Now that the regular posting period has finished, today is the start of Amnesty Week: a week where everyone who signed up but couldn't post, didn't finish in time, or had to drop out of the event has the chance to add a work to the collection if they want.
In addition, if you wrote or drew any extras, such as a scene, a moment, that quite didn’t make it into your fic or art piece and you wish to share it for the Reverse Bang, Amnesty Week is the time to do it.
To participate, please contact us via DM or send us an email and let us know that you wish to share something in the collection, or just @ us on Twitter or Tumblr so we can share it with everyone.
Pairing: Hawkmetri (although the focus is intentionally more on the Miguel and Demetri friendship here)
Happy pride month!!! This felt like a fitting last AV100 for Miguetri Monday :3 This is a 6-parter with 600 total words! Based a little bit in some headcanons I came up with here about why I think Demetri actively hides his sexuality, despite being fairly open about other aspects of his personality.
CW for canon-typical homophobia (because Kyler doing that stunt with Demetri's cast like...very definitely had homophobic undertones), internalized homophobia, and the general fear of being outed based in concerns about personal safety and social alienation.
***
5 times Demetri was too scared to tell Miguel the truth ( +1 time he wasn't)
1.
“Gets laid more than anyone, isn’t that right, Eli?”
Miguel only rolls his eyes.
At first, Demetri thinks his new friend’s put off by the dismissive sentiment. But as the conversation ebbs and their attention shifts to the rich girls, his stomach tightens.
Miguel saw how he looked at Eli, didn’t he? Did he think it was gross?
Would he leave, too?
Fuck.
Time for damage control.
“I don’t care if Yasmine’s the meanest girl in school. I’d kill both of you just to get her to spit in my face.”
That’s what a normal teenage boy would say, right?
2.
“Let’s ask the dragon queens to dance!”
Demetri wishes the punch was carbonated. Maybe that would fight the nausea he feels imagining having to fake any kind of interest in these three perfect strangers. Putting on a facade requiring 10 times the phoniness he usually shows his friends.
Besides, girls who watch Game of Thrones aren’t stupid. They’ll smell what he is. Recoil, shove him away. Shout what Eli and Miguel probably already suspect—something no denial can fix.
And then he’ll be alone.
“Slow your roll,” Demetri says. “We’ve got time.”
Miguel chocks it up to passivity. Thank fuck.
3.
Kyler knows. Kyler’s always fucking known.
The years of bullying. Making sure Demetri saw him harass Eli about how “no girl” would ever want to kiss him. Drawing a dick on the arm he had to know Eli snapped and showing the entire cafeteria.
Maybe some other Cobra told Kyler about the break. Maybe Eli himself did the bragging. Doesn’t matter.
Point is that Miguel saw Kyler’s stunt.
Demetri feels sick. Eli left him. Now the only other person he’s come to trust with his entire self will, too.
But when Yasmine finds him later, he realizes his one out.
4.
He yells angrily after Yasmine, feeding the illusion this was all by accident. Sam and Miguel smirk.
It’s clear they buy it hook, line, and sinker.
They’re happy for him. For who they think he is.
The normal and uncontroversial Demetri. The one who isn’t…that.
And Demetri’s come too close to losing Miguel already to break that illusion.
“I am 101% in love.”
I promise I’m the same as you. He pats Miguel’s shoulder, relishing how secure he feels. Nothing to be ashamed of.
He hears Miguel tell Sam love conquers all. Demetri doesn’t have the heart to believe it.
5.
It’s pathetic, and Demetri knows it. Miguel and Sam deserve better.
But he’s in too deep to admit everything with Yasmine’s a farce.
It still begs the question. How does Demetri fix Miguel’s relationship when he can’t even tell Eli he’s in love with him?
Regardless, Miguel’s stuck with Demetri this long. Demetri has to try.
“I get Yasmine a charm for every fight.” Why are they even still together? “She can barely lift her arm now.”
Useless to ruminate. This house of cards is better than Miguel and Eli knowing the truth.
Despite everything, Demetri’s still a fucking coward.
+1
“Plans for senior prom?” Miguel eyes Demetri curiously.
“I’m going with Eli.”
“Stag?”
Demetri freezes.
He could backpedal. Retreat into the cozy blanket of lies that always kept Miguel around.
But graduation’s next month. Fuck it.
“We’re, uh…dating, actually.”
The way Miguel lights up makes Demetri wonder why he ever felt the need to keep it secret.
“And you didn’t tell me?!”
“I was worried you’d be weirded out!”
“Are you kidding?” Miguel’s beam is blinding. “I’m so happy for you guys! And I’ve been waiting for you to ask him out since, like, sophomore year.”
Terry is at yet another auction, surrounded by the boring bourgeoisie. He has seen enough. Nothing has tickled his fancy. Fifteen more minutes, he thinks.
“Now, for our next item,” the auctioneer begins. “A pair of Art Deco bookends made from patinated bronze in the form of striking King Cobras set on portoro marble bases. They were sculpted by Irénée Rochard, circa 1930.”
Light glints on the snakes. A silver sheen.
They are perfect. As if they were made for him. He must have them.
Saturday, November 1st, 2020. It’s been about three months since Miguel and Sam moved upstate to the Bay Area to live their college life together.
Ever since the move, they’ve been taking naps every Saturday afternoon. It had become a ritual at that point.
In their apartment, they both wake up after another nap as Miguel’s Bluetooth radio plays music from his phone. Sam checks her watch. It said 5:45 pm. “When did we fall asleep again?”
“I remember it was just past 4pm,” Miguel answered. “I never slept better though.”
“We both needed it. College midterms are no joke.”
For the prompt 'Sunrise/Sunset' for Amnesty Week - @allvalley100
On the day she died, Betsy woke early.
She stumbled out of bed and brewed coffee before sitting on the porch, warming her hands on her mug and watching golden light slowly creep across the ground as the world came to life. She wondered how many more mornings she had left of waking up alone.
She resolved to write Johnny another letter after visiting her grandma. She wanted to let him know how much she missed him, how much she was looking forward to spending the rest of their lives together.
Round 6 has wrapped up with our two final fanwork prompts for the 2020 Cap-IM Tiny Reverse Bang. Thank you to all our wonderful creators for sending in their TRB takes on our three themes of Space, Domesticity and Beginnings/Endings! Thank you also to our speedy fanwork-fillers, who have already created some lovely accompanying fanworks inspired by this year's TRB submissions.
We would now like to announce our Amnesty Week!
From now until midnight September 5th, anybody can create fic, fanvids or podfics for the artwork prompts that were revealed in the six rounds of the 2020 TRB. If you started a ficlet, or missed a week and didn't get round to posting, now is the time! Maybe a prompt has grown on you, or a Cap-IM Bingo card has provided the perfect complement to kickstart a fic! Challenge yourself to some last minute drabbles and earn your badges!
All fanwork fills will be included in our final Tiny Reverse Bang roundup.
Rules and information on how to participate and post can be found here!
To see the existing fills for the prompts, check out our AO3 Collection. You can browse and leave feedback on all the fanwork prompts in our 2020 TRB Submissions Collection on AO3 or follow the link to each fanwork below:
Round 1 - Nomad | Winghead
Round 2 - Oath | Invincible
Round 3 - Silver | Serum
Round 4 - Extremis | Armour
Round 5 - Commander | Gold
Round 6 - Timely | Shellhead
Feel inspired?
Write fic of at least 100 words for any 2020 TRB fanwork prompt (note that you can also be inspired by several for one fill!), or create podfics or fanvids as fills - there are no minimum requirements for these formats. You have until the very end of September 5th (any timezone) to earn a badge for every prompt you write for!
We are now at the end of our scheduled fanwork gifts for Merthur Glompfest 2020.
Thank you to all the Glomper’s who have submitted fanworks for our fantastic Glompee’s.
Did you claim a prompt intending to submit a fanwork, but were unable to complete it in time or submit it for any reason? Well then, good news! We are now welcoming such Glompers to submit their entries during our amnesty period.
Our amnesty period will run from from today (Monday May 4) through to Sunday May 10. Any entries submitted during this period will be included in the masterlist at the end of the fest.
During this time, we would like to invite you to check out the existing 26 entries already submitted to the fest which can be found HERE in our Merthur Glompfest collection on AO3.
If you didn’t originally claim a prompt for the fest, but would like to do so to make a short fill before the end of amnesty, please do get in touch with us at: [email protected].
Thank you and we hope to bring you more Merthur goodness soon! ♥
* A special thank you to @eisbaerfusselart for the beautiful banner for our fest!
Another piece of the multi chapter fic. Just Tiva talking about their lives (something we did not get enough of in the show). Enjoy!
Note: there’s a Hebrew phrase in here that didn’t translate very well. Basically: if you’re a native Hebrew speaker, I’m terribly sorry for botching your beautiful language.
“Anything else interesting in those boxes?”
She looked over at a particularly large box he now noticed was sitting on top of the piano, and caught her lower lip between her teeth. She seemed to be mulling over something big as she chewed lightly on her lower lip.
Finally she looked back over at him, a slight smirk drawing the corners of her mouth up.
“Can I show you something?”
His eyebrows went up at her tone, seemingly mocking the way he had asked her the same question more than a year ago, sitting in the break room with a stack of pictures in his hands.
“Yes,” he responded. She motioned for him to sit on the couch and he did, watching her as she got up and crossed the room, reaching into the mysterious box.
She pulled something out of it and held it low in front of her so he couldn’t see. She fingered it in her hand for a moment before pivoting around and walking over to him. She held the object in front of him so he could grab it as she sat down beside him, halfway on his lap, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
He slipped an arm around her waist as he looked at the small photograph in his hand.
There were two people in it. One a small girl, all smiles and unruly curls as the other one, a young woman with dark features as thick rimmed glasses, held the child over her head, circle of life style.
He squinted at the little girl, “Is that you?”
She nodded, her eyes trained on his face as he kept staring at the photo.
“And that’s your mom,” he stated it rather than asked, but she nodded anyway.
A small smile spread across his face as he looked at the tiny Ziva, so clearly content to be held by her mother and so obviously full of that spunk he knew so well. His eye drifted back up to her Mom.
“She looks just like you.”
“I believe it is me who looks like her, yes?”
He shrugged, “Either way.”
She turned her head to look at the picture with him, lowering it to rest right in the crook of his neck as they both stayed silent for a long time.
“Do you think she would have liked me?” He barely whispered the question, hesitant to break the comfortable silence they had been in.
Ziva laughed lightly, “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“Rivka David would have hated you,” she said it with such amusement in her voice that he couldn’t bring himself to be offended, “At least at first.”
“Really?”
Ziva sat up a big and puffed out her chest in what he assumed was a dramatic impression of her mother’s voice, “Req at hetveb beyvetr 'ebevr Ziva shely. Ayesh nhemd. Adem yhevdey.”
He looked at her expectantly, waiting for the English translation.
“Only the best for my Ziva. A nice man. A Jewish man.”
He chuckled, “So she wouldn’t approve?”
“Not at all. She would probably call you an Italian American cowboy and try to kick you out of the house.”
“But you said she might come around?”
“Oh, I know she would come around… eventually. Once she saw the way you looked at me or how happy you make me. But it would take some time.”
He nodded, his thoughts drifting off to fantasies about bringing flowers to the door as he stood nervously, his hand locked with Ziva’s as he awaited a final verdict as to whether or not they had her mother’s approval.
“Well, my mom would have adored you,” he mumbled into her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder again.
“You think so?”
“I know so. She would have probably cornered me right after meeting you and asked just who I thought I was making deals with the devil because there is no way I could score a woman like you without some divine intervention.”
She lifted her head and pressed her lips to his cheek as she ran a hand through his hair. Then she leaned her head against his as the comfortable silence returned.
Once again, he was the one to break it.
“You know, you accused me other never talking about my mother, but I’m pretty sure you have avoided talking about yours even more than I have. You’ve never even told me how she died.”
Ziva seemed surprised, “Really? I thought I would have mentioned it. Well, I guess my mother’s death was the least traumatic out of all the deaths in my family, so I don’t find myself in too many positions where I have to talk about it.”
“What happened?”
She shrugged, “She got sick.”
“Cancer?”
“Not exactly. She was told she had a brain tumor shortly after she gave birth to Tali. They said it was benign, but inoperable. They monitored it for years, but it didn’t seem to be growing or causing any problems. She eventually got tired of all the hospital visits and scans, so she stopped going. A year or so later she died in her sleep. They said the tumor wrapped itself around her brain stem and cut off the oxygen supply. They told us she died quickly and without pain.”
“How old were you?”
“I believe I was 12 or so. Tali would have been 6 or 7. We went to bed one night with a mom, and woke up without one. It seemed like the end of the world at the time, but I am just thankful that she went peacefully.”
He nodded.
“You haven’t really told me how your mother died either.”
“Yes I did. She had cancer.”
“Yes but you have always left it at that.”
He shrugged, “There really isn’t much more to tell. She was in the hospital a lot while I was growing up. She went through a lot of treatments. In the end, she underwent an experimental surgery that they thought had been successful. It seemed like she was getting stronger. But they messed something up, and she died a few days later.”
“Were you there?”
“I was the only one there. Dad had run out to get us all dinner. Mom hated the hospital food, so she convinced him to buy us all hamburgers. We were just watching a movie, waiting for him to get back, when all her monitors started going off. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even yell for a nurse, I just watched her breathing slow until someone came running in. She was long gone before my dad got back with the food, and I felt like I had let him down somehow. Like it was my fault. He sent me off to my first boarding school not too long after it happened, and I think that really solidified it in my mind that he blamed me. I realized years later that wasn’t the case, but the damage had been done.”
“How old were you?”
“8.”
“Wow. So young.”
He nodded, “It wasn’t fair.”
“It never is.”
He looked up at the emotional hitch in her voice. She had tears brimming in her eyes as she carefully took the photo out of his hand.
