No one has asked yet! I'm not quite settled on the title (I think the series title theme is probably "winter weather phenomena that also sound like terrible mental states") but this is the first of three planned sequels to All-Time Low which is the story where it's 1984 and Tony is homeless and supporting his suicidal alcoholism with some also-suicidal sex work.
The current plan for the series is to have it get worse before it gets better, so there will be a glorious h/c ending where Steve and Tony work through their problems and live happily ever after, but this is not that story. This is still in the Getting Worse section and it's getting a lot worse first.
This story is completely drafted but I think the only part I've ever put up publicly is the beginning few paragraphs that I put in @kiyaar's stocking because I wasn't done by the deadline. It is 18,000 words, Steve POV, Tony does not appear at all, and it's the kind of story where I feel like I should rate it Explicit even though there is no on-page sex because I feel like the sheer amount of emotional misery in it cannot be conveyed by tags alone.
So no one but me has actually read this fic and it's sitting here with my WIPs while I let it settle and try to figure out if it actually hangs together or what. My creative process while writing this story was basically "write a sentence, stare at it, think 'I can make that worse,' and then write a sadder version of that sentence," so I actually have a file of cut sentences that were all cut for not being miserable enough.
But, in case anyone missed it the first time, this is the excerpt that I had posted in Kiyaar's stocking. It's the first 800 words or so. Contains discussion of death, past child abuse, alcoholism, and sex, but no on-page sex. Please keep in mind that it is miserable.
Steve could go back.
That's the only thing he can think.
As the night wind gusts bitterly cold past the hem of his trench coat, as his shield rattles in its portfolio case, as every step down the pavement takes him farther and farther from Tony, still the only thing he can think is this: he could go back.
Right now, he could turn around. He's maybe fifty feet from the hotel. Tony's probably still in the shower. Tony doesn't even know he's gone yet. Steve imagines easing the door silently open, slipping back inside just like he slipped out, picking up the wallet he left on the table, crumpling the note underneath, the note Tony wouldn't need because he'd have Steve rather than a list of Steve's promises. Tony would never know he'd left at all.
They'd be together. Whatever this would be, they'd be in it together.
It's a strange fantasy. In his head it feels hollow, disjointed. The empty shell of something some other man is supposed to want. A cheaply-manufactured flight of fancy, and he can map out its seams, the places where it falls apart.
The rest of the inside of his head is blank, empty. He's not sure where his feelings went. He used to have other fantasies there, filling him up, warming him. A fair few of them were about Tony. He imagined tenderness, affection, love. He imagined commitment. Permanence. The taste of Tony's mouth in the mornings, coffee-bitter. Tony's body, strong, muscled, warm, curled up against him as Tony sleeps, perfect and trusting, in his bed, at his side. He imagined lazy evenings cuddling with Tony, the two of them together in the mansion. In their home.
But it's not Steve's home anymore, and it's sure as hell not Tony's home anymore, and every fantasy Steve ever had about him has been carved out of him with a dull knife, his dreams scraped down to the bone, and all that's left is pain.
Steve's mouth tastes like Tony's mouth, which is to say that Steve's mouth tastes like cheap whiskey, nothing but the burn. The scrape of Tony's beard stings Steve's cheeks. Steve smells like sex: sweat, lube, and come. He smells like men. Like Tony. He feels the ghost of Tony's bruised body against his palms, Tony's narrow wrists and protruding ribs, like Tony's only made of sinew and bones. Tony's too thin, now. Steve thinks he's lost the right to have an opinion about the matter. He's not sure he ever had the right in the first place, but clearly that never stopped him.
The fantasy, the one where Steve comes back to Tony -- it doesn't go on after that, and Steve knows why: it can't. Tony steps out of the shower and back into the room, towel wrapped around his hips -- or, if Steve's monstrous libido would like, wearing nothing at all -- and Tony says… what, exactly? What does he say? Nothing. There's nothing he can say.
There's nothing Tony can say, because Tony will never say it: I care about my life more than I care about liquor. I care about you more than I care about liquor. He's made his choice, and Steve isn't it.
When Steve was six, his da died. In Steve's blurry childhood memories, he remembers one of the last days, his da's eyes and skin tinged yellow after his liver had gone. Steve's ma had called him to his bedside, knowing the end was soon, and Steve had waited, trembling, in terror of what might happen next, and then he'd realized his da couldn't hurt anyone anymore except himself. He had stared at something beyond him, something that wasn't there, trembling even more than Steve had been, and then he'd vomited blood.
His da had never smelled like whiskey, not in Steve's memory. He's sure his da would have liked to, but in 1926, real liquor was for folks who could afford it, those rich enough that the laws couldn't touch them, and so his da had been sick on moonshine and bathtub gin, blind on wood alcohol. Steve doesn't think the quality of it would have made a difference, in the end.
He's a good man when the drink's not in him, his ma had always said. Steve had waited, eagerly, to see the good man, the one his ma loved. Steve had wondered, with a child's foolishness, if his da was better in the morning, before he started drinking, but in the morning, he'd only ever wanted the first drink. The good man had never come back. Maybe he'd never existed.
So, yeah, Steve knows exactly how this story ends.
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tough question! I think it might genuinely be The Shattered Teacup Mystery, still. I really love the concept and I’m still hoping to take that scene and make a full story out of it.
46. share a scene of a story you haven’t published yet
I’ll give you two! A little rough but crafted with love.
A little snip from the Independence Wars fic: ♡
--
They are making good time on their stolen mount even with Alasdair heavy at his back, ropes biting into Arthur’s skin where he has strapped him onto himself in the hopes of keeping them both on the saddle. The back of his shirt feels soaked, with sweat or with Alasdair’s blood he doesn’t know. If he can hold on for just a few more leagues they might make it out of scouting range before dawn.
    His thighs are starting to burn, exhausted still from the fighting and taking their combined weight when they finally break into the treeline and disappear into the cover of the wood.
    The tight knot of anxiety in his throat eases somewhat, even as their mount whinnies and pulls at the reigns, uncomfortable with keeping up a running pace through the thorny undergrowth. Arthur risks shifting his hold of the reigns into a single grip to press a soothing hand against its neck as he urges them onwards. Bidding the horse to trust that he won’t lead it astray as they bolt through the night. They will slow just as soon as they are safely away.
    He is so focused on that that it leaves him with no room to react when the bend of Alasdair’s arm shoots up to wrap itself around his throat.
-//- -//- //- -//-
And a sweet few of lines from a marriage proposal ;)
--
Alasdair wakes to birdsong and the warmth of Arthur’s breath on his throat.
The curtains are still drawn, but Alasdair can feel the dawn break over craggy hills and the high forelands of the isle. Morning rolls in with the tide like mist, and settles cold and damp beyond the weathered walls, and for another moment the day is kept at bay.Arthur is a comforting weight on his side, and Alasdair revels in him--in this. Will always favour laying in bed with Arthur, skin pressed to skin, to an early morning start. The old spring mattress dips under their shared weight when he shifts to pull Arthur just a little closer. Keeps him secured with an arm wrapped tightly around his waist and breathes him in.Â
He smells like the plain soap he likes to use, and the last whiffs of the detergent on their freshly-laundered sheets. A little like the sun and highland air that dried them. He smells like himself--sleep sweat and morning breath--and their home.Â
(Like Alasdair too; and in quiet moments like this it feels like an acknowledgment, settling warm in the cradle of Alasdair’s chest like something gentler than possession. That they have built this, and sheltered it. Let it entangle them closer together against the backdrop of centuries shared under the same wide skies. Across oceans of time.)
astrobravo replied to your post “I'm sorry if you're not answering specific questions but in your...”
OH MY GOD I love how Steve is like PERMISSION GRANTED LET'S FUCKIN GO and just German suplexes right into the dirt and into the Feast, and he still! is paying careful attention to Tony even though all his ass eating dreams are coming true, I'm SCREAMING
Tony looks up at Steve at the end of the night and Steve just has these tears silently streaming down his face and he’s MORTIFIED. “Steve, are you okay?! Did I hurt you!?”
“I’m just so happy,” Steve sniffs.
Tony stares at him in disbelief for several minutes before he just sinks back down onto Steve’s chest and tries to figure out with this means.
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no gee don't do it! don't homewreck the penniless Bard! you gotta homewreck someone with enough money to pay you off to keep it quiet. think about your future here
What do you think would have happened if D was the first sharkperson Will met, not Hannibal? Either if they met and then hannishark came later, or he only ever met D.
Ooooh, Charlie and I have TWO AUs for that!
I’ll just talk about the one right now -Â
This is the one where Will is the one who accidentally catches D on a fishing hook when he’s very tiny.Â
Will fixes him as best he can and looks after him while he heals. He doesn’t force the little guy to go back into the wild, but he figures D will eventually, since that’s what all the wild things Will nursed back to health when he was a kid did.Â
Instead, D sticks around - sticks to him like glue, actually. Learns how to sign and read and write, spends the afternoons mellowing out on Will’s chest while he sleeps in the hammock (D doesn’t sleep, of course, but it’s good to relax the day away feeling safe and warm).Â
Because he has very little stress in his life, any potential health problems are tended to, and Will always sees that he has plenty to eat he gets REALLY big fairly fast - he’s probably as big as “canon” DolarShark by the time he’s ten, and he isn’t showing any signs of slowing down.Â
Around the time that D is ten, Hannibal either scents him in the water or catches a glimpse of him. He knows right off that this is a kid, even though he’s already bigger than Hannibal, and a long way off from sexual maturity, and therefore in no way a potential partner, but he also hasn’t seen a member of his own species since his twin died, so he figures he’ll go visit, see what’s up.Â
I imagine Hannibal has no idea what to make of Will, and that it takes him a while to figure out what his connection is to D. But he’s savvy enough to figure out right away that D will not approve if he tries to eat Will, and anyway Will is interesting.Â
Will isn’t super happy to have Hannibal there at first, in large part because he immediately starts to worry that he’s going to take D off to be with his own kind, but his reaction isn’t as explosive as it was in the canon, because he isn’t terrified about protecting very small children, and next to D his size doesn’t seem that impressive.Â
Probably a bit slower burn than the actually fic, but eventual hannigram; D gets a cool stepdad and some little siblings out of the bargain. Â
so i sent you lots but the one with the best lyrics is a three way tie btwn ani difranco "shy" grandson "stick up" and kongos "repeat after me"
cyclamental replied to your post “LADS”
“Alright”-Kendrick Lamar, “Another Way to Die”-Jack White/Alicia Keys, “Knights of Cydonia”-Muse, “The Hand That Feeds”-Nine Inch Nails, “Take Me To Church”-Hozier, “Renegade”-Styx, “Hell’s Bells”-AC/DC
bigislandrachel replied to your post “LADS”
Hammer to Fall, Queen.
teethleave replied to your post “LADS”
kesha - woman (Ithlynne 2: Don't Touch My Weed Don't Call Me Honey)
rhuebarb replied to your post “LADS”
The Arkells; 'Knocking at the Door' always gets me pumped
skarabrae-stone replied to your post “LADS”
"The Mary Ellen Carter", by Stan Rogers, "Don't Beat Me Down", Gordon Lightfoot, "Bullet Proof" by the Goo Goo Dolls, "Prison Trilogy" by Joan Baez, "Had Enough" by the Who, "It's Not My Time" by 3 Doors Down, "Lions Inside" by Valley of the Wolves. I don't know if any of these are good for titling purposes, but they all scream Bucky to me.
slyfendora replied to your post “LADS”
The Great Dandolos by Planet of Zeus
dsudis replied to your post “LADS”
This Year by The Mountain Goats? :D
afearsomecritter replied to your post “LADS”
light it up-major lazer, lone digger-caravan palace, bonkers-dizzee rascal, i'm a freak-enrique iglesias ft pitbull, 1941-klaypex, burn the house down-ajr
astrobravo replied to your post “LADS”
Tbf some of these are better lyrically than title-wise but hey? Grandson - bury me face down Sia - alive The mountain goats - Amy aka spent gladiator 1 The mountain goats- Dilaudid The mountain goats - choked out The thermals - returning to the fold
tressadefox replied to your post “LADS”
https://youtu.be/sj-D9CsNK-4. Ют ��
blue-reveries replied to your post “LADS”
Well, since it's 20-bi-teen, what about a queen song?
ajkal2 replied to your post “LADS”
I know its basic but fuckin seven nation army
thecactifindahome replied to your post “LADS”
Immigraniada - Gogol Bordello
gattinidiguerra replied to your post “LADS”
Pick Up Your Head - Middle Class Riot Kalasnjikov — Goran Bregović
THIS IS TOO MANY TO LINK BUT REST ASSURED I’M BOUTTA PLOW MY WAY THROUGH ALL OF THESE THANK YOUUUU
