#(I RE WROTE THIS SEVERAL TIMES I HOPE THIS IS FINE

[heartsacrosstime]

@iinuasha Sent:

It had become a habit to see her at such late hours, ever since he caught the scent of salt mixing with her fragrance, he worried she would be overcome by solitude and allow it to extinguish her light. And just as he would step in quietly to see her like a restless dog, content to sit there and guard her till day break, she would tag at his Kimono, offering space for him to rest. Tonight wasn't any different, he held her close to him, listening intently as she talked the night the night away. There was something in the crease of her brow that wasn't the result of struggle against sleep, but an inward annoyance she found with the treatment she had been receiving, he learned the details from Sota, how her beauty was the only feature that seemed worthy of praise, it makes him feel bad for being a part of it for a while. ❝ Y'need to stop listening to what they say. You're more than that ... to me at least, Sakura. ❞ he said in a tone so tender, and leaned to kiss her.

She's aware of what she's doing. Kagome knows of just how many rules she is breaking by doing this, by asking her bodyguard to hold her tight and listen to her woes. If anyone was to find out about this, especially her wolf prince fiancé, then surely that would spell disaster. However, just this once, she doesn't even think about the consequences. She was just that desperate.

Kagome was a strong girl, a strong princess who always put her duties and the needs of her subjects first before her own happiness. It was the fate she was born into, the price for the life she's lived. No one could change it, not even the gods. Such tolls had weighed her down more and more as time passed, until eventually, she was at the point of no return, a broken glass doll beyond repair.

And that's when she finally decided to act selfishly, to ask for the one person she truly wanted to be at her side to try an help put her back together. This one night, this one moment, would be enough. She didn't need anything more. All she needed was...to be heard, to be seen, and to be reassured in her own feelings.

Luckily for her, that's exactly what Inuyasha had delivered. Brown hues widen as he leans forward, but doesn't shy away when he makes the move to kiss at her cheek. Such affection she had been desperately needing, selfishly wanting, and it made her heart both relax and break all the more. For such times...were not to last.

"I...I...I just wish...I could freeze time...To stay like this...forever." She leans more into his hold, her desperation clear to see as her body shakes. "To not have to wake up and go back to a life I didn't choose for myself...To go back to putting on a show for everyone... To go back to smiling through the pain...To go back to where...you and I can't...can't be like this...Can't just...be ourselves."

~

[wood-white-writer]

“Didn’t mean to make your heart Blue” || [9/…]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“And I know no one will save me, I just need someone to kiss.

Give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright.”

— Mitski, “Nobody”

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live Action) x F!Reader

Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  In which there is lost affections, mentions of the past, and re-bonding over a bath. Unshared thoughts and feelings of regret return from years of negligence, and whereas some aspects remain buried, others have a chance to resurface from the depths.

Warnings: fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, morally grey reader, mentions of violence and blood, dual-pov (though primarily Buggy's), Buggy being a simp, implications of Buggy being a horny simp

A/N: AND HERE WE ARE! FINALLY, AFTER SO MANY WEEKS, THE NEW CHAPTER IS UP! Seriously, I want to thank you all for your immense patience and support. As I mentioned in a previous post, work has been hectic as hell and I know I wrote that this chapter would hopefully be finished last week, but life took its toll. Hopefully, you'll enjoy this chapter, though I myself have mixed feelings about it.

INCLUDES SOME SELF-MADE SKETCHES AT THE BOTTOM, so you’re warned

The sun warms your face as you breathe in the fresh scent of the sea. You’re lounging on deck, hands folded behind your head and feet hanging over the railings in a rather peculiar position, but you’re perfectly content.

Luffy benched you for the rest of the voyage to Arlong Park, a decision you initially found insulting to no short degree. Well, maybe benched is not the right term to use, but more like “I don’t want you to die, and I think you need to relax this once”.

You had argued that no, you’re fine and the love bites Arlong left you are nothing compared to the marks Mihawk left on Zoro, and he’s still up and about as usual.

But Luffy is firm about his decision, and what the Captain says goes.

So, here you are, enjoying some quiet all while letting your wounds heal, and it seems that nothing can hope to put an end to this ambiance that is—

“HEY! THERE ‘YA ARE!”

…. You spoke too soon. Way too soon.

A shadow falls over your face like a curtain and blocks the view of the sun. A shadow belonging to - you make a lucky guess - a severed head that’s been talking for way longer than a severed head typically should, in your experience.

You open one lazy eye to pinpoint the exact perpetrator and see a bright red dot staring down at you from Usopp’s grip.

Buggy winks at you, making those mildly irritating clink-clink noises.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Usopp grumbles. “You take him! He’s annoying and keeps telling me my nose is too long!”

“Because it is, you shidiot!”

“It’s average!”

“That’s what your mom said!”

“You keep my mom’s name out of your mouth, you psychotic, fucking—!”

“Be quiet.”

Both the clown and the slingshot simultaneously shut their mouths before things have a chance to escalate on a non-verbal scale, and you take this as a sign that your break is officially over and buried ten feet under.

Stretching your arms out loud enough to pop a few vertebrae, you shift to lean your back against the railing and give both boys an unimpressed look-over, like a disappointed mother having caught both of her children in the act of something. “It’s too early for you to be making a ruckus.”

“It’s 11 am,” Usopp points out.

“Still too early.” Deciding that you’d rather not deal with this with more effort than you’re willing to spend, you return to your previous position. “Leave the head, or don’t. Just let me rest.”

“Fine by me.”

With a thud and an “OW FUCK!”, Usopp unceremoniously drops the clown and forgoes his Buggy-sitting duties to do whatever he wants to do, leaving you to pick up the slack.

A string of curses flow from Buggy’s mouth, which you only vaguely pay attention to. There was something along the lines of “Long-nosed asshat,” and “Right on the nose”, but you abandon all interest in favor of feeling the sun on your cheek.

“So…” you hear him jump a little closer. “Alone at last.”

You don’t answer.

“What? Don’t give me that! I thought we were good!”

You remain selectively mute.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me! I don’t like it!”

“You survived it for twenty years. I’m sure you can stand it for a few more minutes.”

“…. Seriously?”

“Mhmm.”

You don’t know what possesses him, but he keeps quiet for most of the next thirty minutes, and you take the time to continue basking in the sun. 

It’s a luxury you can rarely afford, and you’ll be damned if it gets ruined now or all time, least of all by him. You’re not going to even open the can of worms that is last night’s events, so you lock it in a chest to be dug up for another day. 

Not now. It won't be that long until you reach Arlong Park, and shit will go down. This might be the only chance you get to replenish your strength and gods do you need it now more than ever.

"… Hey?” Buggy starts.

You let him decide whether to perceive your silence as an opening or a locked door.

“I’m bored.”

“Tough.”

“Can’t we do something else?”

“We could fish. Your head might serve as a good bait.” Despite yourself, your lip tugs a little in what is supposed to be a halfway smirk. The image of Buggy dangling above the shark-infested waters from a hook to his bandana would be an entertaining sight to behold.

He swallows audibly. “Was that a joke?”

“Keep bothering me and we’ll find out soon enough.”

“C’mon! Don’t be like that! Seriously, I’m bored! Ain’t much you can do when you’re just a head… except to give one, but that’s beside the point.”

Too much detailing, you think. He wants entertainment of any kind; you want peace and quiet. What to do and how to kill two birds with one stone? You open one eye and let it drift over to Buggy, who in turn is staring intently at you. 

In the sun, you make out every detail of his rugged face. His make-up’s almost wiped completely off the skin, with only remnants of the red lipstick and blue diamonds vaguely in place. His stubbles have grown slightly, given the lack of access to a barber, and if you get close enough, he probably stinks of—

A lightbulb goes off in your head. A devious one, blinking to every corner of your brain. 

Despite what anyone thinks, you’re not above being petty.

With a push, you sit up and glance over at him. “Anything?” 

Buggy raises his eyebrows and nods desperately. “Yeah! Anything! As long as I ain’t got to sit here doing naught-shit, I’m game!”

You turn to him, put each of your hands to the edges of his jaw, and lift him a little closer to you. Whether from the sun or just him alone, he’s warm and soft under your digits.

“Alright,” is all you say.

Buggy beams much like the bulb in your head, and a loud bark of laughter erupts from his mouth. You almost pity him, pity him for being oblivious to what’s to come.

But it needs to be done.

There’s no other way around it and he’s had it coming. He deserves this, you tell yourself. He deserves every inch of ruthlessness you can offer, and you’ll deliver.

————

Buggy blanches, lips wobbling in horror as he slowly glances up at you. Betrayal fills his bright-blue eyes and, for the first time since Orange Town, he sees you as the beast you both know you are. 

He’s afraid.

He’s afraid of you.

He knows you can be vindictive; he knows you can be brutal, but in all the time he’s known you, he’s never perceived you as cruel.

Maybe it’s time for him to reassess that thought.

“No,” he whispers softly. “No, please.”

Your face is blank, and cold, and he doesn’t know if it’s a trick of the light or not, but there’s a shadow across your face that darkens everything but your eyes. Those bright eyes he used to hold in such high regard.

“You want my forgiveness,” you state calmly as you gradually lower him to his demise. “You have to earn it.

“Please, anything but this. I’ll do anything other than this!”

But his pleas earn no mercy from you. He wiggles in your grasp like a fish out of water, and as much as he tries to beg and move and free himself, your hold is iron incarnate.

Buggy lets out an ear-curdling scream the moment he feels the water under his neck.

“NOOOOO!”

————

Honestly, how childish, you think as you begin to soak him in the basin you procured from the kitchens. He hisses like a cat as you pour the water over his head, rinsing his hair. Try as he might, he cannot escape your grasp. 

It’s not even deep enough to reach his chin, and still, he acts like it’s acid he’s been thrown into.

But you’re determined, this has to be done.

“Oh, quit whining” you chastise, getting drops of water your way with all his scuttling. “You need this.”

“You’re gonna drown me!” he accuses.

“It’s soap and water, and it’s not even that deep.”

“You say that now, sure! But the moment you let go, plop! Oh, there goes Buggy the Clown! Taken from this world too early!”

You roll your eyes. “I’m holding you up, you’re not going to drown. Now, stop acting like a child.”

Buggy is restless and continues to thrash around for a good ten seconds more before finally relenting, a look of sour disapproval on his face. It’s so caricatured and animated that it threatens to make a suppressed chuckle leave your throat.

He still looks the same when he’s mad.

Now that he’s finally calm, you lower him so that the edge of his neck finally stands on the bottom of the basin. Then, you soak a rag and raise it towards his face.

Buggy flinches. “Can you …. Eh… leave the face?”

“There’s hardly anything there anymore, and it’ll irritate your skin if you leave it on for too long.”

“I think I can tell you what irritates me or not, like this bird bath for instance, thank you very much.” He scowls and edges further away from the wet rag. “Seriously, just leave it.”

“I’ll reapply the make-up.”

“… What?”

When you first boarded the Merry, you happened to find some leftover make-up hidden away in one of the shelves. It was strange, considering how the boat was freshly built, and imagined that one of the builders had taken some personal liberty in the large space before the project was finished.

For whatever reason, you didn’t throw it out, though you didn’t use it yourself.

If it can get him to accept the fact that he needs a wash, you’re willing to do it.

“I’ll put on your make-up if I can wash off what you currently have,” you clarify. “Deal?”

Buggy goes quiet, and his eyes widen slightly, but not out of horror or dread. It’s more like … when you catch the sight of something unexpected; a delayed reaction that stirs feelings you have yet to decipher. 

Finally, after some internal debates with himself, Buggy nods. “Fuckin’ fine then,” he utters, and despite the crudeness of his words, they’re lenient.

Content, you gently place your free hand to his left to keep him stable and use the other one to carefully drag the rag across his stained cheek. 

Buggy watches you intently through the process, never taking his eyes off you unless you’re wiping off the painted diamonds on his eyes. Your hands, for once, are soft to the touch. They’re soft for him, as though a single misplaced touch might shatter him like glass.

He used to be acquainted with the soft touches long before the cold and brutal ones. Soft fingers that pinched his cheeks as you helped apply the paint over his face. 

Soft touches against his arm when he was feeling particular for some reason, whether it was good or bad.

Your fingers intertwined with his’ as you came to terms with your captain’s death, sitting by the edge of the docks as the rain poured from above. It was cold, he was freezing, and too close to the waters for his comfort, but he wanted nothing more than to sit in the rain with you and share the heat from your fingers.

Even after everything, you’re still capable of reserving those touches for him.

After wiping the makeup completely off him, you raise the cup and fill it with water. “Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t want to, but he does and feels the water rushing down like the rain on those docks.

When he’s finally finished, you fish him up from the basin and put him down atop a soft towel on the table. Like a cat, he instinctively shakes off the residue of water, only to find you already raising a new towel towards him.

He stops moving, and you takes this as your cue to continue. You’re attentive, he notices. You wipe his face first, then his ears, then his hair. You dry it and scratch his scalp at the same time through the fabric, and he instinctively leans against your touch.

This is … nice.

“When did you cut your hair?” You ask out of the blue as you continue to dry him, making sure to leave no spot too humid.

He almost failed to catch onto your words with how at ease he is. “Hmmm?”

“You used to have long hair before,” you elaborate. “Why did you cut it?”

“…. Too much of a hassle to maintain,” he answers after some thought. “It’s hard to find the time to take care of it.”

“… I see.”

The truth is, he cut it right after he left. Not particularly clean either. You know that feeling you get when you feel like you’re losing control, and ridding yourself of any additional weight seems to relieve it? 

Well, that’s what Buggy did.

He cut it with a pair of rusty scissors, severing chunks at a time — some bigger than others — until all he was left with was pieces sticking out to each side like a madman.

It didn’t help though. It didn’t make him feel any lighter from the weight on his chest. From that gnawing feeling.

Still, he maintained the habit and got better with practice. It became more of a practical thing with time; he was a busy man, and he could do well with fewer things to get in his eyes, but it never eased the pain.

But feeling the tips of your fingers lightly graze his hair, however, he feels more relieved than he’s done in the last twenty years.

After a few minutes, you remove the towel and give him a neutral one-over. It’s the first time you’ve seen him as an adult without any of that makeup, and you’re reminded of just how much he’s changed, but also how he’s not.

Even after all this time, it’s still Buggy.

Buggy sees you watching him, and he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious now that your eyes are on him without his usual armor.

But you don’t comment on it, nor show any surprise in any sense of the word. There are times when he hates your face, not because of anything superficial, but because you make it so damn challenging for him to figure out what goes in that brain of yours. He’s reminded of how you were when you were younger, how lifeless you used to be, and it feels like you’ve regressed to that state.

Another thing to add to the shitlist of things he’s regretful about.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something when the door suddenly bursts open. Buggy jumps whereas you merely look over your shoulder to spot Zoro standing there, his eyes narrowed between you and the clown.

Buggy frowns.

“Zoro,” you speak plainly, as if you failed to notice his annoyance towards the spectacle presented before him. “Is there anything?”

“The hell is this?” His eyes flicker between you and Buggy like it’s the worst show on earth. “What’s going on?”

“He reeked,” you explain. “I have merely been rectifying it for the sake of our noses.”

Buggy wants to argue with the statement that No, he fucking doesn’t, but he suppresses it for the sake of figuring out where this conversation’s headed.

“Since when do we make it a habit of bathing prisoners?” Zoro asks, his hand resting on the handle of his sword.

“Since when have we had prisoners?” You counter.

The swordsman scoffs. “The clown’s needed upstairs in ten.”

“Sure.”

“I’m right here, you know?”

Zoro gives him a nasty look and nothing more before heading back out the door, shutting it with a forceful thud.

“Why do you even stick around with these nobodies?!” Buggy questions. “They can’t navigate for shit, they have no sense of preservation, and they suck at fighting!”

You shift back to raise a knowing eyebrow at him. “They defeated you, didn’t they?”

“That’s—! … I was outnumbered, it wasn’t a fair fight!”

“No fights are fair in the life of piracy,” you point out. 

He bites the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is, you’re too powerful to be with these losers. You could join my crew! Think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”

“You mean, join the same people who locked me up and whose asses I subsequently kicked?” 

“Exactly! Don’t worry, they’ll get over it! Once they see how awesome you are, they’ll accept you with open ar—!”

“I decline.”

Buggy pauses, his enthusiasm promptly vanishing and getting replaced with bitter disappointment. “You’re not even going to consider it?”

“Why would I?” You wipe away a descending drop from his right eye. “I have no interest in joining another crew.”

“You say that, and yet here you are with these losers.”

“I was never going to stay permanently.” 

He pauses. “You weren’t?”

“I’m here for Luffy, and once I’ve decided that he can hold his own weight above the waters, I’ll leave.”

“… Where will you go? After, then?”

It takes you a moment to answer, like you don’t know the answer yourself quite yet. Your hand stills for a moment before resuming with the task at hand.

“Who knows?” You shrug. “The sea is my home. I’ve missed it, so I will remain where the waves pull me.”

That won’t do on its own. Stay with me. Buggy wants to ask, and if he had knees, he’d ask on them. Come with me. Be with me. You won’t have to be an official member of his crew; you don’t have to bend to him. You just have to stay. 

Stay with him.

That’s all he’ll ask.

Stay with him until he has the opportunity to figure out a way to make it up to you. 

Stay with him so he can compensate for the twenty years you suffered in each other’s absences.

Just stay.

“Hey.” He’s surprised by his own initiative. “Why’d you even leave your crew and stick your feet on land if you love the sea so much?”

You raise an eyebrow in question.

“I mean, you were Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates, for crying out loud! You used to be legendary!” He proclaims, almost saddened by your apparent dismissal of your previous title. “You had fame, berries, a reputation that preceded everyone! Everyone feared you! Why’d you ditch all of that? Because of that rubbery prick? Because of Shanks?”

“Is that really what you want to ask me?”

“Yeah!”

You sigh through your nose and put the towel down to recline in your chair. “I didn’t become a Captain because that’s what I wanted. I became a Captain because it provided an outlet.”

“An outlet? For fucking what?”

It takes you a few seconds to finally reach a suitable response. 

“Anger,” you admit calmly, your arms crossing over your chest as the words stir on your tongue. They must taste bitter. “I was angry, and it festered every day, churning into a poisonous substance in my body. Being a captain with a crew, I could take it out on whoever I wanted. Pirate, marine, unruly crew member, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.”

It makes sense now, he thinks, the reputation you’ve garnered over the years. Beware the Beast in the East, people would chant in passing towns and harbors, like you were a ghost story. Her eyes were like swords, and her hands were twice as sharp.

There wasn’t a single place where blood didn’t paint your steps.

He never met you while you were a captain; he didn’t want to, couldn’t find it in himself to pop by even once. Still, he kept your poster hidden in the dark depths of the chest in his quarters, if only for acrimonious reminiscence. He would spend some drunken nights doing nothing but staring at it, and it was like he could feel your rage seep through the ink on the page and scorch his fingers. A reminder of what he did.

Now, looking at you and comparing you to the poster, he fails to see the resemblance. He doubts he could’ve spotted it had you reunited earlier on. Captain Cross-Hairs was sharp around the edges, with pecks of blood on her cheeks and fresh scars on her face.

He licks his lips in deliberation. “You were pissed… because of what?”

Because of me?

“I don’t know.” He watches your chest expand with your breath, mesmerized simply by watching you commit to living. There used to be a time when you didn’t. “I didn’t care about money or power. I didn’t care for much of anything, except to purge that rage from my body. I fought, and I killed. It helped, for a time; I felt satisfied, but after a while, you grow bored of eating the same meal.”

When he looked at you when you were younger, he imagined he saw the scorching sun. Burning and bright and enlightening. 

You were … everything, but he never imagined that the same fire that used to mesmerize him would burn a thousand ships in his absence. 

But he was a boy back then. He’s older now, more experienced in the ways of life, he knows better.

He knows enough.

"But the boy," you say with a certain gentleness in your voice that does not evade his notice. "He's good."

"He's weak," Buggy scoffs, feeling his belly fill with sour smoke. He recognizes the feeling. It's the feeling he got when he watched Shanks talk to you that night by the fire. The same feeling he got when he watched you stay with Shanks that day. 

"He's defeated every opponent he's come across."

"Didn't beat Arlong, though." Buggy points out with a smidgen of childish pride and smirks. "Got his ass handed to him real good if I remember correctly."

You look back at him in that narrow way you usually reserve for him when he's crossed a line, and he can already tell he fucked up.

"I watched him grow, Buggy.” You say firmly. “I was there for all of it. I watched him learn, I watched him fight, I watched him leave land. He’s not like us — he doesn’t waste time on regret. He’ll become better than we ever were.”

Buggy glowers but doesn’t say anything else, insisting on letting your words simmer in his brain until he can find the will to let them go.

You procure something from the drawers and it’s only when he looks down that he realizes it’s the make-up. With gentle hands, you lift him and place him in your lap, the brush already blue and ready.

“I’m not here to talk about what used to be,” you say. “Now hold still.”

The diamonds across his eyes come first, the brushing makes his face tickle and it’s only by sheer willpower alone that he manages to refrain from staring at you. 

“Takes us back,” he whispers and closes his eyes so that you can finish. “Doesn’t it?”

He hears something akin to a chortle that doesn’t quite reach your throat, but he considers it a small win.

“You looked a mess,” you answer. “A child could’ve done a better job than I did.”

“Wasn’t bad for your first try, though.”

Except that it was. It was pretty bad. Your hands were shaking, and you held your breath like you were afraid of making a mistake. By the time you were finished, he looked like a canvas painted by a child, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that.

He used to think that it was strange. You were skilled at nearly everything you committed yourself to, without even trying. 

When he thinks back on it, maybe it wasn’t skill; maybe it was just an ingrained fear of failure that drove you to become the best at what you did.

Then again, your worst could never be the worst in his eyes.

You finish his eyes, and when he looks up at you, he sees the same determination and focus in your eyes as he did that day. It’s the same look you have when you’re targeting something, be it an enemy or a point of interest. It’s always the same.

And he can’t look away.

You move onto the crossbones next, and he’s happy he won’t have to close his eyes for this one. He’s not certain you can pull off his iconic look, but he’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now.

After all, you strive for perfection. He doubts this will be an exception.

Get it? Perfection and except— You know what? Nevermind.

He can feel your attention in every stroke of the brush, feel the white paint glisten on his skin before it dries. Your warmth lingers like burning embers, he feels like getting too close will burn him, yet he wants nothing more than blisters upon his skin.

He looks at you, looks into your focused eyes, and he feels … something tightening, back where his body is. It could be his stomach, his head… other places, but he can’t tell. Arlong’s been busy abusing his body long enough that he can’t differentiate between a kick or a punch anymore.

But this isn’t Arlong.

It’s you.

He can handle a tight body if it’s because of you.

When he was young, and his body began to work in the way of a man, he would sometimes wake up and feel sweaty and … stiff. He knew enough to know what it was, to know what caused it, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation.

He knew the source of his frustrations. He knew how to alleviate them, but he didn’t. He respected you far too much to ever dare cross the threshold. He figured that simply talking to you, simply holding your hand, and being at your side would be enough. He would be content with just that.

But he watched you … develop. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. He imagined feeling your flesh under his digits. The softness across your chest and hips. The warm skin. 

He looks at you now, sees the scars peeking from under your shirt, on your face, and he wants to feel the rough edges. 

Buggy gulps and he’s rather happy now that the rest of his body is not attached to him. He’s lost enough dignity as it is.

“And now, the mouth.”

Yes, he wants to touch that t—

You take the lipstick, and in a straight line, smear it across his mouth in a way that snaps him out of his thoughts. He can feel the warmth emitting from your thumb as you finish his face, and it takes him half a mind not to—

“Done.”

Disappointment lingers in the clown’s visage, and even when you present him a mirror and see the identical likeness to his wanted posters, it does not alleviate the feeling. For what it's worth, he's impressed with how far your make-up-applying skills have reached since last time. 

It's perfect.

But it means you’re done, and the nobodies require his flashy expertise to get Miss Ginger back. 

You dump the discolored water out and put the rest of the equipment away, and he feels his head weigh another ten pounds at so. He somewhat hopes it would; maybe it would be heavy enough that you wouldn’t bother carrying him up the deck?

… Oh, who is he kidding? It’s you. You won’t have any trouble in that department even if he were to weigh as much as a boulder. Ten boulders, even.

To his surprise, instead of reaching for him, you lounge back into your seat and nonchalantly cross your arms and ankles. He’s confused. Weren’t you going to go up with him already?

“If Zoro needs you, he can get you himself.”

That’s what you’ll leave it be like. He, freshly washed, dried, and painted. You, just casually sitting like you have no urgency to get back to the world.

“He’ll be pissed at you,” Buggy warns. “And probably threaten to throw you into the sea.”

You shrug, your eyes already closed, giving him no indication whatsoever that you’re particularly concerned with the veryscary swordsman. He grins with all his teeth on show.

Unfortunately, the green-haired asshole turns up not even five minutes later. All but ripping the clown by the roots of his hair and taking him away like a sack of flour. Buggy spews curses and threats, but they all fall on deaf ears.

It’s only when he’s positioned on deck that he’s finally free of his torment, if only for an hour or two. He begrudgingly instructs the long-nosed slingshot where to sail, adding a few creative insults along the way. Hey, it’s not Buggy’s fault they’re too easy to rile up.

“Is that long nose compensating for something?”

To which he earned a slap to the back of his head. From whom, he doesn’t know, but he’ll take his victories in whatever light weight they come in.

After a while, he shifts his head to eject another insult to the slingshot when he sees that you’re standing a few feet away, your arms crossed while leaning against the railing; eyes closed but face focused and attentive.

He cuts his verbal daggers down a notch.

It gets late, the sky darkens, and one after another, the crew members resign to their chambers save for the slingshot, who still insists on going for a while longer. Him, and you, surprisingly enough. 

You stay, for all of it; neither complaining nor muttering a sound. 

You're stoically positioned on the sidelines, hardly moving at all. He would've died if he'd been standing in the same position for more than one hour, but you endured a total of six without a shiver or a strain. Like a soldier in the rain. A monk in a temple of thorns. 

A beast in an empty forest, lonesome in its hunger, yet content with what content remains buried in its stomach for the time being.

Long-nosed slingshot finally calls it a night and withdraws from the steering wheel with his hands outreached for the head. Before his dirty fingers can hope to graze the magnificent head that is Buggy's, you stretch your arm out like a shield between them.

"I'll take him."

Slingshot snorts. "Really? You want to?"

"Do you want to?"

With his hands raised in mock surrender, Slingshot relents. "... Fine, be my guest."

With a nod, you take the head and retire back to your chamber on the ship. Buggy yawns in your arms, tired, but satisfied with the warmth embracing him. Your steps feel like waves with each one you take, nudging him further and further toward the edge of sleep. Only unadulterated stubbornness keeps him awake.

It darkens for a moment. When he rouses back, he feels softness underneath him. A pillow of sorts, not comforting enough to offer him sleep, but enough to keep him relaxed.

He nudges around, like a fish in a small bowl, only to find that he's not on the table, nor in a barrel, nor a bag. The surface beneath him is made of fabric, and swings with his movements. 

He's in a hammock.

More precisely, your hammock.

“Sleep.” He hears your command. 

He finally locates you, seated by the window of your cabin with your palm under your chin, staring out into the darkened ocean.

He turns, voice diluted with drowsiness. “You too…”

“Soon.”

“Now," he almost whines.

The look you give him is not any different from the kind you usually provide, but it lacks the usual undertone of annoyance. He can tell you're tired, even if you're refusing to show it. The shadows under your eyes stand out more prominently, even in the dimmed candlelight. 

With an inaudible sigh, you stand and while he expects you to move towards the hammock, he's disappointed to see you aiming towards the door instead.

"H-Hey, where are you going?"

"The kitchens," you respond. "You can sleep here for the night; I'll take the couch."

"That's not necessary!" He wiggles so that he can look at you from over the edge of the hammock, careful as not to fall from the height. A thought dawns over him, one that makes his cheeks feel warm. "We- We can share! I don't take a lot of space!"

"You still take up too much of it."

"Are you calling me fat?!"

He's almost insulted when you don't answer to contradict his assumption, yet despite the innate urge to defend his honor and spew shit at you, he decides to let it slide.

"C'mon! I promise I'll behave," he tries again. "You'll hardly notice me. Those couches suck balls anyway, so why not?"

He watches you give it some thought for probably a good two minutes. He expects you'll decline his proposition, finding that your own pride weighs more than the need for decent sleep. 

Then, you lower your shoulders in defeat and make your way over to the hammock. "Scoot over."

He obliges rather excitedly, and when he wiggles back a bit too much to make space, he can feel gravity threaten to drop him on the other side of the hammock. Before it gets to that point, you grab him by the side of his face and hold him until you can lift yourself and lay down. 

Only then do you lay him down, on the right side of your abdomen. He's mindful of the wounds that have yet to heal there, so he tries not to invade too much. Still, he can't deny, he's quite comfortable. Very comfortable. 

He's the most comfortable he's been in a long time - twenty years.

He surpasses the urge to push closer to you, share your warmth, and elects to look up at the ceiling instead.

"Hope you don't snore," he jokes, only to have a yawn follow promptly behind.

"I don't snore," you answer, deadpan. "Now go to sleep."

He's not convinced, but he doesn't comment on it. This peace hangs by a thread, and he'll be damned if it's cut short now of all times. He shuts his eyes, and in his dreams, he's presented with the sun on the blue skies above.

He feels warm all over.

----

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat, @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore, @knightsfavoriteprincess, @asterizee, @aamethyst23, @lizzie1107, @cyberwears, @heylookliisten, @f41k47, @beep-beep1, @crimsonflameproxy, @unpopular-sober-thoughts, @rayleeya, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @fanshavegottensotoxic, @fluffybunnyu, @sirenmelody23

(If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

(Additionally, some sketches of how I imagine Cross-Hairs to look like while I’m writing.)

[newtonsheffield]

Now I need Kate crying to Anthony because she wants a cheeseburger 😂

I wrote something similar with Kate begging Mary to get her a cheeseburger by guilting her re: Your grandson wants a cheeseburger

but imagine Anthony, trying to be a stern midwife, trying to tell his wife, the love of his life that no, She cannot have fries for breakfast. She needs to drink this smoothie, It's full of folic acid.

But he is genuinely incapable of being firm with her.

"Maybe, and I say this as a health professional, and also as your husband who loves and adores you, and the child you are growing, you absolute goddess. But maybe nine stroopwafels aren't a nutritious breakfast considering the twelve hour shift you're about to do."

And Kate just shrugs, "I think this is fine."

Anthony winced, "And I... I love this kind of out of the box thinking, I do, I hope our son gets it, but there's no folic acid in a stroopwafel, so far as I know."

"Maybe they've changed the recipe."

He clicked his tongue, "I'm making them for you, and I haven't."

"Well, this is your fault anyway!"

"I'm sure that's true," Anthony sighed, as his wife left the room, "I'm just not sure how."

And it only got worse, as Kate burst into tears when he slid her lunch across the desk to her.

"This is a Kale salad."

Anthony rushed forward, snatching the box of tissues Mary thrust in his direction. "Hey, hey, don't cry. What's-? What's wrong? You like Kale, and it's great for little sprout."

"I just want a cheeseburger." Tears were streaming down her cheeks now, her shoulders heaving, several passersby staring at them.

"I- Well I don't have a cheeseburger for you, babe. I- I only have Kale salad. Like we said we'd have for lunch." Guilt swam in his stomach for a long moment. "I- I think we should try that."

"I'll have sex with you!" Kate said wildly, "If you go and get me a cheeseburger, we can have sex in the car."

Anthony wavered for a moment, his cheeks flushing as Mary nearly choked on her coffee. "I... no. You promised, stroopwafel for breakfast and Kale salad for lunch. We- we said we would have that, remember this morning, I have one too."

Kate hiccuped, "Please, Anthony. It's not for me-"

"Kate, Don't-"

"It's for the baby."

"Ugh, you said it." Anthony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Mary, can you cover for me if Jen pages? I need to go to McDonald's for the twelfth time this week."

Kate stopped crying immediately, "Was that a tone Anthony?"

"No, there was no tone, none." He took off sprinting down the hall, "You're amazing, I love you, and I'll be right back!"

And he could have sworn he heard the Kale salad make a very sad Whack! As it hit the bottom of the bin.

[skyechaser]

Bumbleby Biker Gang AU 3/?

Blake used all of her acting abilities that morning to convince Adam to let her leave. She told him she would be at the library and that she would leave her cellphone on vibrate and answer as soon as he called or wrote to her. He was unsure at first but Blake's begging finally convinced him. He had a busy day ahead of himself so he didn't really care what Blake did as long as she would be there when he told her to. Before leaving, the black haired girl made sure to cover the bruise on her cheek with enough make up. She had gotten good at hiding the signs of Adam's abuse. What a sad ability to have, she thought to herself as she looked at the mirror.

Yang had told her to meet her at the ice cream shop they had visited the day before. As she made her way there, quite a bit earlier than they had agreed, she felt herself getting excited. Spending time with the bartender was the most fun she recalled having in the longest time. Perhaps ever. There was something special about the blonde and as long as she was in Patch she was going to make sure to find out exactly what it was. When the ice cream shop was in sight she was surprised to see Yang waiting for her. It was half an hour earlier than they had decided to meet up. Seems like both of them were eager to see each other. Blake's heart was beating hard on her chest.

The truth was Yang was just as excited as the other girl was. She really liked Blake. Like seriously liked her. She knew there could be some trouble involved due to her belonging to the White Fang but she didn't care. Blake was only going to be around for a couple of weeks so she was going to make the best of it. She was ready to wait half an hour for her and was surprised by the sight of the girl approaching her.

"Hey" Blake said with a smile "Seems we are both a little bit early"

"Yeah" Yang replied "I just couldn't wait to see you" she added in a flirty manner. The other girl blushed and the blonde congratulated herself for her amazing skills.

"So, where are we going today?" Blake asked, still flustered.

"You are going on the Yang Xiao Long's Wonderful Patch Tour!" the bartender said in an exagerrated manner. The black haired girl laughed a beautiful laugh.

Their first stop was a small arcade not far from the ice cream shop. Blake had never been one to play videogames. Not having a stable home and being always on the road had kept her away from such forms of entertainment. Yang, however, seemed to be quite enthusiastic about it.

"This is one of the most popular spots in Patch" the blonde explained as they entered "When I was in highschool I'd spent hours in here with Nora and Pyrrha"

The place wasn't too big and, probably due to the hour, wasn't too crowded either. It had several old arcade machines, a couple of air hockey tables and a claw machine. Patch was certainly a small town if this was one of the highlights of the tour.

"Well, hello miss Xiao Long" a man said, approaching the pair. He wore round glasses and had spiky brown hair.

"A pleasure as always, Mr. Oobleck" Yang replied.

"And who might this be?" he said, looking at Blake "Never seen you before"

"This is Blake" the blonde replied. The black haired girl felt glad Yang had introduced her. She was always nervous arround strange men.

"Nice to meet you, miss Blake. I do hope you enjoy my fine establishment" he smiled.

"Nice to meet you too" the alluded one answered.

After meeting Mr. Oobleck and obtaining a substantial amount of coins, Yang introduced Blake to her favorite game: House of the Dead 2. It was pretty simple: grab the gun and shoot at the zombies. Blake was pretty terrible but Yang's abilities carried them far into the game. They did require quite a lot of coins to keep the newcomer alive.

"So, this is the last boss" Yang said with a proud grin "Just stay alive as long as you can and shoot when I shoot"

"Okay" Blake replied, getting her gun ready. She was getting really into the game by this point "I'm ready"

"Here we go"

The last boss was hard and Blake did end up dying once but they defeated it. When the end screen appeared the black haired girl heard cheering behing her and turned around startled. A little audience had gathered behind them but she had been too into the game to notice. She blushed. Yang, on the other hand, seemed used to this kind of attention and dramatically bowed at them. Blake thought it was cute.

"Thank you, Patch" the blonde said "It's been an honor to entertain you. I've been Yang Xiao Long and this right here is Blake..." she stopped, realizing she didn't know the other one's last name.

"Belladona. I'm Blake Belladona"

After the crowd dissipated, Yang guided the other girl towards the claw machine. She still had a couple of coins left but she only needed one.

"Which one would you like?" she asked.

"What?" Blake replied, confused.

"Which one of these" she said, pointing at the plushies inside the machine "Would you like me to get for you"

"Aren't this things like rigged to make you lose?" she laughed.

"Not if you are me" the bartender replied confidently.

"Well..." she looked at the toys. There were bears, dogs, a very ugly Mickey Mouse and... "I want that one" she said, pointing at a black cat. She had always liked cats but could never have one due to her living situation.

"Your wish is my command" the blonde said as she winked at the other girl. Blake blushed. She inserted the coin and positioned the claw on just the right spot over the black cat. Then she pressed the button and looked at the black haired girl with a smile. The claw descended, grabbed the plushie and pulled it up perfectly.

"Told you" Yang said as she grabbed the toy from inside the machine. Blake was amazed. She felt butterflies in her stomach as the bartender handed her the black cat. She grabbed it and pressed it hard against her chest feeling the happiest she had ever felt in her life.

"Thank you" she said, her eyes shinning with a thin layer of tears.

Yang stared at her with amusement. Blake looked like she was about to cry.

"You are welcome" the blonde said quietly. She gently placed a hand on the other girl's shoulder. When they touched she felt something she had never felt before. It was like fireworks were blasting through her insides. Still, she remained calm, the sight of Blake concerning her a bit "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes" Blake replied, allowing a couple of tears to fall "Better than ever". She wiped the tears with the back of her hand and, without realizing it, removed some of the make up covering the bruise on her cheek. Yang noticed but decided not to say anything at the moment.

"Are you sure?" the blonde asked again, her hand still on Blake's shoulder. The other girl nodded as more tears started falling. Yang pulled her in and hugged her tightly, the plushie getting squished between their bodies. The black haired girl didn't move, her arms still holding the cat against her chest. After a couple of minutes her crying stopped and the blonde broke the hug.

"I'm sorry about that" Blake said. "I was just... Overwhelmed with happiness" she smiled.

"I'm glad those are happy tears" Yang replied as she wiped the last tears off the other girl's face. The bruise on her cheek was apparent and the bartender felt rage building up inside of her. She took a deep breath and grabbed Blake by the hand.

"We still have other places to go on our tour" she forced a smile and prayed it looked genuine "Let's go".

They walked out of the arcade hand in hand both of them feeling like never letting go.

[bookinit02]

HI HELLO GOOD EVENING

I'm dead tired bc I got barely any sleep last night + braindead because I've spent the past several hours binging through your Stranger Things Byler retelling and I'm a bit out of words, HOWEVER. It finally clicked in my head that you have a tumblr and I, also having a tumblr, can use said tumblr to throw my appreciation upon you in a more direct manner.

On that note... the retelling is AMAZING and I love it so very very much!!! (I've also been leaving a whole stream of comments on the fic itself, so a lot of my feelings have already been described in detail there XD). It makes me feel so very many emotions, both good AND bad, and for a fic to trigger THAT MUCH of an emotional reaction in me is really an achievement. It's so beautifully sad and tender and joyous and realistic, and all the more painful for it—and all the more beautiful IN that pain. I haven't actually been a big active part of the Stranger Things Fandom (TM) for several years, but I still often return to Byler fics, sort of like a comfort blanket in story form—and yours are some of the BEST (I think it was also you that wrote one of my favorite ever painting scene fix-its; I'll have to go back and re-read that as well!!)

I started reading season 4 last night (which is in part to blame for my lack of sleep) and finished up the rest of it today. I'm so extremely excited for season 5 and to see what you've done with it—I already started reading the script for episode one and it looks amazing (god, I bet that Mike having a panic attack/Vecna episode hurts WAY more in prose)!!! I can't decide between reading all the script first, then reading the fic; or reading the script episodes and then reading the according fic chapters; or just barreling on ahead in the fic and coming back to the script if it strikes my fancy later (which is, if I'm being honest, the most likely outcome). All will have to wait til tomorrow, however, as I have dinner and a warm bed to get to. All the love to you and your fic!!

(Love how I said "I'm so braindead I've run out of words" and then proceeded to give evidence to the EXACT OPPOSITE claim. I'm really a bit like Mike lmao, even if I'm struggling to actually describe my specific emotions or feelings about something, I can run my mouth about any old thing for ages XD)

hi hello good morning!!! i have been watching ur comments come in with so much joy and happiness—hopefully i get time to respond to all of them within the next few days! i hope that you have gotten so much rest and that you are all refreshed for the next day🫂💗

thank you so much for all your kind words, in this ask and otherwise! the rewrite is really a labor of love that has been sustaining me for over a year now, and it is always so impressive and awe-worthy to me when new people discover it and start from the very beginning. that is SO much to read!! several novels worth!

as for the script, read it in whatever order you would like! my recommended order was originally to read the script first, then the fic chapters—but i know that some people want to experience the plot twists and developments as they happen, so really any way you decide to read it is completely fine! the byler scenes are all the same (with a bit extra in the fic), it’s really just the other characters and plot lines that are expanded.

thank you for “running your mouth,” as you’ve called it—but i prefer to think that we’re just chatting🥳 i really love interacting with people through both comments and asks, so feel free to do both (and to talk as long as you’d like)! i am super grateful and honored that you’ve chosen to read my story, and i hope that you enjoy what i have so far of season 5!!💗🫂

[jrtouchshriek]

20 Questions for Fic Writers!

Tagged by @hydriotaphia

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

93 on AO3, with more on ff.net and LJ.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

401,235

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently writing for Crows Zero.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos

Control (Batman fandom - explicit; slash)

They can try to imagine (Avatar: the last airbender fandom - explicit; slash)

Thorin & the three lovers (Hobbit fandom - mildly explicit; slash)

An enlightening experience (Star Wars fandom - gen)

Children (Batman Nolanverse fandom - slash)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Um, I want to say yes but often I get lazy and the days pass and then it's just awkward to write a response saying 'this is so late but ty' to a comment that came in weeks ago.

Also, if you've enjoyed the fic and just want to let me know you appreciated it on a general level, I'm perfectly fine with kudos. I see comments as being a way to fangirl over something (either in my fic or related to my fic) that you'd like to share. I'll probably respond immediately to a comment that says more than 'thanks for writing' because there's something personal to engage with there.

So tl;dr - I try, but don't always.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooh. Well, I'm a sucker for happy and/or hopeful fic, so angst tends not to show up often in my works. Possibly the most teenager-y angsty fic would be most of my Labyrinth fic on ff.net (special mention to Mature in Stages and the entire Bond of... series).

But recent fic on AO3 would have to be Making Do (Lewis fandom - slash)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ah, I'd pick The Following (Hobbit fandom - everybody lives, mildly parodic humour fic)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Never. I just assume most people are mature enough to roll their eyes and back out of any of fic that they start reading and find problematic.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Definitely! (coughControlcough). Mostly slash fic, running the gamut of vanilla to kinky.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do love the occasional crossover. Strangest one would have to be a tie: Patterns (Batman/ Velvet Goldmine crossover) and In Flashes (Batman/ Law & Order crossover).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, I've been very honoured to have a couple translated:

Blue (NaPolA/ Before the Fall - Russian translation by aldandersss)

Ten Heats (Crows Zero - Mandarin translation by DelusionClassic)

Aaaand now going through the comments shows me that I've missed several requests for permission to translate, I think I'll put a blanket permission statement up on my profile and may on my fics.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope. And I don't beta because I tend to re-write rather than properly beta, Which is not fair to the actual author.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Lol. Any ship I'm currently shipping! But I guess it would have to be Fedal (Federer/Nadal - the only Real Person pairing I break my 'real person fic is a hardline no' rule for).

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I tend not to publish until I have all chapters written but I do have one I'd love to muster the drive to finish - A Disappearing World (and a Bygone Age) (Star Wars; Sound of Music! AU).

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have a basically decent narrative style, I guess, and I take time to edit drafts so I can minimise spelling and grammatical errors as far as possible.

I suppose I have a fairly decent grasp of consequence and character logic (so if I interpret a character/ event/ plot point in a particular way, it generally tends to stay consistent in the fic) and a workman-like approach to description. So I churn out stuff that is perfectly suited to simple, unexceptional reading so long as you already want to read works for that particular fandom/ character(s)/ tag.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Energy. Tone. Depth. Foreshadowing. Layering. Pacing. Editing. Shall I go on? ;)

I can't write fic that is exciting, dramatic, parodic or wistful. I do broad-stroke writing but struggle with fine detail and evocation.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm all for it! I think if it fits your story or is canonical, it can be poignant and atmospheric in fic. So long as you always include translations for it.

Personally, though, I'm not linguistically flexible. I tried using another language once and a kind reader had to correct me because I'd accidentally used German instead of Swiss German.

But I also think it shouldn't be just about dialogue in another language. Good writers can evoke cultural change or perspectives just from the way they style their dialogue and narrative tone. They don't need to write in another language to do this.

For example, I'm currently writing for Crows Zero, which is a movie prequel to the Japanese manga Crows. I've had to come to terms with the fact that I'm not a good enough writer or committed enough researcher to properly entrench my fic in Japanese life and culture as relevant to high school male delinquents. I try, but my work is clearly written by a fangirl who is not familiar with the correct assumptions, experiences, terminology.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Buffy. And kind of alongside it, Angel.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

History (Crows Zero; Izaki/ Tokaji with a slight AU for accidentally getting their ages wrong) is my favourite as a reader.

it's the one fic I never get kudos or comments for (and I rarely get any for CZ anyway as it's quite dead on AO3), but History is the fic I keep coming back to for my own reading pleasure. It has everything I want for this pairing, and while I still can't write in the style that canon deserves, I love this version of how the pairing comes-together. I recreate it a bit with The night for lovers (same fandom, same pairing) but History gets it really right for me.

In terms of a favourite as a writer, I guess a tie between Control (Batman; Bruce/ Clark), History, and The Shadow of Ursa (ATLA - gen; AU given the sequel graphic novels).

All three have writing that either gets the correct reaction from readers or does something that I'm proud of.

Bonus: Favourite fic you haven't written?

Oh God, too many to count! Most recently:

Leoht Unfæger by AvaCelt (Beyond Evil; Lee Dong Sik/ Park Jeong-ji). I mean, this is how you write violent, emotional, active, character-driven sequels that expand and extend the canon while also focusing primarily on slash romance. It's beautiful.

This is me down on my knees by hydriotaphia (Bridgerton; ranges). Again, this elevates character study and emotion and rich, intense descriptions for me. I don't read Bridgerton, but when I read these chapters, I care about the characters. It has all the intensity I can never manage to achieve as a writer.

Все для тебя, моя принцесса! by Artaletta (Crows Zero; Izaki/ Tokaji) a fic in Russian which I use Google translate to read. According to Google translate, this fic is 'All for you, my princess', which should not work for high school delinquents but traps energy and life and romance into a perfectly interpreted version of the duty, grimy, ridiculous world of Suzaran All Boys High School. Somehow Artaletta has a sweet romantic tone (and not just because it works out happy) in a fic based on the premise of a character forcing sexual attention on another. But she balances the power dynamic, clear signage and dialogue so perfectly (even in Google Ttranslate) that it just works for me.

--------------

I have no one else to tag since I'm not often on Tumblr, but this was fun! Thanks, hydriotaphia!. ^_^

[alcego]

Words Written: 2,082 words Projects:

Commission - Slow going. Moved it back into GDocs so I can write at work. I think the format is what's throwing me the most - it's not a style I usually work in and I am in a touch over my head. It's fully planned and otherwise moving along well.

REDO-REPEAT - Wrote this AFTG fic on a whim, chasing motivation-inspiration to get the gears oiled up. It's not everything the idea could be, but I'm happy with what it is given why I wrote it. Not everything needs to be perfect lol. You can read it here, but do mind the tags.

Original Work - Haven't spent much time on my original work, although I do have an idea percolating in the back of my head that I should probably rough out soon. I have a couple other shorts that need to be re-drafted, but I think I need more space from them before I get going again.

Notes:

Wasn't feeling great this week for a variety of reasons. I'm trying to catch back up on life after my second ever kidney infection (caught it early enough this time that my suffering was significantly easier to deal with), not to mention worrying and checking in on Winnie daily now that she's due to foal any day now. (Most likely she has a week or two left. However, sometimes they progress very quickly, so it's prudent to be watchful.) There are other things going on beyond that, of course, but suffice it to say I've been overwhelmed and that is not conducive to writing for me.

Have been consistently frustrated that I don't have a good "writing nook", which has been doubly frustrating because I have several places from which to work, but none of them have been facilitating Getting Things Done. This is a problem for writing but it's equally troubling on my WFH days. Lately I've been most productive in bed. I do not like this, as my bed is supposed to be for sleeping only. Have been looking into purchasing a used chair/ottoman for writing purposes, but there are a lot of logistics to consider there.

In a similar note to the above, I'm irritated by the size of my MacBook. It's a 13", which I ordered during the pandemic and decided it was "good enough" upon realizing it was smaller than expected. I no longer think this, as the keyboard is cramped and the screen doesn't have as much space as I'd like. I've considered going back to my old 17" Dell, which I wrote on prior to purchasing this laptop, but that laptop has fallen victim to planned obsolescence and is unable to receive the updates it needs to function at the level I require. I've looked into larger MacBooks (for budgeting purposes, mostly, although I wonder if I could trade-in my old laptops and have enough store credit for a used one?) but so far as I can tell the keyboard does NOT scale, which is irritating, as I'd prefer one with slightly larger keys so I stop stumbling over how close everything is. The other option is go back to Windows, but this is problematic as I very much prefer the iCloud files syncing to access my WIPs from my phone. Basically: no good solutions. I'll have to keep looking, which is fine, because I don't have the budget to get anything yet.

Not sure how to tie this in, as I suspect it's related to most, if not all, of my whining, but I've been noticing yet again that I have more "luck" writing analog than I do when I'm working on my phone or laptop. That makes it harder to track what I've written, but it's functional, and has gotten me through several sticking points.

Not sure what I'm going to work on after this commission is complete. I think, tentatively, that I might finish a JereJean PWP that has been on the backburner for a while, then finish roughing out my ex-mixtape fic (I got sick and ran out of time, so dropped the event) before polishing it for posting. After that, I want to revisit Vestigial, which has been shelved for a while. I'm hoping that if I get back in the groove of finishing stories, I'll be in a better headspace to get back to my original work, but we'll see. Nothing's set in stone just yet, and my writing stamina isn't high enough yet that I can just bust through any of these without long term repercussions. Slow and steady is key for a bit.

[katapunberbicara]

I don’t think we will have any conversations, until

I wake up with mixed up feelings. I had a dream last night, but it seems that the dream slowly fades as my consciousness coming. So I grab my notebook and try to write this down before it has completely forgotten. Something clear that I still remember is I was crying in my dream, meeting someone from the past I haven’t hear the news for years. But I still hope that he is doing fine, because he is a kind person and all I know about him is his kindness. He is always kind regardless of what situation he is in.

Some of you may think ‘kind’ is only a standard quality, but for me at such age, the word of kindness is a strong word. It is hard to maintain to be always good in some days you feel your world has fallen to. And it is hard to be always kind to others in some days you feel your day is blue and the world seems to avoid you. Your act and your words may unintentionally hurt people around. Meanwhile the world we are living in really needs many kinds of person like him.

He is kind to whoever. Rather than driven by certain ‘whys but the duty as human to humanize people. He is kind without intention. His genuineness and pureness really come from heart. I don’t know whether it is only me who is romanticizing or I am such good to read people and their intention, but I can feel it. As what comes from heart would touch the heart. This kindness has touched my heart.

And after several years not hearing the news from him, eventually I have heard good news coming. It is a relief that he has found his chosen one, his soon to be other half. He is such a kind person and I hope he has found another kindhearted person he deserve. But at that time, I have no time to really think about it as the world goes and by at rush. It is just a slight good news from my past colleague.

Until yesterday, I eventually dreamt of him in certain occasion. We had conversations and he explained everything I needed to know. Dream is always strange and hard to explain, but it is very strange that he was coming into my dream at this such time. During these passing days, there are many things I should prioritize to think of instead my personal feelings. The latest news may weight my mind unconsciously that much or deep inside I may think we would never have conversations, so I want to meet him once again?

Thus after years of disconnection, we suddenly met through the dream, having intense conversations. Questions yet to be answered then had found the answers. I don’t really remember what exactly every conversation we had, but what I clearly remembered the context of it was a farewell. I saw myself shed the tears several times realizing there was no way to make it work. But I saw myself fully accepted to let go of things that shouldn’t stay.

When waking up, I am such surprised since it is really a strange thing to dream of him. But at the other side, I do feel relieved with this opportunity. Our path hasn’t crossed anymore so I don’t think we will have any conversations in real life, but luckily, myself has had the words of affirming through this whimsical dream.

When writing this down, I rather feel dejavu since it has typical storyline with the past story I ever wrote with fictional character (now I re-read again to those stories, which entitled a garden of sunflower, a sequel from a sunny day on Sunday of May that may turn out to be rain). Maybe it is the time I am being the character of my own story. Or maybe I am way too immersed to the character I have ever made. I still don’t know what the dream does mean, but by writing this down, I want to give it a meaning.

Central Jakarta, 27th January 2024 | ©Hairatunnisa

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

“[After the end relationships] I’d feel this odd combination of sadness and failure on my part, but genuine happiness for her. Genuine happiness, like a kind-hearted prison guard after a particularly audacious escape plan had gone very well indeed. I’d be like, ‘You go for it, yeah! I’d leave if I could.’ ” – Daniel Kitson, After the Beginning, Before the End

That audio clip got to me so much when I first heard it, because that was exactly why I never got into anything for the past ten years, until 2021. I occasionally met women on dating sites (really, really not often, but a few across ten years) and always told them that I know I don’t have the emotional capacity to do a proper relationship, and they said they understood, but it felt like getting them to sign a contract waiving their right to be upset about my incompetence in a scenario in which contracts do not work. It got to me to hear someone describe that feeling so accurately.

I mean, it’s not an exact match to me. Unlike Daniel Kitson, I’m just wired wrong; I do not have the excuse of saying it’s all because a relationship went bad ten years earlier and I never got over it. Though to be fair, I’m not sure it’s a great excuse when he says it either. I mean, I don’t know, and I can’t make assumptions about that stranger’s life. Maybe he really did date the best woman in the world in like 2003, someone so great that that breakup was worth talking about in every single stand-up show he wrote for the next ten years. Or maybe it just seemed like it would be a good explanation for other things if he turned that into something so huge that it was worth spending ten years talking about. Then again, maybe the ex-girlfriend he spent ten years talking about is a fictional character he invented for stand-up material. Maybe Daniel Kitson’s been happily married since 2008 and doesn’t really have a stutter. I don’t know.

Last year I did try an actual relationship, for the first time in a decade, and I made several posts on here about how I’d lucked into finding the best girlfriend I could possibly ask for, and all that is still very much true. There’s another comedy quote that might be relevant here, when Nish Kumar said his relationship was incredibly good with only one tiny little flaw, and if he could change just one thing about it, it would be: “Everything about me and my entire personality.” Because it turns out that if you’d spent years avoiding doing something because you know you can’t do it properly and doing it improperly will involve hurting someone you care about and then feeling incredibly guilty about it, maybe you should fix some aspect of that before just trying it anyway (I mean me here… I’m sure Nish and his girlfriend are very happy together and it’s fine).

Anyway, the point is that I experienced a breakup today, and the first thing I thought of as something to do about that was re-listen to the bleakest comedy show I’ve ever heard, which is Kitson’s 2013 one. He’s done theatre shows that are meant to be drama rather than stand-up comedy, and he’s done other stand-up shows that have dark depressing themes in them but also jokes and laughter-inducing whimsey and notes of hope. But in 2013, he did something that was in the stand-up category but just cold and bleak as all hell. His theatre show about the guy on the verge of suicide had way more hope in it than that 2013 stand-up show: After the Beginning, Before the End. That’s what I thought when I first heard it months ago, and that’s what I thought when I listened again tonight. It’s very, very good. But Jesus Christ, it takes desolate comedy to new levels.

I don’t think I’m going to write about that breakup beyond this post, because I am not Daniel Kitson. And because this blog is an escape for me and I would really like to use it to its full potential as distraction and escapism at the moment. But I thought I’d throw in one post to let people know that if you ever struggle with a relationship’s end, try listening to After the Beginning, Before the End. It’s on Bandcamp and it won’t make you feel better but it will make you say, “Oh yeah, that is what that experience is like.”

This is like how last year, I learned that if your friend dies suddenly while under a lockdown, you could try spending a week watching all of Simon Amstell’s sitcom/stand-up DVDs/those weird movies he made, and listening to a lot of Nirvana. I’m just out here sharing helpful tips, providing pairing options between parts of British comedy and really fucking shitty things that can happen in life.

[storybook-souls]

these things being emoji based is a nightmare but 🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with? and the last one

sob yeah the emojis really are the worst way to do it thank you for braving it for me

rainbow: is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

there's a paragraph right at the end of my severance fic from last year where Helena finally has a breakdown about the horror of finding out that "herself but with all memories and context removed" became a person who was fighting against everything that Helena stood for. and the paragraph is meant to be sort of messy and stream-of-consciousness and a little nonsensical but it's also the emotional climax of the fic so it had to be all those things in just the right way which means i re-wrote it like...eight times. perfect little example of meticulous effort put into crafting like a hundred-word sentence which maybe doesn't feel polished but certainly is

little heart letter: share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

i really really hope that i can manage to finish my post-greywaren carmen farooq-lane fic, i think greywaren did a couple of really cool things for her and then just...ended...without ever DOING the falling action part...disappointing but it's fine more room for me to make choices. i think she should talk to the gray man i think they'd have a SUPER normal conversation.

fic writer ask game send me more!!! you can just tell me what the emoji is or what the question is if you want

[doomedandstoned]

They Grieve Unearth Frosty Post-Metal Hymn, “Wither”

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.

                                        --J.R.R. Tolkien

THEY GRIEVE is a two-piece post-metal act hailing from Ottawa. Grim and dire, but with a bright misty atmosphere that hints of hopefulness, the band's latest offering is titled, 'To Which I Bore Witness' (2022). It's their first full-length following a 2016 EP debut, six tracks in all. We're about to hear the album's opening number, "Whither."

The song opens with simple mystical statements on the synth. Other instruments are added to effect layers of feeling, meaning, and intensity. Guitar chords crackle and swell, enveloping us in ionizing radiation. Vocals are gruff and raspy; you have a feeling they've been through a lot, seen too much. As we inch closer to minute five, drums bounce jubilantly and a torrent of scratchy riffage erupts like the blinding winter wind. Gradually, the swell is calmed and we return to the strange solitary cries of the keyboard.

Failure knows no bounds and makes its home here within me Endless is the night of its becoming Nothing returns Cower, collapse, whither

They Grieve's To Which I Bore Witness bubbles to life on February 24th c/o Silent Pendulum Records (pre-order vinyl here and digital here; pre-save the single here). Pair it on a playlist with Thou, Bell Witch, and Cult of Luna.

Give ear...

LISTEN: They Grieve - "Whither"

SOME BUZZ

'To Which I Bore Witness' (2023) is the second release from Canada's post-metal duo They Grieve. Intended to be an introspective journey, it is meant to be depressing. The listener will be confronted with sad, loud music that’s not meant to cross into anger. The latest single is “Wither,” the album opener, which happened to be written twice. The band explains in detail:

“The decision to scrap the original version in its entirety was anxiety-inducing at first, but clearly feels like the right decision now that everything is said and done. We spent a lot of time fine-tuning the last half of the song, and the ending was one of our favourite parts to write -- in fact, it is still one of our favourite parts to play live. Writing this song really forced us to get more comfortable with not only using samples in a live context, but also with blending and balancing tones and dynamics at the same time to ensure everything hits in the right place. Without our electronics, we would need 5 or 6 guitarists to pull this off on stage.”

The band’s first EP was written quickly out of excitement for their new project. At first, they didn’t quite know what the band would end up being. Since then they have honed their sound and that is reflected in this new offering, which listeners will find more refined and nuanced.They slowed down, got heavier, leaned more into their drone, minimalist, and doom influences, and steered away from the colder, noisier moments on the first EP.

They also note that the production level is much better thanks to Topon Das (F*ck The Facts) at Apartment Two Studio along with mastering done by Dave Williams at Eight Floors Above and additional tracks recorded by Alex Jakimczuk at Uppercut Studios. The album artwork was done by Pascale Arpin.

They Grieve took a long time to fine-tune these songs. Several of them were completely finished and even performed live before they eventually re-wrote them from the ground up. They actively collaborate on each song leaning into their individual strengths.

Self-described as tense atmospheres and sad riffs, “To Which I Bore Witness” and the single “Wither” is recommended for fans of Bell Witch, Thou, and Year of No Light. The album is being released on February 24, 2023, via Silent Pendulum Records.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[soulwillower]

semi-charming •  bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader smut)

requested:  Do you have any bill denbrough x reader’s that you have finished that can be posted? I really love your work I re read it like everyday lol :)    +      AKANSHAKAKMA U SHOULD POST THE BILL DENBROUGH HATE SMUT AHHHH     +     don’t be shy post the b.d hate smut 😀🔫🥰🌝

i haven’t posted a fic in well over several months but i hope u guys like it :) im here and around still so send me something if u wanna chat <3 i also have re opened my requests lkajsdlkaj

also - i gained a lot of new followers while i was gone and im sure some ppl want to be removed from my taglist SO: i am gonna start a new taglist!!! pls send me a message and let me know if you want to be on it bc after this post im starting fresh  !!!!!!!!!

warnings: drinking, mentions of weed, dorm living, almost-strangers hooking up, smut, choking (light), light spitting, a tiny bit of dirty talk, switch!bill, its kinda fluffy smut tbh, enemies-to-lovers but its so lowkey, kinda cute guys, neighbor-ish au, 

(losers + reader are 19+.)

4.1k words

♡

the first time it happened, you wrote it off as unintentional. 

it's happened to everyone: you're joking around with your roommate, or reaching over to grab your laptop, and you fall off your bed to the floor. you knock over your lamp or someone knocks over the handle that was sitting half-empty on the mini-fridge. the tile on the ground of the dorm rooms are hard and cold and don't do much to quiet the noise of anything, so you get that. 

but whatever the hell was going on in the room above you was not that. it was three in the morning, and your head was spinning in that sickening way that only happens when you take too many drinks in a short time and find your way to bed for a few hours before being startled awake. 

a loud thump made you jump in your bed, heart racing as you woke in surprise. 

it was around twenty more loud thuds from your ceiling (in a span of barely two minutes) that you gathered the energy to slide out of your bed, sliding on your dorm slides and throwing on a shirt to cover your near naked body before storming into the hallway to climb the most challenging single story of stairs in your life, right to your upstairs neighbors' door. 

your hand was banging on the door for a mere five seconds before the door swung open and a terribly confusing sight fell onto your eyes. 

three boys who you've only ever seen in passing before in your dorm, all shirtless and heaving breaths. the one who answered the door, possibly bill or mike (judging by the stupid name tags on their door), has bright eyes and dark auburn hair that reflects in the dim light of the hall, backlit by the neon purple from inside the room. his sweaty bare abdomen made your eyes twitch as you glared at him, suddenly more irritated because he's kind of really hot and stupid and annoying, and you needed to sleep.

"hi.” he said casually, and you could tell he wasn’t entirely sober, either. 

“so what is your fucking problem?" you said in lieu of a greeting, half-asleep and pissed beyond belief (also still drunk). the boy who answered the door raised his brows, head turning with a brow raised, as if to ask his buddies 'are they for real?' before turning back with a large, cocky smile, "pardon you? we already turned down the music." 

you blinked, knowing you must have seemed so rude and looked insane but it was a weeknight and you had class in the morning, "wh- what, no- i'm not here about music. it's like three, you're slamming on the floor and i can hear it like i'm in a fucking tornado in my room below you so you need to knock it off." 

then the other boy, further back with foggy glasses, started laughing. the other one laughed too, rubbing his neck sheepishly, still breathing heavy. "what the hell are you guys even doing in there?" you added, running a hand through your hair in exasperation. 

"they were trying to bench press me. but then bill decided to start doing squat jumps onto his bed." the boy with glasses explained as he rubbed his chest, still concealed by the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the stupid LED neon lights that every single person in the dorms had lining their rooms. that explained the thudding. 

"why." you'd deadpanned. you were too tired for this, but you'd wanted them to understand that it was keeping people up. "richie got us kicked out of Pike for stealing their doorknobs and pledge class photos." the third boy says, elbowing the boy, richie. "we felt like working out, but then richie said we couldnt press him, so..." he trails off at the look you give. 

"you want my workout routine or something?" richie asks you. you sharply inhale and bill smiles, "well, if that's all, we'll be going. i've got one more rep to get in." 

your eyes widened, jaw dropping at his words. he'd laughed, then, and your eyes couldn't stop as you stared at his sculpted abs flex in the light. god damn it. 

"chill out, neighbor. sorry to wake you from your beauty sleep." he said as he noticed your look, and you wanted to fucking hit him. 

you rolled your eyes, picking up on his facetious tone. "whatever. just knock it off. thanks," you'd griped, sarcastically smiling at them before trudging away towards the stairwell. and you'd caught it when bill muttered, "is now a bad time to assemble my ikea desk with my drill?" 

you'd run into bill once again a few days after when you'd gone to use the bathroom on the floor above you where your friend lived, washing out the bowl you'd used for lunch. a 'shh!' had made your brows furrow as you'd walked in, not paying attention as you'd heard a shower stop and a girl laugh from the other side of the bathrooms. 

but a deep voice grunting 'ow, fuck' made you freeze and then feel hot, wondering what kind of luck you have to be in the bathroom when some people were hooking up in the shower. but you're reminded that you had the worst luck when you go to leave the bathroom and two figures round the corner, hair soaking wet and hoods pulled over their heads. making eye contact with him, he must've seen how flustered and irritated you were, because he cracked a grin, "good to see you again, neighbor. you sleeping well these days?" 

that was only a few days ago. you'd seen him in passing at a party at one of the frats, but had avoided any interaction with him after you saw him and his friend with the glasses snickering to themselves after sneaking looks to you. god, you didn't want to face them again - they were so mocking, so cocky.... so rude, and they made you feel like you were being insane just for wanting to have peaceful sleep. bill was not your favorite person. 

but as bad as the first two experiences were, the third time you had the misfortune of interacting with bill, it was the worst. 

your roommate was out for the weekend, and you'd found yourself stuck with your leg and ankle pinned between your heavy file cabinet under your bed and your bedframe, unable to scoot it over on your own to free your leg. 

you were planning on relaxing tonight, after being stood up from a booty call hook up. you’re mad, frustrated, horny, and close to tears now that you’ve gotten yourself stuck pinned to your bed.

it’s nearly one in the morning, and nobody’s in the hall. 

but then, bill walked past your open door as you struggled, and desperately you called, "hey!" 

his double-take into your room, his head poking in, would have been charming if the face was anybody but him. 

"what?" he asks, suddenly noticing it’s you. his voice is not charming and calm as you've seen him be with other peers, but in your stubborn mind, you convince yourself it’s fine; you don’t like him, either. 

"i'm stuck, can you help?" you say despite your thoughts. 

he sighs, dropping his backpack next to your bed and then tugging to try and move the cabinet. 

"how did you do this?" he mutters as he pulls as hard as he can to pull it, but your shoe is too wedged diagonally against the floor, cabinet and frame. you sigh, "thought i could nudge it to the side with my toes, i dropped my dab through the crack." 

he chuckles, trying to instead shove it backwards instead; to no avail. "smart girl." he says sarcastically, and you roll your eyes, trying to help him shove it. "what was the point of you keeping me up all fucking night if you aren't strong enough to move this shit?" you say, exasperated because it's starting to dig into your calf. 

he stops, rolling his eyes at you. "has anyone ever told you that you can be a bit rude?" he asks, moving closer to you to try and push it away. you look down at him from where you stand, elbows on your mattress. "no. you're just a dick. fight fire with fire, or whatever." you mutter, face feeling hot. 

you can't stop staring at his shoulders, his arms - they're so hot, the veins popping out of his hands and forearms, the smell of his aftershave wafting into your nose from where he kneels next to you. 

he just hums. "i'm going to try to push your leg forward and then push the cabinet away." he states, and you nod, just wanted this nightmare to be over. you're still terribly embarrassed and the proximity to such a hot and confusingly irritating boy is making you lose your grip. 

it takes a lot in you to not jolt when his warm hand wraps around your bare leg and starts to pull you, his strong hold on you making you tingle. "what's your name?" he asks, and you almost laugh as his grip on your thigh tightens, the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your skin making you hot. this is insane.  "y/n." you struggle out, throat feeling dry - there's no reason his hand needs to be so high up on your leg, but some part of you really wants it. "it says that on my door." you say breathlessly. 

whatever he was going to reply with is cut off as he tries to readjust his grip on you and the cabinet, but his hand slides up and grazes the skin near the apex of your thigh, coaxing a sharp gasp to fall from your mouth. 

he turns red, looking up at you, "god, sorry." he mutters, and you bite your lip, unable to look away. 

you kind of forget to say anything, stuck staring at him, heart thumping as wetness pools between your legs just from this boy's touch. god, you've got to get laid. 

his arm is wrapped around the onside of your leg, thumb reaching higher on your thigh than his other fingers, and for a moment you hesitate before deciding to go for it: you drop your hand hand to his hair, pulling lightly as you 'steady yourself,' smirking as you feel his shaky breath against your thigh. 

you don't even care about getting unstuck now, all you can think about is being fucked into the mattress by this asshole boy from the fourth floor. you’re not sure where this feeling came from. 

when he finally pushes the cabinet away, causing you to stumble to catch your ground. he helps you get the cart and then push the cabinet back, awkward small talk making you want to die. "why were you down here anyways?" you ask, rubbing your leg. "mike kicked me out to be with a girl and all my friends are out for tonight." he sighs, rubbing his neck. "i have to do homework tonight, just going to find somewhere quiet to get it done." 

"that's surprisingly responsible." you say, looking at him wearily. he gives you an annoyed look, "what's that supposed to mean?" you roll your eyes, "you don't seem particularly academically motivated." you state, unsure if you're coming across as flirtatious or just a dick. he gives you a look as he moves to grab his things from next to your bed. "you seem more pleasure motivated." 

you catch your mistake immediately - and he does, too, smirking. you stutter to fix it, "don't be gross." you defend weakly. 

he's biting his lip and something rumbles in your chest, flames in your abdomen. it's hard to gauge if you don't like him or if you do. maybe you're just horny.

"i thought you were cute, you know, until you showed up at three in the morning to chew me out." he mutters, eyebrows raised, "i get that that was annoying, but it was a saturday. everyone was drunk, i don't get why you are still being a bitch." his face drops when he says that, as if he didn't mean to say it at all, but he doesn't take it back. you shrug, not too offended. he kind of has a point, "i don't get why you have to make everything so much harder than it has to be. doesn't matter how hot you are,  i don't have to like you, you know." you say, crossing your arms with a smirk. 

"believe me, i'd rather you not like me." he says, smile on his face troubling. you look at him, trying to gauge why you're feeling so flustered, why you want to jump his bones right now no matter how annoying he is. "then why haven't you left yet?" you challenge. you figure if you're reading his actions wrong, this gives him an out. 

"because i kind of want to fuck you now." he says boldly. you just smirk, walking towards where he sits on your desk chair, lowering yourself to straddle him. he looks up at you, eyes large and mischievous as he pulls you down on him all the way, your hips grinding lightly. "i think you want to fuck me always." you whisper, lips hovering above his, teasing. you're eating up all his attention, soaking it up and savoring the way he watches you. 

you boldly snake your hand down between the two of you, lips still refusing to touch his, your hand starting to tease his clothed cock as it hardens under your palm. you stroke him as you lean, almost kissing him before pulling away. he glares at you. 

then you move your hips, the tension in your room killing you. he lets out a half-moan, causing you to buck your hips again, relishing in the pleasure it gives you. he leans forward, trying to catch your lips, but your hand catches his chest, your lips just centimeters from his own.  "fuck you, y/n." he says, fed up with your teasing as his hands squeeze your ass, moving to the bottom of your thighs and then rising with surprising ease, holding you against him and making your heart thump in shock. he takes four long strides towards your bed, tossing you on it. you grin, expecting for him to climb onto you, but instead he's walking towards your door, making your heart quicken. is he leaving? 

he slams your door shut, though, and it makes you smirk as he clicks the lock. you're on your back, the sight of him upside down making you bite your lip, eyes nearly even with the bulge in his sweatpants. 

he walks up to you, and you eye him as he bends forward, hand catching your chin, holding your head forward with a strength you didn't expect. "look at me." he says suddenly. you blink, feeling hot as you stare into his eyes. 

"don't tease me." he says, and you swallow, heart racing in excitement. "okay." you croak, and it seems to satisfy him because he tilts your neck from here he holds your neck and chin, kissing you soundly on your lips. you feel on fire at his touch, squirming as you slip your hands into his hair - it's making you so needy that he's holding you, almost trapped on the mattress, kissing him upside down. 

he pulls away and you flip around, allowing for him to climb onto the bed, barely enough time before you pull him in for another kiss, this one heated and desperate. 

he bites marks on your neck as your hands palm him, pushing your own thighs together in need. slowly, you push him down against your mattress and sling a leg over his hip, moving to straddle him. his hands find your hips easily, looking at you like you're the only thing ever worth looking at; your breath leaves your lungs and you steady yourself, the reality of how fucking beautiful bill is hitting you at once. 

you pull his shirt off, yours coming off, leaving you in just your shorts and underwear. he palms your tits, pinching your nipple as you grind down against his cock, whimpering at the feeling of his pants against your clothed clit. "if only you'd come up to my room like this." he says, and you snap your eyes to his, seeing the teasing grin but glaring at him. "maybe you would've been nicer to me if you knew how good i'd make you feel." he whispers as you resume your hip's movement, "shut up, bill." you hiss. he laughs, his thumb making contact with your clit takes you by surprise and you jump a bit, moaning quietly as your eyes close in pleasure. 

"take these off." he mutters into your mouth as you bite his bottom lip. you take off your shorts, quickly resuming your spot straddling him, his lips trailing from your breasts to your throat and then your mouth again, grinding against him in need. he toys with your slit over your panties before he pulls them slowly to the side, spreading your juices on his long fingers, humming as he brings his fingers to his lips, watching you as he licks his fingers. you nearly moan, impatient enough that you kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips faintly; "do you want me?" you whisper against his lips.

"i wish i didn't," he says, "but yes. do you want to do this?" 

you're breathless, beside yourself with need, "yes." you say quickly, tugging his sweats off and tossing them to the floor. "fuck you, by the way." you spit, flipping him off. he grins and it's fucking beautiful, his smirk, his red cheeks, heaving chest. budding hickeys bloom over his neck and chest as he catches your hand, tugging you forward over him, whispering, "you're about to." 

you roll your eyes, ignoring the butterflies in your chest, hand falling over his as he pumps himself. your thumb swipes over his tip, spreading his precum before opening the condom he'd pulled out of his pocket (you don't even want to know why he brought one with him to study) and roll it onto his cock. 

and then you’re pushing aside your panties and stabilizing yourself on bill’s chest. you line yourself up on him and look to him for one last confirmation. he nods, “quick fucking around, babe.” he says, but his voice sounds desperate and his cheeks are flushed and you let out a strangled moan as you sink onto him, the nickname making your stomach flutter. you have to stay and give yourself time to adjust to his size, his moans swallowed by your own mouth as your tongue swipes his. his hands roam your body, squeezing your hips, your ass, your breasts and then rising to cup your neck and back. 

“shit, bill.” you whimper as you slowly start to move up and down. his eyes fall shut in pleasure and his head tilts back, exposing the entire expanse of his throat for you to claim, his hands falling to your hips. your eyes watch his thin necklace shine in the faint light from your lamp and he's filling you up perfectly. 

he looks like fucking heaven.

you kiss his neck lightly as you pick up the pace, bouncing on him steadily as his fingers grip the sides of your thighs.

“fuck, y/n.” he whispers, staring at you with his lips caught between his teeth. the feeling of him stretching inside you and hitting the perfect spot has your legs shaking already, breathing heavily. he’s soon surging up, kissing you deeply as groans fall from his lips, his arms rising to your waist to hold you as you move.

"you're much better when you're not talking." you mutter as you fuck yourself on him, moving your hips as you bounce. he rolls his eyes, "i'd fuck you every day if it meant you wouldn't come ruin my fun every night." he quips back, eyes challenging. and your hand rises to squeeze around his throat, at first as a joke, but then he smiles brightly, a smirk that stirs something in you and you squeeze ever so slightly, the feeling of his pulse making you moan. 

his smirk sends butterflies through your stomach, pleasure swirling in your core. but then his own hand rises to your own throat, squeezing lightly.

you moan, unable to keep it together. "you think two can't play this game, y/n? it's like you don't know me." he tuts, seemingly pleased as you're flushing, gasping as your legs stutter, his hips moving up to meet yours, strokes hitting you deep. “i don’t,” you whisper, and he hums. 

your legs stutter after one particularly satisfying thrust and he grabs your hips, lifting slightly and biting his lip as he starts to thrust up into you. “oh, my god,” you moan as he hits your g spot and he curses under his breath.

your hand comes up to rest on the wall behind him as you meet each other half way, hitting a spot deep inside you that has you moaning his name loud enough for anyone to hear. you hope to god your next door neighbors are out. 

he presses his lips to yours and you know its to get you to stop being so loud - it makes your toes curl in pleasure. then his thumb snakes its way to your lips, his grin widening when your lips immediately part and suck on the finger, humming around it as your hand rests on his neck, the other over his abs as you bounce. 

"so pretty like this, y/n." he leans up, then, sitting up more and changing the angle, making you gasp with a moan as his hand snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to his face with the hand on your face. he pulls his thumb from your mouth with a light pop, your legs barely riding him at your proximity, instead steady on his hips, his cock warm and stretching you. "do you think you'd look pretty under me?" he asks. you swallow, moving your hips again and sliding on his cock, movements making you stare at him, pleasure building. 

"i think you would." he whispers, hand still on your neck. you whimper a bit, sliding off of him, allowing him to climb over you, kissing you soundly before pulling you to the edge of your bed, legs hanging off as he stands in front of you. lifting one leg, he kisses your knee and holds it up as he teases your slit with his cock before sliding into you again, causing you to let out a loud moan, his own melding with yours. 

your eyes roll back at the new angle, legs shaking as his fingers dig into your thigh. “wanna see your f-face when i make you cum.“ he mutters, hand rising to thumb your lip, dragging your bottom lip down.

 "you think you're gonna make me cum?" you bite, knowing no man you've been with has been able to. 

you watch as his eyes admire the half-lids of your eyes, the blissed, fucked-out look on your face. your chest is littered in blossoming hickes, varying from pink to dark red and slightly purple already. 

he says nothing in response to you, but pulls your leg further open, spitting down onto your cunt, making you moan lightly, the action being terribly sexy. his thumb finds your clit and starts to rub perfectly in counteraction to his thrusts, his lips finding your nipple. 

you gasp in pleasure, panting as you start to wonder if he really is going to make you cum. then his thumb rubs circles on your clit and as he presses lightly, you can’t hold off any longer. “fuck,” you hiss as you hit your peak, your orgasm making your legs shake. you can’t help it, gasping and bucking your hips as you clench against his cock in bliss, your orgasm causing you to tug his hair in ecstasy. “so pretty.” he mutters against your neck, pressing kisses to it as you’re moaning and arching your back. "so good, cumming for me." he says cockily. you're panting as you whisper, "shut up," his hips still pounding into yours. 

“god, you're such a sweet talker.” he mutters sarcastically as you look at him desperately, his eyes fall shut in bliss, a deep groan leaving his lips, you can tell he's close. 

"and you're such a gentleman." you jest back, pulling him closer by his shoulders, eyes shutting in bliss. he hums, strokes getting sloppier, "i let you cum first, didn't i?" he counters. 

you huff a laugh, something in your heart twinging in affection. you kiss him so you don't say something stupid, moving your hips with his. a few strokes and he's pulling you closer to him by your back, whimpering into your mouth, “y/n, fuck.” beautiful moans fall from his cherry colored lips as he cums, and you just stare at him in awe, surprised by how hot it is as he says your name. he rides his high and then falls off of you, onto the mattress between you and the wall. 

"hey," he says after a few moments of you both catching your breaths, your hands overlapping on your stomach but not nearly holding hands. it makes you feel warm in a weird way. excited, nervous. 

"what?" you ask, turning to stare into his eyes. he smirks, "you think we woke up the downstairs neighbors?" he whispers, eyes alight with tease. 

you shove him, smothering him with a pillow while he laughs, pulling you onto him. 

tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier  @sft-core @clownsloveyou  @moon-shine-baby  @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters @unfortu-nate-ly @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie  @decafcoffeew

[technicolor-rhapsody]

Hey there!

I’d love to see your take on John Constantine and a fem presenting (nonbinary) reader who’s also a magic user, if you’re up for it!

(I love any and all things Constantine, so like, whatever you think you can do, I’ll take!)

Hey! Thank you so much for the request! I'm sorry it took so long. I re-wrote this piece like 4 times. 🥴

I wasn't sure how to write a nonbinary yet fem presenting reader, so I tried to keep it gender neutral for the most part. I hope that's okay and that you enjoy this anyways! 💕

You watch his movements with a critical eye. It takes a lot of energy to keep your expression neutral and to bite your tongue as to not nag. However, Constantine is perceptive enough to take notice.

"If you have somethin' to say, just say it."

His tone of exasperation and annoyance matches his expression. The scratching of the chalk against the stone floor has halted. He waits for you to speak.

If he insists. "You're writing is like chicken scratch." Brutal honesty it is. You carefully move closer towards the magic circle he's drawn. "The lines of your runes seem just a tad wobbly. Some of them are off by a couple of degrees. If you don't-"

"I bloody well have been copying yours stroke by stroke." He replies, pointing towards your own magic circle.

A hand is held out to him. You nod towards the chalk. "May I?"

It's placed in your hand as he grumbles. He moves back to observe the corrections you're about to make. That's fine. It'll settle your nerves knowing that you've done so. Magic is one fo the few things you're a perfectionist with. Really one must be. Make a wrong move, say an incorrect word or use an inaccurate ingredient and the consequences could be deadly.

With care you take the time to make your corrections. Lines are straightened out. Strokes are made crisper. You do this in silence as he stares on. Once finished you beckon him to step back into the circle, giving him the warning not to smear or erase any of the chalk.

"You're a real bossy bird, you know that?"

When he steps in you step out. Hastily you make your way over to several densely packed plastic bags. From them you start pulling out enough candles to light a small village. However there's two that not like the others. These two you made. They're imperfect compared to the store bought ones. The wax is blacker than any ink; a contrast to the sea of garish colors.

Around each magic circle the candles are set ---all except the special two. You set one inside your circle and the other in his.

"Is all this really necessary? It's a bit theatrical for me tastes." He lights up a ciggie, taking several drags.

"Inconvenient is the word you should have used. You don't mind theatrics. It's the act of having to have patience you despise." You dig a pocket knife out from your back jeans pocket. "You ready?"

He gives you a nod, expression softening. "Aye. Ta for the help." He offers the cigarette to you, to which you accept a few puffs from. You grab his hand and flip it over to press a kiss to the palm. His skin is warm yet his hand feels rough; not calloused but like a person who frequently works with their hands. You've had the pleasure of knowing just how skilled he is with said hands.

You murmur an apology before slicing his palm. Blood bubbles to the surface. He let's a few drops drop onto the black candle. A flame bursts forth, burning a bright purple. You make your way into your own circle and complete the same process. Once both candles are lit with the violet flame, you and Constantine began reciting the spell. When the runes start glowing you know the ritual has started.

Even if it might be the wrong time for such a thing, you can't help but shoot him a smug grin.

[fideidefenswhore]

One of the most popular misconceptions is his behaviour towards Anne Boleyn. I applaud the re-habilitation of Anne’s image and reputation, but Chapuys has suffered unnecessarily in the process. His opposition to Anne has tainted his reputation. He has been erroneously labelled as biased, misogynistic and fanatical

I’m not going to tackle ‘biased’, because everyone has bias, ‘erroneously labelled as biased’ is frankly untrue for anyone on the face of it.

Fanatical...hm. Well, fanaticism generally has an association with religion only. I don’t think ‘religious’ and ‘fanatical’ should be treated as synonymous, certainly. But fanaticism’s definition doesn’t actually adhere strictly to ‘religious fanaticism’. 

filled with excessive and single-minded zeal.

obsessively concerned with something.

I believe Chapuys was ‘fanatical’ when it came to trying to persuade Charles V to invade England. I’ve never compiled an exhaustive list, but I believe in seven years that he presses this upwards of thirty separate times. What is that if not ‘single-minded zeal’ and obsession? 

He was also obsessively concerned with unseating Anne, one way or another, prior to her becoming Queen, prior, even, to the final separation of Mary and Catherine (so the argument, as she presents it, that Chapuys’ hostility towards Anne only increased in tandem with the mistreatment of these women does not really hold water). He pressed for her excommunication, and wrote that he hoped the people of England would ‘make the interdict follow her wherever she went, and exert their vengeance upon her’. 

‘Erroneously labelled as misogynistic’, all I can say is, woof. This falls into the realm of her arguments elsewhere, that Chapuys was ‘not known for commenting on the physical appearance of women’. I don’t know which ambassador was ‘known’ for this, really, most of them commented on this at times, but the implication that he abstained from judgement on the physical appearance of women is what’s ‘erroneous’, here. He referred to Mary’s beauty upwards of a dozen times. True enough he never really commented on Anne Boleyn’s, besides to say that she appeared to be in good health, once. He commented that Henry’s mystery mistress of 1534 was very beautiful, several times. He referred to Jane Seymour as ‘no great beauty’, and snidely remarked that Henry’s attraction to her must be down to a ‘fine enigme’ (slang at the time for female genitalia). While Katherine Howard was imprisoned at Syon, he said she was ‘fatter and more beautiful than ever’. 

Chapuys’ dispatches are, in my opinion, illustrative of two types of misogyny. Towards Mary and Catherine of Aragon, we have ‘benevolent sexism’, ie., pedestaling, but in a patronizing/condescending manner. Over three years, he frequently wrote (and so, probably informed, as he was in communication with her) that Mary was in constant danger, and that every type of harm was intended in her place of residence (poison, to die of ill health, etc) by, alternately, Henry and Anne and the staff of the residences she lived. By 1535, he had the audacity to suggest that Mary was hysterical to believe harm was intended for her in these residences (gee, I wonder where she got that idea), and that he was trying to soothe her and reassure her that this wasn’t the case, that no intentional harm was meant. 

By contrast, in the case of Anne Boleyn, we have ‘hostile sexism’. I could pull up dozens of examples, and have before, but for now I’ll refrain. They’re different flavors, but they both fall under the umbrella of misogyny.  

[enhais]

hi!! could you do a yandere enhypen where they stalk the reader?

thank you so much!

yandere!enhypen stalks the reader

┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄

pairing: yandere!enhypen x gn!reader

genre: yandere

a/n: im making this as a reaction if that’s fine with you!

┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄ ┄

jungwon

you were walking home from work, as usual, with headphones blasting the recent hits and jungwon walked behind you from a distance, just like he’s been doing for the past couple of weeks.

you never suspected anything and it didn’t feel weird. whenever you looked behind you there was either a guy with sweet, handsome features or no one. you never thought twice about it since you lived in a fairly crowded area. sure, the recent news was about attempted murders and kidnappings and you were told to not be outside during a certain hour, but it felt safe walking home. the same thing you’ve done for years. why would it be different now?

jungwon quickened his pace as he wanted to get a closer look at you. he’d only been able to zoom in on the pictures taken on his phone, but the times you were in front of him were so much better.

“i must have you. we belong together, i can feel it. i’ve felt it since the first time we met at the café.” he sighed and stopped himself, not wanting to be caught just yet and letting you walk up to your apartment.

heeseung

the two of you had been friends for a very long time. it all started in second grade when he came to school without fruits in his lunchbox (he always had fruits with him instead of candy or other snacks). he began to cry and you, being the sweet hero that you were, handed him some apple slices and grapes, “there you go. now please stop crying, it’s a bit annoying.”

ever since then, he told you he’d make it up to you. and he did. several times. but the one thing never leaving his mind was that he had to marry you, no matter what or who stood in his way.

recently, you’ve been hanging out with his friend jake a bit more often. you didn’t want heeseung to be mad at either of you, so you just told him that you were hanging out with a friend. he didn’t believe you and that’s why he followed your every move after school.

it’s been like this for a few weeks and even though you’ve seen him a couple of times, you haven’t brought it up, thinking he was just there coincidentally. but oh boy how wrong you were.

“jake doesn’t have a chance against me, everyone knows that. im her number one priority as she is mine and i will be the one to get her heart.” he muttered for himself while slurping the smoothie he ordered to stay looking after you.

jay

you were working with enhypen as their stylist, making sure everything was right for the next comeback. jay had known you since trainee days when you took your first steps as a stylist and was excited that you were gonna work with them now. you were still learning things about the industry, but your colleagues had an open mind thinking that they needed someone younger’s thoughts.

just like you, jay had grown up so much since the last time you saw each other. he, of course, never forgot you and had been stalking your social media accounts at least once a week. you never knew that though, and he wasn’t planning on telling you.

stalking on the internet soon came to be stalking in real life. he always kept an eye open on your schedule, planning to “bump into you” by accident and hoping that you were gonna visit them for measurements even though everything was mostly finished.

“oh, hi y/n! what are you up to?” he put his hand on your shoulder and held it there for a moment before letting go, “i have a meeting about the concept in a few, how about you?” you returned the question, not wanting to sound impolite, “just the usual… training.” he smiled and you nodded as you walked off to the meeting, “i’ll see you later, jay.”

jake

you’d never met him in your life, but something told you you’d seen him before.

you were working the late-night shift at the restaurant and were quick to take the orders. you didn’t really care about the guests, just having one goal in mind and that was to go home and sleep.

a guy came in, looking like the lead in a drama, and sat down by the bar. you were immediately caught up in his handsome features, from the way his eyes shone in the dimmed light to his bright smile. “what would you like today, sir?” you asked as you got ready with the notepad. he looked directly into your eyes with that sweet smile, “you.” you burst out laughing, “oh yeah? that was funny.” it took a second before you collected yourself and the guy still didn’t take his eyes off you, “i can recommend the burger and the steak, but if you want more vegetables, i’d recommend the salad.” you explained.

jake ordered the steak and picked up his phone after you left, wanting to take some pictures of the place. of you.

later that night, when he received the tab, he wrote down your name in his phone and wrote you a cute little note on a napkin, “loved the conversation, might have to steal you from work someday.” and added his phone number, hoping you would call.

sunghoon

you were at the ice rink to support a friend and give them some assistance. sunghoon immediately made his way over to you who was standing by the side all alone.

cold air whooshed against your face, making your cheeks a bit more red, “hi, who are you? i haven’t seen you here before.” his smile was sweet, “im here with a friend.” he hummed, “well, if you want to hang out later, i can make some time.” you blushed and gave out a nervous chuckle, “mhm, we’ll see.”

the two of you exchanged numbers and have spent a lot of time together since then. what you didn’t know, however, was that sunghoon had pressured your friend to bring you to the ice rink that day… he had seen you around town before and did his research. you were more difficult to find, so he went for a different approach: kidnap your friend and threaten them to help him get you.

“you’re friends with y/n, right? i want you to get them to the ice rink.” they nodded hastily, trying to respond, but his hand was covering their mouth, “i know the two of us have talked before, i know you usually hang out there, so just do me a favor and get them there.”

sunoo

working at a busy café in the middle of seoul made you see thousands of people every day. sunoo, however, only wanted to see you.

he came in at least once every day to order coffee and have small talk. when he came in your colleagues immediately gave you a heads up, “the sweet sunoo is here again, miss girl.” they laughed and you walked out the storage room with a bright smile, “thanks guys.” sunoo took off his sunglasses to get a better look at you, “hi sunoo.” you greeted as you re-tied the apron, “do you want the usual? or maybe try something different?” he smiled, “the usual, thank you.”

his gaze never left your face and you’d gotten quite used to it. still, what made you a little worried was his lockscreen. you swore it was a picture of you taken from afar. you didn’t dare to question though, thinking it would start something you didn’t want to experience. but, what you didn’t know was that he’d been stalking you for the past couple of months. not only grabbing coffee and having small talk but following you to your home, getting to know your daily routines and who you hung out with as well.

“if you want to visit the company, you know where it is. just call me and i’ll take you on a tour.” he laughed and gave you a napkin with his number on it. you looked at it for a minute before locking eyes again, “thank you.”

niki

as a trainee at belift there are a lot of things to do. practice singing, practice dancing, study for the upcoming tests in school, and so on and so forth. you’d been at belift for about a year and recently gained a lot of attention from the producers as your monthly evaluation really stood out from everyone else.

but it’s not only the producers who are interested. niki from enhypen has been keeping an eye on you from the day you arrived, wanting you in his life one way or another.

you’d just finished dance practice and were on your way to fill up your water bottle as you bumped into him. “oh, hi y/n. you good?” with a black cap and oversized black hoodie, you barely recognized him, “niki?” he nodded with a short laugh, “oh, im good.” you began, “i just finished practicing.” you motioned to your bottle, still waiting to be filled with water, “mm, alright. we’ll talk later, yeah? i have a meeting.” he explained and gave you a wave goodbye.

you thought he was just like any other guy at the company: hardworking, sweet, and motivated, and you were right, but he was hardworking, sweet, and motivated for you as well. taking every chance to talk to you, touch you, making you want to be with him. but that would take some time for you to figure out, he made sure of that.

[13uswntimagines]

Our Song (Alyssa Naeher x Reader)

Request: alyssa naehex reader thats set during quarantine w/ “Shy” by Alexander Stewart. I just kind of think it’s cute since she’s an introvert and that it would be fitting

Author’s Note: Speical Thanks To @literaryhedgehog​

Alyssa knew she should just say it, that admitting it out loud would finally put an end to this madness. She ran a soothing hand through your hair when you sniffled loudly into her chest. 

God, she should just tell you how she felt. But, she also didn’t want to overstep. That would make being roommates really awkward. Especially since neither of you were supposed to leave the apartment right now except for essential purchases. And she didn’t want to lose her best friend. That would really suck. 

But she wasn’t afraid to say what no one else would- you had a terrible taste when it came to partners. You chose people who didn’t value you, and you always ended up hurt. 

This time was no different, well, it was slightly different considering you couldn’t leave your shared apartment to cope like you normally would. Alyssa didn’t know if that was better or worse, considering that you had adapted your breakup routine to just be endless cuddles with her and your favorite stuffed animal.  

She had already spent the last hour making comforting noises. You had stopped shedding tears 15 minutes ago, so Alyssa decided it was time to go for some humor. “Hey, so now you and Taylor Swift have something in common!”

“Hmm” You hummed in acknowledgment, your eyes never leaving where Supergirl was playing on screen. 

“Well, she was broken up with over text. You were broken up with over text. I think this is the perfect opportunity to listen to her re-recording of Fearless, and really channel those emotions!”

“No, Joe broke up with her in a 27-second phone call,” You lifted your head up off of her very comfortable chest to raise your eyebrow at the woman. 

Alyssa was a great keeper, and amazing at crosswords, but she always needed your help when it came to Taylor trivia. 

“Then Joe showed more consideration as an 18-year-old child than your 32 year old wanna be soccer star. It doesn’t change the fact that I think listening to Mr Perfectly Fine would be cathartic.” 

“It’s kinda funny that she wrote Forever and Always, Mr. Perfectly fine, Better than Revenge and Holy Ground all about the same guy, they’re all so different from each other,” You mumbled, settling back down on her chest. At least she didn’t say that you had as many breakups as she did. That was a rude joke. (One Alyssa wouldn’t dare make. She was more cultured than the media asshats that chased your team around). 

“Woman’s efficient,” Alyssa shrugged. “No reason why you can't recycle the same emotion into a different song genre.” 

“At least she could make millions off her pain. All I seem to be able to do is kick the ball harder,” You grumbled. Your landlord complained about you practicing in the street because of how hard you sent the ball careening into his precious brick wall. It wasn’t your fault Alyssa was too slow to stop the PK. 

“Darling, considering you’re one of the strongest kickers on the east coast, I’d say that pain is going to a worthwhile cause. But you do kind of have the worst taste in relationships.” 

“Hey! Savannah wasn’t a bad choice, just bad timing,” You huffed indignantly. 

“So that would be one out of…. How many bad relationships?” 

“At least one for every Taylor Swift album,” 

“Okay, here’s a fun idea, choose an ex for each album,” Alyssa said brightly. Thinking about music would definitely cheer you up. “Wannabe soccer star is obviously your Joe, so represents the Fearless album. Which relationship is your… Drew?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” you said, already picking up your phone to add Teardrops on my Guitar to the music queue. You then quickly added Forever and Always and started scrolling through Speak Now for the next song inspiration. 

Alyssa nodded. It was a well-known fact that you had a massive crush on one Hope Solo growing up, and you had been absolutely enamored with her the second you set foot into camp. But Alyssa also knew that Hope was very faithful to a certain veteran. 

The veteran keeper had tried to let you down easy, and Kelley was still one of your best friends, but it had hurt in the moment.

“Kristie was my Haunted,” you said, smiling slightly. Dating her felt like a whirlwind, one that took your breath until you never thought it would end. She made butterflies flutter in your stomach, and you were so desperate to say the right thing, to be the perfect partner, that you always felt like you were walking a tightrope. Floating on air, but desperate to keep your balance. “At least she had the decency to wait until we were in the same city to end it.” 

“Aren’t the two of you friends now?” Alyssa looked down at you, watching as you scrolled through songs from your comfortable place on her chest. 

You nodded with a small smile. “Hmm, we are much better off that way anyway.” 

“I bet you I can guess who your We are Never Ever Getting Back Together person is,” Alyssa trilled, reaching down to take the phone. 

You playfully snatched it away from her. “Who’s to say I wasn’t going to choose I knew you were trouble?” You raised your eyebrow at the woman, who simply smirked in response. 

“I can tell you who that is too if you like,” Alyssa reached for her own phone and took over control of the speakers, adding both songs to the music queue. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. Who?” 

“You definitely knew Sam Kerr was trouble, and I think it took you 4 breakups with Leah to finally call it quits,” 

“I was going to say Leah for 1989, it took me forever to realize how fucked up our relationship was after we finally broke up,” 

“I’m sure the distance didn’t help.” With her in London and you in Chicago things just kind of fell apart. 

“Maybe,” you hummed, noncommittally. 

“Okay, so for Reputation. I’m thinking Don’t Blame Me,” 

“You did go a bit crazy for Jane…” Alyssa said with a roll of her eyes. You had almost moved to Houston for that girl, thank god you didn’t. You sunburned like nobody's business. 

“Oh come on. You just didn’t like the idea of me moving. And considering how long we had been dating at that point it did make sense!” You argued. 

“It was 3 months Y/n,” She deadpanned. 

“I was in a wlw relationship. That’s like practically three years, it’s not like I brought a u-haul to our first date.” 

Alyssa quirked an eyebrow up at you. “Didn’t you have one of those the first time we met?” 

“Yeah, because I wasn’t moving into my college apartment without any furniture!”

“Whatever you say, babe. Who's your Folklore?” She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. 

“I think you skipped an album,” you said. This was weird because Lover was one of Alyssa’s favorite albums. “But, since you asked. I think Kelley is The 1.” 

“Ah, our favorite squirrel,” Alyssa’s lips ticked up. You and Kelley had dated in college (something that should have made her jealous), but Kelley was the one pushing her to admit her feelings now. 

“We were just too young and dumb,” you said, smiling. “We had a great time together, and it would have been fun if it worked out. But at some point we just realized, we were friends, but there wasn’t anything romantic there.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Alyssa said, like a liar. 

“I’m not. Her and Emily are like made for each other,” You snorted with the shake of your head. “And at least she wasn’t afraid of the world knowing we were together,” 

“Well, yeah,” Alyssa smiled. She had loved seeing the way being publicly out with Kelley had brought out the best of you. “ Okay moving on! Next, we need to narrow down your No body, No Crime.” 

“I take offense. Alex is still alive, so that doesn’t count,” You huffed. 

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding. I know you didn’t kill any of your significant others,” Alyssa said, laughing. “Though if you listened to the song you would know that’s my job… ”

“Alex was my Champagne Problems,” You mumbled sadly. That relationship had been the hardest for you, as had the breakup. She was terrified of the world even suspecting she wasn’t straight. 

You had everything, except the freedom to be yourself, and In the end, you couldn’t take the hiding anymore. 

“You did your best, love. But people come out at their own pace. And it was before Obergfell v. Hodges was decided. Being queer was still more likely to be presented as a scandal in the media then.”

“She cheated on me with Serv. She doesn’t get a pass,” You grumbled, crossing your arms. 

“I’m pretty sure you were on a break dear,” Alyssa said, though she was inclined to agree with you. Being on a ‘break’ but not officially breaking up didn’t seem like a reason to start dating other people. Still getting over some of the semantics might theoretically help you move on. “BUT maybe we should move on. Who is your Lover?”

Your eyes squinted thoughtfully, a light pink shading your cheeks. “The only person who hasn’t ever left me is you. You let me leave the Christmas lights up until May and dance around the kitchen when you cook.” 

Alyssa looked away, not able to meet your eyes. ”I mean, the lights can change color, so they can be thematic all year. And you’re the one who chooses the music to listen to while I cook. I can’t help it if they’re all great for dancing.”

“You can dance to anything. I’m pretty sure you turned a Hosier song into a salsa dance last week.” You giggled. 

“The only person I dance with is you, Y/n,” Alyssa said, finally meeting your eyes. She could feel her body start shaking slightly, as the adrenaline kicked in. She was going to do it. She was going to tell you. “I don’t want to dance if I’m not dancing with you.” 

“I’d dance with you in a storm in my best dress,” 

“I have tried so hard to be supportive about your last several relationships. But seeing you dancing to your favorite song with anyone else… I’ve loved you for three years now and I couldn’t bear it.” 

The air was suddenly charged between you, and you realized your faces were just inches apart. It was hard to breathe. You never dreamed your best friend would return your feelings (maybe that’s why you had so many bad relationships). 

“Kiss me,” you breathed, slowly moving around so your heads were at the same level. 

“That’s not a Taylor swift Lyric,” Alyssa said. In her brain, there was a loading sign currently whirring in little circles, as she attempted to process what you just said. Did you mean what she thought you said?

“Baby just say yes,” You said, feeling so happy that tears were coming to your eyes. You leaned forward getting inches from her face, so close you could feel her breath hitch. “Please kiss me.”

“Yes,” was all Alyssa had time to say before she closed the distance and kissed you.