are those stories actually queer stories? Where do we go for queer stories for queer people?

[ao3commentoftheday]

I had a popular fic and it made me real invested in external response and validation and competition, and it was an amazing experience at the time but the response is fading and in the end it did damage my passion for writing. I know I must sound ungrateful but I think my mental foundation/headspace wasn't suitable for that level of response because I got very obsessed and I dealt with it badly internally. It enhanced all my insecurities and feelings of inadequacy and constant comparison, especially if I got a lot less response in any new fics I wrote. So now it's hard to enjoy a relatively lesser response (and thereby make writing and community/fandom more enjoyable) now that my brain has made that the new standard and everything a competition. I can't write anymore. My mind is wired for comparing and competing and trying to work out what people will like and what they won't, and I hate it because it paralyzed me so much now that I can't write anything or feel interested in it. I wish I could stop feeling or thinking this way, and write what I want and enjoy fandom the way I used to before all this and stop competing, but I don't know how. I feel like I can't get it back but I miss it and it was one of the few things that made me happy.

*hugs you lots*

I've been there, anon. I had a really popular fic during a really bad time in my life and the comments and interactions I had for those few months really got me through. There was the inevitable crash after the high, though.

I recommend taking an extended break - if not from writing then at least from posting. Give yourself 6 months off and "detox" yourself from even the possibility of comments etc. It worked for me anyway, so it might be worth a try?

Try to think about what it was that made you happy. Was it the praise? The attention? The conversation? The feeling of community? The popularity? The excitement of getting emails every day that you knew would be nice messages?

Receiving attention from other people feels really good. Creating something that's well-received feels really good. You can find those same things in other venues, or find things that are similar to them.

If you're lonely, then try to reach out in your social circle to get some quality time with a friend or family member. If you want that reassurance about your creativity, then maybe get a cheer reader or two to support you. If you just want to receive nice messages in your inbox a few times a week, sign up for an email subscription. There are lots of them out there for positive thinking or motivation etc.

What about the rest of you? Have you been in anon's boat before? Can you offer any advice?

[rainbowhairanddaffodils]

I agree with the detox idea. I’ve had fairly popular fics (though never really popular) and it makes it still disappointing when I post stuff that I put a ton of work into and not getting views or comments--but I’m better about dealing with it than I used to be.

The way I handle it most often is to finish a story completely before I post it. Yes, that can make a long time without the input of others, depending on the length of that fic--but if I have it done, that means I might as well keep sharing it, right? That’s how I look at it. Also, showing my interested friends previews helps.

I try to remember that I put time and effort into a story because I enjoy writing the story. I try to remember all the positive comments on other fics--and that those things still apply to what I’m writing now. Going back and looking at old comments can be refreshing so long as you try to look at them positively and remember that you are still the kind writer and person that those comments applied to, even if your content does not get the same response.

Writing is hard. Finding a way that keeps you motivated is harder. Best of luck to anyone going through this slump.

[ao3commentoftheday]

I had a popular fic and it made me real invested in external response and validation and competition, and it was an amazing experience at the time but the response is fading and in the end it did damage my passion for writing. I know I must sound ungrateful but I think my mental foundation/headspace wasn't suitable for that level of response because I got very obsessed and I dealt with it badly internally. It enhanced all my insecurities and feelings of inadequacy and constant comparison, especially if I got a lot less response in any new fics I wrote. So now it's hard to enjoy a relatively lesser response (and thereby make writing and community/fandom more enjoyable) now that my brain has made that the new standard and everything a competition. I can't write anymore. My mind is wired for comparing and competing and trying to work out what people will like and what they won't, and I hate it because it paralyzed me so much now that I can't write anything or feel interested in it. I wish I could stop feeling or thinking this way, and write what I want and enjoy fandom the way I used to before all this and stop competing, but I don't know how. I feel like I can't get it back but I miss it and it was one of the few things that made me happy.

*hugs you lots*

I've been there, anon. I had a really popular fic during a really bad time in my life and the comments and interactions I had for those few months really got me through. There was the inevitable crash after the high, though.

I recommend taking an extended break - if not from writing then at least from posting. Give yourself 6 months off and "detox" yourself from even the possibility of comments etc. It worked for me anyway, so it might be worth a try?

Try to think about what it was that made you happy. Was it the praise? The attention? The conversation? The feeling of community? The popularity? The excitement of getting emails every day that you knew would be nice messages?

Receiving attention from other people feels really good. Creating something that's well-received feels really good. You can find those same things in other venues, or find things that are similar to them.

If you're lonely, then try to reach out in your social circle to get some quality time with a friend or family member. If you want that reassurance about your creativity, then maybe get a cheer reader or two to support you. If you just want to receive nice messages in your inbox a few times a week, sign up for an email subscription. There are lots of them out there for positive thinking or motivation etc.

What about the rest of you? Have you been in anon's boat before? Can you offer any advice?

[rainbowhairanddaffodils]

I agree with the detox idea. I’ve had fairly popular fics (though never really popular) and it makes it still disappointing when I post stuff that I put a ton of work into and not getting views or comments--but I’m better about dealing with it than I used to be.

The way I handle it most often is to finish a story completely before I post it. Yes, that can make a long time without the input of others, depending on the length of that fic--but if I have it done, that means I might as well keep sharing it, right? That’s how I look at it. Also, showing my interested friends previews helps.

I try to remember that I put time and effort into a story because I enjoy writing the story. I try to remember all the positive comments on other fics--and that those things still apply to what I’m writing now. Going back and looking at old comments can be refreshing so long as you try to look at them positively and remember that you are still the kind writer and person that those comments applied to, even if your content does not get the same response.

Writing is hard. Finding a way that keeps you motivated is harder. Best of luck to anyone going through this slump.

[rpmemesandasks]

If I follow you:

It means I like your writing

It means I like your muse

It means I would like to write with you

It means I like the potential between our muses

It means I would like to talk to you

It means you can at any point IM me

It means you can at any point interact with me

It means I think you’re an awesome person

[shaddydraws]

basically

[screamsfics]

I have opened my ask box on this blog

My blog is now open to anons and otherwise, for a little while, I may turn it off in the future, but for now, it is open.

[screamsfics]

I have started a headcanons blog

you can find it under https://bad-hair-day-headcanons.tumblr.com/

I am going to be taking requests there shortly after I post a few more of the headcanons that are in my head right now.  

[screamsfics]

Back From the Dead [Braig-Xigbar/reader] spoiler free

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Words: 3399

Warnings: like one swear and some angst

Summary: I can’t write song fics but I tried, and these are the fruits of my labor, the song it was based on is Back From the Dead by Skylar Grey, I totally did not do well on making that clear. Please enjoy the angst anyways. Also, this is my first non-OC piece so be gentle. 

I held the funeral the day you left A black umbrella and a sad song in my head Buried your pictures that I loved the most ‘Cause if you survived me I just didn't wanna know

When Braig died you thought that you had too, you roamed around your house alone, crying for days on end and refusing to eat, feeling sick to your stomach just looking at anything that even remotely reminded you of him. When you weren’t pacing the floors of your home, you were laying in bed staring at the ceiling, wrapped up in one of his shirts, unable to feel anything but empty due to the fact that he was no longer there to hold you through the night. You couldn’t sleep, fearing that if you did, you would have nightmares, Braig was always the one to hold you and keep the bad dreams at bay. Now, who was going to hold you and keep you safe?

You had just started to make dinner when one of the castle maids came pounding on your door. The young girl looked distraught and scared out of her wits, her eyes like dinner plates and her mouth hanging open. Within a second you knew what had happened. It felt like someone had pelted you with rocks. You fell to your knees, tears spilling down your cheeks. How could this happen? The castle was supposed to be safe from these sorts of things.

Just like that the world around you began to slowly deteriorate, the once beautiful castle was now becoming more and more twisted every day. To your dismay, the happy and serene world that you once lived in was decaying more and more since the day that Braig died. It hurt you to see your hometown like this, to the point that when you heard that others were leaving you decided it would be in your best interest to try and get out before it got worse.

You barely remember the days leading up to your escape. You had hurriedly packed a bag and thrown on a few layers of clothing so as to not look suspicious to anyone who might ask questions- you just wanted out. You quickly scanned your home one last time for anything you might want. Your eyes fell onto Braig’s favorite shirt, you hadn’t moved it from the laundry hamper where he had left it, afraid that if you did so it would stop smelling of him. Making up your mind you grabbed it, shoved it into your bag and ran out the door, quiet as a mouse.

I'm so confused I don't know what to feel Should I throw my arms around you or kill you for real? ‘Cause I worked so hard to put the past to rest Now it's tumbling down on me just like an avalanche

10 years later you were settled into a nice home with a happy life, you lived in a tiny apartment above a shop in Traverse Town, where you made and sold clothes for a living. Many other people from Radiant Garden had moved here with you, although, you had never met many of them until now. Your life seemed quite nice and it was as if you had never lived anywhere else. Occasionally you would go in your closet to pick out something to wear and see Braig’s shirt, then pick it up and smell it, reminded of how he used to hold you and how you would constantly tell him to stop leaving his clothes around the house. Your favorite memories would always come to mind, but then so would the memory of having to leave without ever knowing what had really happened to him. It would make you tear up and you would thrust the shirt back into the closet, unable to do anything for a few hours.

You constantly berated yourself for letting the dead man still have so much of an effect on you. He was gone, how were you supposed to do anything if you kept crying all the time? You had been asked out by a few men around town, often turning them down because you wanted to focus on your work, or you were busy doing something else that night, but you couldn’t make up that excuse much longer. You were needed some company, someone to talk to and comfort you when you felt like this.

As much as you wanted someone in your life, part of you still couldn’t accept the idea of someone new coming into your life until you knew what had happened. It was a stupid question to ask and you were quite aware of this, but you asked yourself very often what happened. How had he died, and if you could get the answers, would you even want them? You mostly shook it off, but more often than not, you were still stuck in the same rut where you overanalyzed the past and ignored the world around you. That was all true until one day a good friend of yours set up a date for you. Normally you would say no and tell her thank you for the thought, but this time- this time you felt different. You accepted, setting it up at the local cafe and agreeing to meet them the next day at noon. You spent the whole day stress cleaning your tiny apartment, throwing your sheets in the wash and dusting every possible surface and scrubbing the floors until they shined and reorganizing every room from top to bottom. You felt like a whole new person by the time you finished. When you looked at the time you sighed, it was well past midnight and you had a date tomorrow. Part of you felt giddy like a little kid, but somewhere deep inside, you felt a little twinge of regret. Setting that part of you aside, you climbed into bed and slowly drifted off to sleep.

You awoke in the morning to a very cloudy sky and lots of rain. You sighed, water wouldn’t keep you from doing something new and exciting. Getting out of bed, you walked to the shower, stripped and assessed yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t changed much since you left Radiant Garden, you still had the same face, just with a few more wrinkles on your forehead and around your eyes. Your hair was getting a bit long but you had it trimmed a few months back, so it wasn’t really all that bad. The only thing that you minded was how your skin was starting to sag on your body and how your stretch marks were getting longer. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but getting older, you get heavier. Braig loved you for every part of you, even the smallest little detail. He had always told you to stop worrying because it would just add more lines to your face which you would worry about more and then it would spiral out of control. Often you would stand in the kitchen, doing dishes, or cooking and Braig would come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, putting his head on your shoulder, and calling you affectionate names. That was all over now, at least with Braig it was.

You quickly showered and threw on some clean clothes, making sure to check your hair in the mirror before stepping out the door. You began making your way to the cafe and felt rather proud of yourself for being so open to new things. It wasn’t until you were about to go round the bend into the main square that you saw something in the corner of your eye. Thinking nothing of it you trudged ahead and walked towards the cafe, entering and sitting down across from your date.

I never thought that you and I would ever meet again I mourn the loss of you sometimes and pray for peace within The word "distraught" cannot describe how my heart has been But where do we begin now that you're back from the dead?

A few hours later you were full of food and eager to head home, your date wasn’t the worst, but it wasn’t the best either. The man had offered to pay and you let him, but he had been talking the whole time about his hobby, and when you had tried to ask him questions he would say, “but you’ve don’t understand, this is exactly what everyone wants you to think.” It was like talking to the world’s most annoying two-year-old. You couldn’t understand why your friend had set you up in the first place.

Rounding the bend to your apartment, you saw the shadow in the corner of your eye again. Your hair stood on end as you rushed to the door and into your apartment as fast as possible. It’s true that monsters had been roaming the streets of Traverse Town, but normally if you used caution you could get around them- besides the monsters weren’t sneaky they preferred to be out in the open and attack people. You took some deep breaths and began doing your daily chores while trying to convince yourself that it was just your imagination.

While you were doing your dishes from the day before, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and tug you towards a firm chest. Shocked, you twisted your body, taking the plate you were holding and smashing it with the head of the person behind you.

“Oh jeez, guess I should have knocked.”

You turned around fully, looking at the figure standing in your kitchen. It couldn’t be him, could it? This person had the same face, yes, but so much was different- so much was wrong. To start he had yellow eyes and an eyepatch, where he was supposed to have brown eyes and 20/20 vision. You supposed this could be due to what happened at Radiant Garden, but how? His hair was longer, and greyed in some places, due to age you thought, but then again neither of you were that old. The longer you stared the more you noticed, like the scar on his face and the same age marks that you noticed on yourself yesterday, only much less pronounced.

“I thought you were dead.”

“And leave you behind? As if!” Braig moved forward to hold you, but you took a step back. In all your dreams of having him back, you never imagined that so much would change. You didn’t even know if you wanted him back now. It wasn’t the way he looked so much as the fact that you weren’t the same person anymore. You had accepted his death, albeit you had to move to another world to do so. You couldn’t just welcome him back now with open arms and expect things to go back to the way they were.

“It’s been 10 years Braig,” you sighed and began picking up the pieces of plate that were scattered across the kitchen floor.

“I know, that’s why I’m here,” Braig bent down and began picking up pieces on the opposite end of the room.

“So? Why not come sooner?”

“Because I couldn’t, it wasn’t safe.”

“Not safe?” You squeezed your hands into fists, and stood up quickly, staring down your former lover. “They told me you were dead! I cried for months afterward, I couldn’t sleep because I was afraid that I would have to relive it in my dreams and I couldn’t handle that! After you died Radiant Garden turned to shit, the place you swore to protect turned to a pile of garbage and I had to leave it! I had to leave my home, my family and my friends! Do you know how hard that was? No, you don’t because you were dead!”

Braig stood up slowly, hanging his head in resignation, utterly defeated by your words. He had been so selfish and had had no idea what he had done to you. Was this really what had happened to you while he was gone? Had you truly become so bitter about his death? “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Good, because you didn’t even think to ask if I wanted you back now did you? Maybe next time you’ll think about things before you try faking your death again!” “Well, technically-” Braig began.

You let out a loud groan, and began rubbing your temples, “what now?”

“I’m technically still dead, just with the ability to roam about freely in a body similar to how I was when I was alive. If you want to get even more technical it’s a lot more complicated than that, but for now, let’s just leave it at I’m dead.”

“So if I get really mad and shove a knife through your chest you won’t die?”

“Well-” Braig waves his hand back and forth.

“Well, what? You either can or can’t die Braig, which one is it?”

“It’s not important.”

You glare daggers at him, he couldn’t do this it wasn’t right. 10 years had passed and you had all but moved on, it wasn’t fair, he couldn’t just come back into your life like this and think everything would go back to normal. He was, is, dead. That’s how it was and that’s how it would stay.

So you can't just come back now like a demon uninvited No, you can't just expect me to open my door to you because I never thought that you and I would ever meet again I mourn the loss of you sometimes and pray for peace within

You and Braig stayed like that for a solid minute, staring at each other angry and sad. Braig knew this reunion would be bittersweet, but at the same time hadn’t been quite as prepared for it as he had hoped.

“I’m sorry, and I’ll say it as many times as you want. I know I can’t make up for lost time, but I can tell you that I’m here now.”

“You’re not a sap, so don’t start now,” you chuckled dryly, remembering when you first met Braig, he had wolf-whistled at you as you were on your way home from work. You had thought he was possibly the crudest man you’d ever met. He would wolf whistle and say something lewd and you would continue to walk home for the next few weeks until one day his superior had told him that it was impolite to do say such things to a stranger. After that day there were no more wolf whistles or lewd comments, instead, it was silent as you walked home. You didn’t mind the quiet, but you did miss the indirect complement that Braig gave you by commenting on your outfits or how you were walking. So instead of letting the silence sit, you decided to approach him one day and ask him why he had stopped. When he explained you introduced yourself and told him simply that since you were no longer strangers he could be as loud and obnoxious as he wanted. Within the next week Braig had asked you out and the two of you were quite crazy about each other.

“No, no I’m not,” Braig pulled his ever cocky smirk- it was exactly the same as when you were young, giving you goosebumps like the first time he had flashed you the look. You felt betrayed by your heart, it wanted you to be with him, longed for the days when you two would just laze around the house and pretend that there was nothing outside the word but you two. You wanted that more than anything in the world, but you knew that those days were gone.

You closed your eyes, sighing deeply and rubbing your temples, “So, why are you here?”

Braig’s eyes shifted from you to the floor and back again, “I was in town and thought I’d drop by.”

“Okay asshole.”

“No, seriously. To make a long story short, I have some after lifey business to do here and I saw you earlier so I thought I would drop by and see how you are.” Braig said this as if it was the most normal thing that could possibly happen.

“So you saw that I was on a date and thought it would be okay to just, pop by and see your old lover that thinks your dead?” You said the last part a little bit too roughly and it showed when Braig winced.

“For one, I am dead and for another, I had no idea what you thought.”

You locked eyes, staring at each other, “what are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

You walked into the main part of your apartment, picking things up and putting them back down in new places as you went along.

“You’re nervous,” Braig followed you into your apartment, he knew you better than anyone else, he had been with you for years and gotten to know all of your little quirks, like the one where you picked up anything near you when you were nervous and put it in the oddest spot possible.

“So? My boyfriend who I thought died ten years ago just came back to life and wants to get back together all nice and normal like. I think I have a reason to be nervous.”

You moved into the bedroom, picking up anything you could have possibly missed from your cleaning spree the day before.

“Again, still technically dead,” Braig sighed, sitting on your bed.

You opened your closet to put something away and your eyes fell onto the only thing that you had left of the man you once knew. Grabbing his old shirt you closed the closet door and sat down next to him.

“This is one of the last things I have from Radiant Garden. It’s the last thing I have of you, I suppose you’ll want it now considering that you’re… well…” You sighed handing him the shit. You didn’t want to give it up, even if there was a chance that the two of you would get back together, it wouldn’t be the same. He seemed too different.

“You kept this?” Braig held the item of clothing and looked at carefully.

“Of course I did, I love you.”

Braig put one arm around you and grinned as if he had just heard the best secret ever. “You know, I’m still the same person, even if I look a little different and some time has passed.”

You lean into him, burying your face into his chest, “I know, it’s just that we didn’t pass that time together and it makes me feel like I did something wrong.”

You had been trying to reconcile with yourself that maybe this wasn’t a punishment and maybe it really was a second chance, not in the best way perhaps, but you could manage to somehow be with Braig again.

“Now look sweetheart, I wouldn’t have come back if I wasn’t absolutely positive that you and I would be okay,” Taking your chin in his hand, he lifted your face to meet his and gave you a quick peck on the lips. It was what you had needed to tell you that he was really there. That Braig was right there with you, holding you in his arms again like he used to.

It was all too overwhelming, your eyes brimmed over with tears and you couldn’t stop yourself. You reached up, grabbing Braig by the back of his neck and pulling him for another kiss. Even if he had hurt you, kissing him was the best feeling you could ever imagine.

“I missed you too, gorgeous,” Braig smirked, pressing you down into your bed and kissing you harder. You pulled him on top of you and wrapped your arms around him as tightly as possible, even hooking a leg around his waist for good measure.

Braig took no time letting his hands wander and feel you again, he wanted to feel and fill every nook and cranny possible on your body. He wanted to let you know that he was there and was not going anywhere anytime soon.

“Please don’t leave again,” you whispered.

Braig held your face in his hands, “I am not going anywhere.”

"Good."

[wadey-wilson]

me: *opens a new doc for a new fic*

the 629 started wips of mine that have been sitting untouched for 84 years:

[scream-for-help]

HOW ARE PEOPLE SO NICE TO THEIR CHARACTERS? I CAN ONLY BE A SADISTIC ASSHOLE.

[scream-for-help]

Just wrote 1600+ words of a fanfic that is gonna take a while to finish. Probably is a one to two parter. It’s for xigabar/reader and is my first ever 2nd person piece.

[screamsfics]

I am on my laptop and I have google docs open, hopefully I can start writing. 

[scream-for-help]

So…

I don’t write song fics much (more like they aren’t my favorites) but I have one that is perfect! But can’t decide whether to do it for one character or another. Must decide.

[screamsfics]

Through Glass (JDxOC) [Chapter One]

Summary: Everyone wonders what life was like for JD before they came to Havenfall, little do they know that some stones are best left unturned. Mosh pits and bar fights are the least of JD’s worries in this part of their life, especially with the lovely Angela around to steal everyone’s attention.

Words: 1083

JD hadn't been in the bar for more than 3 minutes when they spotted a familiar face seated at one of the tables sipping a beer and chatting with his table mates.

"Hey Danny," JD pulled up and chair and straddled the back of it analyzing the rest of the people at the table. Two more guys and a girl who Danny had his arm around.

"Hey JD, haven't seen you in a while! Where the hell have you been?" Danny pulls JD in for a one armed hug and hands them a beer from the pitcher in the middle of the table.

"Here and there, you know, just doing a little bit of everything," JD takes a big swig of the beer and then puts their glass down. Eyeing the girl, she's short, brunette and looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here, she takes small sips of her beer and looks around the room as if she's trying to find a good reason to leave.

"So, I don't think you've met the band have you?" Danny begins by gesturing to the man on the left of JD. "That's Archer, he's our lead guitarist, Tony on drums and this here is Angela, our bassist and lead singer. Angela's also my girl, so if you  see anyone flirt with her you better knock them to the ground."

Angela glares daggers up at Danny and removes his arm from her shoulders, "I'm not   'your girl' fuckwad." With that, she gets up and walks to the bar, ordering a few shots and downing them without hardly breathing.

"Wait- so does that mean she's single?" JD smirks jabbing a thumb in her direction. "Cause she's got hips that do NOT lie."

Danny let's out a low growl, shooting JD an angry glare and then gets back to his drink.

"Last time I checked she wasn't seeing anyone, but that was a while ago, so she might be seeing someone and just not telling us. She doesn't talk about things other than the band around us," Tony speaks up before heading to the bathroom.

"Yeah, she really keeps things separated. I guess that's part of why she's so against getting with Danny," Archer grins and finishes of his beer.

"Yeah, well it's not like you could ever land a chick like her! She's way out of your league Archer so it's not even something you should be talking about." Danny slams down his glass and storms off to the bar for another pitcher of beer.

"Like I'd even want her..." Archer mutters under his breath.

Standing up, JD walks over to the bar, where Angela is standing, giving her a once over before approaching.

"So, how did you meet Danny?"

"Through a mutual friend. He and the guys all went to high school together and when I came here from New York, they were looking for a new bassist for their band and well, when they heard me do backup vocals it kind of went from there." Angela took a shot of whatever hard liquor she had been given and looked JD dead in the face. "Wanna go for a smoke with me?"

"Sure, someone's gotta make sure that you don't fall and crack your head on the sidewalk," JD took her by the arm, helping her down from the barstool and guiding her out the door, she was stumbling a little from the alcohol in her system, but with one of JD's arms around her waist, and the other holding her other arm over their shoulders, they wobbled to the door.

Once they were outside, Angela pulled a pack of Camel's from her pocket and a little leopard print lighter, but not before spilling half the pack onto the ground.

"Jeez, try to save some for the rest of us," JD chuckled as they began to pick up the cigarettes that weren't sticky with alcohol or tainted in some way. "God, the way you do things tipsy I can only hope that if you're drunk you don't fall down on a dick and get pregnant."

JD took a zippo out of their pocket, but stopped midway to lighting their cigarette when Angela started to keel over, laughing so hard that she looked as though she would fall into the puddles of alcohol.

"It wasn't even that funny," they looked at her, her laughter was contagious, it was as if someone had pulled the sun out of the sky and put it inside of her every movement. Within seconds, JD was on the ground, laughing with her.

The two rolled around on the ground for a good minute before someone poked their head through the door.

"What the FUCK do you think you're doing?" Danny growled, glaring at the two of them. "Angie, you know we have a gig tomorrow, you can't go rolling around in the fucking dirt and expect people to show up and treat you like a hardcore rock band. We have a reputation to uphold."

"No, you do. I have tits, tits that get all the boys to my yard," Angela giggled, grabbing her boobs and jiggling them violently. "And so what if they see me rolling around in the mud and the dirt, then that means they know I'm approachable, and maybe that makes it so they will come closer and MOSH MOSH MOSH!"

"Fuck this, I give up." Danny turned on his heels and went back inside, leaving Angela and JD in the back alley alone.

"So, what about that cigarette?" JD smirked, scooting close to the wall and pulling Angela next to them.

"Oh yeah!" Angela picked up her cigarettes and lighter, handing one to JD. "He's always like that, acting like he owns me. He doesn't get it when I say no I'm not playing hard to get, I don't like him. He's a sleaze and treats women like they all owe him something. I just... He's more of a friend than anything else."

"Yeah," JD lights their cigarette and takes a puff, spitting the smoke back out. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What?"

"Who in their right mind smokes menthols?" JD glares daggers into the side of Angela's head as she attempts to blow smoke rings.

"I'm a draaaagoooon! I'm a fiiiiire breathing draaaagooon!" Angela falls over onto JD's shoulder.

"Sure you are," putting their arm around her, JD rubs her shoulder as she passe out, knowing this was probably not going to end well.

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