i miss you 2012 avengers. i miss you the avengers tower. i miss you irondad and spiderson. i miss you meme lord shuri and peter. i miss you loki lingering in the tower for no other reason than that he's the main love interest. i miss you poptart-eating thor. i miss you grumpy bucky barnes. i miss you old man, chronically offline steve rogers. i miss you clint in the vents. i miss you girls night with wanda and natasha. i miss you resurrected, shamelessly flirty pietro. i miss you clueless, socially inept vision. i miss you the rare bruce banner feature. i miss you sassy sam wilson. i miss you cheeky reader who always called fury by his first name. i miss you super nanny phil coulson. i miss you christmas avengers blurbs in the middle of the fanfiction written by an autistic 14 year old. i miss you đđđ
getting lost in boston is fun because I turned around on a street corner three times and some guy yelled "hey stupid! the bus is that way!" very helpful interaction and accurate insult, 10/10 no notes
one time I walked around a building a couple times looking for a bathroom and this guy went "this bitch thinks she's on a merrygoround, where the fuck are you tryna go? bathroom? one floor down to the right behind the door that says bathroom."
My very first time in Boston. I was absolutely miserable, trying to drag my giant suitcase up a lengthy set of stairs in the pouring rain. This guy who had already reached the top looked back at me with the most pure expression of disgust Iâve ever seen in anyoneâs eyes, marched back down the stairs, grabbed my suitcase, carried it to the top, left it there for me, and walked away without ever saying a word. I think about him often.
For the people in the notes going "why is Boston like this": a) the insults are a way to show you have no ulterior motives when helping someone (and don't need to be thanked or repaid), and b) Boston was settled by the Irish
also the Italians. mixing Irish and Italian sociocultural attitudes had the effect of multiplying the Sass Levels by the power of infinity, in the sense that you get all of the clever dry wit of the Irish and all of the bitchy gossipy condensation of the Italians rolled into one very stereotypically overly-friendly American package.
also worth noting that who you are to them doesnât matter. theyâll talk to strangers like that and will also talk to their best friends like that. theyâre just Like That.
On Saturday I said to my partner, as I have said for months, "A ten thousand dollar a year raise would solve so many of my problems."
As of this morning I was reluctantly looking for jobs because I love my job and don't want to leave it, but see: $10k raise problem solver.
As of noon today this was no longer an issue, because my boss called me with the news that I was getting a $10K merit raise.
I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. This is roughly $200 extra per paycheck. Enough to pay off debt faster, rebuild my savings, and spend a weekend a month in Milwaukee getting obscenely laid. The sex I'm going to have on $200 extra per paycheck. You can't even.
May all of you get the $10K raise your soul has yearned for. And whatever level of sex you can be satisfied with for $200.
Author's note: It has been SUCH a long time since I've seriously sat down to write fic, and that makes me kinda sad. So I've decided to get back into it. I'm trying to revisit all the things that used to make me happy, and writing fanfiction has always been one of them. I hope you guys enjoy, and that wherever you are, you find a little bit of extra happiness today :)
Lipstick Stains
Routine was something that could either be extremely boring, or soothing and reliable. For example, weekdays were for work. For lawyers and scary bosses and annoying vampires breaking into his office and throwing clients out the window.
Weekends however, were for whatever Lindsey wanted them to be. That was the beauty of Saturday and Sunday. They fit into his routine as the two days he got to do anything he felt like it. The perfect blend of routine and spontaneity.
Today, it's a beautiful Sunday morning, and Lindsey has decided to venture outside his chic, minimalist apartment to have breakfast at his favorite cafe. It's just outside of the city, which is part of the reason why it's his favorite. He enjoys the feeling of leaving the city and abandoning all the crazy shit his job puts him through. Sometimes he fantasizes that he's leaving L.A. for good.
Spring had finally broken into the city, you could smell everything in bloom. There were flowers peaking up everywhere. From people's windowsill gardens, pots, even cracks in the sidewalks had those small purple flowers peeking through.
The cafe Lindsey visited-Sunny Side- was not too far away from a small neighborhood. So if he sat outside he could see families outside on their lawns. One weekend he watched a dad teach his daughter how to ride her bike for hours until she could finally drive up and down the sidewalk without wobbling. There were a few other stores on this strip of the sidewalk. An antique store that mostly sold knick knacks and purses. A used book store. A family owned grocery store. It was always busy, and Lindsey loved losing himself in the crowd. He didn't matter here, he didn't have to. Nothing was riding on him, it was almost like he didn't exist. It was comfortable. Like recharging a battery so he could go back to work on Monday and face whatever disaster was waiting for him.
Today he opted for a seat near the back, so he could people watch everyone else sitting outside the cafe. The tables are surrounded by a cute white picket fence, with a string of white lights wrapped around the whole thing. He knew from experience at dusk those lights would turn on and cast the whole corner in a magical glow.
There are boxes of tulips hanging from each side of the fence, each box holding bunches of a different color. The ones right next to his table were pink and white. The sun had coaxed the petals open far, and he could smell how sweet they were from his seat.
Lindsey feels a wave of appreciation for his little hideaway. Before he started leaving the city on weekends he felt like he was going to crack up. He didn't know what he would do without these little weekend breaks.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Lindsey turns, and even though he knows who he's staring at, he can't quite seem to accept it. He just stares, as Y/N glares down at him. She's holding a large cup of coffee in one hand, and a plate with a sandwich on the other.
He just blinks, still too stunned say anything to her besides, "What?"
"I said what the fuck are you doing here?" she demands. Her voice is low and she looks pissed. Well, as pissed as someone can look while trying to balance a latte.
"Eating...breakfast?" he finally says. "It's a cafe. That's typically what happens here. People eat." he gestures to her sandwich. "As you can see."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh come on Lindsey what sort of fucked up lawyer job do you have happening here?" She sounds tired.
Lindsey chuckles, half at her accusation and half at the sound of her saying his name. He had never heard any of Angel's little minions call him by his name, just Angel. And it was always snarled or hissed at him. Coming from Y/N it sounded a little more normal. Weird.
"I have this really evil plan," he smirks, leaning forward in his chair, lowering his own voice as if about to confide in her. "Ready? I'm going to sit here, eat my waffles, drink my tea, and then...maybe go for a walk while it's still sunny out."
"Eat your waffles? What is that code for? And what do you mean before the sun comes out-are you guys planning to blot out the sun?."
Now it was Lindsey's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm just here to have breakfast. Do you see any other lawyers or anyone suspicious looking? Also, it's supposed to rain later." he holds out his newspaper and shows her the weather.
Y/N reading the newspaper, eyes staying stuck on the little doodle of a cloud with rain. Then she surveys the cafe. "Mm, not yet. But you guys are hiding in plain sight."
"Whatever. Can you just let me eat in peace? I only have two days a week to escape the hell that is my boss and your boss so please." he points to an empty table and turns to the sports section in the paper.
Y/N narrows her eyes just a touch. She didn't have the same death stare that Angel could level at him, but it still made Lindsey think that if something did go down at this cafe that she could handle it without necessarily needing backup.
"Fine, but don't think I won't be keeping an eye-" she says as she turns to go, only to watch a couple take the last empty seat outside. She groans in annoyance then turns back to Lindsey who laughs.
"Should have moved fasterrr." he says in a sing-song voice.
She studies him for a minute, he can feel her eyes on him even as he reads the article about his football team. Out of the corner of his eye Lindsey sees her look around the cafe one more time before sitting down in the chair opposite him.
"Um, excuse me?" he says.
"Yes?" she asks, taking a large sip of her latte. The little foam design wobbles but stays intact.
"Go find your own table."
"I can't, you made that impossible."
"I-what-"
"And besides, this way i can keep a better eye on you. In case you're trying any shit."
Lindsey stares at Y/N for a beat, her eyes never wavering from his, clearly not willing to back down. She's almost smirking at him, seeing how flustered he's pretending not to be. So without saying a word, he resumes reading his paper, ignoring her watching him.
After a few minutes of Lindsey silently reading the paper, Y/N gets bored, and starts eating her sandwich. Then she pulls a small paperback book from her bag, and starts reading it.
If either one of them is surprised at how quickly the thick silence loses its tension, they don't say anything. It would be weird, and wrong to admit that it was almost peaceful. Neither one of them says anything, and they barely spare each other a glance. But Lindsey notes the title of the book she's reading without meaning to. And his eyes get stuck on the lipstick stains that start to surround the rim of her cup. Y/N catches him laughing at a Peanuts cartoon but quickly looks away before he realizes she saw.
When Lindsey's done eating and his cup is drained dry he stands, collecting his plates.
"Hope I didn't wear you out with all my evilness." he quips, shooting her a fake smile before turning to walk away. She watches him go, burying the weird twinge of embarrassment at feeling a little disappointed into her book.
...
The next weekend, Lindsey gets to the cafe a little later than before, deciding to sleep in and stop by for lunch instead. Before heading over to the restaurant he stopped by the bookstore. Sometimes he felt like reading more than a newspaper. It had been a more stressful week than usual, and he needed something to dive into besides the thoughts in his own head. The doubts that seemed to be popping up everywhere he looked around the office lately.
He browsed the shelves for a good long while, before picking up a couple options. On the way to the register he spots the same book Y/N was reading last weekend. He almost picks it up to read the back cover, see if it's any good. See what kind of taste she has.
Lindsey pictures her, bent over her book, eyebrows furrowed as she got so focused on the story she forgot about "watching for his evil plan". How she didn't even look up from the book to grab her mug. The red lipstick on the rim, bright, and in the shape of a kiss. Several kisses actually, all around it.
A tiny part of his brain, without him even really trying to, conjured up a flash of an image-a trail of those same lipstick kisses down his neck, staining the white collar of his favorite white shirt.
He shakes it off, walking away from the book and from the fantasy. He buys his books and then heads to the cafe.
It's just as busy as last week, if not even busier. He buys his food and tries to scout out a table, but he doesn't see any empty chairs. Then, finally towards one corner of the fence, he sees one. At a tiny table, opposite Y/N.
Instead of a book she's got a mini watercolor set and a small sketchbook, and as he walks closer he sees that she's painting the red tulips. He didn't really plan so much on walking over to her, but now that he was on his way he figured why not?
"Back to save the world?" he asks, getting her attention and drawing her eyes away from the flowers to him. She's wearing darker lipstick this time, he can't help but notice. A dark almost purple, and it's already covering her mug as well. Again, he has a flash of a fantasy almost against his will, the lipstick stains covering the skin of his bare chest. Leaving a trail lower and lower...
Traitor. He thinks, bringing his attention back to Y/N, who's saying something. It's been too long since you've had a girlfriend.
"Sorry, can you repeat that?" he says as she sits, obviously waiting for a comeback.
"Alright if you're going to interrupt my painting can you at least pay attention? It's only polite."
"You know what's not polite?" he asks as he slides into the seat opposite her. "Accusing someone of being evil while they're trying to eat their waffles."
"Um, what are you doing?" She asks, pointing to the chair he just sat in.
"Taking a seat." he takes a bite of the salad he ordered.
"Why?"
"You see any other free tables out here? Besides, won't this make it easier for you to keep an eye on me in case I get up to any tricks?"
Y/N just stares at him for a minute, and Lindsey can practically see the gears turning as she tries to decide how to respond. Finally she just sighs softly and says "Fine. Just don't spill my water." she goes back to painting as if he's not even there.
At first that's fine, they resume the way they were last weekend, quietly doing their own thing. But soon he begins to miss her sass. Almost like he's itching to get another comment, another eye roll.
"I'm surprised Angel lets you this far off the leash." he says finally. "Does he make you use a sign out sheet before you go so he can keep track?"
"It's not going to work." she says, not even taking her eyes off the paper. "I can see right through what you're doing and it's pathetic."
"What am I doing?"
"Trying to goad me into a fight."
"I would never."
Her lips almost twist up at that, but she still doesn't look up. Which is fine for Lindsey, he can observe her easier this way. The way she has her hair tied back so it's out of her face. Her eyes are trained on the paper, and her fingers move gracefully to fill in a tulip petal with a light red. It's almost the same shade as the red on her lips. He looks at the pattern of colors on her sweater, her small silver hoop earrings, the chipped nail polish on her fingers. Lindsey looks at all these little details as he fights his eyes from trailing back to those lips.
But he's never had that much willpower to resist the things he wants, so he falls silent and stares. She parts her lips in concentration. Bites the corner of her bottom lip. Licks them as she changes colors again. He feels stuck, dazed, and more than a little surprised with himself.
Y/n shifts and goes to look up and Lindsey quickly dives for his coffee, averting his eyes. She picks her own mug up, leaving another crimson kiss on the rim.
"Those are nice." he says, nodding at her tulip painting.
"Thanks." she says, after a beat of silence where she just stares at him like she can't quite figure him out. "It's relaxing."
"Yeah we need that in our line of work don't we?"
"We don't have the same line of work. I work to keep bad guys from hurting people. You do everything you can to enable them." she quips without missing a beat.
"It's a little more complicated than that-"
"No it's really fucking not Lindsey." Again, hearing his name said out loud coming from her sounds weird. "You just tell yourself that to make yourself feel better. But does it even work?"
Lindsey doesn't say anything. Because what could he say? It didn't work. At least not as well as it used to. He couldn't remember the last time he looked at himself in the mirror and didn't have a hard time meeting his own eyes. He knew what he would see if he did, and it wasn't the young, hopeful law student he had once been. Before he knew Wolfram and Hart even existed. But he also had no idea how to find that man again.
Not wanting to sit there with Y/n staring at him he gets up without another word, gathers his dishes and walks off. Y/n watches him go, a twinge of regret at her words, and the wounded look on his face. But then she reminds herself of all the cases her team have worked against him on. All the heinous things she's seen Lindsey and his company do. And the regret vanishes with the next breeze.
AUTUMN DURALD ARKAPAW
becomes the first woman ever to win the Best Cinematography Oscar at the 98th Academy Awards for her work on "Sinners" â March 15, 2026
read books that you don't understand. read books where you have to pay attention. read books that make you reread a page eight times to figure it out. read books that you need to take notes on. read books with words you have to google. read books that don't make sense without research on the setting. read books that make you feel stupid because otherwise you'll just be stupid.
Reminders for fanfic writers who think it âdoesnât countâ
⊠Your writing counts. like, a lot. If someone felt something because of what you wrote, then it matters. That scene you almost didnât post? Yeah. Believe me, someone out there bookmarked it for a reason.
⊠Writing existing characters doesnât make it âless than.â Youâre building arcs, crafting dialogue, emotion, pacing. Youâre studying character psychology like a scientist. Thatâs not âjust fanfic,â thatâs storytelling.
⊠âbut itâs just fanficâ ...no. STOP, itâs craft.
Itâs understanding tone. Itâs hitting emotional beats. Itâs layering theme and backstory and prose into something people feel. Youâre doing the work, you just donât get graded on it. (Which, honestly is a blessing.)
⊠Writing fanfic means you love stories enough to live inside them.
You care, deeply. You care enough to reimagine, to explore, to add something of yourself to a world you didnât create and somehow still make it feel brand new.
⊠Someone out there rereads your fic like itâs their favorite book.
Maybe theyâve saved a line to their notes app,or they quote it to a friend. Maybe they just think about it when theyâre having a bad day. That little fic you almost deleted, itâs comfort now.
⊠Your comments section is real. Every âI needed thisâ and âthis made me cry in a good wayâ is proof, you donât need a book deal to matter. You donât need a publisher to have an impact, because you already do.
FANFIC IS WRITING! Fanfic is yours.
Youâre not âjustâ anything. Youâre a writer, own it. Be proud of that.
you're missing out on all the crazy euphoric moments where you execute an idea flawlessly, sending it to your friends and feeling the genuine happiness at their reactions to something you made authentically. you're robbing yourself of something beautiful.
and I get it, writers block, artists block, depression can really be terrible, but once you break out of it (and you will) it will feel like climbing Mount Everest.
