What Do You Mean I Have To Write My Own Fic For The Stuff In My Head To Become Tangible? Can I Not Just

what do you mean i have to write my own fic for the stuff in my head to become tangible? Can I not just think of bits and pieces and an overall vibe + vague plot and then stare at an empty google doc super hard for ten seconds and have the entire thing be transferred there, all the blanks filled in? this is outrageous.

@withahappyrefrain when I see this quote it reminds me of your Jake/Venus fiction and how much I enjoyed it. (The image is so Jake from the moment Venus scolded his parking). Isn't it amazing that the little world you created for them continues to cast its spell?! Such is the power of art!

- f.k.q

Thank you for the reblog! I was working through a lot of emotions when I wrote that scene and the prompt opened the spigot can you tell?!

Surface Tension

This is for @littlewhispersofsolitude OTP Prompt: Kisses

"Kissing each other as tears well in their eyes because they're not sure if/when they'll see each other again. Wrapping their arms around each other, pulling them closer to feel every bit of them in case it's the last time they get to."

A/N: I hope I credited the prompt properly. Please correct me if I need to change how I did that.

Pairing: Peter Parker x OC or Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Angst maybe?

She was sitting on a small blue blanket near a tree; it wasn't their tree since this was Central Park. Their tree, where they usually shared lunch, was in a park in Queens, much closer to each of their apartments but she had asked to meet him here, near her office. She said she needed to finish this project before she left tomorrow but he knew it was to keep the moment impersonal somehow. Easier.

As if anything was easy.

As if anything was.

As if anything.

As if.

He didn't approach her. Not yet.

She hadn't started searching for him amongst the people dotted here and there like a painting by Seurat. People walking, lounging on the grass, tossing a frisbee.

She was motionless, however, her face turned slightly away. His eyes followed her gaze to a brown-haired young man and a slender woman each holding the hand of a small boy between them, lifting the child up every so often and swinging him, his bare arms taut while his little legs bicycled through the air.

He didn't care to examine the emotion that descended from his throat and twisted somewhere in the vicinity of his heart at the vignette displayed on the grassy lawn. Him watching her watching them. What could be. Whatever there is. Whatever...

As if.

Her raised arm indicated she had spotted him and he strolled over to the tree that wasn't theirs.

"Hi."

"Hi." She was smiling at him but her eyes were not. The word inscrutable came to mind but he didn't normally use fancy words like that.

"I bought sandwiches, I hope that's okay?" She gestured at the paper sack from a deli near her workplace and pulled two water bottles from her ever present tote with I read banned books emblazoned on the side. He gave her that tote last October, when they sat under their tree, its bare arms reaching up. Reaching out. As if.

He didn't want to sit near this tree. He didn't want to sit and catch the scent of her perfume. To sit and watch her delicate fingers brush her hair from her eyes as the breeze blew wisps about her face. To sit and see her wistful smile as she watched him eat. Reaching out with her fingers to brush a crumb off his cheek. As if.

They ate in silence. The words were knotted in the tangles and twists of a timeline that began at their tree and ended at the tree that wasn't theirs. They sat together, watching as the couple with the little boy tossed a kite in the air. Watching as it danced clear of the open arms of nearby trees, reaching for the sky. As if.

Him watching her watching them. Until she caught his eye and cleared her throat, and began to gather their empty wrappers and napkins, sweeping them into the tote. Inscrutable, he thought.

His hand closed around the pink bottle in his pocket and he slowly withdrew his hand, turning away slightly so she couldn't see as he set the bottle on the blanket and twisted off the lid. Two wands. After the very first time at their tree he added the second one just for her.

He turned toward her, drawing a wand out and lifting it to his lips so that the bubbles came around them like a cloud. Floating towards her, floating into open arms reaching towards his, floating towards the sky. As if.

"Peter." Her voice caught on his name. Her arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly while the bubbles floated around them and above them and vanished one by one.

She kissed him as if afraid the memories would vanish like bubbles. She kissed him as if their arms would forever be empty, she kissed him as if it were the easiest thing in the world to love him.

She kissed him as if she would never see him again.

As if.

"I'm coming back, Peter. I love you. You know that. I promise I'm coming back."

He looked at her face, no longer inscrutable; reaching out with love.

As if it were a kite, his heart lifted toward the sky. As if.

END

As I write, I am slowly discovering that one character's tragic sorrowful angst is another character's not so hidden pleasure. With one eye-wrinkling smile they have mentally handed their partner a spun glass thought that looks like candy floss on a stick and are silently but gleefully telling them to eat the shards and cry.

Who is this person I created and how? The dark side of my heart is a little scary....

Reminds me of heading off to school in the fall and the parents lined up to see us off on our grand adventure...

“Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go.”

— Unknown