Writer’s Meme oh yay ; U ; I was tagged by nicoles thank you love I was secretly hoping to get tagged this because it sounded really therapeutic?? I’m gonna do one for each ship I’ve written for yeah ; U ;

DeanCas: Breathe Lightly

The human brain, Dean realizes, is a cruel, capricious thing. It will not give you want you want. It is decisive, definitive. Hold a brain with in your hands and you hold against your fingers a person’s entire life—their personality, their memories, every single bodily function from the sway of their gait to the expansion of their lungs. Your birthday’s in two months, this is how you get the square root of 144, breathe, place your hands in front of you you’re about to fall. It is unyielding in its control. Eighty-six billion neurons microscopically scintillating beneath a cage of bone, all of which are designed to remember.

Dean doesn’t want to remember.

But every cell of him doesn’t want to forget.

And this is indeed the cruelty of the human anatomy.

I will be brutally honest and thank god I wrote both these pieces, because then I can truthfully say that I love Breathe Lightly more than I could ever love Ad Astra. I love Ad Astra of course, but Breath Lightly is something I hold impossibly close to my heart because I think it truly represents what I want to be as an author. I’m going to be a nurse by profession but everything I love lies within the arts and my motto in life has always been to find a point between the two where I can love both. I wrote Breathe Lightly out of the passion of proving that something so heavy and sharp and scientific as anatomy and physiology is artistry. I chose to write MCD because I wanted the reality of what I experience being a student nurse to permeate this thing I created out of thin air. I needed it to be brutal and visceral and honest because it has to be real. I incorporated every piece of art with the intention to engage the reader into interpreting its connection to the story. I love Breathe Lightly because it’s multi-dimensional, the thought process was tedious, and it allowed me to finally tamp down who I am as an author ; U ;

SteveBucky: The rogue tide, the ocean waves, and the shore they call home

Bucky ebbs and flows like a rogue tide.

He’d remember good memories—pristine and warm, like the water of a creek lapping at his ankles. He’d remember bad memories—fractured and decimated, the trauma of it all rumbling at the pit of his chest and ferociously looms over the shore like a hungry eagre.

Sometimes Bucky stares at him with restless, traumatized eyes that have witnessed much, fingers clasped into tight fists against his head. Sometimes he is crushed with debilitating anger, helplessly unearthing waves of aggression he wishes upon nothing and no one. Sometimes he cries and cries and cries, inconsolable, incommunicable, muttering Russian under his breath, whispering back names he had long cut off from his person the very same day he cut his hair.

It’s me, Buck, it’s Steve is the only words that calms the distraught seas. Steve lifts the blindfold from Bucky’s eyes by pressing warm fingers against his face. Dissipates rumbling rage into still waters by bringing Bucky within the encompassment of his arms. When Bucky whispers names of people he had killed, he whispers back names of people he had saved—Guatier Webster. Gregory Sparrow. Humbert Jody. Steve Rogers.

It’s Steve’s voice that spills into him and brings him back to shore—like a man thrown overboard and finding refuge within the lull of the sea. He sputters water out of his lungs and, through the dampness of his hair and exhaustion of his eyes, sees night skies overhead.

Steve, the ocean waves.

Steve, the lighthouse keeper.

Steve, the sand beneath his back.

Writing The Rogue Tide is really a cathartic take on the entire Recovering!Bucky trope all SteveBucky writers are entitled to ; U ; I wanted it to be very raw and the pain to be very present. I chose the timeline to be where everything is in limbo–where Steve has Bucky back but there’s an underlying something Steve knows is present but cannot unearth completely. It’s a very rushed, underdeveloped piece, and writing this was really disjointed and I had a lot of doubts, but it has passages like this that makes me think, well, it’s not THAT bad.

IanMickey: Fe + Au

Ian Gallagher is gold, Mickey Milkovich is iron, and no blacksmith sees the practicality of mixing something beautifully pure with something so repeatedly tarnished.

Mickey Milkovich stays away and tries to tell himself it doesn’t matter if he sees flashes of red in every corner he sees. He tries for any other variety of the color, fucks a prostitute in a back lane whose hair is too fiery to ever be a natural shade, hooks up with another in a washroom at the Alibi whose ginger is so much closer to red than it is to the soft orange he’s unconsciously looking for. They’re all just variations of red, and none of them are gold.

Mickey looks back into the decisions that brought him to this point of solitary anger—where he’s reduced to jerking off in the bathroom with a slightly crumpled photo propped against the mirror, where he’s longing for someone he himself turned away from. He realizes that every single one of them were made with the intent to desperately keep Ian Gallagher out, and there is nothing but frustration and loneliness left in the wake of his absence.

So Mickey Milkovich glares up at the red and blue strobe lights that sweeps through the club.

Mickey lifts Ian off a beaten sidewalk.

Mickey watches painfully as Ian slumbers on his bed.

Mickey brings Ian home.

Fuck practicality, he thinks. They’re all just elements on a measly table, and that’s all they’re ever going to be.

He folds every bit of Ian back into the crevices of his life.

Oh man, this piece. I started out with literally one line: Mickey Milkovich is iron, and Ian Gallagher is gold. And I was like YEAH LET’S DO THAT and by a miraculous divine intervention it actually properly fit. This fic was written by wikipedia to be totally honest, because my gradual research into the chemical and physical properties of gold and iron as actual elements drove the progression of the plot. I was just translating lecture notes into stories and I think that’s what made this piece such an interesting thing to write ; U ;

 I AM TAGGIIIIIIIIING

crista, sage, and anyone who wants to do this meme :D