#only finished now that i’m going through all my drafts to post a bunch of them

[ashironie]

CRYYYYINNNNGGGG

imagine with me, i love what you did bUT! imagine! Stan got a sylveon and Ford got umbreon

Stan always gave what he could to his little Eve (he spelled her name wrong on her birth certificate, he was trying to just put eevee). He did everything he could to make sure Eve got the best life she could, because he knew that in their current living conditions she couldn’t. When he wasn’t with Ford (a rare occurrence) he would be talking to his little Eve, doting on her, telling her about all the adventures they’d go on together. The last time she was ever in a ball was when she was newly born.

Ford mostly spoke with Lilium spp. L. (or just Lili) during the night, leading her to basically be nocturnal. During the day she would curl up anywhere she could, and being the smallest eevee of her siblings, that was easy. Because of that many others told Ford he should just put her out of her misery since she can’t even function, but Ford and Stan came to her aid.

After Eve (now instead of being called eevee being called eve, like christmas eve) became a sylveon Stan was so so scared. Sylveons are very sought after and typically if a poor kid comes upon one… their parents make up some excuse as to why the little one wasn’t able to come back, which he knew his parents would do. So he hid her, as best he could, and he did really fucking well. While Stan trusted his brother with his life, this was the first secret he’d ever kept from him.

Ford didn’t really try to hide Lili when she became a umbreon, why would he? Everyone and their mothers knew she was going to turn into one, so there was no use hiding it. The first time Ford got really mad at Stan was when he had lost Eve, it broke his heart to continually tell Lili that no, her sister wasn’t coming back, no, she would never be able to see her again. Ford immediately trusted Lili with Stan less and less. This was one of the moments that made Ford realize he couldn’t trust his brother as much as he thought.

When Stan got kicked out, one of the first things he did was go to a pokémon foster agency. He put Eve in her ball, gave her to the very fake forgiving woman at the counter, and never looked back. Until one day later he found her in his car, pissed that he would try and leave her somewhere. She was a self taught pickpocket (much like Stan himself) and a natural charmer. Stan was able to get many more opportunities than he would’ve with Eve at his side.

Lili was actually the reason Ford chose the major he did, she seemed drawn to that field of study almost as much as Ford was. Some say Umbreons have a natural affinity for the darkness, for the magic underworld begging to be part of our own. Lili was also the reason Ford gave Fiddleford more than passing glance. She took one look at this nerdy, shy, Arcanine training dork, and stole his research notes (which he desperately needed for his next class) and the rest is history. Lili had always been a rock for Ford, but never was that so apparent during his college years. Not to mention how she stubbornly stayed by him, through finals, moving to Gravity falls, the difficult work, the maddening work, Bill, everything.

When Ford was taken by the portal, Lili gave one apologetic glance at Stan and Eve, before returning to her trainer. All Eve could do in the following days was lay near Stan, who was in a near catatonic state.

Lili had taken pretty well to sneaking around and getting Ford the parts he needed. Ford always made sure to keep her as his more cherished confidant, giving better advice that Ford was sure even he could give. Where Ford walked, a familiar darkness followed.

Eve was, again, a natural charmer. It was easy to fool the town, none of them had ever seen Stanford’s pokémon, so with all his riches him having a sylveon was only natural. She dug up old bones to pose as whatever dumb idea Stan had, and Stan was finally able to give her the nice life he always wanted for her. She was adored by all who walked in, given treats like they were nothing, and love galore, but from no one more than Eve’s beloved Stan.

Dipper and Mable also had Eevees, Dipper’s named Orion and Mable’s named Sugar. Orion was always headstrong, no longer allowed on their school campus for ending so many fights (Dipper would fight tooth and nail to make sure people knew Orion never started any, only finished them). He was like a rocket, ready to jump to anyone’s aid at a moments notice. Sugar was more calm, ready to relax any of the twins worries with her comforting presence. She kept Mable with a level head, keeping her in a realistic state of mind.

its tradition for the occasional set of twins to get matching starters

[mister0ctopus]

We Are All Sinners 03

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: You left Jungkook and this town behind, but every visit pulls you back into his arms, chasing a high you can never leave behind.

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents, cheating, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), fighting (other characterxreader), mentions of death, i rly suck at warnings :)

Ratings: 18+ ONLY!!! MDNI!

Word Count: 4.2K

a/n: this chapter has been sitting in my drafts, but today’s the day we finish it and finally post it. im honestly a little nervous to post this chapter but guess what? still posting it HAHAHA hope you enjoy??? pls enjoy??? ☺️ and lmk whatchu think? mwah

asks???

SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

THEN

“I don’t like that boy for you, YN,” she said flatly, her voice void of warmth.

She sat on the couch in the living room, her eyes glued to the television, barely acknowledging your presence.

“He’s a nice boy from a nice family, but he’s just going to disappoint you. I know it.”

Your heart clenched, but you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Mom… please. Not today?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“I’m only telling you this because someone has to knock sense into you,” she sneered, still refusing to meet your eyes. “Boys like him? They have small minds and even smaller ambitions. Once you both graduate college, he'll drag you down with him. All he’ll want is a bunch of kids and a life stuck in this dead-end town. You'll waste every ounce of potential you have if you let him tie you here.”

You focused on clearing the table from tonight’s dinner, the sound of clinking plates filling the uncomfortable silence.

Your mind replayed the evening, recalling Jungkook’s polite smile, the warmth in his eyes as he tried to win your mother over. She had asked him countless questions, her tone careful, even pleasant. You thought the dinner went well.

But now, hearing her talk about him like this, your heart ached not just for yourself, but for him.

Your mother was an ambitious woman who had married your father for a better future, hoping to escape this small town. But life with your father’s wealthy family was not easy. Their cold indifference to her background always lingered. Even though you grew up surrounded by luxury, loneliness was your constant companion.

When your parents divorced and your father remarried, your mother wanted you to stay with him, but you didn’t want to live with his new family. You never felt at home in that huge house you grew up in when your parents were still together, how much more so with a stepmother and step siblings?

So, you went with her back to the town she despised. At first, you didn’t understand why she would return to a place she hated, but as you both navigated this new life together, you realized that her need to start over and seek support from her family made sense.

You didn’t respond.

She was always right, and you never won.

Instead, you washed the plates in silence, her voice still in the background, lecturing about how this town would trap you. She insisted that once you graduated college, you had to leave and build a better life.

Better meant anywhere but here.

When the last dish was dried, you mustered a quiet, “I’m going to rest, Mom. Good night,” before retreating upstairs.

You’re tired. Every interaction with her left you drained.

You were an adult. In college. But why didn’t it feel that way? Why did it feel like you had no control over your own life?

You quickly opened the door and entered your room, ready to shower, rest, and—

“Happy birthday, love,” a soft whisper from behind the door startled you, making you almost shriek, until a large hand gently covered your mouth to muffle the sound.

You spun around to find Jungkook grinning from ear to ear.

“Jungkook! What are you doing in my room? How did you even get up here?”

“Through your window,” he said proudly.

“You climb?!”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t hug and kiss you in front of your mom. She wanted me gone right after dinner, and…I couldn’t go home without doing this on your birthday.”

He pulled you into a tight hug, so tight it felt like all your broken pieces were being stitched back together.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I thank God every day for bringing you to me. The past years since you’ve been here? They've been the happiest of my life. I hope you’re happy here, too.”

“I’m happy with you. You make me happy every day,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him softly. Jungkook deepens the kiss, slow and deliberate, his hand cradling the back of your neck. When he pulls back, his eyes search yours.

“Feel better now?” he murmurs.

“What do you mean?” you ask, breathless.

“Your mom... I know it made you uncomfortable when she kept asking questions,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry.” You sigh softly, and he kisses you again, this time, more possessive.

“How about now? You feel better?” he teases, lips barely grazing yours.

You purse your lips, pretending to think.

“Hmm… let me see,” he whispers, his index finger tracing a slow line down your neck, over your collarbone, and under the hem of your dress. His dark eyes flick up through thick lashes, silently asking permission.

You nod, biting your lip in anticipation.

His fingers slip beneath your panties, finding your slick heat. You gasp, clutching at his biceps as he watches every reaction closely. .

“Already? I haven’t done anything.” he breathes, sliding a finger inside you with ease, curling it gently before circling your clit.

“Better?” he whispers.

You nod quickly. A wicked smile tugs at his lips as he quickened his pace, adding another finger, and you couldn’t help but moan.

“Two fingers better inside you, baby?” he taunts softly.

“Y-yes,” you whimper.

“Yeah? Thought so,” he chuckles, lips ghosting over yours as he works you open.

A muffled squeak escapes your lips, and Jungkook grins.

“Want me to make you cum?” he asks, voice low and rough.

 You nodded quickly as the words stuck in your throat.

Before you can answer, your mom’s voice calls from behind the door.

“YN?!”

You freeze, eyes wide.

“Y-yes, Mom?!” you manage, voice shaky, as his fingers move slowly inside you.

“I asked if you heard a noise!”

“N-no? I didn’t. Why?” you answer back, too quickly.

“Just thought I did. Probably those damn cats again! I’ll go to sleep. Good night.” she said and you hear her footsteps fade. 

You laugh softly, and Jungkook just smirks.

With his fingers still inside you, he guides you to your bed, walking backward until you both stumble onto the mattress. 

You straddle him, heart racing.

“I’ve been wanting to do this to you since I got here,” he growls against your lips, trailing hot kisses down your neck to your chest.

Your head spins under his touch, hands gripping his shoulders. His fingers tease the straps of your dress down, undressing you, revealing a delicate lace set. He groans, face buried between your breasts as he guides your hips to grind against his hardness.

You bite down on your lower lip, trying to muffle any sound with your mom's room so close to yours.

"Fuck... you feel so good. Always feel so good." He whimpers, his voice low and shaky as you slowly grind down on him.

A needy sigh slipping past your lips into his mouth. He takes it as encouragement, eyes dark with desire. Without warning, he lifts his hips slightly to push down his jeans and boxers in one swift motion, freeing his throbbing cock. The swollen tip, slick with pre-cum, slaps against his toned stomach.

His breath hitches as he wraps one hand around his length, pumping it lazily, while the other slides your panties aside. The anticipation has you both on edge as he guides himself to your entrance, teasing your folds.

You sink down onto him slowly, inch by inch, until he's buried deep inside you. A mutual sigh of relief escapes both of you, as if this is exactly where you belong.

"So fucking tight," he hisses, head falling back against the headboard. His fingers dig into your hips, grounding himself.

Once you've adjusted, you start to move, bouncing on his cock, each roll of your hips more desperate than the last. His hands roam your body, gripping your waist, caressing your thighs, holding you close.

"God, you're so beautiful," he breathes into your ear, placing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. "My beautiful girl. Mine. Only mine."

When his thumb finds your clit, circling it with practiced ease, a loud moan escapes you before you can stop it. His hand shoots up to cover your mouth.

"Shh... you don't want your mom hearing how good I'm making you feel, do you?" he smirks, voice a whisper.

You shake your head, biting down on his palm, but you don't stop. You can't stop. You're close, so close, and he knows it. 

“So tight around me, fuck.” His grip on your hips tightens as he thrusts up to meet each bounce. 

The pressure builds and then shatters as your climax crashes over you.

“Yeah… that’s it. Cum for me.” He whispers against your ear, his words curling around you as your body trembles.

But before you can catch your breath, he flips you effortlessly. You’re now at the edge of the bed, laying on your back, thighs still shaking from your high.

Then, he kneels down.

You looked down, only to see his mouth is already dragging down your inner thigh. “Tsk. You made a mess baby. Let me clean you up” he smirks, then licks a long, greedy stripe up your dripping cunt like he’s starving for it. And then, two fingers, teasing in and out of you, and you gasp—

“Fuck, baby, so tight still. Can’t believe this greedy little hole just swallowed my whole cock.”

And then his mouth is back on your clit—sucking, licking, devouring—while his fingers thrust harder and faster. The way he moans against you sounds like he’s the one getting off.

You whimper something that might be his name? You’re not sure. Everything is heat and noise and Jungkook’s mouth dragging you into another high like it’s the only thing he lives for.

“Cum for me again, baby… please, I wanna see you cum for me,” he pleads.

And like the good girlfriend you are, you do.

Harder.

Ugly.

Back arched off the bed, sobbing into your arm, trembling as you cums around his fingers, and he fucking smirks, face glistening, licking his lips like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Then, without warning, he yanks you closer, lines his cock back up, and shoves it in.

The sound that leaves you is near animal.

“Fuck, fuck—Kook—”

“Huh? What's that? You’re saying something?,” he pants, hips snapping fast and deep. 

You feel so full and stretched, your mouth remains open, unable to say another word.

“Thought so. My pretty little girl.”

One hand grips your jaw, the other pins your hip. He watches the outline of his cock slam in and out of your ruined hole, the way your face crumples, tears streaming down your cheeks. Fuck, you look so beautiful when you’re this fucked out.

And you cum again.

Then he leans in, nose brushing yours, breath hot and ragged. “Where am I gonna cum, baby? Still on the pill?”

You nod. Your head’s a mess, eyes rolling, lips parted. “Y-yes… inside. Cum inside me, Jungkook—please—need it—”

“Fucking hell.” His hand wraps around your throat as he yanks your legs over his shoulders. “So greedy, begging me to fill you up? Huh? You like being my little cumslut?”

You tighten. 

He smirks down at you, dark eyes gleaming. “You like being called my cumslut? Say it, baby.”

“I-I’m your cumslut…” you whisper, barely audible.

That smile he gives you—it’s filthy and full of pride.

“Good girl.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Gonna fill you up, make sure you feel me for days. Take it… take my fucking cum—”

His thrusts grow erratic as he ruts into you deep, cock buried to the hilt. He cums with a groan as he spills inside, thick and heavy and endless. 

When he finally pulls out, your hole clenched around nothing, his cum leaking down your thighs.

He groans at the sight.

And then–

He pushes two fingers into your leaking pussy, scooping up the warm mess he just fucked into you.

“Open your mouth, love,” he commands.

You do.

Of course you fucking do. 

He shoves the fingers in deep, pressing them down on your tongue. 

And he tastes salty and sweet and home.

And while you’re still sucking on his fingers, he spits.

Right into your mouth. 

“Swallow all of it,” he rasps. 

You moan around his fingers as you do it, throat bobbing, tears clinging to your lashes. 

You’re twitching still, overstimulated, but his other hand’s already moving between your legs again, fingers sliding back into your dripping, used cunt—pushing his cum deeper.

“Still tight for me. Still ready for me.” His voice is pained, like a tortured man. “You’re so perfect.”

He leans in again, kissing you so deep, tasting his cum and spit on your tongue.

“So fucking beautiful. Sweetest mouth I’ve ever tasted. My perfect girl.” he whispers against your lips, so soft, so tender, as your legs shake as another orgasm rolls through you.

Heavy breaths fill the room, thick and sticky with heat, and for a moment, everything is quiet. 

Then, with a gentleness that completely contradicts how he just fucked you, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you up, guiding your trembling frame toward the bathroom.

He presses a lingering kiss to your temple.

“Go pee, baby,” he murmurs softly, brushing hair from your face like you didn’t just swallow his cum and spit and take his cock like a desperate little thing.

When you return, he’s already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting.

He hands you your clothes without a word, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. You take them gratefully.

You reach for your panties, sliding them up slowly, your legs still a little unsteady. His gaze doesn’t leave you, burning into your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you all over again. 

He always watches you like this when you dress. Like he hasn’t seen it a hundred times before. Like he hasn’t fucked the living life out of you just minutes ago.

Then, just as you reach for your dress, he reaches into his pocket.

And pulls out a small black box.

His smile grows—wide, nervous, hopeful—

“Happy birthday again,” he whispers, placing the box in your hand, his fingers brushing yours.

You open it, breath hitching as the silver necklace with a delicate star-shaped pendant catches the soft glow of your bedside lamp. You look at him, lips parted in awe.

“How did you know?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Of course I know. I notice everything about you,” he says softly. “Every time we passed by that shop near the school, I saw you glance at it.”

“But… this must have cost so much,” you murmur.

He shakes his head, stepping closer with that grin he always wears when he’s trying to act cooler than he is. “It’s nothing,” he says, voice low. “One day, I’ll give you more than this. Way more. You deserve everything.”

“Here,” he murmurs, holding the box out, thumb brushing the edge. “Let me put it on you.”

His fingers tremble a little as puts it on you, like he’s afraid you’ll see how badly he wants this moment to matter. Like this tiny thing—this small, imperfect token—is carrying the weight of every future he dreams of with you.

You turn to face the mirror, heart racing as he steps in behind you. His hands—warm, steady—clasp the necklace around your neck, the metal cool against your flushed skin.

There is softness in what you see: Jungkook, fully clothed, eyes lit with affection. And you—half-dressed, skin still glowing from his love. 

His fingers trail lightly over your collarbone, tracing the pendant. “The prettiest neck I’ve ever seen,” he whispers, pressing a kiss just below your ear, his lips lingering, making you shiver.

You close your eyes, leaning back into him as he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close, his breath warm against your skin. The silver pendant gleams faintly in the dim light, catching just enough glow to shimmer against your chest—your bare breast exposed, soft against his clothed frame.

“Did you like it?” He asks. 

“I love it, Jungkook. Thank you. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect,” you breathe, turning slightly to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“I love you,” he sighs, his lips grazing your shoulder.

“I love you, too,” you whisper back.

His arms tighten just a little around you, and with his lips still brushing your shoulder, he whispers.

“I’m gonna marry you someday.”

NOW

“I trust you can do all of this without me sending Taehyung?” Kole asks for the fourth time, his voice light, almost playful. Before you can glare at him, he raises both hands in surrender, grinning like he already knows what’s coming.

“I’m just making sure! Paperwork is such a feat. I wanted to make sure you get help from a trusted lawyer such as Taehyung. Please don't hate me for being an annoyingly helpful fiancé!”

“Yes, I’m sure. He doesn’t have to fly four hours to this town just to tell me everything that can be explained over the phone,” you say, shaking your head as you zip up the overstuffed folder.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” he laughs, walking over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “I just know sorting through your mom’s affairs and this house is a lot.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. His glasses slide a little down his nose, and he doesn’t bother fixing them.

“How do you feel?”

“How do I feel now that my mom’s dead?” you reply, your voice flat. You meet his gaze in the reflection. 

“You know what I mean…” he says softly. “As much as you tell yourself you were ready for this, because she’s been sick for a while… no one’s ever really prepared to lose a parent.” He kisses your cheek gently. 

“I know… I don’t know,” you admit. “I guess it hasn’t hit me yet. We just got engaged last year, and I thought she’d be at our wedding. I thought she’d see me walk down the aisle. She liked you. You know that.”

“I know,” he says with a quiet smile, then adds with a wink, “I mean, who wouldn’t? I’m the best.”

You give him a faint smile before gently removing his arms from around you, turning back to your suitcase to begin unpacking. There’s too much to go through, too much to handle. You're staying here for a while.

The funeral was dull.

Not that it shouldn’t have been. But it was dull—not in the way that funerals aren’t meant to be “fun,” but in the way everything felt gray. Bleak. Hollow. There was no warmth, no laughter between tears, no celebration of life. 

You didn’t recognize half the people who showed up, and you’re fairly certain most of them hadn’t spoken to your mom in years. Still, you were grateful they came. Grateful they said the right things, bowed their heads, and left politely.

But then again, she wasn’t the most pleasant woman.

Especially not toward the end.

Illness made her sharp-tongued, bitter, withdrawn.

And if you were being honest, you hadn’t exactly been around to soften that. 

Aside from the dutiful check-ins from her siblings and the obligatory visits you made twice a year, she had no one.

And that was your fault, wasn’t it?

You left town the moment college ended—ran, really—and worked for your dad’s company.

You’d told yourself it was for the best. That it was healthier. 

Now she’s gone, and the guilt is unbearable. It clings to your ribs like rot, settles in the hollows of your throat every time you try to sleep.

You down your drink in one long gulp.

The past few days have been a blur of paperwork and condolences. Kole left the morning after the funeral—some urgent deal he couldn’t reschedule—and now everything’s been on you. The house, the lawyers, the decisions.

Her house is old. Huge. Quiet. The kind of quiet that creaks at night and feels haunted even if it’s not.

You used to live in that house, although it never felt like home. Nothing ever did.

You thought maybe you’d renovate it, sell it off, turn it into an Airbnb or something. But truthfully? You don’t want to come back here.

Not ever.

And yet...

Your fried, grief-heavy brain keeps avoiding the one thing it doesn’t want to process. Jungkook.

Because the universe, with all its twisted humor, decided he would be performing tonight—on the exact night you wandered into this bar, just trying to breathe. 

You didn’t see the sign out front. Didn’t know his band was on the set list. 

Now it made sense why there was a long line snaking around the block when you arrived. The place was packed, buzzing.

Good thing you knew the owner—an old college friend who still owed you a favor or two.

The last time you saw him you swore that would be the last.

It’s all set—your dad introduced you two with a handshake and a business plan, and you played your part. Kole’s not hard to like. He’s kind, patient, careful with you in ways you didn’t even realize you needed.

Your mom adored him. Your dad practically sees him as a son. And the partnerships he has with your dad’s business made it easy to say yes.

Except...

You’ll never love Kole the way you loved Jungkook. You’re not even sure you’re capable of loving someone like that again. That deep. That destructively. That honestly.

But you made your choice. You’re marrying Kole.

You finish your drink in one sharp pull and slip past the crowd before he sees you, as his voice—still mesmerizing , still beautiful—fills the smoke-thick air.

You don’t look back.

You reached your car—sleek, modern, expensive. An anniversary gift from Kole, who liked to remind people he could give you the world. You didn’t ask for the car. Or the vacation to the Swiss Alps. But you took them.

Just as you pressed your key fob, a voice from behind— disgustingly sweet.

“I see you’re back,” she said.

You turned slowly.

“Rosie,” you greeted. Flat. 

Jungkook’s girlfriend.

You heard they finally made it official sometime last year. 

You also knew she’d had the fattest crush on Jungkook for years— long before you ever came into the picture. And while no one ever confirmed it, you’d heard rumors that she may or may not have been the one spreading some nasty rumors about you when you and Jungkook got together in college.

And whether it was true or not, you’re the kind of girl who holds grudges.

“So sorry for your loss. I hope you’re holding up okay. I figured you’d be gone right after the funeral.” She steps closer with a fake smile.

“I’m sorting out my mother’s affairs,” you reply calmly. “I’ll be here a while.”

You saw it, the flicker in her expression. Her smile faltered for a second. 

“I see…” she nodded. “You saw the performance tonight, huh? Back there? Jungkook’s amazing. But you already know that. You were, like, everywhere they played in college, weren’t you?”

You smiled, tight. “He was always good on stage. Still is.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah. I remember that. You were always there. Everywhere. Front row, backstage, after-party. Kind of hard to miss, honestly.”

You turned to open your car, already done with her. “Nice seeing you, Rosie.”

Your fingers curls around the handle when she fires again.

“I noticed this car when I pulled up,” she said, stepping closer. “Didn’t realize it was yours. Must be nice, engaged to a rich guy, living in luxury. I mean, I’d kill for that life.”

You didn’t respond.

“But I guess even money can’t buy happiness.” she added, smiling wider. “Must be so sad... having it all, but still crawling back to the same old boy you couldn’t quit. Jungkook must be some dick, huh?”

Your ears ring. 

You turn to her slowly.

“You know,” you said, voice calm and flat, “you might’ve earned a degree, but clearly education doesn’t guarantee class.  Don’t project your loud, insecure little life onto mine. Jungkook and I are done. You can stop embarrassing yourself now.”

Her face contorts. “You lying bitch! We both know you’re still fucking him every time you come back here, even with a ring on your finger. Even when he and I got together, you couldn’t keep your legs shut!”

You scoff. “Funny. Jungkook never even mentioned you. If you mattered, I would’ve heard your name long ago. As for my engagement? Like I said, Jungkook and I were done. He’s all yours now. Good luck.”

You start to turn, when suddenly, your head yanks back.

Before you can process, her palm cracks across your cheek. Sharp and disorienting.

Your knees wobbled. You staggered. The sting lit up your skin like fire.

You barely found your balance before you felt a hand wrap firmly around your waist, holding you up.

“Stop!”

The voice is loud, angry, and familiar.

“I said stop! What the fuck are you doing, Rosie?!”

Jungkook pulls you back protectively, placing himself between you both. His chest heaves, and for a moment, everything blurs. 

You look at him.

He’s glaring at her.

[cathrrrine]

Perfect / Love Won’t Die

Dominick “Sonny” Carisi x Reader • Law and Order SVU • Domestic Fluff, AFAB!Reader

Summary: Sonny happily holds the bouquet of flowers he bought for his girlfriend only for her to open the door and start crying. He immediately panics, but soon finds himself amused when she reveals the true reason for her tears. AO3

A/N: I’ve never posted any of my SVU imagines, but I had to with this one :) Happy 2024! My resolution is to post more of my work so I’m digging through all my drafts and posting them lol. Enjoy husband material Carisi <3

In all the six months you had been dating Sonny, there were never many problems that couldn’t be resolved with a simple conversation or a hug and a kiss on the cheek. As far as Sonny was concerned, it was the perfect relationship. He had gotten to know all your little habits; likes and dislikes, pet peeves, niche obsessions. Six months wasn’t exactly a super long time but it wasn’t short either. After only half a year of dating each other, he’d confidently testify that he had fallen in love with you deeply, enough to want to spend the rest of his life with you. He was happy to get married, have babies, grow old together…the whole shebang.

Things were going steady with you. He couldn’t imagine himself being with anybody else, and he was over the moon to know that you felt the samw way. Long late-night conversations about the future the two of you dreamed of revealed that you wanted him to be a part of it as much as he wanted you. Sure, Sonny was aware of how much of a (hopeless) romantic he could be sometimes, but that was in the past, and all of those relationships weren’t with the right people. His sisters had been talking his ear off ever since high school, warning him about women that would only break his heart. It made him wince just to think about all the red flags they ticked off angrily; gold-diggers, manipulators, emotionally unstable women, emotionally unavailable women…and the likes of it. That and their own broken-heart experiences that prompted very fuelled lectures of examples of men Sonny shouldn’t follow always rang in his mind, even until now.

He’d also been made well aware of how right they were about his exes with a bunch of ‘I told you so’s’ and narrowed eyes, but those relationships were in the past and he was much, much younger (and dumber) than he is now. He only had a couple of serious relationships in his adulthood, which ended up not being the right fit for either parties. Then, his love life got buried under the heavy, heavy load of police work and law school and he never found the time to make himself available in the dating pool. He was always too tired, too beat, too mentally drained. It was never a priority.

Then everything came to a stop and his whole world wouldn’t do anything but revolve around you. Sonny was smitten, like a lovesick puppy who got shot by cupid’s nuclear-powered bazooka as fate would have it.

He never felt this way about anyone in his life before, it was a feeling he relished in and was adamant on not letting go.

You were perfect.

Obviously, you had your flaws, but all only human, none of them fatal. Like how you had a habit of ordering too much food but he ends up being the one to finish it up when you realised your eyes had been bigger than your appetite — but he didn’t mind that at all, in fact he secretly loved being able to feast like a King — or how sometimes, you would arrive 10 minutes late to your dates on one of your busiest weeks, which he never complained about because he had his fair share of being unpunctual as well. Plus, you always made it up to him one way or another.

You were absolutely perfect, inside and out. Sonny thanked God everyday for sending a woman as smart, beautiful and kind as you his way. He’s never felt so lucky.

Sonny knew and loved everything about you, down to your weirdest quirks. If there was a Jeopardy! game where the topic was You, he’d be waving around his trophy like a mad man. What you didn’t tell him, he learned. It was the same way you got to know him. The two of you were always honest with each other, trust being the pillar of your relationship, it was why you got along so well. You knew how to make him happy, as he did for you.

So, why is it that you were crying as he handed you a bouquet of your favourite flowers as soon as you opened the door to your apartment?

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His sweet smile dropped to a concerned frown, uncomfortable and nervous at your sudden reaction.

There you were in front of him, dressed in your most comfortable pair of pyjama pants and an oversized tee that he was sure once belonged to him, messy hair up that he found extremely adorable. Nothing seemed out of place, except for the fact that…well, you were crying.

He always brought you flowers. Was he late? He glanced at the clock on your wall. No…was it something he said? Something he did? Something…he totally forgot about?

“Nothing- no, everything’s fine, nothing’s wrong.” You sniffed, hugging the fresh bouquet close to your chest, dipping your nose into the floral fragrance to smell it only to find that the tears had triggered an onslaught of snot. That only made you cry more.

The bubble of nerves in Sonny’s chest was bursting at this point, he was almost worried he was having a heart attack. “Doll, you’re crying, something’s wrong.”

He held out an arm to pull you into a hug and you eagerly sunk into his embrace. You buried your face into the fabric of his suit jacket, breathing in what you could of his faded perfume. His calloused hands stroked your hair, softly caressing your head as he cradled it. He gently peeled you off of him to get a better look of your face, now red and eyes puffy from sobbing.

He held your cheeks between his palms and you pouted, looking up at him with sad doe-like eyes, and if that didn’t break his heart that he must not have one because the look on your face was shattering him in every possible way right now. One of his thumbs swiped a fresh tear off your cheek, he felt you nuzzle into his hand.

The tall blond gently led you to your couch and set the flowers down on the coffee table before cuddling up with you close to his chest. You wrapped your arms around him desperately, wanting nothing more than to be absolutely engulfed by everything Sonny — scent, skin and biceps.

“You’re killing me sweetheart, you gotta tell me what’s gotten you all upset like this.” You felt him kiss the top of your head and love bloomed in your chest immediately. “Come on, doll, what’s up?”

You sighed, big and loud, huffing away all the choked up tears with one big breath. “I swear it’s nothing. I’m so stupid.”

He was quiet for a while until you felt his voice vibrate from his chest again, “Was it…me? Did I do something wrong?”

You whipped your head to look at him, only to be greeted with a very worried expression.

Oh, Sonny. Oh, sweet heavenly innocent Sonny. How could you not love this man with every fibre of your being when he’s got that look in his eyes? The one where his pupils are so dilated, you could see your reflection in his big, blue puppy eyes.

How could you have been so careless?! Of course he’d think you were crying because of him, the sweet stupid man — God, you loved him so much. The thought only made you more emotional…and just like that the waterworks came rushing back in.

“Oh, God, Sonny-“ you hiccuped, pulling yourself away from him to put your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry- it’s not your fault at all,”

The lovesick, worried-sick man shot up next to you to pull you into his arms once again, stomach churning at the wave of emotions you were going through. He couldn’t even detective his way through this, his mind going haywire with every sniff that came from you.

“Then what is it?” He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, “Did something happen at work? Is it that asshole again?”

With what he dealt with at his job, it wasn’t out of the question for his mind to be going down that dark path, but he shoved his anger and panic down to focus on your well-being, remaining rational until you were calm.

That made you shoot up to look at him again, words tumbling out of your mouth hurriedly to curb his worries. “No, no! I’m okay, I’m absolutely fine, Todd — that ass — didn’t do anything to me, I promise you, I swear to God. And it’s not you, it’s not anything even remotely related to anything sane at all. I don’t even know why I’m getting all worked up over a bunch of random things, it’s just so—“

“Doll.” Your boyfriend’s voice pulled you out of your rambling. The loving concern that radiated off of him was enough to bring you back to your senses. Gently, he asked again. “What is it?”

You melted immediately, both embarrassed and exhausted from all the sobbing you had been doing. “I’m on my period.”

Oh.

Oh!

“I know, I’m not usually this emotionally affected but my hormones are all over the place and my TV decided to autoplay The Notebook, now I’m a mess.” You sniffed. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have seen me like this, much less deal with me.”

It was only then that the detective noticed the TV screen, paused on Ryan Gosling’s frowning face.

He tried to stifle his amusement, but it came out in a fit of giggles, much to your dismay.

“It’s not funny.” You pouted.

“I just— I thought—“ His laughter consumed him, shoulders shaking as he held up his palms to his face and ran his fingers through his hair, uncaring of how it would mess it up. Sonny leaned back into the couch and continued to laugh with his hands over his face.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was so quiet it came out like a squeak, ashamed of how you cried like a baby in front of him. Although the two of you spent plenty times over at each other’s places and hanging out with each other, over the six months he knew you, you never had your hormones hit you this hard. It wasn’t uncommon to you, but it wasn’t a regular occurrence either, and it certainly wasn’t an event Sonny had the pleasure of experiencing…until today.

“It’s okay if you’d prefer to be at your own place right now, I totally get it. I won’t be offended in the least, okay? I’ll call you in the morning.” Some men in the past have been weirded out when this happened to you, so you weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t be offended — it was ‘your fault’ anyway, that was what you had grown accustomed to.

But Sonny, the ever-loving and understanding guy, did not share the same view. Of course not! Raised-with-sisters, loves-his-mother, thoroughly Italian, good-Catholic-man-who-respects-women Sonny, would never in a million years ever even think about being upset with you just because your period messed with your emotions. And that’s why you weren’t sure why you were so surprised when he responded to your offer with a kiss.

This was Sonny. He would never think lowly of you because of something you couldn’t control.

“That’s crazy talk, doll.” He mumbled into the kiss, smiling as he continued to love on your lips. “I’d never leave you alone like this.”

You pulled away a bit to properly look at his face, “Really?”

This was the man your heart belonged to. You don’t know how you didn’t explode when he gave you the most charming smile that ever graced his lips.

“Really.”

Everything you were worried about solved itself into place, like sentient puzzle pieces figuring themselves out with confidence.

“You’re too good for me.”

Unabashedly, you continued to make out with your boyfriend on your couch, a newfound appreciation driving you mad with love.

“I’m only for you, babe. Don’t need anyone or anything else but you.”

———

Now that the two of you were freshened up and settled down with mugs of hot cocoa in your hands, you and Sonny were much more at ease.

There was nothing better to Sonny than to be cuddled up with his girlfriend with her head laying on his chest. You practically clung to the arm draped over your shoulder, making a nest out of his bicep for your face — which reminded him of a koala bear, but he kept that thought to himself. He was so comfortable, so happy that this was his life. His nose pressed against your hair, the scent of your shampoo reminding him of a holiday well-spent together in Mexico. Deja Vu hit him the minute he kissed your head, laughing through his nose when he remembered the events that happened just a few hours prior.

“Hey,” he nudged you with the arm you were glued to. You pulled your focus from the movie you were watching — a comedy, nothing that would make the ‘bloody demon hormones possess me’ as you put it — and raised your eyebrows curiously in response. “I’m just wonderin’…”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you cry when I gave you the flowers?”

You groaned, still somewhat embarrassed at the flurry of emotions you attacked the innocent man with. But you humoured the question anyway, “I opened the door and you were standing there, so handsome and so sickeningly charming, holding up flowers that you brought for me. You should be worried if I didn’t cry.”

“Wow,” he whistled. “I’m really that handsome, huh?”

You playfully hit him in the chest with your fist as you resumed your initial position, “Shut up.” A smirk managed to rip it’s way through your lips. “But mostly, I was crying because I was so sad that the flowers were going to die. I don’t know, just weird how my brain works on my period.”

It was a nonchalant mention, nothing big to you, but it stuck to his mind. Flowers dying made you upset. How precious was that? He catalogued the thought, filing it away for the future. The inkling of humour tempted him, though.

“So, not so much on the handsome part?”

You snorted, “Eh, I’ll give it a 60/40.”

“It should be in the news or something. ‘Guy So Handsome, Makes A Grown Woman Cry’” he gestured in the air as if there was a banner.

“How about, ‘Girl So Hormonal, Makes A Grown Man Cry With Her’?”

“Psh, I didn’t cry.”

“You so were.”

“Was not.”

You laughed, thinking he’d given it up when the sound of the movie began to fade into your hearing again.

“You should come over the precinct, tell the guys how I can make the ladies cry just by showing up at their door.”

He wore that goofy, toothy grin you were so accustomed to whenever he was joking around.

You rolled your eyes. Then decided to mess with him. “Excuse me? Ladies? Plural?”

The grin immediately wiped off of his face. “No- I meant lady, as in singular.”

“Mhmm.”

“I mean— no, that’s not what—“

“Sure, Son.” The monotonous voice you used made him sweat.

“You know you’re the only gal for me! I was just joking…hey, baby, come on, look at me…”

———

Months passed by and relationship milestones came and went. You finally met his family on month eight, and him yours. Month ten, you got a promotion at work and thankfully — not by your doing — Todd left the company. Sonny and the rest of the SVU team made a breakthrough on a case, you met his coworkers you heard so much about for the first time when he brought you along for their celebratory dinner. He was teased relentlessly for ‘keeping such a wonderful woman from us all this time’. You enjoyed the camaraderie that they shared with each other, and felt like you won a prize when they extended it to you.

Time passed by you so fast that you barely noticed it was almost a full year since you and Sonny made it official.

The day of your anniversary, he made reservations for the two of you at a fancy restaurant — Italian, of course. You reminisced the journey of your relationship together over some fine dining and a delightful bottle of wine. The ambiance, mixed with the light-headed feeling from one too many glasses of wine, only made the love you had for Sonny so much more emphasised. It was a dream, to be loved by such an amazing man, to have found your soulmate. If you weren’t at such busy points of your career, you’d literally have his babies right then and there. A couple of mini Sonny’s would do the world good, you pondered. Unbeknownst to you, the subject of your thoughts was thinking the exact same thing, only he was dreaming up a babble of mini You’s instead.

Sonny and you walked home together — he had basically moved into your apartment by now, he was finding it harder and harder to be separated from you at night. Having you next to him made him sleep better, and just generally being around you made him feel better — the two of you never made his move-in an official thing, but there was no need to. It was almost like you shared a telepathic connection. Although, Sonny being Sonny, will make the moving in an official thing whether you needed to or not. Maybe into an actual house, with a backyard and a huge kitchen and a family to raise in to make it a home. One day. Maybe even tomorrow. He’d do anything, anytime with you.

“Got you something, by the way.” He grinned, keys jangling on the doorknob as he swung it open for you.

“Sonny, you didn’t have to.” You blushed. One year together and he still had that effect on you.

“Well, I wanted to.”

While you were taking off your shoes, he used it as a distraction to take it out of the hiding spot he so carefully planned — his height being an advantage to said plan — and waddled over in his socks to where you were sitting on the couch, handing it to you once he was sat as well.

It was a daintily patterned gift bag, not too big and not too small either, with a card attached to it on the front. You carefully removed it to read his words in neat handwriting.

Happy 1 year anniversary, doll. I love you so much. You make me the luckiest man alive. My love for you will never die.

You wanted to cry, so touched by his short but undeniably sweet words. He saw how your bottom lip jutted out, the way it usually did when emotions got the best of you, and smiled to himself with a bit of pride in getting his words right.

Slowly, you pried the top of the bag open, only discovering a plastic dome. “Careful.” Your boyfriend noted.

You wondered what it was, going over all the possibilities in your head as you took it out of the bag; lava lamp, necklace, tiny bottle, lantern…only to gasp when you saw what it really was inside.

A small sphere-shaped cactus with a crown of pink flowers, placed inside a white ceramic pot with the words, ‘My love for you will never die’ engraved in cursive writing around it.

Ahhhh, here come the waterworks.

“Sonny,” your eyebrows scrunched up, lips fully pouting now. “This is the sweetest fucking gift ever.”

Your use of words didn’t go unnoticed by the smiling man, earning you a chuckle out of him. “I remember the time you cried when I brought you flowers, and you told me it was because you were sad ‘bout them dying…it’s cheesy, I know. Corny, a bit. But I thought you’d like it.”

The rising inflection of his voice gave away his nerves, but you were quick to make your appreciation known. “I do, I do! It’s just the most beautiful and thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given me. Thank you, baby. I’m- Aw…“

You choked up and he took that as his cue to pull you into his arms, careful to set the prickly plant down so you wouldn’t accidentally get hurt.

“It’s true though, my love will never die. You’re stuck with me for as long as you want me.”

“You know I’m shit at keeping plants alive, Son!” You couldn’t help the wavering in your voice, “Oh, but this is just so, so sweet. You’re just too cute for your own good.”

“Well, I was cute enough for you to accept the babbling guy who asked you out a year ago.” The giggling that followed made his blue eyes seem brighter.

“Yeah, I couldn’t say no to that face.”

You took the comfortable silence that ensued as a segue to your own offering to him, “Speaking of this cactus being put at the risk of dying, I’m gonna have to appoint someone to remind me it needs water every now and then.”

“I’m assuming that would be me?”

“Yup.” You shifted around to look through your purse. “So, I was thinking…”

Sonny narrowed his eyes at you, “Thinking…?”

You held out your palm and reached out for his, dropping a familiar weight into his hands. As soon as you pulled your hands away, the object revealed itself to be a single silver key with a brown leather strap keychain attached to the ring, ‘Det. Carisi’ engraved on one side and ‘Sonny’ on the other.

He looked up at you, meeting eager eyes that matched his own. You were practically bouncing with giddiness, excited to reach yet another milestone.

“Move in with me? Officially?”

God, you were so perfect.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

[ethereal-writes]

An Unwanted Interruption (Ft. Lucifer and GN!MC)

Warnings: Slight romantic implications? (Lucifer has a crush on the MC if you squint)

Length: 0.7k

Genre: Fluff, chaotic

Summary: While on a trip to the human world, you and Lucifer get interrupted by a well-meaning lady.

A/N: I've had a bunch of Christmas/winter themed stories in my drafts for a while, I figured it was about time to polish them up and post them! This will be the first of many :D This is also somehow the second Lucifer-centric fic I've ever written. This concept had me giggling the entire time I wrote it, so I hope you enjoy it!

I think I added all the right warnings, if I should add any, please let me know!

-Ethereal ^J^

Story below, please don't claim as your own!

Lucifer had agreed to take you to the human world during the holiday season.

While Christmas in the Devildom was alright, they hadn’t begun celebrating the holiday until much more recently, when Christmas became less about religion and more about spending time with those you love.

Christmas in the Devildom didn’t have the same history and tradition that the human world did.

Which is why you were so ecstatic, even if you were only going to a mall for a few hours.

“Come on, let’s go!” You said impatiently, bouncing on your heels.

“The human world is cold this time of year, is it not?” Lucifer asked, buttoning up his jacket.

You could’ve sworn he started going even slower just to spite you.

“It’s cold, but it’s not that cold,” you emphasized, gesturing to your outfit. You two were going straight inside, and you didn’t feel like lugging a ton of winter gear around. “You know there’s heating in the mall, right?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes but finished buttoning the rest of his coat quickly. He tugged on his gloves, then turned to you. “Very well, let’s get going then.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you a little closer. “So the both of us will be teleported,” he claimed.

He mumbled something you couldn’t be bothered to decipher -though it sounded vaguely Latin- and next thing you knew, the two of you were standing in an empty alleyway.

“Holy crap, we’re here!” You exclaimed, unable to look away from the snow glittering in the sunlight. Even as the cold wind whipped at you, you could still feel the faint traces of the sun’s warmth.

“Of course we’re here,” Lucifer scoffed. “Did you really think I’d fail?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, though your mock-irritation was quickly replaced by excitement once more. “Now, come on! I know where we are! The mall is this way!”

You grabbed his hand and began leading the way through the snowy streets. If Lucifer had a problem with that, he didn’t say so.

With the enthusiastic pace you’d set, the two of you had made pretty good time, and were by the front entrance no more than ten minutes later. The first set of automatic doors opened, and the two of you stepped inside.

You sighed in relief as a wave of warm air hit you, then you turned to Lucifer. “So, what did you want to do first?”

“I don’t have a preference,” He answered, tugging off his gloves and tucking them into his pocket. “I figured that I would allow you to choose what we did today, seeing as you’re more familiar with this environment than I am.”

“Oh!” You paused a second, thinking. Lucifer always took your opinions into consideration, of course, but him having none of his own was exceptionally rare. “Well, when I’m here, I usually go to-“

You noticed a woman had approached the two of you, patiently waiting for you to finish your conversation.

“Ah…can we help you?” Lucifer asked.

She smiled, pulling a book out of her bag— Oh no.

“I was wondering if you had a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior?”

You were certain you had an expression of absolute horror on your face and couldn’t form a coherent sentence if you tried.

Thankfully, Lucifer took the reins and answered. “Oh, no thank you.” He smiled at the woman politely.

“At least take this, then?” She held the book in his direction, and he recoiled.

“I’m sorry, madam, but I can’t touch that. I may literally burst into flames.”

You brought your hand up to cover your mouth. You weren’t sure if you were absolutely mortified or about to start crying from laughter.

“What, are you a Satanist?” She asked, scowling.

“Certainly not,” Lucifer said, sounding offended at the mere suggestion. “He wishes.”

That response was enough to push you over the edge, unable to contain your laughter. This prompted strange looks from literally everyone around you, but you didn’t care.

The woman stared at you a long, long moment before she finally turned around and left, which only made you laugh harder.

Lucifer looked at you a moment. Though his lips were pressed together, you could see him cracking a smile too.

“I-I’m sorry!” You exclaimed between fits. “I- I didn’t know what to do!”

He chuckled. “That wasn’t the first time, and I’m quite certain it won’t be the last time someone approaches me about my father. I’ve gotten good at responding. You, on the other hand…” He simply smirked at you, which made you start laughing all over again.

[bereft-of-frogs]

🎉 the return of the friday list

hey remember when I used to do this every week for a bit and then I stopped? well, doing it again because this is my blog and no one can stop me

📚 reading/watching/listening to:

🤖 [ audiobook ] Rogue Protocol - Martha Wells: I am having violent thoughts about everyone who ever hurt Murderbot. We're unpacking so much trauma in this book lol. Got less than an hour left, will probably finish it this afternoon. Someone get this robot a warm blanket and a new season of Sanctuary Moon STAT!!

☄️ [ book ] Catalyst - James Luceno: I've had this on my to read list for a long time and thought I'd be ironic. It's ok so far, about a third in. I remain underwhelmed by Luceno's writing of women but it turns out he's not the only one so. Eh. More things not to mention on Reddit (my most downvoted posts have been ones where I’m critical of Luceno, the fanboys LOVE him.)

🌌 [ tv ] The Expanse: I've been annoying enough Expanse-posting every damn day so y'all know where I'm at already and probably more of my feelings than you want. I'm about midway through season 2, everyone is still just a little too mean to each other and bad at their jobs for my tastes, but I'll always have the book versions lol. I think my problem is I just really like it when people communicate and are also good at their jobs, and TV production tends to like when people don't communicate and are bad at their jobs, because it makes for more drama. But idk I personally think that having someone generally competent make a bad decision is better drama but that’s just me. Effects remain unmatched and there are a lot of good things, I just miss my married trauma-bonded ducklings

🛸 [ tv ] The X-Files: Finished season 5! A return to form. I liked season 5 a lot more than 4, I think it took itself more seriously. Onto the first movie tonight. I'm a little nervous about how it will hold up because it is such a trash favorite. I loved this movie when I was a kid, but all I remember about it are bees????

🤖 [ tv ] Murderbot: Watched the first episode last night, will watch the second tonight. Ok so far! Definitely an intro, in that it was just dropping little hints of the deeper plot while remaining relatively shallow in tone. I didn't have as many fears as some fans because I'm not as emotionally attached to the books yet, but it did manage to land on my only one, which was that I felt Sanctuary Moon was just a bit to heavy-handed with the parody. I did feel a tiny bit made fun of. I'm not sure why that is, especially when you compare it to stuff like the fake show in Avenue 5, which I found hilarious, but it was just a tiny bit over the top.

🌿 weekend to dos:

long run + grocery store! (one of my new favorite running trails is right outside the grocery store, it's so convenient)

watch many things including: the first X-Files film (I think they call it 'Fight the Future' now, but when I first watched it, it was just 'The X-Files') -> the new TLOU episode I neglected on Sunday -> second episode that's out of Murderbot -> next up in my Expanse marathon

rainy weekend again so I have some writing things to do including rewriting the last action section that really needs a second pass, a few more edits, and getting this 85k fic at least partially formatted to post. hoping to start posting next Friday, because by the chapter count that will take me to the end of August and that feels very neat. the first couple chapters are ready to go, honestly, it's just chapter 4 that has two lengthy action sequences that are a hot mess right now. short fic rough drafts only after I finish all that. as a treat.

emotionally prepare for ✨ 'corporate team building week'✨ aka do nothing and talk to no one because I'm going to spend 3 days having to talk to a LOT of people and going from 'data entry hermit who doesn't talk to anyone and just listens to audiobooks every day' to 'meet a bunch of strangers and pretend to care about my job' is a bit draining. it is pretty fun though and then everyone scatters back to their various wfh setups and I can return to my audiobooks. I also might go to the good thrift store to find some corporate cosplay lol

🌻 have a good weekend!

[im-a-king-baby]

Hey, I love ELYN 😭❤️

So my two fave scenes/ moments were the 'keep of the lake house for now' and 'I've been in love with him since' so any commentary will be amazing. Any extra stuff will be amazing so 🪻please 😊

Hiii <3

Gonna put these 3 under a cut because length

“So hold onto that lake house for a while longer,” he says. “Okay?”

Context: i wrote the majority of the first draft of ELYN for Nanowrimo in 2022 (basically a challenge where you write a 50k novel in the month of November) and then I rewrote and edited it over a bunch of months.

So this chapter was actually very similar to the original draft, except that in Draft 1 all of the vote fallout was in one chapter which had the Simon scene first then the Nils scene. In the editing/developing process all the non-Wilhelm characters grew a lot so I knew I wanted to expand Nil's role, and add some more Felice which meant I could bump Simon into his own chapter.

(there was absolutely not meant to be a giant posting gap between the Nils scene and the Simon scene. To be completely honest if I'd known I was going to need that long to finish the fic off I'd probably have chosen to put the gap immediately after the debate because... tension 😈)

The main places where the Simon scene got extended was in the details - Simon's life and career was not well thought through in draft 1 and a lot of the extra length across the whole fic came from building that up - but the lakehouse beat was always there because it was important that Simon's rehab process had to be something he did independent of Wilhelm, so this idea of Wilhelm offering up this house and Simon rejecting it, then clarifying that it's a 'not yet' but hopefully one day when he's in a better place.

Wilhelm's 'I keep thinking about the last time you went to L.A.' was not in the original and was one of those character beats that didn't come to me until months later, but that really pulled together Wilhelm's feelings at that moment and his reluctance to let Simon leave, and that then led really nicely back into Simon saying hang on to the house, because hopefully its not goodbye this time.

“Keira asked what was different about you,” Simon says. “I said: I fell in love with Wilhelm when I was sixteen, and I have been in love with him every day since.”

Okay so this part was possibly the slowest part of the fic to write mostly because I was still figuring out how to articulate this ending which was meant to be optimistic but not magic-wand-everything's-fixed-now. This line in particular came about because I was trying to find where Simon was sitting emotionally and ended up writing a very short therapy in L.A. scene in which Simon dropped this line and I was immediately like 'well, that has to get into the main story.'

It's a nice parallel to Wilhelm's 'I'm never going to stop being in love with him.' in chapter 8, and it highlights that the issues between them have never been a lack of love or not wanting to be together, it's always been these outside forces that they need to break away from.

Also its one of those lines that you write down and then you read it and you're like 'people are gonna quote this one back at me' and its nice when you get that right 😅

And on that theme, your 🪻 is:

“Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking about?” This is the worst part of therapy. “Wilhelm.” Keira’s eyebrows twitch slightly, which is the only reaction he ever gets and means he’s surprised her. “We haven’t spoken much about Wilhelm, not since you asked if you could text him. Are you ready to tell me more about what happened between you?” “You could check the tabloids.” Her ‘you know that’s not what I meant’ look reminds him of Candace, except that she hasn’t figured out how to also convey ‘and I’m disappointed and you’re exhausting and you’d be nothing without me.’ “I’d like to hear it in your own words.” Simon absolutely can’t look at her. “I fell in love with Wilhelm when I was sixteen,” he says. “And I’ve been in love with him every day since. He’s the one I think about every time I sing a love song. Still. I have slept with - I don’t know, hundreds? - of people since I left Sweden and none of it meant anything, compared to him.” “What was it like, seeing him again?” He’d been drinking steadily in the car on the way to the benefit concert so that he’d be able to smile and read a teleprompter and not just stand there staring but it was a close thing. After his performance they’d swept him into a room where he drank champagne and smiled for the cameras. Wilhelm had touched a fingertip to his bare shoulder and Simon had wanted him so badly it hurt in places he’d thought could no longer feel anything. He doesn’t have words for that, except that it was like being in love. “He showed me I could do this,” Simon says instead. “That I could get out. That these systems we were caught up in weren’t infallible.” She frowns very slightly. “Do you think he spoke out against the monarchy for you?” Maybe? He offered once. On a cold night in his ridiculous scarf in so many words that it was Ayub who figured out what he was getting at after he’d walked away. But, no. “He did it for him. Because he needed it. And I did this for me. But there couldn’t be an ‘us’ before. Because of all those things getting in the way. And now… and maybe we both did it a bit for that. For love. Or whatever.”

[qoldenskies]

Taking a break from homework to ask 11, 12, and 30 from that ask game you reblogged (I’m super super interested in the way other people go about writing their fics lolol 🙏)

YIPPEEEEE

11. Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

truthfully it kind of depends! whenever i write i tend to have The Scene in mind and if i get impatient i'll usually write it, but i try to avoid doing it because i notice it messes with flow (but flow and pacing is something im just very conscious of, even though i observe that because im writing it my brain is reading it faster/skimming so its partially a me problem LOL)

in caged lungs im skipping around only because im trying to go with a draft format instead of editing as i go, since its so long itll help when i see everything connected, and there's a few scenes i plan on changing/rewriting completely when i get it all out. technically everything ive posted up to this point is a first draft, and its a habit i hope to break !!

12. Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines?  How far do you stray from them?

i doooo yes, its mostly just a list of things/interactions i know i want. for cvd i have plans for up to chapter 9/10 or so, and just a bunch of scripts/concepts for later. with canary continuity i have a description for each scene on the google doc and i just add the content in as i go, with my actual notepad (thing i discovered i had on my laptop and have been using liberally) i mostly have quotes and passages i want to put in the story

and also for cc in particular im keeping really close track of the motifs and how i want to work them back around. already thinking about the healing part of the arc and implanting scenes/chekhovs guns that are going to loop back around WAY down the line is very funny... i actually do some of this for cvd too, i love to write intentionally like that.... i am weirdly pretentious and earnest about my turtle fanfiction. people have no idea what im going to do with that lamp and i bide my time. also the clocks. and the laundry room. and the ocean (actually that one's fine its just a parallel). and the rooftop. and the cameras oh my god the cameras. i plan on committing so many horrors

really just things i know i WANT to be consistent with is the biggest thing i keep track of (although sometimes things will just pop up AS i'm writing and i roll with the punches, like the security system being a metaphor in coming undone, and also all of the very intentional trust fall parallels and the way it conveniently worked with the chapter names. fun fact for metaphors, i REALLY planned to expand on the chess thing between leo and donnie but it messed with the pacing so im keeping it for cvd.... ive got some ideas)

OH EXCEPT FOR THAT SEP AU IVE VAGUELY TALKED ABOUT. i have EVERY SINGLE chapter plotted out, its 52 chapters long. i am NOT GOING TO WORRY ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW its a far in the future thing. but its also the only au i have that isnt like,,, specifically canon divergent, so i wanted to pay close attention to how i set things up. 4 later (currently the working name for it is where we went wrong, after the song by the hush sound, and honestly im tempted to keep it because it makes the acronym wwww which is beautifully ironic because they take NOTHING BUT LS ITS JUST ONE AFTER ANOTHER OH MY GOD)

30. How much do you edit your fics?  Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?

OH I KIND OF ALREADY ANSWERED THIS ABOVE OOPS. im trying to break out of the habit but i mostly just grammar correct through google docs and then throw out the first draft haphazardly, and it can kinda come off polished anyway because i tend to edit as i go. sometimes it means i'll fix mistakes in fics like a month after releasing them, impatience is my Weakness

wow i yap a lot LMFAO the yapperrrr

[bvannn]

Weekly Update March 29, 2024

I’m pretty volatile in terms of mood, but I did get a good amount of actual work done on projects. I’m exhausted, I haven’t fixed my sleep schedule yet because I’m addicted to working. Like I’ve genuinely tried to stop and go to be early or sleep in and I just always ‘just one more drawing, just one more verse, just one more thumbnail, it’s let me find this one perfect instrument, just let me finish these four bars, just let me-‘ and before you know it it’s two hours past bedtime and you haven’t even brushed your teeth yet. Or eaten dinner. On the bright side all the stuff I’ve done has gone pretty well!

First big exciting point, that little pitch comic I’ve been working on? Thumbnailing/writing is done. Done enough anyway. I might still go back to edit some pages but I can get going on others now, which is great because even though I’ll only post the full thing once I have the whole comic complete, I might post individual panels, so there will be stuff to see! I’m also going to try to keep writing at night, so I can let other episodes and stories play out a bit, but Art priority will be shifting more to the comic. It will be 30 pages so it will likely take a while, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to do 3 or so panels a week while I’m finishing up this semester and switch to a page a day once I have more time.

Music is also going very well. I’m putting the final mixing touches on a vocaloid cover song (unless I decide to go back and redo the guitar, which I might), which I’ll try to start putting visuals to soon, although that’ll likely be pretty slow since I finally got past the thing that was bottlenecking me on the comic project. I’ll also have to get licensing settled, although that currently looks to be affordable. The whole project has given me a taste for blood and now I want to do a bunch of other cover stuff, but good news: I also found a nearly finished cover of another song that I had put aside in favor of the Green Day one. That’ll probably take a while before I can call it ‘done’, though, whereas I could probably release the first cover song today if I really wanted. I have some time tonight where I’ll try to throw some music together, maybe I’ll work on that.

There’s a few smaller nearly-finished songs I dug up from the depths of my WIPs too, one I need to redo a melody line, one I was bottlenecked on finding a specific instrument for, which I did the other day in lab, and a few others that also either need structure or Melodies. Plus there’s those two that are waiting on lyrics still but I’m still chugging at that, just slowly. I might also try that one tonight too, if I finish or can’t do the vocal cover for whatever reason. There’s also a couple character themes that haven’t really been priorities but I did re-outline one that I’ve been working on, so once I have recording time I can go try that one. That one is on its third draft so I really hope this one will stick.

Other miscellaneous projects haven’t seen much progress this week. I’m still thinking things through for that epithet TTRPG campaign, but I’m having a bit of trouble outlining the third chapter. I just need more brain power for that though, so earlier bedtimes would do it. A couple other art things keep coming to mind but I’ve been focusing more on big projects, so that’ll probably continue if I can. This next week I want to focus on keeping my body as healthy as I can, and then comic, second cover song, and visuals for first cover song, in that order of priority. Passive projects I can work on while doing other activities will be epithet TTRPG planning, song lyrics, and outlining future comic stuff, in that order of priority. If I come up with any song Melodies or ideas for visuals for the song I’m finishing up those priorities might shift, but right now I want to stick to more of a plan, since it worked out well this week.

[lino-jagiyaa]

Skater boi - Bang Chan

Pairing: childhood best friend!bangchan x female reader

Genre: Best friend to lovers trope, mutual pining, non idol au

Warnings: swearing, mentions of smoking (weed), (Mostly fluff + angst so dw)

Word count: 270

Synopsis: you never thought you would catch a crush on your best friend but times have changed. you both are all grown up and everything is different now

Notes: characters are aged down a bit in this (about 5 years lol - chan is 20/reader is the same) so hopefully this isn’t too confusing

extra note: and yes i know, i’m starting so many writings and haven’t finished a bunch but i needed something to post lol and this has been in my drafts since september 🤦🏽‍♀️

song rec - serendipity by bts

send an ask to be tagged in the full fic! | this is just a preview/prologue

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—

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when the weather starts to cool and the sky starts to gray, your favorite thing to do is go skating with your best friend chris. skating through the park, along the train station, and the occasional smoke sesh when you both need a little break from everything and everyone. except each other of course.

as the years went by and you both began to grow into the young adults you are today, you started to see a different side of him.

maybe a better one than before.

the two of you have been best friends since you were little. neighbors since you can remember. you can’t even think of a time where the two of you weren’t together. through the good times and the bad.

he was always there. always by your side.

by the time you both had reached high school, around grade 10. you started catching feelings for him. you had a crush on him for the longest time. this aching feeling for him but you could never convince yourself it was the right thing to do. nor found the right time to confess.

you couldn’t tell him either. you felt as though it would ruin your life long friendship and that was the last thing you wanted.

he was the only friend that really stuck. chris was always so kind, so caring. watching over you and always making sure you were okay and accounted for.

always knowing how to cheer you up. always finding the right words. he healed you in a way. a feeling indescribable with words.

he felt like home. he was your home.

❥𓂃𓏧

taglist: @dadonbabysworld @lynanist

NEXT

[jangofctts]

Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)

rated: 18+ explicit 

word count: 5.6k

warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?  

a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish​ FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA 

It's curious. 

Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is. 

You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.  

He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.        

Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos. 

Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.     

And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.

Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought  it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.     

Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.     

Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.

 And yes, you tried to slip by for this one. 

You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.    

It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye. 

Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."

"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?" 

You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."

Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but— 

You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut. 

It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"

"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit." 

"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?" 

Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"

You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"

"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information. 

Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.” 

“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.” 

You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.” 

A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting. 

Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—

Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”

He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”

Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.” 

“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“

The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height. 

“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"

She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces. 

"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed." 

There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder. 

"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."

It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well. 

Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.  

Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.  

"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me." 

"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts. 

Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this? 

This is too good. 

Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.  

"Rex."

"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."

You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."

"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."

Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions." 

Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…  

Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.  

Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”

Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that." 

Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.  

"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride. 

There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest. 

When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.   

"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you." 

“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.” 

Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left. 

“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“

You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”

There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.  

“Let me see your face.”

His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet. 

Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.  

It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss. 

He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this. 

No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.   

He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything. 

There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.     

Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”

The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin. 

You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”

Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”

Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“

You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”

A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.

The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.      

Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water. 

Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.

With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”

You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this? 

You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”

You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.   

Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.  

Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—” 

You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name. 

Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.

Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.” 

You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it. 

He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—

“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.” 

If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones. 

“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“

You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”

“Kriff, yes.”

You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."

Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate. 

The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part. 

Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.

You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.   

“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”

“I’m yours.” 

Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.” 

Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away. 

“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit. 

Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly— 

Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands. 

When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…

However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here. 

Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”

You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”

Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.” 

Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch. 

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him. 

“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.” 

You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages. 

You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin. 

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—

“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."

You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you. 

His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.   

“Where can—can I?”

You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”

With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever. 

Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?

[relaxxattack]

Someone's probably asked you this before but how long did it take you to plan out the plot for knifetrick? What did you do to come up with everything and do you have any tips for other writers who are struggling to put together their own fics?

after checking out my history lol,

it seems i did serious brainstorming and research for about a week before i started writing.

what happened first was that i had in my head the funny idea of ran failing to kill jackie and them getting tax-benefit married (to make ran feel guilty and admit his plot)

and once i realized i wanted to make it into an actual story, i had to change some of it and come up with plot and reasoning.

the first thing i did was ask my followers for song requests, lol. i asked specifically for “songs about futuristic settings or being married to/loving your assassination target”

i listened to a lot of that music to get my brain juices flowing. i had to put together a couple of Reasons for why things happened. i also knew i couldn’t just write the fic on the assassination alone, or else ran would have nothing to distract him and be the overarching plot, lol

the music helped me picture scenes and concepts. i then just jotted down a bunch of stuff i thought would be interesting to happen (possible scenes)

a couple thoughts on this image— for one you can see that i originally wanted to name my fic after a movie. i looked up ones where assassins grow endeared to their targets and fail to kill them. but i realized i didn’t want to name the fic after a movie in case it was controversial or something, so i ended up going for a song instead. ALSO, as you can tell, some of these points got dropped! again, this was just brainstorming for things i wanted to include

the next thing i did was ask for ranjack classpects, lol. for those unfamilliar with classpecting, it’s sort of like personality types for really sad nerds (/lh). aka, hogwarts houses but more complicated.

@dyketubbo wrote some INCREDIBLE classpects for ran and jackie. it was based off what we knew about their personalities (which wasn’t much) but it also helped us infer a lot MORE about their personalities by figuring out where they could go or how they probably think in their minds.

if you don’t know classpects you can probably do this with personality types. or, just, figure out your characters personality some Normal way. i wouldn’t know.

there was a lot more brainstorming i did (where i came up with ms. laramie, scoots, and clementine) and tried to come up with a basic plot of what would happen and what they would do. during this i did some research on a proper three-act story structure so my plot would hit just right.

during all of this, i watched a bunch of spy and futuristic flicks (not too intensely, just had them on in the background to absorb the vibes).

i then made a plot map once i figured i knew what was gonna happen

(the last few chapters are on the other side of the paper, so you don’t get to see them haha)

a lot of this stuff got switched around or dropped completely as i was writing. honestly, the details don’t matter too much— the FLOW of the story is what’s important.

i’m very flexible with my scenes— literally what happens in a chapter is completely up in the air until i FINISH the chapter. sometimes they’re entirely different from my original ideas. it’s not too important to me what exactly happens, as long as it makes sense and i like it and it fits in with the rest.

in my mind, the events themselves are not as impressive as the characters in them. as long as i’m still developing the characters the way i need to throughout the story, and they eventually get to the plot points i need them to, i don’t worry too much about the specifics! as long as they’re fun.

i also didnt write chapter-by-chapter— i mapped the plot first, and then drew little dividing lines where i thought it would be good to end the chapter after. chapters are useful to me as pacing tools, but i didnt want the plot to seem too episodic by Planning it as chapters.

after i wrote the plot map, i did research on deserts, cities, and fantasy politics for DAYS. (i also watched videos on how fantasy militaries should work.) i ended up not using most of that information i came up with, but the parts that do leak through into my current writing do wonders to make the world feel real and alive. each character has a personality and a life, they aren’t just there to be background characters for ran and jackie.

then, i re-read a few books by authors who really inspire me. to get their narration voice fresh in my mind and feel really inspired

eventually we got to where we are now— i write the chapters and i post them!

as i’ve mentioned, i’m very flexible with my plot— so while i’ve foreshadowed certain things since the beginning, some parts of the story have only come perfectly together towards the end. and i have @shrugofgod to thank for that!

my wonderful editor is always willing to chat with me about what scenes and bits work and are most satisfying story-wise. of course lyssie also EDITS my chapters after they’re drafted — to make them more polished, and also ask me questions about things that are going on to clarify them.

many thanks to lyssie shrugofgod for making the story so much better :D

because my chapters have a tendency to get away from me and do whatever they want, if there’s certain plot things i need to hit in a chapter, i’ll outline the chapter before i write it.

also, recently, (after coming up with one too many REALLY COOL scenes and lines in my head while cleaning, but then completely forgetting them later) i’ve implemented a protocol for myself to jot down anything that comes to mind WHEN it happens so i don’t forget.

these are unprofessional and have spelling errors and all that, because i just wrote them really quickly, often while doing the dishes or laundry, lol.

so in conclusion:

um yeah that’s how i write knifetrick! i’ve never done this much work for any other fic though, so don’t feel like YOU have to. i did so much research for knifetrick because it was very out of my wheelhouse.

at most all i think is necessary for a good story is a plot map, and a hell of a lot of inspiration. (i got mine from music, movies, books, and drawing ran and jackie a lot, haha!)

make sure you’re having fun with your plot. writing won’t always be fun, but you should at least like your PLOT. because if you don’t then you won’t be inspired or enjoy it at all!

[magsintherain]

okay update I’ve been Instagram stalking and I think I can put pieces together. This is such a long deep dive so bear with me.

January: "I have two that I've written the first draft of and will go into revision soon. I have one that I'm writing now and I'm about halfway through. I have another that I'm planning." (source)

I will label these four books, in order, Mystery Book, Big Book, Paper Model Book, and Little Graceling Book. We'll follow them over the course of the year, and you'll see where the names come from.

The one that she was writing at the time, we're going to call Paper Model Book, because she said this about it: "My WIP includes a character who’s building a paper model of a castle and does other paper art too. Butterflies and moths are also an important part of the book." (source)

This draft was started many months earlier, pre-brain surgery, and went on pause for obvious reasons. From earlier notes, it appears the main character may have an M name. (source) I believe the draft was started all the way back in September 2023, and just took a while due to the aforementioned brain surgery, as well as copyediting for There Is a Door in this Darkness. (source)

She continued working on Paper Model Book for several months. She finished and submitted the manuscript around late April/early May. Several of the notebooks for this book have fox stickers on them, and she also had fox socks and fox art on her desk, which could mean there are foxes in it, but could also mean that she was just in a fox mood.

May: "With this draft done, I now have three entire books in revision, plus There Is a Door in This Darkness releasing on June 11." (source)

In May, she was on a bit of a vacation, but mentioned at one point that she was "listening to a lot of math podcasts and books to help me with a character I’m brainstorming." (source) Guessing this was for Little Graceling Book, the book she started writing in September; it's the only one she would have been planning/brainstorming for.

In June, she began revising a 430-page book. She described this revision as "so complicated" and the novel as "pretty complex". (source) The first draft of that book was written, in part, summer 2023. (source) This should be the one we have called Big Book. She continued revising Big Book for several months, while also doing release stuff for There Is A Door in this Darkness.

Peeks from that revision:

(source 1, source 2)

In September, she started plotting a new book, which we will call Little Graceling Book. Two posts about it have been tagged #gracelingrealm, implying that it's the next Graceling book.

Words I have caught in her notes for this book include: “fox” “castle” “heartless world” “the reader has guessed what A is up to and so has O; move on to other mysteries” (who’s A?? could it be adventure the fox??). Stickers include at least two foxes and a very Graceling-feeling castle.

On November 10, she mentioned writing “a bunch of pages, in a book about a world where things can change for the better (as they can in our world).” <3 (source)

A few days ago (December 21), she posted that she will be setting aside the partial first draft of Little Graceling Book to return to Big Book, her next book to come out. This book has gone through two drafts, and she’s about to get editorial letters back that will allow her to start on the third draft. There appears to be a grandfather clock and a horse sticker on the cover of its notebook, but we don't know anything else about it as far as I can tell. (source) "For this revision, I've realized that I need to understand what's happening inside a kaleidoscope." (January 18) 👀

She also shared that two other books (Mystery Book and Paper Model Book, as far as I can tell) are in progress and hanging out on a shelf. They appear to be printouts with sticky notes in them, which indicates that they're further along in the revision process.

So. That's what I have. Hopefully this is of interest to someone besides me that will justify the several hours I spent back-scrolling Kristin Cashore's Instagram lol

hi excuse me kristin cashore is working on FOUR books rn ??

what do we think they are 👀

[talldecafcappuccino]

Posting this now before the show completely derails my "what does Ted do after he gets the text from Trent Crimm?" head canon: When Rebecca opened the door, she was surprised to see it wasn’t Sam standing on her front porch. It was Ted.

His hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched up around his ears. She didn’t need to see his strained eyes to know something was very wrong.

Rebecca grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and tugged him inside.

“Ted?” She asked quietly, the fabric of his jacket bunched beneath her hand. “Is it happening again? Another panic attack?”

“Uh, no?” But it came out sounding like a question. “I don’t think so. I did my breathing exercises the whole way over which I think helped.”

“That’s good.” She smiled encouragingly, careful not to spook him. Despite her bare feet, Ted seemed shorter than her. His head was ducked low, his eyes barely meeting hers.

“Would you like something to drink?” She asked, pulling him into the living room. He was like a puppet, letting her guide him to sit on the couch with the lightest of touches. “I have beer? Or whiskey?”

Ted shook his head, mouth quirked. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Unsure what do next, she released his arm and stood over him, waiting for him to speak. The clock ticked loudly from down the hall. Ted licked his lip nervously, his fingers drumming against his khaki-clad thigh.

“Sorry for showing up like this I just . . .” he shook his head, struggling to find the rest of the sentence. Instead, he pulled out his phone and handed it to her.

Rebecca scanned the headline quickly, a white flash of anger coursing through her at the mention of the unnamed source. Her eyes flicked down to Ted as she finished.

His eyes were wide, darting across her face.

He looked terrified.

“Have you read it yet?” She asked, thumb hovering over the screen.

“Uh, no. I tried, but my vision got all blurry. Felt like I was riding the tilt-a-whirl at the Sedgwick County Fair.”

“Do you mind if I . . .?” He waved her on.

She skimmed the article and the hairs at the nape of her neck stood up. There were details about the Tottenham game even she didn’t know, wild accusations of incompetence, and a long list of issues with the club all unfairly tied to the man sitting in front of her.

It was bad—for Ted, for the club. Trent Crimm could write. For his sake, Rebecca hoped he could run.

Rebecca sank to her knees until she was kneeling in front of Ted, her eyes level with his. He looked like a kid sent to the headmaster’s office, rumpled hair falling across his stricken face.

“Give me the news, Doc. How bad is it?” He joked, but his eyes were dull and mirthless. It was so unlike Ted, it made her heart sink.

She schooled her features into a neutral expression and took his now shaking hands in hers.

“Let me set you up in the guest room,” she said. His eyes went wide and he started to protest, but she squeezed his hands between hers until he stopped. “Ted. There’s no use arguing. It’s too late to do anything and I’m not letting you go home like this.”

She remembered the club in Liverpool and Ted walking back to the hotel by himself, a decision that never sat well with her.

“Sure, okay,” Ted watched her warily, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “But I can’t go to bed yet. I gotta, well I don’t know what I gotta, but a statement’s probably a good start. I should call Michelle, draft a resignation letter—“

Ted shuffled forward, ready to stand, but Rebecca stopped him.

“Ted,” she interrupted, pushing him back against the couch. “Don’t worry about all that right now. ”

He stared at their joined hands and she ducked her head to meet his eyes.

“There’s nothing you can do tonight that will change the headline.” She learned that lesson long ago. When your face was plastered across all the gossip rags, a good night’s sleep was the only way through. “Go upstairs, lay your head down, and think about something good.”

Ted’s head popped up at that, and she was shocked to see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. For a moment she thought she’d said something wrong. She started to pull back, but Ted tangled their fingers together, holding her in place.

His palms were warm, his thumb tapping rhythmically against hers. It was encouragement enough for her to keep going.

“Think about Henry, barbecue sauce.” She arched an eyebrow. “That dirty sounding lawn game you’re always going on about.”

Ted choked out a laugh.

“Cornhole is wholesome fun, Boss. Scouts honor.” He held up three fingers in salute.

It was good to hear him laugh even if it came out a little watery.

“Thank you, Rebecca.” His voice cracked at her name.

She murmured quiet reassurances, pushing his hair away from his face and pulling him to his feet. His hand was tight in hers as she led him up the stairs, making a to-do list in her head.

First she would call Keeley and Higgins, then she’d ask Beard to handle Michelle. By morning everyone would know and the work could begin.

Yes, tomorrow would be hard, but tonight she could give Ted this—a bit of peace and a good night’s sleep.

[yukidragon]

Our Life Snippet - Lazy Morning Intimacy

So, who’s ready for an extra long serving of shameless fluff from the first draft of my fan novelization of Our Life: Beginnings & Always? My philosophy in writing this is if I can add some more fluffy cuddly moments, I absolutely will, and the Step 3 moment Reflection offers one such opportunity right at the very start before, well, those of you who have played this moment know what happens later.

Spoilers for those who have not played the Step 3 DLC! If you don’t want to be spoiled, don’t read any further! If you don’t mind spoilery stuff, well, don’t let me stop you, but I highly, highly encourage you to play through the game before reading any of this.

As always, thanks go to @gb-patch for their wonderful game and their lovely feedback for my work, as well as everyone who likes, reblogs, and comments on these clips I’m posting here. You are all awesome.  💖

...

It wasn’t often that Jamie had the chance to enjoy breakfast at the Holden house. Ever since their parents decreed that they were ‘too old’ for sleepovers, she and Cove didn’t have many opportunities to enjoy that particular meal together, which made today a rare treat. It wasn’t especially fancy fare, but it was lovely to be able to spend time with her boyfriend almost as soon as she woke up. She was glad she impulsively asked if he wanted to have breakfast with her when they exchanged their usual good morning texts.

After a pleasant meal filled with light conversation and tasty food, Cove invited Jamie to retreat to his room to relax and let the lazy morning linger before any big activities began. That was, if they didn’t just decide to take it easy for the rest of the day. Neither of them had any plans in particular, with no prior commitments with friends, family, or work to distract them from just spending the day together. It wasn’t officially a date day, per say, or at least neither of them called it that yet. So far, they just decided to do whatever came to mind while enjoying each other’s company.

Of course, the first thing that came to Jamie’s mind was to cuddle with her boyfriend. When Cove sat down onto the bed, she didn’t hesitate to take a seat beside him, leaning into him. He hummed happily in approval and looped an arm around her to pull her in even closer.

A mischievous smile tugged at her lips as a new thought came to mind, and Jamie leaned in even closer. Cove raised an eyebrow at expression, only to yelp when she unexpectedly pushed her weight into him and tipped him back onto the bed. She fell along with him, giggling as they tumbled onto the mattress

Cove let out a chuckle of his own once he recovered from his surprise. “When I said we could relax, I didn’t mean going back to bed,” he said with a wry smile. Even still, he allowed her to nudge him gently back to the headboard so that they could both lounge comfortably on the bed properly with their heads resting on the pillows side by side. 

Jamie flashed Cove a satisfied grin before she snuggled up against his side, nuzzling her cheek against his as she basked in his gentle warmth. “You also said to make myself comfortable,” she teased, her eyes sparkling playfully as she rested her arm across his chest. “I’m very comfortable like this.”

Cove felt his heartbeat quicken, and he smiled back fondly at Jamie, nuzzling her cheek in return. “Me too,” he said softly.

Though maybe he was a little too comfortable.

Cove couldn’t help but be aware of the fact that they were both lying in his bed together. A prickling of nerves rose up that he quickly did his best to tamp down to not ruin the intimate moment they were sharing. It was fine, no big deal, he told himself. They were both fully dressed, on top of the sheets, and it was broad daylight. They cuddled plenty of times like this before on sofas and the ground. Heck, this was nothing compared to when they shared a bed when they were younger.

The flickering of nervousness didn’t escape Jamie’s notice. She softened her expression and reached up to gently run her fingers through her shy boyfriend’s hair. She had intended to steal a kiss or two and see where that would take them, but she decided that could wait until later. Just enjoying this moment with Cove was enough for her.

The touch was soothing, and Cove slowly started to relax as he leaned into Jamie. The anxious air that had threatened to pull him out of the moment gradually dissipated as her comforting warmth slowly settled in. Soon, he felt at ease enough to slip his arm back around her, which she happily used as her new pillow. He couldn’t help but smile at seeing the content expression on his partner’s face as she smiled softly back at him.

A comfortable silence washed over the pair as they simply enjoyed the quiet moment of intimacy. At some point, Jamie went from stroking Cove’s hair to toying with it. His ponytail limited her in how much she could card her fingers through his hair, but there were plenty of long locks to ripple between her fingers.

It wasn’t the first time Jamie got the impulse to play with her boyfriend’s hair. Even before he was officially - or even unofficially - her boyfriend, she couldn’t help but want to run her fingers through those pretty pale green strands. When they were younger, Cove would jokingly try to avoid her hands, but always ‘failed’ to escape in the end, allowing her to have her way. Sometimes she teased him back by pretending to give up, and he would always pout adorably, which she would immediately chase away with a satisfying ruffle of his hair.

Occasionally, Jamie would go beyond playing to actual styling. She was no professional, but it was fun to wind her boyfriend’s hair into a braid or two sometimes. Cove never minded, even if the braids rarely lasted that long after she was finished making them. It also didn’t escape her notice that he would sometimes shiver or let out an adorable pleasured little mumble when she raked her fingers along his scalp. It was an enjoyable experience for both of them, and sometimes she suspected that was one of the reasons why he let his hair grow as long as he did.

Jamie had no such grand designs now. Today she simply basked in the freedom to enjoy the feeling of his soft hair sliding between her fingers as she listened to the happy noises her partner occasionally let slip.

Although much more at ease, Cove couldn’t help the small traces of nervous energy that left him with the need to do something with his hands. He ran his thumb across her shoulder with the hand that was limited by Jamie resting on the upper part of his arm. With his freer hand, he decided to return the favor she paid to him and ran his fingers through her long deep blue hair, starting with stroking back her bangs before sliding his hand down along the entire length of her hair until he reached the ends at her hips. The feeling was soft and silky, and she sighed softly at the attention.

On impulse, Cove poked one of the small buns on top of his girlfriend’s head. Space buns were her preferred hairstyle of choice nowadays, and there was something satisfying about poking them that he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the feel of them, or the way the bunched up hair bounced when poked that did it, but most likely it was because of the amused looks Jamie gave him whenever he did. She wore one such expression now, and he couldn’t help but chuckle a bit before giving her bun another playful poke.

Entertained, Jamie let Cove have her way with her buns, poking and prodding them as he pleased. The potential for innuendo wasn’t lost on her, but she let it go unsaid. As fun as it would be to make him flustered by suggesting that he might enjoy playing with a different set of buns she had even more, she didn’t want to interrupt the light, playful moment.

Jamie would just save that little bit of wordplay for later, preferably when the mood was good enough that Cove might take her up on the invitation.

Despite the steamy thoughts that skirted through her mind, Jamie did her best to focus on enjoying the lazy moment between them. It was lovely to just share such casual intimacy with Cove.

Jamie wasn’t alone in trying to ignore her more hormonal urges. As much as Cove enjoyed playing with her hair, focusing on touching her as he did made it impossible for him to stop thinking about the fact that they were both lying on his bed together. He was keenly aware of the gentle warmth of her body pressed against him, how soft and inviting her pink lips looked as she smiled at him.

Eventually, Cove realized he needed something else to occupy his hands if he didn’t want to risk disrupting the peaceful moment. Shifting about a bit, he fished his cell phone out of his pocket. Although Jamie raised an eyebrow at that and at being displaced from her cozy spot when he moved around, she held no objections as he turned his phone on and busied himself with it. Instead, she simply readjusted her position to get comfortable once he was settled again.

Sifting through missed texts and emails, Cove soon managed to distract himself from the urges that ruffled his nerves and relaxed back into the moment. He spotted a number of texts he missed from his dad, and for a moment he wondered if everything was okay until he realized Cliff just sent him a bunch of images last night.

A warm smile graced his face as Cove slowly scrolled his way through the photographs, nostalgia washing over him. Each photo brought him back to the moment it was taken, allowing him to lose himself in the priceless memories he shared with his friends, family, and especially the special person he held so comfortably close at that very moment.

Some photos brought back sweet memories, others a little more on the bitter side of sweet, and then there were the funnier ones. One such silly photo seized Cove’s attention, and he couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped him.

The sound immediately snapped Jamie out of her relaxed stupor and brought her back to the present. She raised an eyebrow at Cove, but he failed to notice her questioning look, too preoccupied by whatever was on his phone’s screen.

“What’s so funny?” Jamie asked as she propped herself up on her arm to get a better look at his face and catch a glimpse of the phone’s screen.

Cove finally turned to look at Jamie, his eyes crinkled with mirth and a smirk playing on his lips. “Dad scanned some old photos,” he chuckled. “You know…”

Now that Jamie was no longer using his arm as a pillow, Cove was free to use it to draw a rectangle in the air. “Printed out ones,” he explained, “back from when I was little.” He waved his phone a bit with his other hand. “He texted it all to me last night, I guess. I’ve been checking them out.”

Jamie sat up completely, her dark blue eyes flying open wide. “You were looking at your kiddie photos and didn’t tell me?!” she gasped, almost scandalized at missing out on something so priceless.

Cove barely resisted the urge to chuckle, offering Jamie a bent smile as his eyes narrowed playfully. “I was gonna show you.” His gaze then slid away to his phone as his expression turned a little more hesitant. “I just wanted to look at it first to make sure there was nothing super embarrassing. You never know with my dad.”

His mouth pulled into a grimace as Cove could easily imagine all sorts of horrors his dad might have captured on film to unintentionally humiliate him until the end of time. “I mean… what if there’s a photo of me getting potty trained or something?”

Although Jamie empathized with his worries, she couldn’t help but giggle at the fraught expression Cove wore. “Yeah, that sounds like something your dad would do.”

Cove could only respond by clearing his throat nervously, his eyes skirting away from Jamie as he sat up as well. While he hadn’t come across any particularly humiliating photo of himself, he couldn’t quite shake the fear of what his dad’s well-meaning actions might have left for him to deal with this time.

Jamie offered her boyfriend a sympathetic smile before adding a slight bent to it. “Hey, how about this - if you let me look at your embarrassing baby photos, I’ll show you just as many of mine. My moms have plenty of them.”

The offer was tempting. Cove couldn’t help but wonder what sort of photos Jamie had in mind, but the price was just too steep. He merely chuckled awkwardly and shook his head as he pointedly kept his phone tilted away from her. She huffed and puffed out her cheeks in a mock pout at him for holding out on her, which elicited a genuine bout of laughter from him.

Once Cove got his mirth under control, he smiled at Jamie. “Anyway, before we forget, I was laughing ‘cause I came across a Halloween one from when I was eight. The year I was a zombie, remember?”

Jamie dropped her faux pout and nodded, her eyes lighting up eagerly. Cove shook his head at her excitement, a wry grin gracing his face as he finally offered the phone to her.

As Cove watched Jamie eagerly turn to his phone, he couldn’t help but shake his head again, this time at his kid self. “I never even liked zombies!” he said, a little baffled that he ever was so enthusiastic for such a costume. “All I wanted was to show off my new scar. And I needed to be something scary. I couldn’t be a normal person who had a scar, according to my eight-year-old mind.”

The photo displayed on the screen showed Cove from ten years in the past, and a pleasant wave of nostalgia washed over Jamie as she saw him the way he looked when they first met, minus the pink cast and plus a fair amount of makeup and fake blood. Little Cove posed for the camera with his fingers hooked like claws, his mouth open as though letting out what was probably supposed to be a fierce roar. She could easily remember the noises he made that night as he pretended to be a zombie on the hunt for brains. His hair looked even more wild and disheveled than it did after the most energetic day of play, going well with the tattered and ‘blood’ stained button up shirt he wore. His face was painted in gray down to his neck, marred with an array of fake scars that couldn’t compare to the real one on his arm.

Cove looked from Jamie to the phone and chuckled softly at the face his younger self pulled for the camera. “I was a little dork.”

Jamie eyed Cove at such self-depreciation before poking him on the nose. “You were a little cutie,” she insisted. “And now you’re a big cutie.”

Cove blinked at the playful action before blushing at the compliment. He had no words to reply to it except for a quiet, flustered chuckle as he rubbed his nose.

Jamie grinned at that reaction before turning back to the photo. As much as she enjoyed how adorable Cove looked while pretending to be a fierce monster, it was impossible to ignore the scar displayed so predominantly on his arm at that time. Her smile softened at the edges at the sight of such a large, jagged line of fresh skin that was such a deep and angry shade of red. The scar was a pale memory in the present, but back then it looked so painful, and at the time she found it hard not to worry about him and his comfort after his cast came off.

Still, Jamie refused to let that put a damper on the story and focused instead on just how much fun little Cove was having posing for the camera and remembering the way they played around with their costumes that night. She could vividly recall how she pretended to run away from him when he playfully growled that he wanted to eat her brains, and the memory made her smile grow stronger.

“Dad really wanted to be useful, as usual,” Cove said, bringing Jamie’s attention back to him in the present. Though he noticed the flicker of sadness that crossed her face and realized the reason for it, he was glad to see her perk up again just as quickly. “He came up with the idea of being an undead person. It was pretty good, huh?”

Jamie chuckled softly and nodded. “You had the best Halloween costume that year, hands down,” she said playfully. “I remember you getting lots of extra candy when adults realized the scar was real.” Her smile widened as she remembered just how jealous Lizzie had been at how much candy Cove got that year, especially since he only offered to share some of that extra candy with Jamie. “It must have been your greatest Halloween haul ever.”

Cove couldn’t help but chuckle as well as he thought back to that legendary candy haul as well. It took him a month to finish it all even with Jamie’s help.

Still, the topic of his scar brought his gaze back to the picture. Cove couldn’t help but compare the way it looked in the photo to its current appearance on his left arm. “I can’t believe how much larger my scar used to be,” he said quietly.

Jamie watched as Cove turned his focus to his arm with a soft smile on his face. He traced his fingers along the jagged line of pale flesh that remained with him even ten years on. It was an action that she had seen him do countless times, but it felt more significant in that moment.

A soft sigh escaped Cove, but his eyes and tone were playful. “Look at how tiny it is now.” He gave Jamie a look with big, pathetic eyes. “How am I gonna pretend to be tough without a big scar?”

It was a struggle for Jamie not to laugh at the expression Cove wore. “You better not do anything stupid to get a new scar,” she joked with a faux disapproving frown as she wagged a finger at him. “No matter how much you like them!”

Cove grinned back at Jamie. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Jamie said with a satisfied nod. “You’ve already got the coolest scar, no matter how small it gets.”

Cove felt his cheeks grow warm and his smile turned bashful. “Thanks.” He ducked his head away from Jamie, pleased with their joking exchange. Once again, his eyes drifted down to his scar as he continued to trace it.

“I really do like having this,” he admitted in a soft, shy voice. “Even if it is kind of little these days.”

Jamie’s expression softened as well, feeling as though Cove was sharing a big secret with her. She couldn’t help but feel happy to hear that he liked his scar despite whatever pain it must have caused him to get it. It was always wonderful whenever he opened up to her like this.

Cove glanced up at Jamie, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “I like yours, too.”

The unexpected compliment caught Jamie off guard, and heat rose in her cheeks, turning them pink. She couldn’t help but smile as she felt her chest flutter with butterflies. He never failed to think of her as well, especially since he knew that she was self-conscious of her own scars.

Unthinkingly, Jamie brought her hand up to her upper arm and traced some of the countless jagged little white lines that marred her pale skin. There were matching scars in the same place on her other arm, as well as her thighs and her chest. Unlike Cove, these scars were not the result of an accident, but her skin not being able to keep up with her sudden growth during puberty.

Back during her early teenage years when the stretch marks were fresh and an angry purplish-red, Jamie always kept them hidden. Puberty had been rough on her, dealing a blow to her self-esteem as well as her body, and being covered in so many scars left her feeling ugly even though she never once thought of Cove’s scar like that.

It took time for Jamie to accept her scars, and she knew that Cove was a big part of why. Seeing the way he took such quiet pride in his scar always made her question how she thought of hers. More than that, he always made her feel beautiful, and he was always the first to remind her  whenever she needed it. That was why she was no longer afraid to wear clothes that exposed her scars like she did now.

Jamie scooted in closer to Cove as she smiled adoringly at him, placing her hand on top of his. “Thank you, Cove.”

Cove turned back to face Jamie fully. He finally let go of his scar so that he could take her hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. He felt at peace with his scar and was happy to see the same reflected on her face as well. Their scars held such meaning to them despite coming from unhappy sources.

Jamie squeezed his hand back as she drifted even closer. “Could I touch your scar?”

Cove blinked, taken aback by the request. Usually, Jamie wasn’t shy about touching him without asking first, particularly someplace as innocent as his arm. Still, he quickly realized why she might hesitate to do that now and smiled gently at her as he nodded easily. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

Jamie gave Cove’s hand one more squeeze before letting go of it. Lightly, she pressed her fingertips against the edges of his scar. With great care, she slowly ran her thumb along the entire length of it, following the jagged angles the old wound took. The pale flesh was rough when compared to the rest of his skin, which was soft, but with goosebumps rising quickly along his arm as she stroked his scar.

The touch, so delicate and gentle, left Cove feeling a bit lightheaded. Jamie’s touch always felt wonderful and often left him feeling butterflies, but somehow the feel of her paying such careful attention to his scar was particularly powerful. A choked breath escaped him and a wobbly smile played across his face as he lost himself in the feeling.

The dizzied smile Cove wore along with the light pink of his cheeks drew Jamie in with the urge to do more. She locked eyes with him, staring deep into his aquamarine eyes as she took a hold of his arm and raised it up towards her.

A quiet gasp escaped Cove when she realized what Jamie had in mind. He couldn’t look away from her dark blue eyes as she stared so intently into him even as she placed a soft kiss on the old wound that marked him. The feeling of her lips, warm and soft, pressed so tenderly against that particular place sent shivers up his spine, and he let out a tiny squeak.

Jamie smiled against Cove’s skin as she appreciated his adorable reaction, as well as the way he looked at her with overwhelming adoration. She kissed him again and again, tracing the entire length of his scar with her lips like she did with her fingers before.

It was impossible for Cove to stay still when Jamie was showing him such affection. He reached up with his free hand to touch her arm. With his thumb, he brushed aside the edge of her open sleeve, giving him better access to the countless little white lines marking her pale skin. The texture was interesting, feeling so similar yet so different from his own scar. Because of their size and number, he found his fingers constantly alternating between soft skin and rougher tissue. It was difficult to trace any one scar from start to finish like she did for him, so instead he sought out to touch every single one.

The touch was electric, and Jamie could feel her heartbeat speed up as Cove caressed her so lovingly. “Cove…”

Cove shivered again as Jamie murmured his name against his skin, setting off sparks that made his body burn pleasantly. It urged him to lean forward, his eyes gleaming with the fire she set ablaze inside him.

Jamie raised her head and instinctively matched his movement, drawing nearer to Cove as her eyes drifted closed. She felt his lips gently meet hers, and she melted into the tender kiss. She held a little more firmly onto his arm as she fell deeper into him, feeling like she might drown in the depths of her feelings for him.

Cove all too quickly lost himself in the moment and in Jamie. It felt so wonderful, so right to be her like this, to touch and kiss her. He loved her so much that it was almost overwhelming, but knowing that she loved him as well kept him grounded.

Eventually they finally drifted apart, breathless and dazed from the kiss, their faces flushed with heat. When Jamie opened her eyes, she saw Cove gazing back at her with his mesmerizing ocean blue eyes. The look he gave her was spellbinding, filled with so much love and adoration that made her heart hammer hard against her ribcage. It told her without words that the feelings he had for her were just as immense as hers were for him.

Cove leaned in again, this time resting his forehead gently against Jamie’s. With heavy lidded eyes, he simply enjoyed gazing deeply into her blue eyes that always reminded him of the night sky. No matter how many times he saw them, they always captivated him. He could lose himself in those beautiful eyes of hers.

The feeling of his warm breath tickling her skin made Jamie shiver a little, especially the way it brushed against her lips like the ghost of a kiss. With their heads touching, his hand on her arm and hers on his, she felt entirely entwined with Cove. It felt so right.

Time ceased to have any meaning in that moment as they gazed deeply into their partner’s eyes and drank in the closeness and warmth they shared. Seconds or minutes might have passed, but neither of them cared as they lost themselves in each other.

[anathemafiction]

I just wanted to pop in and say I’m so proud that you were so focused and intent on finishing everything and got it all done! Please take time to take care of yourself and relax because you absolutely deserve it!! ❤️

Thank you so much!!! And thank you, also, everyone who left a comment on the submission post. I can't tag you all individually, but I appreciate it so much, plus all the tags on the reblogs!!!

It's just so humbling and amazing how so many people seem as excited for this book as I am! It means the whole world, so thank you again, and I'm sorry for being so repetitive, but there are no other words in this language that can even begin to translate what I'm feeling. Thus a simple and inefficient thank you has to suffice.

I have learned a lot in these last few months. A lot. I can tell you that I'll be doing things very differently for book 2. But, I suppose, that's the only way to really learn: you do, and you make errors, and you're forced to learn from them.

I know that the last stages before submitting the game have been bumpy at best, and it seemed that I was dragging and dragging and finding new issues every step of the way. I did the beta testing way too early and presented what I now considered not only an incomplete game but also an unpolished, almost first-draft mess to a lovely bunch of people who volunteered to help me.

I kept the game for myself for too long and thus skipped over problems that should have been blatantly obvious. I also ignored coding issues for way longer than I should have - because I was scared of them.

All in all, writing is fun. It's what I like to do, but it turns out that making an interactive novel takes way more than just putting a pencil to paper and letting your imagination run to where it wants. Sometimes, you need to rein it in, control it, shape it, change it, delete it, expand it, and then prance it around a group of strangers that will analyze it with fresh eyes and new thoughts, and it's scary, but oh so very necessary.

I've also learned, and I know how crazy this seems, but I learned the value of a proper outline. I'm a very spontaneous kind of writer, things usually just come to me, and I go along with them. Most of my stories start with an image, like the ocean foam on the side of a small fishing boat, or a smell, like freshly cut grass on a field littered with scarecrows, or a dialogue, like a mother saying goodbye to her mother through a gold-encrusted mirror. The Rose started with an image too, and I went along with it.

But a novel, and a series especially, needs more than that. I know the main plot by heart, and I know where I want to go, but the in-between I like to keep vague. Vague is good, but it can't be so foggy that it hides what's three steps ahead of me. So, for Book 2, I'll do what I never did: I'll make an outline of the entire book before starting to write it. Revolutionary, I know. 😄

I'm sure I'll change and add a lot of things as I'm writing, but I have the outline in my head - except a few parts - and I can already tell that is going to help a lot. It will probably mean I'll write faster too.

I also want to have a group of testers that I send the chapters as I write them so that I can immediately get essential feedback. Additionally, I'll edit the chapters as I'm writing- not leave everything for last! Because god, this editing phase almost killed me, and I have an inkling that Book 2 will be even bigger than Book 1. I know exactly where I want to stop, and I don't care how many words it'll take me to get there, I'll reach that point.

Oof, this post is way too big already. I'm sorry for going on a tangent! All this to say: It has been a long journey, but I've enjoyed it very much. I know there hasn't been any new content for months, and I even shortened the demo significantly - it stops at the point where the free trial will end in the published game. To be honest, it's hard to believe people are not only following this blog, but I'm gaining new followers as well - I feel like it's underserved, but I am very grateful.

I can't wait for you all to read the game!! And I can only hope you'll stick around for the rest of the journey. ♡

[yeahimwiththeband]

-> with the band chapter 5

tell the truth (part 1)

warning: minors DNI due to a little bit of smut in this chapter and a lot in others. in this one: people pleasing behavior, anxiety disorder, codependency.

A/N: this is a story about a girl with anxiety disorder learning to thrive. it’s the fifth part of my first story post on tumblr, first attempt writing a book of any kind.

thank you so much for reading. i love any feedback or input. this is a love on tour au, harry styles au, slow burn romance.

word count: 4.61k

New York City didn’t know it was September. It was so hot that the tarmac felt soft under Izzy’s shoes.

She left the plane with only what she came to the concert in: her fanny pack with her phone (no charger), a chapstick (now empty), and bandaid wrappers (used up). Airport workers milled around her, grabbing bags, as Harry and the band spilled out of the plane like colorful ribbon onto the asphalt. He had changed into a cream suit with pink slacks. Lydia ambled off the plane, as relaxed as if she were getting into a pool. 

Harry opened his guitar case on the ground, inspecting it for damage, running his hand along its body. Izzy didn’t know where to stand or what to do. She hadn’t been on a plane since she was a kid, and now she was in some weird, private part of the airport in a city she had never seen before. With people who had done this hundreds of times.

“Lydia,” Izzy said. Lydia finished typing on her phone, then looked up.

“Mmm??”

“I don’t have a toothbrush,” Izzy complained. “I’m in a city where I’ve never been and I don’t have a toothbrush.”

“You’re in a city where you’ve never been and you don’t have a toothbrush!” Lydia sang back.

“I have no clothes,” Izzy said.

“You get new clothes!” Lydia echoed in a brighter tone.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here.”

“You can do anything here!”

Harry smirked; he thought Lydia was being pretty funny. “There’s a bunch of stores near the hotel. And there’ll be a toothbrush in your room, Izzy,” Harry said. His hair was just falling over his eyes and his stubble somehow made him look better, not worse. Izzy yanked her eyes away; she had been staring. Harry caught her eyes and grinned. Izzy felt like an idiot, still in her green dress. Everything about Harry made her angry: it wasn’t fair that he could look so good getting off a plane. 

She could call her mom and use her savings to fly back; she was already at the airport. But it was September, back to school time, and for the first time in five years Izzy felt excited about it. Since she had to go to school locally and live at home, September was always a time of dread for her: the long commute to class, scrolling through posts from house parties while sitting at home alone.

This September would be different. She’d make it different.

A van pulled up—it wasn’t labelled, but it was obviously theirs, painted on all sides in a riot of color.

Harry, most of the opening band, Eddie, and Lydia piled in, Eddie and Harry bickering about the opening song. Izzy checked around her for George—the other plane still hadn’t arrived. There weren’t any seats left in the van.

“Sorry, is she on crew?” the Starer asked from her seat.

“Yeah, she’s with me,” said Lydia, scooting over so Lydia could sit beside her.

“That moron hired two influencers?” Harry said from the back, briefly breaking from his bickering with Eddie.

“Where’d he get the money from?” Lisa asked. Izzy hovered outside the van awkwardly, wanting to crawl out of her skin. Harry’s eyes flicked from the Starer to Izzy; Eddie started in again on his set list in imploring tones, and Harry turned away.

“She can make anything go viral. She’s a magician,” Lydia said. “And she’s just here for the weekend, anyway.”

“Fine,” said the Starer. “You guys are supposed to post three times today, according to that plan you drafted. Let’s see it. If she’s really qualified, she can stay for the weekend.” Who the fuck died and made you queen of everything, Izzy thought.

Lydia slid over and Izzy climbed in, shooting daggers at her. Lydia shrugged and returned to her phone.

“Ryan doesn’t let anyone stay unless they earn at least their room rate,” Olivia said. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’re calm, you’re relaxed. ”

Izzy felt panic rumble her stomach. She didn’t know anything about going viral on social media. She frantically started Googling, with her phone at 10% battery. Izzy was normally a terrible backseat driver—being on the road made her anxiety spike. But she was too distracted now. Not just by the sight of Manhattan coming into view, a cluster of glittering skyscrapers bigger than any buildings Izzy had ever seen—if she didn’t figure out a way to turn all of this into social media success, she was done.

Harry’s phone rang at least ten times over the course of the drive, and he complained about everything, getting more and more agitated: the drive was too long, the van was too small, the hotel they picked was for assholes. Izzy agreed with all of it, but she would never say any of that out loud; like Harry, she also felt like she had been kidnapped, and had no control over her situation. Izzy’s clumsy search, “how to make social viral” turned up millions of results, most of them useless. She read up on hashtags, data-driven content strategies, trending topics, scheduling. It was all so fake, and staged, and carefully calibrated. This is what Lydia did for a living now? Izzy downloaded several analytics and AI apps to her phone. Lydia handed over her phone and Izzy checked the opening act’s social accounts: they were called Jess Harper, named after the lead singer. The Starer’s name was Jess. Izzy decided she would continue to refer to the Starer as such internally, as it was a much better fit.

Harry and Eddie’s bickering was just a warm up for the scene he pulled once they arrived at their hotel for that set of shows. They had pulled into an alleyway to go in through the back. 

“I’m not a fucking circus clown here to perform tricks for people! I control my set list,” he boomed from the backseat as Eddie tried to get him out of the car.

As Izzy was about to get out of the van, wanting to get away from Harry, Lydia pulled her back in. Apparently, they were going to meet George somewhere for a shoot.

A few people on the sidewalk recognized the vehicle, and a couple had started to follow it down the alley. “The band wants this too, it’s not just me,” Harry said. “It’s like he wants to kill the whole album.”

Eddie rubbed his forehead, exhausted. “Come on, let’s get out of the car. We can talk about this upstairs.”

“Do you work for Ryan now? What the fuck is going on?”

Someone started filming Eddie with their phone.

Eddie sighed. A photographer with a bigger camera, a serious camera, ran toward the scene.

“Let’s just get inside,” Eddie said.

The cameraman pushed past Eddie, nearly knocking the hungover man to the ground. He stuck his camera into the van, aiming it backwards at Harry. Izzy put her hands up in front of her, mortified. Harry leapt forward and swung the door shut, crunching the lens.

“Jesus, Harry!” Izzy yelped from her seat.

“Drive,” commanded Harry. The van peeled out, and the camera slid down the gap between the door and the frame, before it fell out and clattered onto the asphalt. Izzy pulled the door closed and looked out the back window to see the photographer yelling at them. Eddie was approaching him, taking his wallet out of his pocket.

“We’re going shopping,” Lydia said, totally calm. She was on her phone, as usual.

“Shopping? We have to take some good photos or I’m off the tour, remember?”

“Meg’s at the hotel, asleep. You can chill. And George is meeting us,” Lydia explained.

“Let me off here,” Harry said. The car stopped suddenly.

“You don’t want to dress up and take some photos with us?” Lydia offered.

Harry said nothing and stepped out, leaving his sequinned vest behind. He looked almost boring, in a sweater and pants. He grabbed his leather jacket and closed the door gently behind him, letting his palm linger on the side where the camera had scratched it. Izzy noticed what looked like a flicker of regret across his face.

The van lurched forward and Harry left the sidewalk through the gates to a park. Central Park? Izzy recognized it from TV shows. They were way uptown. It looked so cool and quiet.

Izzy gazed back through the rearview at the trees. Harry slung his jacket over one shoulder, disappearing into the green. She wanted to curl up on the grass in the shade and take a nap.

“Lydia, I want to stay for the weekend. I want to stay,” Izzy said.

Lydia clapped her hands.

“So when we get to wherever we’re going,” Izzy continued, “we’re posting something unique and never before seen, using the trending hashtags, sending the photo fifteen minutes after we get there—midday is an optimum time apparently—and…” Izzy looked down at her phone, reading from it: “…leveraging emotions to connect to people, like joy or fear. Okay, maybe not fear, but we’re not going to wing it.”

“Oh Izzy,” sighed Lydia. The van slowed to stop. Izzy’s jaw dropped when she saw where they were: they had pulled up in front of Gucci.

Izzy tried to close her mouth as she entered the store. But it wasn’t easy. The store was like a field of flowers—so colorful. She recognized many of the pieces as similar to the things Harry wore on stage; it was like his entire wardrobe came from here. The store sparkled. No dust or synthetic brown ruffles in sight.

George raised a champagne flute in their direction from a plush seating area. He wore a sheepskin coat over his bare chest, and new pants and shoes, tags still on.

“Is this really you, though, George?” Lydia asked him, taking another flute from the glass table his feet rested on. Izzy felt frozen again. A group of saleswomen by the register looked her up and down.

“Gucci? It’s what the people want, apparently,” George said bitterly, taking another drink. Lydia frowned. Izzy wondered if she could get away without picking up a glass; she couldn’t imagine drinking while this hungover.

“Could I… could I get a shot of you?” Izzy asked. She wasn’t sure what they were or how to talk to him, after last night. Not that I was sure beforehand, she thought.

She sank down beside him on the couch, just like he did the night before. He put his arm around her. His blonde hair tickled her shoulders; the lamp behind him made him almost look like he had a halo. He put another glass in her hand and she took a deep drink.

“Wait, hold on,” Izzy said. She gestured for Lydia’s phone and snapped a photo, framing George’s side profile in silhouette, a Gucci sign just faint behind him. Lydia was already logged into his and his band’s accounts on all her apps.

Izzy checked an analytics app on her phone and added a list of hashtags that were popular, captioning the photo “stay up #blessed #nature #instagood #photooftheday #follow #model”. She put the most trending song on the platform in their target demographic—which, Izzy assumed, was people their age—behind the photo, giving it a spacey techno feel. It seemed cool. The analytics told her it was cool, at least.

Lydia took her phone back and inspected Izzy’s work. She wrinkled her nose.

“It’s not like anything else on his feed,” Izzy said, excited.

“Exactly,” Lydia said. “It’s a lie.”

“Do you want to take another one? What do you think we should do? If I don’t seem like a real social media assistant today, I’m gone.”

“I need a nap,” Lydia replied. “It’ll all work out if it’s meant to work out.” She lay down on the couch, putting her head in Izzy’s lap.

“You need a nap?”

“And you need some tour clothes, am I right?” George asked.

“What?” Izzy asked.

“Jess mentioned that you were new. Didn’t pack a bag, did you?”

Izzy shifted uncomfortably in her dress; she had been wearing it for more than 12 hours.

“I was just going to pick some things up near the hotel, like a t-shirt,” Izzy said. When she was nervous, she sometimes talked really fast. “I’m not staying longer than this weekend. I have to get back to work at the store, my mom’s store. Just helping Lydia out until then,” Izzy explained, making up her plan as she said it out loud.

“That’s really rad. You’re part of a fashion dynasty? How many stores does your family own?” George asked, standing up. He went over to a rack of blouses and pants that likely cost more than her family’s car.

“Thousands,” said Lydia sleepily. George didn’t seem to catch her sarcasm.

Izzy didn’t know what to do. She checked her phone; it was dead. She took Lydia’s phone out of her hands, and hit post on the photo she took. She put it down, too nervous to watch the likes come in (or not come in).  

Just then, a shirt landed on her head. She peeled it off. The fabric felt like butter. Another landed in her lap, so slippery it slid off and pooled on the floor. George was throwing them at her from the racks, making both of them laugh.

“Try them on. Try them all on,” he said.  

Izzy gathered them up, at least ten pieces in total. Including underwear. It seemed ridiculous to her to buy underwear here, when it was just cotton. She gaped at the prices: $1,150 for a black bra and panties in a diamond mesh, $1,000 for a bustier made of literal rubber. Two salespeople appeared, dressed in much nicer clothing than what she was wearing. They picked up the clothes and took them to a changing room with onyx walls, cut so thin they were slightly transparent.

George grinned at her. “You like those?”

“I’m not buying these,” Izzy said.

“Try them on.”

In the dressing room, Izzy was careful not to inspect herself in the mirror, 24 hours since her last shower. She put on a minxy black slip dress with a red dragon on the front, and came out.

Lydia was fully asleep. George had playfully wolf-whistled at Izzy. “Yeah, that one.” She tried to protest, but George wasn’t having it.

The salespeople brought her to and from the changing room, and she modelled a variety of looks with mesh straps that cut into her shoulders, or rubber that felt like it suffocated her skin. She reflected George’s excitement back at him, lighting up when he liked something. It felt like she was being sprayed with champagne; the validation was intoxicating.

She found a cardigan she liked, fuzzy cashmere almost an inch deep, and cute sneakers that were sequined in rainbow on all sides, reminding her of her favourite childhood pair that lit up when she walked. 

And there was this one petal pink dress. It felt like water on her skin. When she finally looked at herself in the mirror, she was stunned. It brought out all the pink in her lips and cheeks. The dress almost made her look like an actual adult. It felt so easy and natural. In the dress, she looked like that girl. She felt like that girl. 

But it was all playtime. She couldn’t afford any of this stuff. She carefully put everything back on the hangers, right side out, afraid to snag something and get hit with a multi-thousand dollar bill.

Just then, the door of her change room slammed open. Izzy was in her bra.

“What are you doing in here?”

George covered his eyes with one hand, smiling.

“It’s time to go back to the hotel. Have to be back stage at five.” George reached out in front of him, letting his fingertips graze her waist. Izzy jumped at his touch. He kept his eyes closed.

“Don’t look,” she said. It was a reflex, something she had said to Roger, too. The lights in the store were so bright.

“I’m not looking,” George replied. He brushed his lips against her jawline, then opened them. Izzy closed her eyes, feeling his tongue on her neck.

From inside the change room, Izzy heard Lydia’s phone buzz.

“It’s actually working,” Lydia said, not trying to conceal the surprise in her voice at all. “For a start, anyway. It’s getting more traction than the other posts usually do at this point.”

George bit Izzy’s neck and stumbled out of the change room, bumping the door frame, eyes still closed. They laughed.

A middle aged customer at a display case in front of them looked up to see Izzy in her underwear, change room door open, and frowned disapprovingly. Izzy suppressed a giggle and swung the door closed.

The words she had said to Meg last year, standing outside the store, echoed in her mind: sometimes I think love is for other people. Maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong. 

Soon, she was back in her green dress and they were back in the van. Lydia had a bright new key chain or purse charm—Izzy didn’t know the word from it. It probably cost $400. Izzy pointed to it, about to say something, when Lydia cut in: “OnlyFans.”

Izzy’s mouth dropped open.

“Just kidding!” Lydia laughed.

No crowd formed when they pulled up in front of the hotel this time, though George looked around for one.

The lobby was all glass and matching furniture, with winged chandeliers soaring at least twenty feet above them. The curated calm of the room was cut through by a familiar voice ricocheting off the walls.

Eddie stood across from the suit, Ryan. The suit was wearing a new suit, and had two assistants behind him, also in suits, with headsets and clipboards. Eddie looked like he had never made it upstairs.

“I looked at the numbers on it, and it’s not a hitter. Sorry,” Ryan said. His assistants nodded.

“This isn’t moneyball, Ryan,” Eddie said, loosening his tie. “And even if it were, you’d need the star player for it to work. And he is currently missing.”

“He’s a performer. He wouldn’t miss a show.”

“He would,” said Eddie. “Trust me.”

Ryan seemed to be the one in charge. Izzy swallowed hard and turned to George and Lydia.

“How’s the post doing now?” she asked.

Lydia glanced at her phone, then put it away.

“Lydia?”

“It flatlined. Lower than usual. I told you,” she said gently. “I think it… came across as desperate.”

“But I am desperate,” Izzy said. This was the danger in going after what you want: it always seemed to doom Izzy to not get it. Maybe I was right all along and it is better not to try, she thought.

“I need a nap too,” yawned George. “We have to be backstage in two hours.”

“Can we… can we do one more now? Maybe…” Izzy searched around frantically for ideas, eyes settling on the van.

She posed George carefully to hide the new scratch down the side from Harry’s tantrum. Lydia watched, wincing. Izzy tried again, using fewer hashtags (but still trending ones). She copied the format and pose from something that was blowing up on TikTok. Surely, that would work? Drafting off what was already going viral. George smiled and the smile looked real, like it always did. Genuine joy, the colorful print of the van in the background.

Izzy refreshed the page constantly, following Lydia to the elevator.

“You’re Lydia’s assistant, right?”

Izzy turned to see Ryan, just inches from her.

“Yes,” Izzy said. His gaze was piercing.

“We only budgeted for one extra marketing person,” Ryan said. “You can share at this stop but we won’t have room at the next one.”

“Would you chill out?” Lydia said, tugging Izzy away. “Just look at Eddie. Be more like Eddie.” Eddie was sprawled out, talking into his phone, on one of the lobby sofas, looking totally spent.  The elevator doors closed in front of them.

Izzy kept checking the post as she and Lydia soared up to the top floor. She followed Lydia down a long corridor, not really paying attention to where she was going. George had disappeared again.

Lydia opened the door to the fanciest hotel room Izzy had ever seen, all shimmering glass and lucite. Izzy barely noticed: she was greeted by Meg, who threw her arms around her neck, with a loud, reassuring “Izzy!”

Meg had gotten on the other plane and passed out at the hotel when they arrived, knowing that Izzy was with Lydia. She was more sober than the two of them at the party, and Lydia had apparently told her she could join for the whole weekend too. She was in a bathrobe, fully refreshed.

“You’ve got to shower and then you can get into some of your new clothes. We have to be at the new place in an hour,” Meg said. “Were you with George?” Meg touched Izzy’s neck.

“Yeah,” Izzy said.

“You really like him,” Meg said.

“I guess,” Izzy replied casually, hedging her bets. She felt as afraid of saying it out loud as she used to, but maybe this time, admitting that she liked someone wasn’t a curse that meant she would lose him.

“This is so good,” Meg said, gripping Izzy’s hands. Izzy could never really hide from Meg and Meg knew how much she liked George. “I can’t wait to do this for the whole weekend! Unexpected vacay!”

Lydia flicked on Lana Del Rey, playing vintage tracks from one of her early albums.

“Well, I’m not sure if we can actually stay.” Izzy said, surveying the plush and undoubtedly expensive room. “Wait. What did you say about new clothes?”

Meg gestured to the bed, covered in shiny bags, some bigger than her entire body, all from Gucci.

“Can we look at them now?” Meg asked, jumping up on the bed beside the tallest one. “George bought these for you?” Lydia went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Izzy and Meg tore the bags open, sending tissue paper flying above them and around the room. They drew out bright dresses and skirts and tops. Meg put on some of them, and Izzy changed into the funny rubber bustier and its matching skirt.

The smallest bag had two lingerie sets. When she saw them, she felt the Boulder land in the room, threatening to crush everything. Meg had Izzy throw them on over her clothes, and she did the same, laughing. They looked ridiculous. Meg turned the music up and colored paper floated around them.

“He really likes you!” Meg said. Just then, George appeared at the door, dressed in his outfit for his opening number. Olivia, Lisa, and Tara passed behind them, greeting Izzy as they walked by.

“George… what is this?” Izzy asked, gesturing around the room. She was embarrassed that she had torn open the packages. But her smile betrayed her; she loved it.

“It’s all the stuff you liked,” George said. “Now that you’re with the band, you’ll need a few things.”

“This is way too much,” Izzy said. “We should return it.”

“You. Look. Gorgeous,” he said. “Don’t disappoint me.” Izzy said thank you and that it was way too much, but he was already gone.

The rainbow shoes, soft cardigan, and pink dress weren’t there. Izzy pulled the other items out of the last bag—mesh, plastic, scary dragon dress—barely able to move her arms in the stiff rubber bustier. She got to a piece of paper at the bottom.

It was a receipt. Total: $35,214 dollars.

She said it out loud, not sure that it was real.

“How much?” Meg asked.

Izzy kicked the shoes off. She felt gross. It was way too much money.

“He must be loaded,” Meg said. Izzy thought about what her family, or any regular family, could do with that amount.

“I guess,” Izzy said. “The tickets to the tour are so expensive. They must be making bank.”

“There are three of you now?” The voice was unmistakable: the door to their room was still open, and the Starer had appeared.

“She’s my assistant’s… assistant,” Lydia said, coming out of the bathroom. She wore a towel on her head and nothing else. Compared to last night, this didn’t shock Izzy. The Starer didn’t even flinch.

“Those two posts were the worst performing on our band’s profile this year,” the Starer said, looking Izzy up and down. The Starer continued: “I doubt you can fix it now.”

“It’s no extra cost,” Meg said. “We’re just staying in Lydia’s room.”

“Food,” the Starer said. She surveyed at the three women, ankle deep in Gucci tissue paper. “Clothes, apparently. Ryan counts every penny.”

“George bought this stuff for me,” Izzy protested.

“Lydia would need a room anyway,” Meg continued.

“Really? She would?” The Starer asked.

“We still have two hours until the show,” Lydia said, rushing to close the door. Even she seemed stressed now. Izzy frowned, not understanding. Did Lydia get this job by sleeping with someone in the band? She seems so carefree, but is she okay? Was it Mitch? Elijah? Oh god, Harry?

Izzy pulled up two posts she made. They had flopped. The Starer had seen right through her. Izzy wasn’t a social media assistant. She wasn’t a creative person. She belonged at her mom’s store.

Meg started picking up the tissue paper. Izzy struggled out of the lingerie she had thrown on top of her clothes, and caught sight of herself in the hotel room’s mirror. She didn’t recognize herself. The rubber bustier cut into her shoulders, and the skirt was way too short.

“Lydia, we only have one post left. What do we do? Could you put some clothes on?”

Lydia picked up the black dragon dress and slipped it on. She looked totally at home in it.

“Izzy,” Lydia said, “all you need to do to connect to people is to tell the truth.”

She disappeared back into the bathroom.

Izzy made an excuse about needing a break, and meandered back down to the lobby and down the street, taking Lydia’s phone with her. She checked it constantly, but the numbers weren’t moving. The show was supposed to start soon and she had nothing. Oh god, she wanted to stay.

She thought about Lydia’s words. Izzy knew that she did lie, all the time. Not just today. She told the truth so rarely; she cared what everyone though too much. Talking to people always felt like an emergency, when lying to get people to like her was not just allowed but necessary. Rejection was just too painful. But maybe the life that all the lying was leaving her with was worse?

She rarely felt like herself. She barely new who that person was, outside people she could be honest with, like Meg, and the three secrets that had landed her here.

Izzy found herself in front of the gates of the park. She wandered in, feeling her shoulders relax as the shade from the trees wrapped itself around her. A wide asphalt path cut through a set of big, open fields, dotted with people having picnics and taking photos. Izzy thought she heard Summertime Sadness on the breeze, playing from someone’s phone turned upside down in a plastic red cup.

Izzy stepped onto a desire path, worn to dirt, that disappeared into a cluster of trees.

Izzy followed the path along a stream, and it was suddenly like she was out of the city entirely. The wind through the leaves hushed the noises from the street. She inhaled deeply. She missed this. She had spent seven days a week for the last few years in the store. The fake plant by the register was the only sign of wild, real life.

The heat in the air of the city was gathering into water. Everything in the park glistened in the humidity.

A touch of pink winked at her from behind an old tree with thick, winding roots. She walked over cautiously. Sitting at its base, leaning back against the roots, was Harry.

“Elisabetta,” Harry said.

“Harry.”

Izzy sat down beside him. “It’s nice here,” she said.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Harry asked, sitting up.

“Nothing I like,” Izzy replied. Harry leaned back again and closed his eyes. She had never seen him look so peaceful. He seemed damp, maybe from the heat; water seeped through his sweater at the base of his chest.

“Some people are looking for you,” she said.

“I have to open with that stupid new song. I didn’t write it. They won’t let me do anything from the new album.”

“That’s awful,” Izzy said, genuinely.

“Eddie lost,” Harry said. He threw a stone into the stream.

Sunlight filtered down through the leaves and danced on the water. It was at least ten degrees cooler here than back out on the street.

“I think I might have to leave tonight. Can I hide here with you for a while?” Izzy asked. She couldn’t face the show, the Starer, Ryan, the bus back home, the store.

“Sure,” Harry said. “Why’re you leaving?”

“I’m not a real social media expert. I work at my mom’s store, a failing store.” She felt suddenly guilty for calling it that out loud. “My mom is an incredible tailor, but it’s a little… old fashioned. My pictures from today bombed and no one’s buying me as Lydia’s assistant. Ryan’s going to send me home.”

At the word Ryan, Harry scowled.

“Do you want to take my picture?” Harry asked, cracking an eyelid and looking up at her.

Izzy raised Lydia’s phone. Harry relaxed back into the tree. Izzy took a video, with the wind ruffling Harry’s hair and sunshine dancing across his shoulders. The music playing from the park just barely wafted in. I feel it in the air... She hit post.

Then she leaned back against the tree, feeling calm. She took off her ugly new shoes and dug her bare feet into the soft leaves. 

Lydia’s phone rang. Izzy picked up.

“That’s cheating.” It was the Starer, sharp voice unmistakeable. “It was supposed to be for our account.”

“It’s blowing up, Izzy,” Lydia said in the background.

“Fine, fine,” Izzy heard Ryan said. “The numbers don’t lie.” Some clambering, and then Lydia was the one on the phone.

“I can stay?” Izzy asked, shocked.

“You’re staying, Izzy,” Lydia said, unfussed. “See? Nothing to worry about. Bring my phone back, we’re about to start. And George wants to talk to you. Do you want to stay in his room?” The line cut out suddenly.

Harry stood up and stretched. “I’ll have to put up with more of your terrible playing for a bit longer?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, grinning. 

“You think that was all you?” Izzy joked back. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Izzy thought about what was in front of her: she wasn’t going home. What did staying mean? What did being with the band mean? Could it be for more than a few weeks? 

“It was obviously me.”

“Obviously.”

“Only a true content creator could turn this place into marketing,” Harry said, a bit of venom in his voice. God, he’s irritating, Izzy thought. Harry put on his jacket. A rain drop hit his shoulder.

“It was your idea!” Izzy protested. She followed him back up the path.

“I can’t stand all that bullshit,” he sighed. “Jess is lucky it’s just you two. I have a whole team.”

“Poor little rock star,” Izzy said.

Harry watched Izzy pause at the edge of the stream before the path merged back with the sidewalk. Harry was happy she would be around, but his brow was creased with worry. He had to keep her away from George. 

Izzy held her arms out, closing her eyes to feel the rain hitting her skin, the inside of her wrists. She had never felt so relieved. She could stay.

chapter6