#trying to convince myself not to write it

[yeoshii]

How confusing of a character Mike Wheeler would be if he isn't queer.

Ok so I've been thinking about for a while because I've been having BADD Byler doubt, and I've been arguing with myself mainly about this topic.

Mike Wheeler would genuinely be the funniest and most confusing character if he isn't queer cause its like? WHY would they write him this way...

The first thing I'll cover is Mikes reaction to authority figures in S1 + S2 VS S3

So we all know in S1 the police tell the kids including Mike to not go looking for will, to let them handle it. Obviously Mike doesn't listen and convinces the rest of the party to look for Will. Then in S2 we see him do this again with Joyce. He goes to Will's house when Will has not shown up to school. Joyce tells him to go, Mike does not take listen again and ends up with will.

Then later in S2 when El shows back up he gets mad at Hopper for hiding her (I believe he is so emotionally wound up because of his guilt of El disappearing, rather than any romantic feelings he might have had for her. Like I'm sorry if you're already that "in love" with someone you only knew for like a week, that you react like that THATS not healthy)

Anyways we see he gets very mad at Hopper, and gets physical. So this establishes when Mike cares I don't what any authority figure says to him matters. He's gonna follow what he thinks is right and also what his heart believes is right.

Which brings me to S3

We see many changes with Mike including him now suddenly listening to authority figures, and the authority figure in question is Hopper who he had no trouble fighting with in the season before? So he listens to Hopper now when this relationship (that we are kind of made to believe are very passionate about each other, very obsessed with each other in ways) is being threatened?

Now we have seen Mike disobey authority figures before, so it's very strange that now, in this perfect moment to show him disobeying Hoppers and going to El the next day anyways to show that he feels that strongly about her. They decide to not do that?

Instead we see him actually compromise one of his values that I don't think he has before this season, which is " Friends don't lie" and we obviously how much of a value this is both to Mike and especially El. Mike lies to El anyways, and obviously it doesn't turn out well. I just think it's interesting how in a time where Mike should've stood up to an authority figure like he has before he decides not to?

People have said this before and I agree, I think Mike was just taking Hoppers threat as an excuse to kind of have a break from this relationship, I think he was very confused, he did not know how to behave in this relationship without help from Lucas. Which is strange considering that I am pretty sure Dustin and Lucas both have their first girlfriends in season 3 but you don't see them this confused with their relationships? Which kinda goes into my next point.

Mike does not navigate this relationship with emotion rather with logic.

Now this is pretty apparent considering he had a conversation with Lucas basically stating this. Now before you think Lucas does the same, HE DOES NOT. In season 2 he tells max everything about what happened to the party in the last season, even though the logical thing would be NOT to tell her because he knows the party members might be mad about it. So even though he says this, it is obvious how he still acts on emotion with Max, whereas Mike.... I don't really see it.

We see him ask Lucas kind of a lot even though yes this is his first relationship, but same goes for Dustin and Lucas and its obvious that whenever Lumax fight Lucas still apologizes first because his EMOTIONS guide him to do that. Mike does not do that at all he only goes to try get a gift for an apology after Lucas tells him too. Like I'm sorry but in my experience in crushes and relationships there are some things you just do because of your emotions, but Mike does not seem to do any of that with El he has to be told. That does not seem very normal, especially when we are supposed to be seeing them as very obsessed teenagers in a sort of puppy love?

Those types of relationships are SO known for being more emotion based rather than logic??

You know what relationship he leads with emotions in.... (cough cough rain fight) Ok anyways my next point

Why make it so apparent from the beginning that El and Mikes relationship is not healthy if they are endgame?

So this one is kind of my main points in this whole thing, I want to start with talking about Mileven in S2. So the first thing I wanna talk about in S2 is the Snowball dance, now I think it was the Duffer brothers who said this but they do not consider the song that plays while El and Mike dance, a love song. In fact the lyrics parallel exactly what El was doing to Mike that season as-well.

So that's a very strange choice to me to add that song to a supposed romantic scene, which in turn makes it more creepy than romantic? Was that their intent? Then after S2 we obviously have whatever was going on with them in S3, we see this relationship actually bring out the worst in Mike. Then we are made to root for El to break up with him? HUH. Now obviously they show us that they're "making up" in the store and hospital scene, which its very debatable since I feel like they barely actually say anything. Maybe in the store scene but they are interrupted right before a big step in their relationship was gonna happen.

Then in the supposed big step in their relationship scene, I feel like you're kinda left confused. Mike doesn't pull back El for a hug or anything which is strange considering your girlfriend that's moving states away just told you she loves you back. Like really that's how they wanted Mike to act, didn't even crack a smile or anything. Very strange...

Then obviously S4, at this point they are both equally bringing out the worst in each other. Mike isn't being true to himself and neither is El. So it's very apparent that the more this relationship goes on the more problems it has? None of them get resolved in the end of S4 either !!! Which is very strange considering all the other couples seem to have previous problems resolved (exception might be Nancy and Jonathan but its very obvious they are going to talk about these things + its obvious there's still a ton of love between them) Every other couple had their heart to heart and it made them grow stronger except El and Mike, that's weird?

Plus we are almost made to root for El being on her AGAIN, at least that's what I was thinking while watching S4 cause god they just do not see eye to eye while in a relationship.

In conclusion a lot of the writing is gonna be so strange is Mike ends up not being queer, heck if Mike ends up not being confirmed queer and he ends up being alone the writing is still gonna be weird !!! The only outcome I see is he's gay. I'm sorry if this long I kind of just started ranting um anyways yeah... Let me know if you guys agree or I make like absolutely no sense in this I haven't really slept much and I just started writing this. Also I'm sorry if any of these points are ones that have been stated a million times I can't help myself :P

[unlikeable-female-character]

Old Man Logan x Nurse!Reader - the fight

to be honest, the nurse! part of nurse!reader has somewhat fallen by the wayside, but I am still having a lot of fun writing these two. Again, I appreciate that Logan is probably acting hugely out of character but I hope that there is enough of him in there for people to recognise.

No smut in this one, but they do have a bit of a falling out.

other warnings: mentions of pregnancy, implied suicide attempts, implied unprotected sex, Logan getting slapped, implied alcoholism, angst

****

‘Do you think you might be?’ You were in your bathroom, sitting on the toilet with your feet up on the seat, your knees hugged tightly to your chest. Logan was perched on the side of the bath, both of you staring at the unopened pregnancy test sitting on the vanity like it was an unexploded bomb. It might as well be. You shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve always been pretty regular and we’ve been careful….’ You stopped and looked at Logan. He had the decency to look sheepish. ‘Yeah well maybe not so careful…’ you muttered. Logan put his head in his hands ‘And it’s not like your birthday was the only time lately either,’ he said.

You couldn’t explain it. Yes you had been careless when you fucked after your birthday meal but that had been a spur of the moment thing. Aside from the first time you slept together, which had been nearly two years ago, Logan had always come well prepared with condoms. After your birthday however, you’d both become a little more relaxed, reckless even. Maybe this was something you both wanted, without ever really discussing it. Or maybe you just really liked how it felt when Logan came inside you.

‘No,’ you said shaking your head, ‘work is stressful right now. We’re understaffed and management is being a pain in my ass. That’s probably why I’m late’ Logan nodded, eye flicking to the test ‘You’re not convinced?’ ‘You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, sweetheart,’ he said You shrugged again and let out a weak laugh. ‘Maybe I am.’ Logan reached out and picked up the box. ‘There’s only one way to really know,’ he said. You sighed. Of course there was. You took the test from him and opened the box. ‘Do you want me to stay?’ ‘Do you want to watch me peeing?’ You asked quirking a brow at him. Logan smiled a little. ‘Baby, you barged in on me when I was taking a shit the other day so you could show me something online. I’m pretty sure we’re way past being embarrassed about this stuff’ He watched as you went red remembering the incident. He put his hand on your cheek and you leaned into it. ‘I’ll wait in the bedroom,’ he said kissing you on the forehead.

Logan was lying back on your bed when you finally entered the room. He sat up when he saw you and patted the bed next to him. ‘Well?’ You didn’t say anything, just handed him the test. Not Pregnant. Clear as day. By some miracle all that unprotected sex had not produced a little Logan. It felt like hours, days, empires fell before either of you spoke. ‘How do you feel?’ Logan asked , reaching out and taking your hand. You rested your head on his shoulder. ‘Relieved,’ you replied, ‘dumb for being so reckless. I’m going to the store and buying the biggest pack condoms I can find’ Logan chuckled and slipped his hand into yours. ‘Whatever you say, sweetheart.’

Your period started the afternoon of the next day.

So Logan was confused when he walked into your kitchen a few days after that to find you sitting at the table, sobbing your heart out. ‘Hey..hey darlin’ what’s wrong?’ Logan crouched beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to his chest. ‘I don’t know..’ you sobbed, ‘I was just sat here thinking about the other day and I just couldn’t stop myself.’ You looked up at Logan, your eyes red, tears still steaming down your cheeks. ‘I think I’m disappointed’ Logan sat back on his heels and let out a small huff of breath ‘Disappointed? That you weren’t pregnant?’ You nodded. ‘I thought I was okay with it, more than okay. Like it wasn’t something I wanted but….’ You looked at him, ‘but maybe with you it is.’ You sniffed back more tears and went to stand but Logan stopped you ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Just that. That if I was going to have a baby with anyone, the thought of having one with you just feels…right,’ you immediately noticed the fear on his face, ‘that doesn’t mean I’m going to trap you I just wanted you to understand that you are it for me Logan. You’re the one and….’ ‘Sweetheart, I’m the last person on the planet you should be thinking about having a kid with,’ he said quietly. You hit him on the shoulder. ‘You keep saying things like that and they are not true!’ Logan stood. ‘Oh it’s true. More than true. I mean…it’s a miracle we’ve gotten this far without something fucking it up.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Just that. I’m not good for anyone and I don’t know why the hell you think I am. And I really don’t understand why you think having a kid with me would be a good idea’ You stared at him. ‘Because I love you, you idiot.’ Logan ran a hand down his face ‘Well you shouldn’t.’

Confused you stood up and walked over to him. Logan wouldn’t look you in the eyes and you had to grab his face to make him. ‘Why are you being like this? I’m sorry for saying what I did, if it upset you…’ You felt Logan’s hands on your shoulders ‘It fucking terrified me! Everything about this terrifies me.’ You stared at him. ‘It’s bad enough the thought of losing you but a kid…my kid…to lose both of you…to…I can’t…’ He choked on his words and let go of you, practically running from your apartment. You stood in the middle of your kitchen and heard the main door downstairs slam. You sat back down at the table and stared at the door. What the hell.

***

The formidable team of Charles and Caliban normally managed to wear Logan down to the point where he realised what an ass he was being but this time they didn’t seem to be able to get through to him at all. You’d not seen Logan for over a week but Caliban had been texting you regular updates -

‘came home from work and punched out a window because they gave him decaf at Starbucks by accident. Not effective coping strategy tbh’

‘Told me to go fuck myself with a rusty pipe because I asked him if he would take the dirty sheets off his bed so I could wash them. Bit of an overreaction’

‘After drinking what I can only assume to be several gallons of whisky is currently passed out on the kitchen floor. He’s in the recovery position. I know he can’t technically die but never going to pass up a chance to practise your excellent first aid training :)' and included a picture of Logan in said recovery position. You knew Caliban just wanted some recognition that he’d got it right but the sight of Logan sprawled on the floor like that just made your heart break even more than it already was.

With each text you simply grew more and more concerned. Every call to Logan went straight to voice mail and every text remained unread. With every day you didn’t see Logan you missed him more and more while simultaneously wanting to smack him. You needed to speak to him and it was clear he was not going to make the first move.

***

Logan was limping out of Charles’ tank one morning when he spotted a car hurtling down the road towards the compound. He stood and watched it, finally recognising it as yours. ‘Fuck..’ he muttered. Part of him wanted to run inside and lock the door (you had a key, such an act was useless) and a bigger, aching part of him just wanted to see you. He stood and watched as you finally reached him and stopped your car.

Logan shambled over and opened the door for you. He was taken aback by how fast you could move and how hard you slapped him, rocking him back on his heels. He was genuinely impressed but thought that telling you this might not go down too well. ‘Pleased to see you too, sweetheart,’ he drawled instead, rubbing his cheek. You reared back to give him another but he grabbed your wrist. ‘Come inside’ Reluctantly you dropped your arm and followed him in.

Caliban was in the kitchen, ironing, when you came in. You gave him a big hug as he stepped out from behind the ironing board. ‘Oh I’ve missed you,’ you said. Caliban hugged you back and glanced over at Logan. He was greeted with a murderous stare. ‘While I’d love to stay and chat, I think your boyfriend might decapitate me.’ He squeezed you one more time and swiftly made his exit.

‘He gets a hug and I get slapped?’ You turned to him. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t try testing out that healing factor of yours a bit more,’ you fumed. ‘I thought nurses were meant to do no harm?’ ‘That’s doctors.’ Logan raised his hands in defeat and sat down at the table. You sat opposite. ‘You reek,’ you said ‘Thanks.’ ‘You can just drink the whisky, Logan, you don’t have to bathe in it.’ Logan crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, refusing to meet your eye. You glared at him. ‘You know the last thing I ever thought you would be was a coward, Logan,’ you spat You were taken back by the force of your anger. Not seeing or communicating with him for so long had only fuelled your ire and seeing him now did nothing to dampen it. ‘I’m not…’ ‘You are!’ You interrupted, ‘you’re a coward!’ Logan looked at you ‘Can I finish, Princess? I was going to say I’m not proud of myself and how I acted.’ ‘Oh…’ Logan stood and paced the floor. ‘You’re right. I am a coward. I have lived for so long, darling’. Too long. I have lost so many people, so many that I loved and so many people have taken so much from me. There is only so much loss that a person can take especially when you know there is no fucking end to it and you just have to keep on going and keep on losing year after year after year. When I can’t die but every single person around me does…’ You stared at him. ‘What are you saying? That you want to die?’ Logan was silent for a long time then said ‘No. But yeah, I did. I wanted to die every single day for years, decades, and even though I knew it was pointless I tried. A lot. And in so many ways.’ He stopped pacing and looked at you, ‘then I met you….for the first time in longer than I can remember I wanted to live. And that scared me more than anything else I’ve ever gone through.’ He knelt down beside you. ‘When you said that I was the one you would want a kid with…,’ he gripped your hand and you could see the tears glistening in his eyes. His fingers brushed the bangle he’d given you, ‘that Shakespeare guy knew a thing or two and those words…I mean every single one of them. But I don’t know how to stop being afraid of losing you.’ You didn’t know what to say. You knew Logan had lived a long life and you knew he had lost many. How did you reassure someone who’s known nothing but the fragility and finality of life?

You slid off your chair and knelt in front of him. You held onto his hand, and you both sat there in silence for a long time. ‘I don’t know what to say, Logan. I don’t know how to help you feel less afraid about losing me because one day you will lose me. And any kid we had. I will die and I can’t do anything about that.’ He looked up at you and you placed your hand on the cheek you’d slapped earlier. ‘You can’t keep running away from this. Because there is nowhere for you to run. You can’t outrun something that is inevitable. All I can do is reassure you that while I live - however long that is - I will love you. More fiercely than I ever thought and that scares me. And don’t think I haven’t thought about running. Every thing you’ve told me about your life, your past, should make me want to be a thousand miles away from you. But i don’t. I want to be here. In this…’ you looked around, ‘this temple to tetanus,’ Logan let out a small laugh. ‘I want you and every single second of your fucked up past Logan. Because that’s made you who you are. This man,’ you poked him in the chest, ‘and I want every second of our fucked up future as well.’

Logan leant forward and bumped his forehead against yours. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘I’ve been a fucking asshole.’ ‘Yes,’ you said, ‘you most definitely have’ ‘Can you forgive me?’ ‘I will…but not yet.’ Logan sat back and looked at you. ‘I guess I deserved that.’ You nodded ‘Oh yeah you deserve that,’ you said, squeezing his hand, ‘there was a better way for you to handle this.’ ‘I know.’ Logan looked down at where you held his hand. ‘Can I kiss you?’ ‘Do you have whisky breath?’ Logan pulled a face and stood up, pulling you up with him. ‘If I brush my teeth can I kiss you?’ ‘I’ll think about it.’ Logan smiled and nodded, heading off to the bathroom. ‘Hey,’ you called after him ‘Yeah?’ You stood by the kitchen table, fingers picking at some dried food on the surface. ‘If…you know..you wanted to try like AA or something…I could come with you,’ you looked at him. He was staring at his feet. ‘I know you were trying. And I’m so proud of you for that. But you don’t have to do it alone.’ Logan’s eyes flicked up to yours. ‘I’m here,’ you said, ‘I’ll always be here.’ Logan nodded and continued to the bathroom.

You still needed to talk. You still felt that dull emptiness from when the test came back negative. As you sat at the table and looked around, you wondered if you’d truly lost your mind, thinking about bringing a child into Logan’s world. The past weeks had shown you a side to Logan that alarmed you. Acting like this when it was just the two of you was one thing but what if he did the same if you had a child. You were still mulling these thoughts over when he emerged from the bathroom. You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around him. ‘Don’t take this as you being forgiven because you aren’t. I just wanted a hug and I don’t know where Caliban went,’ you said, your voice muffled by Logan’s shirt. Logan smiled into your hair ‘Whatever you say, sweetheart.’

[thelonelyshore-if]

:0 would you please make a magic choice guide? Cause I'd like to max out on my points just because

Absolutely!! Currently the magic choices are a little on the bare-bones end; especially since several of them are route-locked. One of my big ~second draft~ (slash if i get bored someday) goals is to go through and really flesh out choices that gain magic points...

But, for the moment, magic guide under the cut!

PROLOGUE:

(DROWNING)

it's not that easy.

i need to fight this. (monstrous + 1)

please. let me go. (fog-touched + 1)

dying feels so much like dreaming. (clairvoyant + 1)

i won't let death take me. not yet. (necromancy + 1)

i don't want this. take me back. (resistant + 1)

CHAPTER ONE:

(DRIVING W/JAY OR RAVI) In an instant you want to go back to the lake more than you've ever wanted anything.

No--this feels wrong. I don't want this. I need to resist it. (resistant + 1)

My body's trying to tell me something. I embrace it. (fog-touched + 1)

I don't trust this feeling, but I can't resist my own curiosity. (clairvoyant + 1)

(DINER W/BECK & PERRI) Lake monsters and ghosts. This weekend has been full of mysteries, but before you came here, you…

Believed in everything--cryptids, ghosts, aliens. The whole nine yards (monstrous, fog-touched, clairvoyant, necromancy +1)

Believed in some supernatural things, but not everything. (monstrous, fog-touched, clairvoyant, necromancy +1)

Weren't convinced. Consider me a little skeptical. (resistant + 1)

Didn't believe in any of that stuff. It's fun in movies, but it isn't real. (resistant + 1)

CHAPTER TWO:

(JAY/SHELTER ROUTE) Pins and needles prick at the skin of your hand where you're touching him. He whimpers and nudges his head harder against your palm. The world's fallen away completely and you—

Are overwhelmed by the stench of death. (necromancy + 1)

Feel a deep, instinctual fear tear through my chest. (monstrous + 1)

Push away this feeling. I don't want this. Not again. (resistant + 1)

Siphon some of his fear into myself. (fog-touched + 1)

See something I shouldn't. (clairvoyant + 1)

(PRE-CRASH)

"What do you say?" Ravi asks, his lips curling ever so slightly upwards.

I don't know. I don't want to risk it…but it feels inevitable, somehow. (fog-touched + 1)

(CAR CRASH) You're only feet away. You need to act, or you're going to die. The trees draw closer with each second, and you squeeze your eyes closed. Instinct—not like blinding yourself to what's about to happen will stop it. You find yourself envisioning the inevitable crunch of your bones and white-hot shock of pain when—

My body reacts before I have the chance to think. (monstrous + 1)

I reject this, fighting for control with every fiber of my being. (resistant + 1)

A vision of what's about to happen startles me out of it. (clairvoyant + 1)

It's like I'm possessed. Something else stops the car… (necromancy + 1)

I decide to give the fog what it wants. I'll stop trying to leave. (fog-touched + 1)

CHAPTER 3

(TALKING TO CROFT) "There's this kid. Mallory. She remembers the outside. Her parents don't. When I was doing interviews hoping to get out—my research—she told me about watching her fathers forget everything. I write horror. It's my comfort zone. But the way she described it…" Croft exhales, low and shaky.

"Forgetting doesn't sound like the worst thing in the world…" I admit in a small voice. (fog-touched + 1)

(RESIST DOE ROUTE) "Or you can resist. Stay (at the hospital,/with the mortician,/with your little friend,/with your little friend,/with Loveless,) and watch it all burn down. Because it will. The fog always gets what it wants in the end. Even if it has to first gorge itself on your suffering. And, the funny thing? So do I."

As she speaks a vision of ruin unfolds before my eyes. (clairvoyant + 1)

Something whispers a warning in my ear--not here, not with her, it isn't safe. (necromancy + 1)

Anesthetic numbness deadens my senses until all I can see is mist. (fog-touched + 1)

Her reality is not mine, and I will not let this happen. (resistant + 1)

Animal rage blisters beneath my skin. I stumble to my feet, furious, snarling. (monstrous + 1)

[soppingwethog]

Odeur 53 by Comme des Garcons

Before I begin, I would just like to take a moment and apologize. I understand that this review is long. I understand that there are multiple paragraphs following this paragraph. I understand that reading is difficult. I understand that paying attention to anything for more than eleven seconds is nearly impossible. The earth is an increasingly demanding place and I am truly sorry for contributing to your grueling existence by writing a review about this perfume that is more than a few short lines. However, I believe that the information I provide below about this daring, unique fragrance is illuminating and valuable. I believe that writing anything less would not be true or fair to myself or the perfume. So please, forgive me if you can. I’m very sorry. If you simply cannot find it in your heart to forgive me, I understand.

When I was fifteen years old, I was suspended from school for a period of ten days. While I still maintain my innocence, there was little that could be done to convince the principal, vice principal, and school resource officer that I was blameless. I was just a child and they were three cold, rigid adults who made their living by not believing children. It did not take long for me to realize that any defense I attempted to mount for myself would be inefficacious, so I sat silently as they berated, ridiculed, blamed, harangued, judged, and pronounced me guilty for a crime I did not commit.

I will admit that the circumstances surrounding the event were strange and made it appear as though I had broken school rules as well as a bevy of local and federal statutes. To make a long story still sort of long, I was found by a member of the school staff in the lavatory. When I was discovered, I was soaked, filthy, unconscious, and my mouth was stuffed full of cigarettes. I would like to take a moment now and promise you, dear reader, that I have never smoked a cigarette or cigar in my life. Personally, I have absolutely no interest in the smoking of tobacco or any other flammable drug as I prefer to achieve my highs through other means like experiencing true love or drinking rare, exotic mammalian milks.

This event, like so many in my life, happened several years ago. As such, my memory is no longer crystal clear, but there are a few things which I can recall with certainty. I do remember leaving a very difficult mathematics class in order to use the restroom as I had eaten two cold cans of cream of mushroom soup for breakfast that morning and they ran through my guts like a slippery horse. I made my way to the dingy, graffiti-covered restroom where I immediately dropped trou and claimed my rightful place upon the porcelain throne and did what needed to be done which mainly consisted of focusing as hard as I could on not losing consciousness due to the incredible amount of wet matter that was rapidly escaping my body. Such a violent rush of solids and fluids leaving one’s entrails can sometimes cause a severe drop in blood pressure. There have been many, many times in my life when diarrhea has made me faint, and as far as I can tell, that is precisely what happened then.

Straddling the thunder bucket and gripping the sides of the bowl is the last thing I recall with any sort of coherence. The next thing I remember is the physical education instructor, Mr. Hamper, prodding me with some sort of wooden rod. I was utterly confused and began choking and coughing due to the incredible amount of wet cigarettes that had been shoved into my mouth and throat. I managed to hack most of them up, but I’m sure I inadvertently swallowed one or two in the process. It was terribly embarrassing. Like I said, I was completely soaked, I was in no small amount of pain, my trousers were soiled, and on top of that, it was picture day. It was not an ideal situation, to be sure.

I have spent years trying to piece together what might have happened while I was unconscious. I suppose I will never know for sure, but I assume that after I passed out while defecating, I slumped to the floor and made a complete mess of myself. Then, eventually, one or more of my schoolmates must have entered the water closet where they spotted me lying in my own filth on the lavatory floor. They then must have attempted to wake me by urinating on my face and into my ears and nose. When this failed to rouse me from my slumber, they decided to have a little fun by stuffing my mouth with at least a full pack of mentholated Camel Wides. Once they laughed themselves into submission, they left the washroom and notified the avaricious Mr. Hamper who then managed to agitate me into consciousness by poking me with a stick.

I can say for sure that this was not an enjoyable day and I was deeply ashamed to have been suspended, but, luckily, the suspension was not all bad as it was during those ten days of absence that one of my step-cousins visited and gifted me a nearly-empty bottle of Odeur 53 by Comme des Garcons that she said she had stolen from the fragrance counter at a shopping mall. It was an incredible display of kindness right when I needed it most. My spirits were lifted. It was as though she had applied a curative salve to my tatterdemalion soul.

Sadly, that was the last time I ever saw my dear step-cousin as she perished shortly after in a truly horrific accident that the local paper referred to as the “Oat Creek Squishing.” After attending her funeral, I decided that I would keep what remained of the Odeur 53 by Comme des Garcons in her honor. I would guard it. I would treasure it. As such, I have not yet sniffed any of the contents of this beautiful glass vessel and I do not ever plan to, but I have a strong feeling that if I did, it would smell of my sweet, dead step-cousin.

[sleepless-dreams]

ON THIN ICE

summary: After the incident during your last secret practice, you clings to avoidance like a lifeline, even if it strangles you in the process. Every compromise you make to stay close to Owen without stepping near the ice becomes another link in the cage you've forged yourself. But avoidance is brittle. And sometimes, all it takes is a boy’s disappointed silence and a woman’s soft observation to shake something loose, to be the break in the chain that's keeping you in place.

word count: 1.3k

A/N: I'm so so sorry for the late update. My hand is fucked up and typing hurts. I've been on and off pain meds for over a week now. I can't promise regular updates for now, but I am not abandoning this project, just writing at a slower pace to manage the pain.

₊⊹CHAPTER 6⊹₊

I lie. Again.

Another excuse, another dodged question. Another time I tell Owen I’ve got too much work. That I can’t stay for practice. That I have somewhere else to be.

The truth is, I’m circling the ice arena like a coward. My workload hasn’t changed. My schedule’s fine. I just can’t walk through that door. Not after what happened. Not after I let myself feel it again.

The guilt’s gnawing at me, jagged teeth at the base of my spine. And every time I see Owen’s face fall after yet another excuse, it carves deeper. But the thought of stepping inside, of hearing that hollow crack of blades on ice? It makes my stomach knot.

It’s been a week. No, more than that.

Today’s Monday. Another practice. Another chance to fail him.

I park and step out to help him with his gear. Owen takes his duffle bag with a muttered “See you later,” not even glancing back.

He used to ask if I was coming in. He used to question why I didn't. But now? Now he doesn’t bother, he has given up on trying to convince me.

It hits me like a slap.

And before I can talk myself out of it, I’m moving.

“Hey—” I call out, catching up to him.

He turns, surprised. There’s this flicker in his eyes, like maybe he thinks I’m just going to make an empty promise or dish out another weak excuse to make us both feel better. To ease the guilt when I disappear again.

I give him a weak smile and say, “It’s been a while since I had that hot chocolate from the buffet…”

He doesn’t answer. But its hard to miss the relief reflecting on his face. His lips twitch, almost a smile, and he keeps walking. Although his pace has slowed to match mine.

Each step that I take toward the hall drags a weight behind it. My limbs feel stiff, like they know where I’m going and want no part of it. But I keep moving, keep on walking forward.

I settle in the buffet, safely behind the thick glass that separtaess the buffet from the rink. A barrier between me and the cold. Between me and the sound. Between me and… everything.

The mug warms my hands. I don’t drink from it, just stare down at the slowly deflating whipped cream and let the heat ground me.

The rink is right there, behind the window, but I don’t look. I can’t look.

The door opens. I don’t glance up. Just another parent, I tell myself.

But when a chair scrapes and Hank sits across from me, I flinch.

“I got a little too cold out there,” he says, voice casual, like we’re friends.

I don’t respond. I’m not here to talk. Especially not to him.

He doesn’t care. He leans in. “Maybe this time I can buy you a drink. Since you’re already here.”

“I already have one,” I mutter, lifting my mug up and taking the first sip.

He keeps talking, unbothered by my opinion. I lose the thread. The sound of his voice fades beneath the roar in my ears.

I glance around. One exit leads deeper into the rink, up to the bleachers. The other leads out, back to the car, to Owen’s disappointment.

I can’t go forward. I won’t go back.

So I sit. Trapped. Cornered in the no-man’s land between fear and shame.

And I stay there. Trapped in my own avoidance with the one guy I swore I would steer clear off. There's nowhere to run. Not from my fear, not from my past, not even from Hank.

Again. And again. I sit in the buffet, trapped with Hank's unwelcomed company, stuck between a rock and a hard place.

By the fourth time, Hank’s already waiting for me when we walk in, waving me over like we’re close. We're not, it's as one sided as it was at the beginning.

Owen watches me with quiet confusion, I can see it in the furrow of his brow, the way his gaze flicks between us.

I don’t blame him. To him, it must look like I’m friends with the father of the kid who gives him the hardest time.

As Owen walks away to get ready, I reluctantly come to stand by the table Hanks sitting at. I've been there for barely a few minutes and he's already halfway into some boast when the buffet door opens.

Wanda steps through, taking off her gloves and stuffing them into her pocket. Her usual smile dims a little, surprise swimming in her gaze. Another person that's confused by my company choice in Hank. Though, he can't really be called my choice.

She flicks her eyes between me and him before they settle on me, a smile lighting up her face.

“Hey,” she says lightly. “Haven’t seen you in a while. I couldn’t spot you in the bleachers.”

Her smile widens, warmer this time. “Glad to have you back.”

That does something to me. A slipped beat of my heart and sudden bloom of warmth in my cheeks.

Something dangerous.

She turns to talk to Hank then, oblivious to the weight of her words. The conversation is polite, professional, but I barely listen in.

Those few words. Those few words one cracked something in me. Lodged something free.

Because she noticed my absence.

Because she cared enough to point it out. To underline my presence here mattered. To Owen and maybe even to her.

And suddenly, sitting stranded in a buffet listening to Hank's empty words and counting down minutes until I can flee from it all again feel just as awful as sitting up there on the bleachers. Maybe even worse.

I shove my hands into my pockets, sinking my teeth into my lip and breathe in deeply through my nose.

“I’m going to go sit at the bleachers,” I declare. Maybe to Hank, maybe just to the part of me that’s still scared.

Both Hank and Wanda turn to look at me, different emotions playing on each one's faces. Hank seems irritated, already blabbing up some argument to get me to stay here, with him. He doesn't matter, because Wanda's face softens into a warm smile with glinting eyes.

"Well, I should head out there too." She sighs, pushing a sleeve of her jacket up to look at her watch.

She's closer to the door, so I follow after her as we head out to the heat of the hall.

The rink air slaps me in the face harshly, sharp, biting, laced with memory. But I climb up the bleachers nonetheless, digging my nails into my palms. One step, then another. I sit high, as far from the ice as I can. I'm back where I started, up high again as I was when I started taking Owen here.

My body is taut with tension as I sit. My breath is shallow clouding into puffs as I breathe harshly. My nails still digged into the soft flesh of my hands.

But I’m here.

I look out towards the ice, and I see Owen. He spots me. Grins. And something unfurls in my chest, seeing the joy play on his face. Just because I stopped being a coward and showed up for him again.

Then my gaze settles on Wanda.

She’s focused on the boys, on the warm ups. But a moment later, she glances up. Our eyes meet. She smiles up at me, just briefly, and then turns away.

But it’s enough.

These two smiles? They make it worth it. The fear that is still squeezing my throat tight, the anxiety clawing at my insides. The echo of memories that resonate louder now that they've been allowed to live again. Even if for just a moment.

Their smiles make me want to stay, even as I stew in my discomfort.

And when I drive Owen home, I tell him to be ready tomorrow. Same time as always.

We’re picking our secret practices back up.

He cheers. Punches the air like he just scored a goal.

And for the first time since the incident, I feel like maybe I scored one too.

[this-isapen]

Hi i love your writting.

Ive been dying for some drama with lots of make up sex if is ok with you. (Hozierx reader that is a member of the band or somenthing like that* thank you so much)

Thank you so much! <3 I really liked this idea, so I hope it's up to your expectations!! (though i will say i don't write sex scenes very often, so apologies if it isn't my best work).

My Fault

Pairing: hozier x fem reader

Warnings: slight angst and drama, mild (+ first attempt) smut

Description: You're having a bad day that culminates in arguing with Andrew, things not meant being said in the heat of the moment. But tensions have to ease eventually, one way or another.

Word count: 3, 479

titled after 'my fault' by zeph

fic under the cut :)

I stare at him from across the table, watching as he laughs loudly at some joke I didn’t catch. He meets my eye momentarily, and I recognize it as his silent way of asking how I’m doing. Not great, admittedly, having snapped at him earlier over something stupid during soundcheck that I can barely remember. I shoot back a halfhearted smile, trying to wordlessly convince him not to worry about it. The last thing I want is that much attention in the midst of getting dinner with the rest of the band. I don’t like to make a big deal about stuff regardless, but especially not around other people. Thankfully, he seems to catch on and doesn’t make any further indications that would draw unnecessary attention from our friends. I don’t think I’d ever recover from making a scene like that. 

I keep to myself, perfectly content to just absorb the conversations around me without participating myself. I take to twirling my fork around my plate, playing with the remainder of my food in hopes of killing time until we head out. I’m not in a particularly social mood tonight, though if anyone other than him notices they don’t say anything. 

Quietly excusing myself from the table, I slip out and head to the bathroom. It thankfully appears to be empty, and I feel myself release a breath as I try to expel the tension from my body. A quick look in the mirror above the sink reveals that I’m noticeably tired. This might be harder to keep under wraps than I thought. 

“Get it together,” I mutter under my breath as I run my hands through my hair. I wash my hands to feel like I’ve at least done something while wasting time in here, inevitably wiping my hands on my jeans when the air dryer doesn’t do much. I take a final deep breath, using up every ounce of willpower to go back out there. 

I’m startled to see Andrew standing by the bathroom entryway when I emerge, but try to walk quickly before he notices me. Unfortunately, my plan fails and he catches my wrist gently in his grasp. 

“Oh, hey.” I glance up at him with a tight-lipped smile, trying to play this off as though I hadn’t seen him.  

His brow furrows as he looks at me. “Darlin’? Everything alright?” 

I brush him off with a mildly exasperated “I’m fine,” before turning to head back towards the table again. 

“You sure? You seem... off.” He keeps his voice at a volume just barely above a whisper, the way he speaks when he’s worried. 

“Yeah, just tired,” I assure him, silently praying for him to just drop it. 

He lets me go, following me back to where the rest of the band is chatting. I easily insert myself into the flow of conversation around me, though whether it’s compensating for the risk of my distance being uncovered or an attempt to prove something to Andrew, I don’t know. 

Eventually, we’re on the sidewalk heading back in the direction of the hotel that’s a short walk away. Andrew reaches for my hand like he usually does, but I pull away quickly, refusing to meet his eye in fear that his face will be written with as much hurt as I imagine it will be. Neither of us says a word to the other for the rest of the trek, which is fine by me. Talking feels too difficult right now, like it will take up the remainder of my already depleted energy.  

I barely remember walking in the door, let alone getting to our shared room.  

The door is barely locked behind us when Andrew speaks again. “What the hell is going on with you?” 

His question stings more than I expect it to, the harshness of the words feeling like shattered glass pricking my heart. I don’t know, Andrew. Everything. Nothing at all. Too much to even begin to explain. 

“Nothing,” my mouth feels too dry as I respond, anxiety eating up the words I truly wanted to say. 

“Baby,” he sighs, and his obvious frustration only irritates me further. What right did he have to be annoyed? Why couldn’t he just leave this alone? “You’ve been acting weird all day; something’s up.” 

“I’m not acting weird!” my voice comes out whinier than I mean it to, causing me to cringe. I feel like a hormonal teenager arguing with her mother, the way I shut down. 

“Yeah, because you usually spend the day avoiding me and ignore me all throughout dinner,” he scoffs. “If something is bothering you, you can tell me. Hell, you can tell me to fuck off and leave you alone, but can you please just give me something to work with other than one-word responses?!” He’s getting upset now, and I feel a familiar sensation brewing in my chest – stress, anger, guilt. 

 “I’m fine, Andrew!” I snap suddenly, regretting it as soon as the words leave my lips. “I told you, I’m tired. It’s been a long day.” It wasn’t really a lie; it had been a busy day today, but that was more of an aggravating factor than a cause, and he knew me well enough to see right through me. 

“Darling, please. I just want to help.” 

“And why do you assume I need your help?!” I can’t seem to stop myself from getting snippy with him, but I just don’t want to talk about this right now. Whatever this even was. 

“Right,” he frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Sorry for caring about you. Sorry for trying to have a mature conversation like fucking adults.” 

His last comment sends me over the edge; I can’t stand someone insinuating I’m immature. That one strikes me to very core. 

“Oh, so I’m not an adult capable of holding a conversation?” I shoot back, glaring at him as the threat of tears stings my eyes. The room feels smaller somehow, too cramped. I need to get out of here before it suffocates me. 

“That is not what I’m saying and you know it.” 

“Then what are you saying?” I question. “Actually, forget it. I’m leaving.” 

I rifle through my bag as quickly as I can until I find my hoodie, pulling it over my head as I make my way to the door. 

“Where are you going?” I can’t tell if he’s angry or concerned. 

“For a walk.” 

“Wait, please. Just talk to me.” 

“Andrew, please. Just leave me alone.” I emphasize, managing to slip out of the room, once again barely registering my route until I find myself outside again. 

It occurs to me I don’t know where I’m going, but I inevitably just pick a direction and start walking, the cool night air a blessing to my skin. I don’t really care where I end up, I just couldn’t stand to be in that room with him another second longer. 

*A* 

I groan, tossing my phone on the bed after approximately my fifth call to her that only resulted in me getting her voicemail. I was a total asshole, and I only want to apologize for acting like I did. It came from a place of love, but the last thing I said was a low blow and she didn’t deserve that. I just don’t understand why she won’t talk to me when clearly there’s something bothering her. Something I’m guessing I’m the cause of based on how she’s acted towards me all day. 

I rack my brain for anything I might’ve said or done to upset her, but can’t seem to recall anything of note. Had I been too distant with her? That doesn’t seem to be it. If only I knew what it was, maybe I could fix this. But then again, there’s only so much I can do when she refuses to tell me what the problem is. 

It’s not like I don’t understand it, though. I can be pretty stubborn about these things too, so I get that it might not be fair of me to judge her for the same way that I’ve acted on countless occasions. Still, I only want to help. 

Time passes painfully slowly, but I find myself spending all of it anxiously checking my phone for any potential messages from her. Eventually, I doze off, waking up to find my phone still clutched in my hand. It’s nearly four in the morning by now, and still no sign of her. Not a single call or text, no indication that she’s in the room. When she still doesn’t pick up my call, worry begins to take hold of me. 

We’d gotten back around what, eleven o’clock, maybe midnight? Either way she’s been out far too long for my liking. She should have come back hours ago; where was she? 

Unable to sleep now that I realize how long it’s been, I take to padding down the hall knocking on the band’s doors to see if anyone has heard anything. Alex isn’t much (or any) help, and I feel bad for waking him at this time of night. It hadn’t occurred to me in my anxious state that I’d be disturbing their sleep by doing this, and I make a mental note to buy everyone coffee in the morning.  

The rest of the band proves to be much of the same – exhausted people who don’t know much and aren’t too thrilled to have their boss come knocking on the door in the middle of the night. The last room I try is Kamilah’s, who unfortunately also hasn’t seen or heard from her since dinner, but offers me assurance that everything is likely fine. I hope she’s right. 

Sighing, I return to my room and pull my shoes on. I wouldn’t - couldn’t- rest until I at least knew where she was, that she was safe. And right now, it seems the only way to do that is to go looking for her myself. I don’t care if it takes me all night; I just need to know that she’s okay. 

* 

I finally tear my eyes away from the dark reflection of the lake, unsure of how long I’d been standing there. I’d purposely been ignoring my phone since I left, knowing that checking it would only serve to stress me out more.  

It was clearly late, but it’s not until I give in and check the time that I notice just how long I’ve been out here. Granted, I don’t know what time I got here, but it had been a couple hours at least since I started walking. The fresh air had helped, though the realization that I was alone outside in the middle of the night was beginning to unsettle me as I try to navigate back to the hotel. At least the city was well lit. 

I feel on edge walking down the street, hyper aware of my surroundings until I finally see the overhang bearing the hotel’s name. Relief washes over me as I slip inside, tiredly making my way to the elevator. Hopefully Andrew would be asleep by now because I don’t feel like resuming our argument right now. I’m barely in the mood to talk, let alone fight. 

As I open the door, I see him pacing by the window on the far side of the room, turning immediately towards me. Well, there goes that hope. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, his voice thick with emotion. “I was about two seconds away from filing a report,” he mutters softly. Had he been crying? His eyes looked a bit red. 

I don’t know how to respond, caught off guard by his admission. This is not at all the situation I anticipated walking into. 

“I was worried sick,” he breathes, moving closer to me until he wraps me in a hug, holding me so tightly I wonder if he thinks I’ll disappear if he lets go. “I - are you okay? You’re not hurt?” 

I shake my head, burying my face in his chest. 

“Good,” he hums. “Do not fucking scare me like that.” 

“I -” I choke out. 

“You weren’t answering your phone; I – I went out looking but I couldn’t find you. I was afraid something happened to you.” 

“I’m sorry.” I hug him back just as fiercely, hoping that it underscores my apology more than any words ever could. He searched for me? “For everything.” 

“Me too,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have said what I did.” 

A few moments of silence pass between us while we cling to one another.  

“I just want you to talk to me.” 

“I know.” 

“You know I love you, right?” 

I nod against his chest, chuckling silently. “I know. I love you too.” Swallowing my pride, I add, “I don’t know why, but I think I was just in one of those moods where everything was pissing me off but I couldn’t figure out what was actually upsetting me.” 

“Love.” 

“I think being on the road has just started to take a lot out of me. I – I'm sorry for being such a bitch.” 

He chuckles softly, pulling back to look at me. “Darling, it’s alright. It’s just that these are the kinds of things I want you to tell me.” Before I can interject, he continues, “I’m sorry for prying.” The softness of his lips and the gentle scratch of his beard on my forehead calm me a bit, the tender familiarity grounding me.  

“I guess we’re both kind of assholes sometimes, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing my lips. “We are.” 

A smirk paints his lips suddenly, and he catches my eye. 

“What?” 

“What do you say,” he hums, rubbing gentle circles into my hips with his thumbs, “I make this up to you?” He bites his lip shyly, waiting for me to give him some sort of indication.  

“Oh,” I giggle, feeling a heat rise to my cheeks at the implications. “You don’t have to.” 

“No pressure,” he murmurs, kissing the tip of my nose. “But I want to, if you want me to.” 

This conversation had taken an... unexpected turn, though I’d be lying if I said the thought of whatever he had in mind didn’t excite me. I meet his gaze, and have my answer. Who was I to say no to those gorgeous eyes that bore into my soul with such adoration? 

“Okay.” 

I smile upon seeing the massive grin spread across his face at my response. He kisses me again slowly, passionately, walking me back towards the bed.  

His fingers tug at the waistband of my jeans, a silent plea for permission as he looks at me once more. I nod, and he unbuttons them, pulling the material down my legs. Without a word, I pull my hoodie and shirt off together, giving him even less clothing to work with. His fingers trail lightly up and down the sides of my thighs and up to my hips, leaving me with goosebumps as a result. 

He kisses me, lips slowly trailing from my mouth to my jaw, neck, collarbone. A contented sigh escapes me with each new feeling. He continues to kiss his way down my body, lowering himself to reach the next section until he’s kneeling before me. 

 I take in the sight of him; he looked so fucking pretty like this. The only word I can think of describe his actions right now is reverence. I gently work my fingers through his hair, watching as he instinctually leans into the touch. I can feel my breath catch in my lungs as he kisses me through the fabric of my underwear. He tilts his head up slightly to meet my gaze, a wordless check that I want him to continue. I nod, and seconds later his fingers are hooked in the sides of the fabric, sliding them off my legs and tossing them aside next to my pants. 

“Gorgeous,” he mutters quietly, my face becoming a deeper shade of red in response. Slowly, he encourages me to sit on the edge of the bed, placing my legs over his shoulders with a final glance up at me. “Alright?” 

“You really don’t have to,” I murmur, instinctively resisting despite how much I can feel myself craving this.  

“Darling,” he hums, chuckling slightly. “I want to, truly. Please let me.” There was the slightest hint of desperation in his voice, but I knew that he would stop without argument if I just said the word. 

“Okay.” 

With that, he buries his face between my legs, targeting the spot I need him most. The pressure of his nose and the feeling of his tongue provide a delicious feeling I didn’t realize how badly I needed. Before I know it, my words are a jumble of pleas and curses mixed with his name as his mouth and fingers begin to work in tandem to bring me to the edge.  

“Andrew,” I gasp, gripping his hair in my fist, knowing that I’d soon reach my climax. 

“It’s alright baby, I’ve got you,” he hums against me, sending a shiver up my spine. “Just let me take care of you.” The utter worship with which he treated me was still taking some getting used to. 

“What about you?” 

“I’m doing just fine, darling. My focus is on you tonight,” he murmurs, his fingers continuing to curl inside of me while he talks. Fuck, he’d be the death of me.  

“Andy,” I whine. 

“Shh, I have you, baby. I’ve got you, just let go for me,” he encourages, his words nearly enough to send me over the edge. Moments later, my orgasm washes over me, Andrew looking quite pleased with himself as I catch my breath. “That’s it, good girl,” he hums. 

He rises from his knees, electing to sit on the bed next to me. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, kissing my temple as he pulls me in. “Good?” 

“Great,” I laugh breathlessly in response. 

“Good.” 

“But,” I start, getting his attention. “I think I have some things to make up to you too.”  

“Yeah?” he chuckles. “Don’t feel obligated, love.” 

“I want to,” I assure him, finding it funny the way that we’ve managed to reach a complete role reversal. “You deserve to feel good too.” 

“Trust me, I felt plenty good pleasuring you.” 

I roll my eyes, playfully shoving him. I know he’s being serious, but he can still be so cheesy sometimes. “Shut up.” 

“Make me,” he chuckles, and I can only kiss him in reply. 

Suddenly, I’m pushing him back on the bed, our mouths and bodies colliding as we laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. Our hands are reaching for one another clumsily, happily. It’s nice to be with him like this after the day we’ve had.  

He eventually rolls us over so he’s on top of me and presses his lips gently to mine. I reach for the waistband of his sweatpants and pull them down, though he needs to kick them the rest of the way off.  

I smile at the sight of him in his boxers, blushing a bit despite this not being a new occurrence. He cups my cheek in his hand, kissing me once more before pulling back and sliding his underwear off. 

“You ready?” he asks, looking at me with a sense of adoration I still wasn’t sure if I’d ever get used to.  

I nod eagerly, letting him position himself between my legs comfortably. He presses into me slowly, allowing me time to adjust to the feeling of him inside me.  

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he compliments, the heat rising to my cheeks once more. “And God, I hope I never stop making you blush like this,” he adds, much more quietly, leaving me wondering whether he wanted me to hear that or not. 

He thrusts into me slowly, only gradually increasing his pace. Eventually, he brings my leg up, fucking me gently at this new angle. My hips meet his, and the fingers on his free hand entwine with mine. The sheer gentleness of our movements together almost brings a tear to my eye. 

I watch him as he loses himself in the feeling, his eyelids shutting contentedly as he eventually tips over his own edge.  

“I love you so much,” he mumbles softly, kissing my forehead. 

“Love you too,” I giggle. 

After a few minutes, he pulls out of me and pads into the bathroom, returning with a washcloth a couple moments later. My eyes start to flutter shut as he cleans me up, the emotional and physical exhaustion both finally catching up with me. The last thing I remember before falling asleep is him wrapping his arms around me and pulling up the covers.  

[ruindunburnit]

Has anyone written a Death Note fic but it's a Dune crossover, with Light believing himself to be the subject of a messiah prophecy as Kwisatz Haderach Lissan al Gaib Kira?

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

hey. hey hey hey. you. fanfic writer. you need to kill the critic in your head right now immediately. your fanfic does not involve too much focus on an oc. your characterization is fine. whether you chose to write first person or 3rd person you chose what was best for your story. never ever start second guessing your fanfic based on imaginary critics and the memes you see making fun of things you ended up doing in your fic (first person/oc focus/formatting) it will kill your drive for your fic slowly and insidiously. kill the concept of your work being marketable; your fanfic does not need to be marketable; your fanfic will never be marketable. mute and delete anyone who leaves shitty comments or bookmark blurbs on your work. if you finish writing a chapter at night wait until the next morning to edit and post it. I love you. remember to skim over your work in ao3's rich text box to make sure strikethroughs and horizontal lines are where you want them to go and there's no extra space between italicized words and periods. I love you. "no archive warnings apply" means none of the listed content warnings apply to your work; "creator chose not to use archive warnings" means you're not sure if they apply or not or you want to avoid spoilers by not specifying which warning applies and you should use this at your own discretion and for the love of god don't use the first one when you mean this one. I love you. "&" means friendship/parental/platonic and "/" means romantic. I love you I love you I love you

[pastelpiggielol]

If you look at your writing and think “wow! This is some of the worst shit I’ve ever produced!” That probably means it’s actually going to be the best thing you ever write you just haven’t finished it yet

[foreverfallingstars]

On nights that Theo finds himself awake in the backseat of his truck, sleep just out of reach, he sometimes finds himself wondering if he was always broken. He never really means to dwell on it, he just can’t stop his brain from continuously going back to it - to wondering if Tara's death had changed him, or if he was always doomed to be broken and it was just a matter of time.

Truth be told, while Theo has gaps in his memory throughout his time with the Dread Doctors, he remembers even less from the brief time before; he hates that the Dread Doctors took up half of his life so far and he can barely remember anything outside of his time with them. He only has a few fleeting memories left of Tara, not including the ones from the Skinwalkers Hell where her hands were sharp and cold, and his name sounded sour on her tongue.

He remembers when he first fell off his bike and she was the one to place a bandage on his knee, distracting him from the pain and the tears in his eyes with a fact that she had learnt that day from school. He remembers how she became obsessed with flowers seemingly out of the blue, collecting books and stickers on them, doodling them on every surface she could - much to their parents' dismay. He remembers how she ate ketchup with her eggs and how she was certain socks needed to be put on before pants.

Theo remembers how her eyes were always shining, how her hands were always warm.

Theo remembers how that changed, how he was the reason for that.

It's nights like these that have Theo acutely aware of Taras heart thumping in his chest, pumping his blood around, keeping him alive. That has him listening to the steady beating of it as he stares at the roof of his truck, grasping for some sort of connection to his sister.

[swanhild]

crawling back from the dead because I miss my sad elves

[ohno-the-sun]

Hmmm thinking about writing and how hard it is

I feel like for how long it takes me to write one chapter I can use that same energy to make like 10 art pieces

I’m wondering if it’s even worth it

Like I enjoy writing but it just takes so much of my time

Should I just stop and only do art?

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

<< previous

omega disciple shen yuan au pt 2 electric boogaloo

cw for the sex pest again but…mans will not be returning lmao (nor will that theme, probably)

shen yuan is nine years old when the brothel madam—nainai, she insists—starts having him run errands. picking up tea from the mings’ shop down the road, dropping off letters and packages for people around town. he’s gotten stronger, healthier. the farmers who sold him must not have fed him much. he’s gone from stick thin to youthfully soft; the dark smudges beneath his eyes have lightened. the village sits in a mountain, on a plateau that jiejie says was formed when a huge demon blew the peak off the mountain a thousand years ago. shen yuan doesn’t believe her, but he stays wary all the same. he knows what mountain range they're in, after all. he knows just as well as everyone else about the immortal masters up on the peaks. he isn't thinking about it. he's not a cultivator.

he is still young, his heats still dry and soft. they don’t make him work when it comes; all the brothel aunties bring him silks and blankets and help him nest, and nainai makes sure there’s always at least one auntie there to look after him. distantly, shen yuan knows that heats are supposed to be a hassle for grown omegas. he's staunchly not thinking about it—instead he sits cuddled up with jiejie or gege or one of the aunties and reads them stories. heats really aren't so bad.

nainai and all of the aunties always said if he starts to feel heat sick while he’s out running errands, he has to come back immediately. it's a little overbearing, honestly. he isn't stupid; he knows how to take care of himself. he hasn't frozen up since that time with that alpha, and he knows to run away if something happens again.

he's been a little warm the past few days, and his nose has been really sensitive—irritating, really! he curses the shitty author in his heart every time a guest with a rancid scent strolls into the brothel. but two little symptoms don't mean it's pre-heat. gege got him a journal to track his heats with, and it's not supposed to come for two more weeks. he's fine.

so he hides his fever and stifles his gags when nainai asks him to to go drop off a package at the tea shop and pick up more of some special tea. uncle ming, the tea shop owner, always gives him candy and snacks and stuff when he comes by. there’s no way a little fever is gonna make him miss out on free candy. whether he’s nine or twenty-nine (his age is another thing he isn’t thinking about. sometimes he almost forgets he was grown just two years ago. sometimes he forgets that none of this is really real. don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it), free sweets are free sweets.

the sun is setting, so nainai tells him to be quick. the tea can’t wait until the morning—the prickly man is coming again tonight, and it’s some special blend he needs as soon as he arrives or something. shen yuan doesn’t really care; he’s just excited to go see uncle ming. so excited he runs the whole way there. it’s still light when he goes inside. uncle ming gives him snacks and sweets, pats his head and praises him for being so helpful. he catches shen yuan up on the neighborhood gossip—there are rumors about this person, that person is pregnant again.

they keep talking until after the sun goes down, and when uncle ming realizes it, he tries to convince shen yuan to stay for the night. his wife and daughter, both betas, are away, and he doesn’t want to send shen yuan to walk back in the dark alone. he’s an omega too, and he says he’d walk shen yuan there himself but his nose isn’t good and it’s dark out. with no way to tell if someone was sneaking up on him, he’d be in danger. it’s fine though. shen yuan’s nose is good, and he’s not stupid. the thought of spending a night away from his nest makes him itchy. plus, he’s already late getting the tea back for that man, and nainai said it was important.

uncle ming scents him with one of his wife’s cloaks, then wraps it around his shoulders. hopefully, he says, the scent will scare off anybody looking for an omega to bother. auntie ming’s scent is nice—not like the aunties at the brothel, but it still makes shen yuan feel secure. the cloak is a little long, but that’s fine. the walk is only ten or so minutes. he’s sure it’ll be fine.

he’s wrong.

it’s been two years, and nothing really even happened, but shen yuan still remembers that alpha’s scent. there’s no reason to remember it. nothing really even happened, just a kiss on the forehead. a hand on his thigh. eyes dark and possessive, like he wanted— but nothing happened. that alpha’s probably on his way home from running some errand, same as shen yuan. he picks up the pace.

the scent follows him, and his middle starts cramping, and when shen yuan accepts that maybe he was closer to his heat than he thought, he starts running. gets maybe three steps before his legs get tangled in auntie ming’s cloak, and before he can hit the ground, there’s a hand pulling the fabric tight against his throat.

that alpha coos at him, calls him sweet. he’s scarred now, ragged claw marks tearing from his eye down to his neck, and shen yuan remembers nainai’s bloody hands after she took the man outside. nainai isn’t here now. shen yuan should’ve stayed with uncle ming.

later, he says he only remembers flashes of what happened that night. hands on his face, his thighs, inching between his— sharp teeth dragging along his neck. he remembers that alpha’s voice, but not what he said. he remembers crying, remembers saying he’d scream if the alpha didn’t stop. he doesn’t remember screaming. he remembers a tingling under his skin, a tightness in his belly, a rush and a wave of something he’s never felt before. he remembers opening his eyes and seeing the alpha lying dead on the ground, his chest caved in and blood dripping from his eyes and his nose and his mouth.

shen yuan remembers picking up the box of tea, half spilled on the ground, and turning to run. he remembers bumping into a man with the coldest eyes he’d ever seen, but a scent that felt familiar. remembers looking up at him from the ground, saying please, please, please—but not what he was asking for. he doesn’t remember anything else.

[navybrat817]

Lovelies, I'm sort of terrified to write this biker intro, but here we go.

[onawinterpath]

common journal

[wardensantoineandevka]

I see there's posts floating around directly and blatantly arguing against mine (same wording) by completely misunderstanding what I said. I'm fucking BACK, babey. Should've bought some hay-scented fragrance while I was at Sephora today, because I am once again your strawman!