#I kind of hate this but I spent time writing it so I guess I’ll post it

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hey there! I love the grumpy x sunshine trope for Logan. What if someone has been bothering reader or something happened, and because of it, she’s just not acting like herself and Logan starts picking up on it. He tries to let it go, but it sort of just gets worse and worse, and he becomes really worried for her. So he finally confronts her about, and she has a total breakdown about it- he knows that she’s been upset but not to this extent. So her comforts her and she finally opens up about what’s been going on. That’s kind of all I have, so I’ll leave the rest up to you. I love how you write for Logan, thank you for all the time and dedication you put in. 🫶🏻

When the Sunshine Fades

The Xavier Institute had been bustling with the usual mix of chaos and camaraderie. Students running through the halls, the occasional burst of mutant powers misfiring, and, of course, the ever-present banter between teammates. But through it all, one constant had always been your presence—your sunny disposition that seemed to brighten even the darkest corners of the mansion.

You were the kind of person who could find the silver lining in any situation, always quick with a smile or a word of encouragement. It was one of the things Logan admired most about you. The way you could light up a room with your laughter, the way you saw the good in everyone, even in him—a man who had spent so much of his life battling his inner demons.

But lately, something had changed. The light in your eyes had dimmed, and Logan couldn’t help but notice.

At first, he’d told himself to let it go. Everyone had their off days. Maybe you were just tired, or maybe something minor was weighing on your mind. He wasn’t one to pry, especially since you’d always been so good at bouncing back. But as the days turned into a week, and your usual cheerfulness continued to fade, Logan found himself growing more and more concerned.

You’d stopped laughing as much, your smiles were forced, and there was a heaviness in your eyes that hadn’t been there before. You weren’t spending as much time with the team, opting instead to retreat to your room or find some quiet corner of the mansion where you could be alone. You still tried to keep up appearances, but it was clear that something was wrong.

Logan wasn’t the only one who noticed. A few of the other X-Men had asked him if you were okay, assuming that he would know since the two of you were so close. But Logan didn’t have an answer for them. He didn’t have an answer for himself, either, and that gnawed at him more than he’d like to admit.

Finally, after nearly two weeks of watching you withdraw more and more, Logan couldn’t take it anymore. He’d always been protective of you, but this went beyond that. He was worried—genuinely worried—and he couldn’t stand by and watch you suffer in silence any longer.

It was late in the evening when he found you in the mansion’s library, curled up on a chair with a book you hadn’t even bothered to open. Your eyes were distant, and you looked so small, so fragile, that it tugged at something deep inside him. Logan took a deep breath, steeling himself as he approached you.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as he could manage.

You looked up, startled by his sudden presence, and tried to muster a smile. But it didn’t reach your eyes. “Hey, Logan.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down across from you, his eyes never leaving your face. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, focusing on the pattern of the carpet beneath your feet. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, darlin’,” Logan said, his tone a bit firmer now. “You’ve been actin’ different. Withdrawn. And I know somethin’ ain’t right. You’ve barely been yourself for weeks now.”

You swallowed hard, still avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine, Logan. Really. Just... been a little tired, I guess.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. He hated that you were trying to brush this off, trying to pretend like everything was okay when it so clearly wasn’t. “You ain’t fine. I know you too well for that. Talk to me.”

You bit your lip, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. Logan felt his heart clench at the sight. He hadn’t meant to push you this hard, but he couldn’t back off now, not when you were clearly on the verge of breaking.

“Please, sweetheart,” he said, his voice softening again. “Just talk to me.”

That did it. The dam you’d been trying so hard to hold back finally broke, and a choked sob escaped your lips. You covered your face with your hands as the tears began to fall, your shoulders shaking with the force of your emotions.

Logan was out of his chair in an instant, crossing the small space between you in two strides. He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently pulling yours away from your face. The sight of your tear-streaked cheeks and trembling lips made his chest tighten with a mixture of anger and helplessness.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “It’s okay. I’m here. Just let it out.”

You shook your head, trying to get a grip on yourself, but the floodgates had opened, and there was no stopping it now. “I-I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out between sobs. “I didn’t want to bother you with this... I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “A burden? Darlin’, you could never be a burden. Not to me.”

You took a shaky breath, your hands clinging to his arms as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. “It’s just... everything’s been so overwhelming. There’s been someone... someone who’s been bothering me, saying things that just… they won’t leave me alone, and I’ve tried to ignore it, but it’s been getting to me. And I don’t know how to handle it anymore, Logan. I’m just so tired.”

Logan’s eyes darkened at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Who’s been botherin’ you?”

You shook your head again, fresh tears spilling over. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to drag you into it, but I can’t... I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay when I’m not. I just feel so lost, Logan.”

Logan’s heart ached at the sight of you, so vulnerable and broken. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in a protective embrace, his hand cradling the back of your head as he pressed your face against his chest. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m so damn sorry.”

You clung to him, the sobs wracking your body as you let everything out—the fear, the frustration, the exhaustion. And Logan held you through it all, his arms a fortress around you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm.

“I shoulda noticed sooner,” he murmured into your hair. “Shoulda done somethin’ before it got this bad. But I’m here now, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere. We’ll figure this out together.”

You nodded weakly, your tears beginning to slow as the weight of his words settled over you. You’d been carrying so much on your own, trying to keep up the appearance of being okay, but now, in Logan’s arms, you finally felt like you could let go.

“I’m scared, Logan,” you whispered, your voice raw with emotion.

Logan tightened his grip on you, his voice low and fierce. “I know, sweetheart. But you don’t have to be scared anymore. I’ll take care of it. Whoever’s been messin’ with you, they’re gonna regret it.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” Logan replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “No one messes with you and gets away with it. Not while I’m around.”

You managed a small, tearful smile at that, the first real smile Logan had seen from you in what felt like forever. “Thank you.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You don’t ever have to thank me for lookin’ out for you. You’re too important to me, darlin’. I don’t want you to ever feel like you gotta deal with this crap on your own.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hands seeping into your skin, chasing away the lingering cold that had settled in your bones over the past weeks. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Logan.”

“Lucky for you, you don’t gotta find out,” he said, a hint of his usual gruff humor returning to his voice. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the last of your tears drying on your cheeks. “I’m glad.”

Logan gave you a small, reassuring smile before pulling you back into his arms, holding you close. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the strong, sure beat of his heart a comforting rhythm that lulled you into a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in far too long.

For a while, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped up in each other as the world outside faded away. And in that moment, you knew that no matter what came next, you wouldn’t have to face it alone. You had Logan by your side, and that was enough.

Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Logan pulled back slightly, looking down at you with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way.

“Come on,” he said softly, standing up and offering you his hand. “Let’s get you to bed. You need rest, and I’m not leavin’ you alone tonight.”

[writingsfromhome]

In Plain Sight

A/N: I wanted to play with the idea of 2 characters falling in love at different points in a story and what that would be like on each side. Idk if I fully captured what I wanted but I liked writing from harry/reader pov like this even though I kept switching partways lol.

Would love to know for inspo purposes—how do you know you’re falling?

———————————————

This is a first, you thought as you and Claire walked into the art gallery—one of your friends had a show of their unique pieces, mixing tech with traditional art. All of it was inspired by their partner, the lead in an indie pop band so to tie it all together they were playing at the gallery while the pieces hung on the walls, rippling with their programmed light and movement.

Take a posh gallery and stitch it with a rave. That’s kind of what it looked like in there.

“Guess I didn’t need to look so fancy,” Claire says in your ear. You two had spent the last half hour sorting your closets to figure out what was art-show appropriate.

“Let’s find Mimi,” you shout back.

You weave through the crowds, staying on the outskirts and spot her all the way up the front by the stage. You both agree to find her later and opt for a drink instead.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight,” Claire comments as a tall guy brushes by, eyeing the length of her with a smirk before walking away. “Maybe you will.”

“That’d be nice,” you sigh. You hated being the chronically single one of your friends but that’s just how it went. Well it went beyond that—you felt unlucky in love.

Every relationship you poured yourself into and every relationship failed, just like that.

You were unloveable, maybe. You were lonely, definitely. So you’d take the warmth of a stranger where you could get it.

“I have an idea,” Claire says. “We dance our way through the crowd, I’ll be your wingwoman and we can make our way through towards Mimi. You’re so going home with someone tonight.”

You hold your glass up in agreement, you’d learned to just go with Claire’s ideas. Somehow they never worked in your favour, but that’s what you got for having a best friend that was a smokeshow. It used to bother you, but now in your late 20s after seeing Claire go through men like she went through shoes, it didn’t matter. The guys she went for also wanted a fun time like her. You wanted someone in it for the long run.

The men who felt the pull of her magnet were never meant for you anyway.

It felt mature, to think like that.

As Claire pulls you in, you find yourself dancing with male body after male body, hands on parts of you you barely touched yourself. You feel the familiar hollowness of loneliness. It was a constant companion, and yet never made you feel any less lonely.

Across the room stand two guys, they both watch Claire throw her head back and laugh. The purple and blue lights from above dance over her skin, she looked like a muse come to life. Like she was born from this art gallery.

“Mate. She’s beautiful,” Harry, the taller of the two, comments.

“You gonna talk to her?” Dylan asks. “Because if you’re not…”

“Give me a sec,” Harry got stupidly nervous around beautiful women. Which was stupid because he interacted with them on a daily basis, but that’s probably why he was considered a bit shy by people who met him. Shy was the nice way of saying awkward.

The thing with Harry is that he grew up as a wallflower. But in his mid 20s he started earning the attention of women. Pretty women. He felt like his pot of luck had been filled and then some, and yet he only got lucky on occasion. The problem was he just didn’t know what to do with his newfound attractiveness. Even 5 years on.

“There she goes,” Dylan comments as their muse moves to the bar. “Go on.”

Harry swears under his breath but makes his beeline towards her before anyone else could swoop in.

“Hiya,” Harry slides in beside her and then curses. He should have gone for something more suave. “Can I get you something-“

“I already ordered,” she smiles and Harry confirms she’s more beautiful than any of the crazy art in this room.

“Well it’s on me.”

“Thanks,” she takes him in. He tries not to squirm or think about what impression he was making. “I’m Claire.”

“Right. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you Harry.”

“Likewise…So, erhm, you like dancing?”

She tilts her head, “I do. I was just down there.”

“I know.” Harry says. She raises a brow. Shite. “I mean like I saw you dancing. In the middle. You made it look like a fun time.”

“It is. Is dancing not fun for you?” She laughs. Her drink arrives and Harry pays for it orders for himself.

“I don’t do it a lot.” Harry taps his fingers on the bar. “I like the music part. That make you want to dance.”

She gives him that look. The look that told him he’d tipped the scales too far off to recover. Why couldn’t he just explain he made music? And dancing and making music went hand in hand. Why was that so hard to say??

“Well I’m going back in,” she announces. “Feel free to join.”

And of course he doesn’t. Because she would probably inch away from him if he did until the crowd swallowed her away.

“How’d it go? Make a good impression?” Dylan asks but Harry just downs half his drink and hopes that answers Dylan’s question. He’d made an impression alright.

Meanwhile, in the middle of the dancefloor you move to the heavy drums. This was one of your favourite songs by this group; it was on replay on your Spotify. The girl beside you grins at you and you both move in sync, shouting the lyrics. It’s more fun than you’d had with any guy here tonight.

When the band takes their break and a playlist replaces the live music, you try to find Claire. It’s surprising she doesn’t have a bloke already wrapped around her this late into the night.

“The line to the toilet is stupidly long,” she complains. “I don’t feel so good. Can we get air?”

“Of course,” you grip her arm and help her out. The night air is crisp compared to the recycled air inside. You take in a lungful.

“Hey,” Claire spots someone she knows and she moves towards them. You trail behind her as she walks up to two blokes smoking off to the side. “I never saw you dancing in there!”

The guy she’s talking to shrugs, his cheeks taking on a pinkish colour. He’s cute in a boyish way, but you reckon if he trimmed his hair and grew some scruff, he could be a lot more interesting to gaze at. A face that could hang in this art gallery, a soft pink light shimmering on the highs of his cheekbones.

His eyes clash with yours and you throw a friendly smile and make a conscious effort to join the group. You hadn’t heard what was said in the time you were admiring his face.

“I would if I hadn’t broken my foot a month ago,” the other guy says. He was a cold good-looking. Sharp features accentuated by a buzzcut. You could imagine him in an avant-garde spread of a magazine.

“Excuses!” Claire teases. She was good at this. “I was telling your friend here how fun dancing was, that he should join.”

“And he didn’t?! Harry, mate, we all know you dance.”

“Not the right setting.” He replies. Almost mumbles.

“Any setting is the right setting for dancing,” his friend says.

“Right!” Claire latches onto him, you knew her well enough she’d chosen her prey for tonight. “I feel like dancing is such a good release, any time music comes on my foot just-“

“Can’t hold it in right?” The other friend laughs. “Me too. When I’m on the tube I’m like how do I get into this without looking like a weirdo.”

Claire’s laugh crackles into the air. You smile, she was going home with him for sure.

You glance at Harry, he’s looking after her like a sad puppy. You’d seen that look too many times—dejected.

“I bet you wished you liked dancing more huh?” You tease, quiet so it doesn’t travel to the couple.

“Huh?” He looks at you like he just noticed you were standing beside him. “Oh. No?”

“Right.” Well this was awkward. “So you’re Harry. I’m y/n.”

“Oh sorry,” Claire says when she hears your name. “We’re so rude we just closed ourselves off to these two. This is y/n. and I just learned that this is Dylan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dylan smiles at you. “Harry are you okay if we split?”

Claire looks at you, asking the same question with her eyes. You nod, and she smiles at you gratefully. Her eyes widen and she motions subtly with her head to Harry. You smile like it was a good idea but you know he wasn’t an option; he was one of Claire’s castaways. But she was too oblivious for that.

“Then there were two,” you joke, reaching for the familiar line. “Are you going back in?”

“In there?” He shakes his head. “We already said our goodbyes. I might just head home.”

“Oh okay. Did you know the artist?”

“I don’t. Dylan’s cousin is the lead singer in the band? We came by to support the show.”

“That’s nice.” You respond back even though he didn’t return the question. “I’ve worked with the artist actually—Jemima.”

“Cool. I take it you’re an artist yourself?” He asks, finally looking at you instead of around you.

“Yep. I do photography.”

A group of people exit the show and their noise drowns out whatever Harry was about to say. Without warning, like a valve opened, your chest fills with the ache of a feeling.

What am I doing here, you ask yourself. You’d come by to support Mimi, but you didn’t owe this guy anything. You should go home, do your usual routine of staring at the ceiling, hearing Claire come in late, try to drift to sleep, and then finally doing so.

Sometimes being with others felt more lonely than being alone.

“Anyway, it was nice meeting you Harry. I’m gonna head home.”

“Oh.” He seems surprised. “You’re leaving for home?”

“Well, yeah?” You shrug. “I’ve made my rounds, danced enough to need a gallon of water. My feet are telling me to go home.”

“You ladies talk about dancing and I feel like I missed out,” he laughs but it comes off kind of awkward and shy. It’s endearing.

You change your mind then—you imagine posing him at 3/4 angle and snapping him from below. Maybe a shot looking through his lashes. Something mysterious yet welcoming. The longer you got to know him, the more he shifted.

“Does that mean you want to go back in again?” You ask.

“Fuck it sure. If you come too. I don’t want to dance alone.”

“Why not? Have you never?”

“Danced alone?” He holds the door open for you and you go in. His energy seems to have shifted. He’s less awkward, more relaxed, but it still feels like you don’t have his full attention. Or maybe that was just your insecurities projected onto a beautiful man.

“I dare you,” you have to tip toe for him to hear you once you’re back in. You use both your hands on his back and guide/push him through the crowd. When you let go you open your arms wide.

He shakes his head and tries to grab your hands but you back away. “Dance!” You shout. “Let’s see.”

He laughs, his head weighing backwards like the ceiling could grant him some confidence, the length of his neck glistening with something you wanted to taste.

When he looks at you again you chant to dance and he shrugs away his shyness. Before you know it he’s moving until he’s actually in sync with the beat. You try not to be a creep, sneaking your phone out. He was a complete stranger but god the photo opportunity was perfect.

You manage two before he turns and finds you in the crowd again. He pulls you closer to him, nearly chest to chest.

“I should be a lot more drunk to be doing this.” He says in your ear. Goosebumps erupt down your arms.

Take it easy.

The two of you end up dancing for a few songs, laughing at new moves you put on. It becomes a contest to do a silly but serious move and you’re in stitches by the time the two of you stumble out.

“Jeez that was fun,” you lean against the brick fence a few buildings down. You were sweaty and out of breath, your body demanding hydration now.

“I have not done something like that in years. It was nice.” He grins. It feels like a secret. “Thank you for pushing me in.”

You felt like you should be thanking him, for the fun and for making you feel included tonight. But of course he ruins it when he opens his mouth next.

“You can tell your friend Claire I ended up dancing. It was a proper good time.”

“Yeah,” you fake a smile, the aching wound reawakening in your chest. “Maybe I will. I’m headed that way though, I’ll see you around Harry.”

His face falls for a moment, you can see him try to figure out asking you to stay but wondering why you’d gone so cold. You hated how a good looking man could fool you into thinking he could be smart. But this one was as daft as they came.

You wave and turn towards the direction of your station, feeling a bitter chill that wasn’t coming from the weather.

***

The next time you see Harry is about a month later. Claire had been seeing Dylan—they hadn’t labelled it according to her so it was still casual. But she felt good about it because he was having a thing at his flat and he’d invited her. So you join Claire since he’d extended the invitation.

“Maybe you’ll see his friend Harry.” She sings as you turn the corner to his street.

“I already told you nothing happened that night.”

“Maybe because you went home after having a marvellous dance-off with him!”

“He kinda got like soggy bread!” You complain. “If it weren’t for me the conversation would have gone stale.”

“Same here. When he spoke to me I mean,” Claire laughs. “Dylan did say he’s a bit shy. Just give him another chance.”

“He’s not interested-“

“You’re so harsh on yourself. Of course he would be! He’d be lucky to be with you…”

You let Claire launch into her tirade. Although you appreciated it, it ignored the fact that someone could just not be interested in you. Especially after fancying your friend first.

Dylan’s flat ends up being nicer than you thought, a lot of windows and fancy tech things around.

“Just call her,” you and Claire walk up to Dylan, Harry, and another guy. Dylan seems to be lecturing Harry on something.

“Call who?” Claire asks.

“Hey,” Dylan kisses her hello. “This girl Harry went to uni with. He bumped into her when she was walking her dog. Harry thinks they hit it off, but he refuses to call her!”

“Why not?!” You and Claire ask. Further proof he wasn’t into you.

“Well I friended her on Instagram and she’s just ignored it!” Harry explains.

“So? Maybe she doesn’t use instagram.” Claire offers.

“She does. I had Dylan request too and she accepted his.”

“Oh?” You notice the pitch change in Claire but nobody else does of course.

“I unfollowed her after,” Dylan says. Or maybe he did hear the change. Smart man.

The friends gathered in the room shift and flow around each other, you lose Claire pretty quickly after the hour mark like you usually did. Eventually it’s you and Harry again, sitting on the couch.

Just like soggy bread, he’s mostly silent with beer in his hand. You get tired of the silence so eventually you slide closer to him.

“So what’s with the girl from uni? Do you have history?”

“Huh?” He seems startled out of his thoughts. “Oh. Her. No we had a few classes, saw her at parties that sort of thing.”

“But it seemed promising when you saw her recently?”

“I think so?”

Poor Harry, he couldn’t even tell the difference.

“What about her number? Or try DM-ing her.”

“I don’t wanna be desperate.”

“Fine,” you think. “Nevermind. She’s probably not into you.”

“But she kept touching my arm,” Harry recalls. “Why would she touch me if she wasn’t interested?”

You look at his physique. It wasn’t anything extraordinary but you can see the temptation to touch his arms.

Meanwhile Harry watches you eye him. It was kind of funny to him. He didn’t know why Claire’s best friend always remained at the end of the night but she was easy to talk to so he didn’t mind. Better than pretending to be interested in whatever Dylan’s tech-bros were talking about.

He hadn’t actually seen Dylan in a while. Probably off with Claire, he thinks with a sigh.

“Yeah nevermind.” Harry hears you say. It’s then he realized he’d tuned you out while his brain had been running. And you had taken his sigh as a response to what you were explaining.

The conversation falls flat after that. And when Harry goes for another drink you decline, deciding it was time to head home.

Surprisingly, Harry says he could use the time away and walks you to the station. Claire was spending the night but mostly he just wanted out of the flat. Walking you a few blocks away was a good enough excuse.

***

A few weeks go by before you find yourself alone with Harry again. It was someone’s birthday, or two people’s. You forgot what exactly was the excuse you took to get out of the house. All you had to know was there were people and an open bar.

Again, you started off in a group but couples drifted away until the two of you remained. You had been standing in Harry’s blind spot so when the last couple leaves, he notices it was you.

“Hey.” Harry says to you but his eyes look out into the room, even his body faces the crowd’s direction. He should have known you were here after seeing Claire cozy up with Dylan.

It should make you feel shittier but you’re almost used to it. After a week of working from home hunched over your table editing photos for yesterday’s deadline you would take any social interaction. No matter how stale. Or soggy.

“Hey!” You elbow him so he looks at you at least. “It's been a while hasn’t it? How’s life treating you these days?”

“Yeah, it's fine.”

“Cool, yeah. Any exciting projects keeping you busy lately or…?”

“Not really. Just the usual keeping me busy right now. Same old routine y’know.”

“Right, right.” You could feel him slip away again. “Yeah. Work can be a drag. I’m pretty sure I gave myself scoliosis being hunched over for 10 hours a day this week. I’d rather fold laundry than do that again, and you probably don’t know this, but I absolute hate folding laundry. But yeah that’s my thrilling life. Anything you've been doing in your free time?”

“Nah. Just trying to stay on top of work.”

“Right.” He was the busiest man on earth apparently. “So everyone at the party’s talking about the new Love Island season. You watch it?”

“Not really into TV these days. Busy with work and all that?”

“Right. You mentioned. I did too.” You nod. “I had a lot of deadlines this week so very busy too. Busy busy. I actually got so stir-crazy I started talking to my plants? It felt silly, but my nan was saying it does help them grow so…it’s a win-win. Or maybe it’s the isolation makes you appreciate the little things…”

“Right.” Harry nods along. He’s looked at you twice this whole time. Well, glanced was more like it. And suddenly you want to scream because it was utterly unfair that you only knew him at any of these godforsaken parties. And he never wanted to talk to you, or cared to.

You’d seen him with Dylan, even with Claire! He was more animated and interested then, even though he stammered through half of it. Was there something wrong with you that put you in gray-scale in this crowd of colourful people?

You’re not Claire, the stupid voice in your head reminds you.

I didn’t need to be Claire, you remind yourself.

“So what about that girl you fancied?” You try to ask him something he might be interested in; you hated how desperate you were getting for company. “From uni? Anything come of that?”

“What?” He finally looks at you. “Oh her. No she uhm. Well embarrassing but she has a bloke. I misread the whole thing-“

“You said she was all touchy!”

“Yeah she was wasn’t she?” He scratches his head. “I dunno, i suppose she’s always been like that. So yeah, nothing happened there.”

He chuckles like he’s embarrassed, yet the smile brightens his face. It makes you a little more upset and you don’t know why.

“Maybe you dodged a bullet. Anyway. I’m gonna make some rounds. I’ll catch you around-“

“What?” He actually turns to you now. “Why?”

“What?!”

“Why you leaving?”

“I’m not leaving. I’m just doing a circle. And getting another drink.”

“Oh,” his shoulders drop a little. You’re confused, because he didn’t seem interested in having you around at all until you were leaving. “Good.”

“I didn’t think you’d miss me if I was gone with your half-ass answers.” You say before you can think. He looks a little stupefied.

“Half-ass?”

“Or were you just being a whole ass?”

“Huh?” He closes the gap between you again. “I was listening to what you were talking about.”

“Yeah. Just listening. It felt like having a conversation with paint while it dried.”

“I’d think that’s better than houseplants?”

You’re a bit stunned—he had been listening. But still. He wasn’t keeping up conversation.

“Now see if you made a joke about it back then it would have been funny. A back-and-forth conversation? Now it’s just a desperate attempt to keep me around. I don’t know what for.”

“It’s not desperate,” he argues. “I didn’t realize you’re so needy.”

You raise a brow, “I am not needy.”

“I think you are,” he grins and with his full attention on you and that stupidly smarmy grin you feel that pull again. Too bad it was just one-sided.

“I’m not. I’ll prove it by leaving your presence for good tonight. See you next time Harry.”

“Don’t be like that,” he calls after you. “And I like to keep you around because I thought we were friends!”

Your stride falters as you’re walking away. You weren’t expecting him to say that.

But wasn’t he just friends because both your friends were dating each other?

What are you even doing here with these people, the thought comes back to you again. The same one that always floated through your mind being in these sorts of places.

If Claire wasn’t dating Dylan you wouldn’t even be here. God, you needed to hang out with friends other than Claire.

***

You unwrap the belt that ties your coat closed and drop it all to the floor. Well not all, your cameras get let down gently.

Your shoulders ached. And your back and your head and your arms. Jeez.

You had a wedding gig that was paying most of this month’s rent, so you had to take it. The only thing is your job started at 6am and ended at 8pm. That was more than half a day and you were spent.

“Hey you’re home!” Claire waves at you as you pass her. She has her phone held out in front of her face, you hear Dylan’s voice on the other end.

“Is that yn? Hii!”

“Hi,” you croak to Dylan. Claire juts her lip out at the sight of you.

“I’ve already done dinner,” she says over the top of the screen. “I’m going out with Dylan and some friends later you wanna come?”

You shake your head. She knows what a low battery yn looked like.

“Okay fine. Leftovers are in the fridge for you.”

“God I love you,” you tell her as you close your bedroom door behind you and collapse into bed.

You liked it when Claire was happy in a relationship, or whatever she called them, but when she wasn’t these were the nights she’d follow you into your room after a big shoot and ask about the details. And you’d complain about the pushy customers eventually moving to how beautiful everything was. She was usually the first person to see your raw images.

But tonight while she talks to Dylan you turn on your humidifier and let the low hushing noise lull you into a relaxing trance. You remember that you only had yourself. That you had to learn to be happy with that, lonely or not.

***

Claire promised to do kitchen duty for the whole week if you came out to Jemima’s partner’s gig. And you couldn’t deny a week of no dishes or meal prep, so you drag your ass out the door despite riding on 4 hours of sleep for the last few nights. But you met your deadline this afternoon so this was as good of a celebration as any. Even if it was a Thursday night.

“So you and Dylan are getting serious huh?” You ask Claire on the tube over.

“Kinda?”

“It’s been over 3 months. Half the time you were with you know who.”

You-know-who, her one relationship that actually meant something to her. Crashed and burned two years ago.

“No,” she blushes. “It’s just, he’s pretty great but we don’t really talk about labels.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Guys always run when you do.”

Do you want that sort of guy, you want to ask. Instead you shrug, “let them.”

She rolls her eyes, accustomed to your biting remarks around men.

The gig is electrifying as soon as you arrive. It gets you moving and your sedentary body remembers it has more flex in it than just your wrist. You’re alive and sweaty a few hours later, happy that you went.

“Hey,” Claire says when you drift back to her. “Dylan said the drummer’s inviting some friends to the place she’s staying at. Wanna come?”

“Yeah! Let’s go!” You were high on just being out and around people, the loneliness had been kept at bay, and you didn’t want to ruin that by going home just yet.

The drummer’s place is the bottom floor of a quaint house near Portobello. Most people are already there by the time you trail in behind Claire and Dylan.

“Look there’s Harry!” Claire shouts, pointing to the figure that was become too familiar to you. He’s listening intently to the couple in front of him. Nice to know he could do that.

You flash her a thumbs up. But her and Dylan start walking towards them. Ugh!

You eye the room, thinking you could make a run-in with alcohol instead of Harry but he looks up at the approaching couple and catches your eye. He waves.

Whatever.

The four of you eventually find a quieter room, mostly because there was a hookah circle going on and everyone there was talking in hushed voices. A stark contrast to the volume in the den.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you here.” Harry says when the two of you find yourselves alone again.

“Why not?”

“You didn’t show the last couple times we all hung out. I thought you were tired of us.”

“Maybe I am.” You raise your brow. “Did you miss me?”

“Hey!” Dylan appears in front of you two again before he could answer. “Nish is here, I heard.”

“Nish?” Harry becomes all fidgety.

“Who’s Nish?” You have to ask.

“Someone we know,” Dylan says. You look for Claire and she’s making her way to you. But before she gets there another body steps towards your group.

“Hi! Harry look at you—and Dylan, is it just me or you look more hideous than last time?” The girl cuts in and you take a step back instinctively. The group felt overcrowded.

You watch the two boys hug the new girl, Nish you assume, in greeting.

Claire approaches the group with curiosity.

Introductions are made and Dylan offers to show Nish the drinks.

Then there were three.

“She’s pretty,” you comment. You know Harry agrees what with how much he resembled a ruler.

“Yeah,” he nods stiffly.

“So were you at the gig Harry?” Claire changes the subject. “It was amazing.”

“Yeah! I was there with Dylan and some friends. Surprised I didn’t see you two.”

“Were you dancing?” Claire teases.

“I was,” he blushes. He glances at you. You recall that first night when the two of you had a lot of fun just dancing. “Maybe that’s why I missed you guys.”

You give a small smile at the in-joke. He looks back to Claire.

You all talk about the gig, and then a little about someone similar Harry was working with.

Eventually Claire wonders aloud where Dylan had gotten to and leaves.

And then there were two.

“I get this feeling something’s going to happen,” you say.

“What do you mean?” Harry asks.

You shrug, you didn’t quite know. The whole night was moving so fast, especially after the gig. You just had a sense you missed something and it was bothering you.

“Have you got a drink yet?” Harry asks.

“No, maybe I should.”

“Me too. I’m done mine. I think I want another.”

As you walk down the hall to where it might logically be, you hear a shout. Your stomach drops. Was this it?

“I’m sorry wait!” Someone shouts over the noise. The overall noise dies down a bit quieter. “It’s not what it-“

“Fuck off! I’m done!”

“Shite,” you recognized Claire’s voice anywhere. You rush past Harry and towards the voices.

You find Dylan shirtless and holding it against his chest. Nish is a little ways behind him, hair a lot messier than when you last saw her. Buttons undone on her dress.

You notice the lipstick on Dylan’s neck. A colour Claire would never wear.

Everything snaps into place.

You rush to Claire and try to comfort her but she hurls more insults towards Dylan over your shoulder. You manage to get her out of his sight and she fights you too, she was seething with anger.

“He’s a dick!” She screams. “Why did I think he was going to be any different oh my god! I shouldn’t have let him go alone with her, what was I thinking? Yn! Why didn’t you stop me!”

You knew it was all rhetorical. Claire rarely took romantic advice from you.

“He tried to say we weren’t even a couple I-“ her voice catches and then comes the tears. You pull her in, familiar with the routine. Next would be feeling sorry for herself, then the anger again, then telling you she needed to be alone. Then a few hours would pass before she crawled back to needing comfort again.

And it happens just so.

“I don’t need a mother right now!” Claire says as you convince her to stay with you. To head home. “I just need to clear my head! I’m sorry okay I just want to be alone!”

And you let her go.

And now you had to kill time.

You find a beer and down it. Someone nearby asks you what the drama was about and you strike up a conversation that ends in them trying to kiss you. Ew.

You wander until you find Harry again. He’s surprised you’re still here. Asks where Claire was but as you respond one of the girls from the band recognizes Harry—you’re pretty sure her name is Kate. Soon enough you’re sidelined while they talk about something you knew nothing about.

Well fuck him too, you think miserably.

You grab one of the few remaining cans and head to the back of the house. Past open doors and closed doors. The closed door intrigues you at the end of the hall.

The doorknob is stuck so you wiggle it. Probably locked.

You were tired. God, you were tired of it all.

In a moment of anger you bang your shoulder against the door and magically it opens.

It wasn’t locked, just stuck due to age.

Same, you think.

Inside is the smallest room you’ve ever seen. The size of 1.5 closets. There looks like a childs bed, the walls are covered in posters, and there’s a small set of drawers with a guitar resting on top. It’s cramped but cozy, something about it feels familiar.

You step inside and close the door.

Down goes another beer.

You hope the person who owned the room didn’t mind you crashing it. You lay in bed and let out a big sigh. And then another. It felt good. Cleansing.

You listen to the noises outside, people laughing and talking. You think about Claire. About yourself. All of your several issues combined. The dull ache of loneliness starts in your ribcage and spreads out.

The door handle rattles a few times but eventually you realize nobody’s angry enough to smash it open like you. Most people assumed it’s locked and leave.

You’re taken by surprise then the door does creak open a smidge.

Distant light travels through to paint a multi-coloured line across the floor and over the bed. You lift your fingers to touch it but it feels like everything else.

“Of course you’re in here; I wondered where you went to.” Harry reveals his face by opening the door wider, poking his head in. It looks like it’s floating and the image almost makes you laugh. Almost.

“Why?” You ask in your most disinterested voice.

He takes the question, despite it dripping with apathy, as an invitation. The door remains opened a crack, now just with Harry on the inside.

“Because you disappeared.”

“You started talking to Kate so I made my exit. Did she go home?”

“No.” He inches closer after closing the door. You have no idea how he knew exactly where you were and how to get in. With the door closed it’s not so dark that you can’t make out his figure. But he’s a shadow in the dark.

“Can you sit or something? It’s kind of creepy having you hover like that in the dark.”

“Sorry,” he laughs and again, he overextends the invitation and lays parallel to you. He’s close, with the bed being so small. Your ache spreads. “Kate’s dancing with another bloke.”

“Poor Harry.” You mock. “Every pretty lady wants to dance with someone else.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I have this special ability to read between the lines.”

“Well my specialty is reading between the sheets.”

The comment lands like a third person on the bed. It’s a withering creature a cross between a baby and a calf. He scoops it off with, “sorry. I really don’t know where that came from.”

You laugh. It was so silly for something so bold to come out of his mouth.

“It’s fine. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be that bold before. Usually I just watch you fumble around and finish up thoughts inside your head instead of out loud-“

“I do do that don’t I?”

“You said do do,” you giggle.

“Very mature.”

“Very manure.” Your giggles turn into a laugh, something’s cracked inside of you and it feels funnier than it probably is.

Harry nudges you with his elbow and it silences your laugh. It’s abrupt, and he notices. “Why’d you come in here anyway?” He asks. “I thought you’d be with Claire.”

“Were you looking for her? You could be with Claire now y’know,” you say. Some part of you knew you’re tipsy and you should shut up but in the darkness your cutting words feel blunted.

“What’s that mean?”

“Dylan the dick—that’s his new nickname just fyi. He fumbled the bag. She’s free for the taking now.”

“I feel like this violates some sort of girl-code. Shouldn’t you be warning me away?”

You scoff, “Harry don’t be coy. Everyone knows you tried to get together that first night we all met. You always look at her like a lost puppy.”

“I don’t.”

“Do so.”

“What’s it to you?“

You shrug. He’s close enough to feel it.

You were upset tonight. Angry. Angry at Dylan for being another a-hole. Angry at Claire for putting yet another man on a pedestal with all his potential he could never reach. They hadn’t labelled themselves for 3 months, what did she expect would happen?

Mostly you were upset at yourself. Because a part of you watched Claire put herself out there over and over, and you were upset that you couldn’t do the same. That your shallow bruises compares to Claire’s gashes had kept you locked up in your bedroom.

You admit it to yourself then: you kind of liked Harry. And you totally and absolutely hated it.

Because you watched him watch Claire, fumble his words with every woman you catch him with, push him away just so you don’t potentially get hurt. A part of you knows he wouldn’t like you like that. He treats you like you’re part of the furniture half the time. He’s given no indication of the sort. And you just weren’t the kind of girl to leave a confession like that hanging. You didn’t want a public unrequited crush.

It comes again. The wave of loneliness, the feeling that nobody ever has or ever will understand you. That you were an island with no dock, a house with no door. You were unknowable, and unforgettable.

“Why don’t I ever hear about your relationship exploits?” Harry suddenly asks. You forgot he was there and you startle. “Sorry were you falling asleep?”

“No.” You answer. “And because…because I’m not showy about that sort of thing. And it also doesn’t happen as often as you or Claire or Dylan the dick.”

“Wow the name’s really gonna stay.”

“Mhm.”

“Do you have a boyfriend now?”

“Nope.”

“What’s your last actual relationship?”

“A long time ago.”

“Me too.” He sighs. “My last proper girlfriend was in my early 20s. She moved city. We broke up after that, long-distance is hard. I feel like every year I age, I get worse at talking to women.”

“I can confirm.”

“Well not you. You’re easy to talk to.”

“Thanks,” you say dryly.

“Not like that.” He backtracks, sitting up as if you could see his face. “No not like that. You’re…nice. To look at. I don’t mean that I don’t see you as a women—because you are. I see that I uhm-“

“I think you’ll have to take back your previous statement.”

His head falls back on his pillow and he laughs, it sounds like he’s choking on air a little.

“Jeez, what was that?” He asks once he pulls himself together.

“Beats me,” you say with a smirk.

“It gets pretty lonely though right.”

You let his statement sit in the dark. You don’t agree or disagree. Doing so felt like admitting something vulnerable.

“Or maybe that’s just me.” He says after a while. “Maybe you have a great life and don’t fall in love with every other person you meet.”

“Do you actually?” Your interest was piqued.

“I can’t help it. I’m a musician, I just notice something small about them and suddenly a song is being written about them in my head without even realizing. So I just fall in love with a lot of random people. And I uhm, I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that to anyone!”

It was the dark. It was easier to be honest in it. No wonder churches kept their confessions in darkened corners.

You think about all the regular people you fall in love with every time you lift your camera to your face. How every person made you ache; there were whole worlds going on inside of them and you saw it all through the lens.

You wonder briefly if Harry ever wrote a song about you in his head but squash it. He barely took the time to look at you, definitely not long enough to notice you like you did him.

“Here’s my confession—same.” You try for the confession-in-the-dark thing. To make him feel better. “At least when I’m taking photos or making videos. Some people get camera shy but after talking to them they loosen up and getting to capture their whole essence in a picture or a video I just…makes me fall in love too. I like to imagine what everyone would be like in front of a camera. I dunno.”

“What a pair we make.” Harry reaches out and his hand brushes yours. You pull away, hating yourself while you do.

He clears his throat when you reject his bid to be closer, you feel his hand slide back to himself.

Harry didn’t know why sometimes it felt like you hated him and other times like you were friends. He just figured he didn’t understand women. On any spectrum.

“Y/n,” your name is loaded in the dark. You wait for him to continue but the silence stretches out.

“What?” You finally ask.

You feel the bed shift and move under you. He was turning. You feel his gaze on you. You turn your head to look back and he’s inches away. Alarms blare in your head, abort abort! But even in the darkness his eyes find some light to reflect.

Harry’s thinking the same thing about you. Somehow it’s dark but when you turn your head to look at him, your eyes twinkle with what little moonlight streams in from the window. Or maybe that was the streetlights. Either way, Harry wonders why it felt like this was the first time he’s ever seen you. How ironic that it’s in the dark too.

It happens without realizing, his mind starts to string together something about the girl laying in his bed shrouded in darkness, with light in her eyes. A girl with secrets-

The bed vibrates.

“Oh,” you turn away and take the intimate moment with you. You feel around and find your phone beside you. Claire’s face lights up the screen.

“Claire,” you sit up.

“I’m ready to go home,” Claire sniffles on the other end. “Where are you?”

“At the party. You’re still at the party right?”

“I’m just outside. I got some chips but I couldn’t find you so I finished them all.”

You laugh, “Lie. I know how you feel about sharing chips don’t worry.”

Harry watches you have this conversation. Your laugh finds its way right into his chest. He feels warm.

You look at him and hold your finger up, shimming off the foot of the bed.

“You bought two!?” You ask after Claire sniffles about how much she emotionally ate tonight.

“It’s your fault! I ate two because I couldn’t find you and they were getting cold.”

“Well I’m coming outside to save you now.”

You put the phone down and look back at Harry. He’s sat up in the bed and staring at you.

“I gotta go weirdo.”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Well…I dunno if we’ll see each other as much now that-“

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“So good luck? Until next time?” You laugh, but an awkwardness starts to creep in as Harry stays unresponsive and staring on the bed. “Uhm. Okay?? Bye…”

You leave Harry as he is. Did he get all weird because Claire was on the phone? Ugh. What a liar, you think. He was still just as obsessed with her.

You feel a little bad for goading him about it earlier but it doesn’t linger long. When you see Claire you gather her up in your arms and then the two of you set off arm-in-arm back to your small flat together.

***

“So what’s happening with Kate?” Dylan asks. Harry and him are sat at the pub a few weeks later, he’s already moved on from Claire to the girl on his arm. He didn’t know how his friend did it, if Harry had a girl like Claire he wouldn’t treat her like she was disposable.

But thinking of Claire didn’t have that same spark anymore. When he thought about it, she was beautiful and spirited, the kind of woman musicians like him write songs about. But there was someone else on his mind, the kind of woman someone could spend their whole career trying to compartmentalize into songs. Songs turning into albums. Only to find nothing beats her living spirit.

How could he be so dumb, he’d been beating himself up since that night in the dark. He’d had 3 months of being around her and he never actually looked at her. Always took her for granted. God, even that first night together had been the most fun Harry had had in ages. But he’d just turned her into a friend by proximity.

But weeks gone without her, knowing there was only pure chance of bumping into her, had made Harry a regretful heart.

“Hello? Did you scare her off?” Dylan asks.

“Nah. She’s not my type.” Harry responds.

“Harry I should set you up with one of my mates. She’d be perfect for you. She’s a teacher and…”

Harry listens to Dylan’s new girl describe a friend Harry couldn’t be arsed to go out with. All because he wanted something he couldn’t have anymore.

***

Harry runs into Claire at a pub a week later. His hopes soar as high as the sky when he thinks y/n might be here.

“Hi! Claire!” Harry awkwardly stops her as she walks past the bar where he sits. He was waiting for a few of his mates to watch the football match with. Dylan was luckily out of town today, otherwise this pub would have it’s roof blown off.

“Oh Harry hi,” she’s friendly. Harry didn’t think she’d be friendly towards him. She leans in for a hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Good! Ehm good yeah just making more music and stuff. You?”

“Better,” she rolls her eyes. “How’s Dylan the-“

“I’d rather not be in the middle. If that’s alright.” Harry says before he can think. He knew what his friend was, he didn’t want to talk about him.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Watching the game?”

“Sorta. My family’s down and I know y/n hates the ruckus my brothers make watching the game at home so I’m sticking them here.”

“Oh y/n’s not here?” Harry feels his hope evaporating.

“No. What’s the deal with you and her anyway? Why didn’t you ever…?”

“Y/n?”

“Yeah!”

“She’s not interested in me,” Harry laughs. He was also blind but he doesn’t say that.

“I mean, maybe not crazily but if you asked she would have said yes. She didn’t hate you.”

“Is that the standard now?” Harry jokes.

“It is with her,” she smiles with a look in her eye like there was more there. But of course, Harry doesn’t push.

“I…I dunno. I never thought she would be interested. It never occurred to me.”

“You’re such a guy,” she scolds. “You have anyone now or you’re still regularly putting your foot in your mouth?”

Harry flushes. “I don’t. And I don’t put my foot in my mouth.”

She rolls her eyes but the smile stays on her face. “Anyway, I’m grabbing the beers. I’ll talk to you later?”

Harry nods, suddenly unable to just ask for y/n’s number. Anything.

But as she walks away he realizes he’d had a whole conversation with Claire without overthinking or being a fumbling idiot once.

He thinks back, to the last couple weeks. He realizes it’s been a while since he’s done it.

Was I finally turning a corner, Harry thinks.

***

You had a gig today filming at a studio. Some indie duo but they were gaining popularity on Tiktok and wanted some bts footage of working in the studio for an upcoming music video. You weren’t going to ask questions. It paid decent money so you said yes.

You pull into the parking lot, grateful that Claire had a car you could borrow. It helped lugging around your equipment for videoshoots. Today it was just you as your PA was out sick. It wasn’t supposed to be a lot of angles so you figured it would be okay.

You consider the day a win by the time you pack up. The group were much younger than you but very outgoing and it made for a lot of funny and sweet footage. They also had amazing voices, you told them they were going on your playlists once you got home.

Your right hand goes weightless as you walk with your bags down the hall. You turn just as the helper speaks up.

“Looked like you could use a hand.”

“Harry I…what a surprise hi!” Your mood brightens at the sight of him, despite everything.

“Hi,” he shifts the bag in his hand to return your hug. His body is solid and warm. It made no sense but you missed something about him. “How was your shoot?”

“Really good! I was shooting a…wait how did you know?”

“I saw you in there?”

“I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah I um-“

“You had nothing to do with this right?”

“And if I did?” He meets your eye and you feel out of breath with whatever speaks through them. What was up with that?

“Uhmm I owe you a thank you!?!”

Harry offers a small smile, “I was looking at your work a couple weeks back. You’re really good. I just threw your name out to a few managers if they were looking for someone…”

Harry looks different with this new information. Or maybe this was a Harry that was actually paying attention to you, it was both intimidating and touching.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks.

“No! No, thank you I…that’s…I’m grateful. Thank you. Can I get you a drink to say thanks?”

“Okay cuz your face was all scrunched up. I thought you were pissed.” He laughs. “And I have some things to finish up-“

“Oh right, you’re probably busy-“

“No no I would love to. Get drinks. With you.” Harry grows more awkward as the air between you crackles with something electric. Maybe, he thought, this is what happens when two people are on the same wavelength.

“Ok. Well when do you finish?”

Harry doesn’t quite hear your question. His head feels flooded with sand and he can’t stop looking at you, right in front of him finally. Why did he never notice your eyes and the way they take him in, your sweetness, the easygoing tilt of your head, or how how disarming your smile was. He chalked it up to being an idiot.

“Wait what-“ he laughs, feeling the blood flush his face. He was doing that thing again, where his brain stopped thinking in the attention of a pretty girl. “What’d you ask?”

“When you finish?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy yourself. You can feel the element of nervousness from him and it made this casual moment feel more intense.

“Maybe half hour?” Harry scratches his nose. “Are you heading somewhere now? You can hang out with me and we can go together?”

You thought about getting to see him work, it sounded promising. “Sure!”

Harry wipes his palm on his jeans and walks ahead, leading you down the hall and to the right. He opens it to a recording studio, gesturing to the chairs and taking the seat behind all the buttons. You set your things down and stand by the panel, curious what each of the controls did.

Harry glances up at you and you shoot a smile, about to ask if it was okay you watch, but he goes back to work just as quickly.

He was working on something that sounded like a pop song. You try to make out all the layers on the software he was using, it kind of looked the same when you edited a video. But there’s too many layers to distinguish.

Eventually you sit back down, admiring Harry in his element. Your mind drifts, and you wonder if everything that happened out in the hallway was a figment of your imagination or Harry was being weird with you. Because the thing about Harry being weird meant he was in his head about one thing.

You wonder, like you did every so often, what could have happened that night in the dark the last time you saw him if Claire hadn’t called. Harry had looked at you like he had just met you—with a good curiosity.

But then again, this was the same Harry that probably looked at Claire with the same look.

“Done.” Harry turns in his swivel chair with a grin an hour or so later.

“Great!” You shake off your thoughts and set your laptop down.

“Did you want to leave your things here?”

“I have a car I can put them in?”

“The place I was gonna take you to isn’t that far from here.”

So you agree, and leave your equipment in the studio. The two of you walk out, talking about what he was working on. He asks you about your shoot today and the conversation carries you to the pub he had picked out.

Conversation starts to fizzle out as you tuck into your booth seat.

“What you guys getting today?” The waitress appears almost instantly, it startles you.

You look at the menu and to her. She’s got a beautiful face, round cheeks framed by micro bangs and night-black eyebrows that made her look permanently unimpressed. And yet her rosy cheeks and button nose were a friendly addition to the severity of the rest of her.

You glance at Harry, ready for him to be a bumbling idiot around her. He glances at you from the menu when he senses you looking over and for a second you feel the loneliness creep in. Despite the warm smile he sends your way.

“Can we get a few more minutes?” Harry asks her. She pockets her things without another word and walks away.

“What’s good here?” You ask to fill the silence.

The two of you go over the menu and by the time the waitress returns you’re ready. You watch Harry ask her questions and place the order, confident and direct. His eyes slide to yours every so often and each time they do you feel your resolve slip a little more.

“What’s changed then Harry?” You tease when she leaves. You tease, but you seriously want to know. “I thought you’d be a puddle of words around a woman that gorgeous.”

“Her?” Harry glances back. “I guess. I’m not such a mess.”

“Oh you so are.” You laugh. “You’re all ums and uhs.”

“I’m…fine. I’m not so bad anymore!”

“Yeah so? What happened?”

He looks at you with such a serious look that your smile dies down.

“Drinks,” the waitress places them down on the table, saving the both of you from whatever would have come next.

“Thanks,” you tell her and pull the distraction towards you.

“Let’s just say,” Harry says after she leaves. “I gained some perspective.”

You raise an eyebrow, not wanting to push it any more. “Okay.”

For the first time in a while, your nerves overtake the anxious discomfort you usually lived with. Something was definitely happening here—you weren’t hallucinating. But you weren’t sure where it was going, and if you wanted it.

Of course you want it, stop convincing yourself otherwise, you tell yourself.

Why did vulnerability feel like facing mount everest in just your pjs.

“I bumped into Claire a few weeks ago, she seems to be doing well.” Harry says and you can’t help but overanalyze for a heartbeat. He’d brought Claire up after all.

“Oh she didn’t mention,” you reply.

“She was with her family? Said you kicked them out of the flat-“

“Oh!” You laugh. “Yeah her brothers get stupidly rowdy when the football’s on. This one time I had an interview early the next morning and—this was before I knew how loud they could get. And I was up. Until 2am nearly to tears! Finally I snapped, they call it the y/n-geddon. Then of course I felt so bad I couldn’t sleep for another two hours. Now we just draw boundaries.”

Harry laughs at your story. “Sounds scary. Now it makes sense though.”

“Better for everyone,” you laugh. “But yeah. Claire’s been good, it was nice her family was down she’s always more herself when they do.”

Your food arrives and you put the conversation on pause as you tuck in.

“How about you?” Harry asks. “Your family?”

You tell him about your family and the conversation moves on to moving out, living in the city. It branches out naturally like a tree, and both of you relax into each other’s company.

It was really nice, you admit to yourself. It felt like talking to an actual person rather than the shell of someone. Which is how it felt like talking to Harry in the past. The only soggy bread was the butty dipped in your soup.

You pay, as you insist it was to thank him for the help. It’s cooler out when you had back to the studio for your things and there’s more people out; those free of their office jobs and roaming for a drink to relax into.

The studio’s empty and you head towards your bags, asking Harry if he was heading home too.

“Yeah, I’ve been here since 6 so I think I’m ready to go home.”

“Shite that’s early!”

“Deadlines!” He sighs. “What can ya do.”

“Can I give you a ride somewhere at least?”

“If you’re going in the direction of the station I’ll hop in.”

“Yeah sure!”

“Good thing you have a car with all that equipment.”

“Yeah my thoughts this morning. But that reminds me of all the footage I have to edit.” You say. “Thanks to you.”

“Anytime. Anytime y/n. I’m gonna keep whispering your name around. You’ll be fully booked soon just watch and see.”

“You don’t have to,” you set your things back on the ground. It didn’t seem like Harry was in a hurry to get out.

“I want to,” he replies seriously. The room feels smaller than it did seconds ago, or maybe the awareness of Harry’s proximity tightened the space between you.

“Thanks,” you try to meet his eye as you say it but it’s hard to. His gaze strips away any doubt you had; his feelings are written all over his face. All you could think was: Holy Fuck what is this

“It’s my pleasure,” he says which just sucks any remaining oxygen out of the room.

When you’re on autopilot you don’t even think, you just go through the motions. That’s what it felt like, one second you’re standing opposite Harry. The next you’re standing right in front of him and his lips are on yours.

Maybe you just imagined this scene so much it became repetitive and now this—kissing him, felt so familiar.

He’s nothing like the timid and awkward Harry you watch at parties and pubs. He’s sure of himself, kissing you in the exact way to soothe your past aches; your loneliness is washed away like ocean tides over words etched in the sand. You get lost in it. In him.

You don’t know when his hands slide around your waist and pull you in. His lips are soft and gentle. Your mind blanks as the sensation of being held, of his touch, spreads. You don’t realize you stop kissing back, just for a second, until he pulls away.

Harry takes a deep breath, face pink and brows furrowed. This felt right, but was he reading it wrong? He did that often.

You take a small step back, needing the space to process. It felt right, better than your imagination, and you couldn’t deny the pull you felt to him.

“So um,” you bite your lip. “You still want that ride?”

“Where is it going?” He asks, the tightness in his chest easing a little when you look up at him, head tilted and a nervous expression on. He wasn’t reading it wrong. Both of you were just a little overwhelmed.

“Anywhere you want it to. I was thinking it could go home.”

“Mmm,” he nods. “Home sounds nice.”

With a smile exchanged, he lifts most of your equipment to the car. You have to take a beat outside the car just to force your brain to go from scrambled to whole so you can manage the drive home. It took every ounce of concentration.

Claire’s not home when you get there and you’re so grateful for that. Firstly, you just wanted to get him back into your bedroom. Secondly, you wanted this just between the two of you. At least for today.

You drop her a text in case, like you two usually did. You tell her you had company over.

The rest of the night can be spent uninterrupted.

You set everything in the living room and take Harry back to your bedroom.

He looks around curiously, taking in the photos on the walls and the things on the dresser.

You watch him, feeling a little exposed. he was looking. Seeing. You. It was different. Good different.

Harry looks at you with a question and you answer by closing the space between you; he reaches his arms out and your body is engulfed by him. Your lips meet, this time less hesitant.

It’s not long before Harry pulls you towards the bed, falling backwards with you on top of him. You straddle his hips and kiss him like a teenager. You feel his fingers brush your waist and tug at the bottom of your top.

It’s off in an instant and you try to hide the smile as Harry takes in the sight of you, his eyes filling with awe. He was such a dork. But it made you feel empowered, and seen. You reach for his shirt and he lets you take it off.

When you lean forward again, chests pressed together, his hands find the small of your back. They trace circles there, sending shivers up your spine.

You take the cue and kiss him slowly, rocking your hips against him. He gasps, his hands tightening as you trail kisses along his neck.

The sounds he makes go straight to your core and you feel the familiar flutter that tells you to hurry. You move back, undoing his jeans and helping him slide them off.

“You’re alright with this?” He breathes into your skin.

Your heart thuds in your ribcage, but mostly from anticipation; you never realized how long you wanted this for. Wanted him.

“Of course,” you pause and so does he. “Took you long enough.”

With a wry smile he covers your mouth with his and soon the two of you find a rhythm that no song could compete with. You find company in someone you’d sworn could never be yours.

It’s bliss.

***

The sun filters through the window and casts a warm light across your floor.

You were in your own bed, and in the middle of the mattress with a leg thrown over the edge was Harry, sound asleep. Tbe weight of his arm over your waist and the steady sound of his breathing is the proof you needed that this was real. He was real.

The two of you hadn't bothered to get dressed last night. It was an unspoken understanding that this wasn’t the end.

You turn onto your side; it was a nice view.

It was a nice morning, actually. The first morning in a while where you not only woke to a warm body, but one that felt like it belonged. That wasn’t going anywhere

Claire must be somewhere in the flat, you realize. You hadn’t heard her come in.

Harry starts to stir as light fills the room. His eyes squint open and his left hand comes up to cover his face.

You reach over to run your fingers through his hair and he sighs, his face relaxing into a smile.

Harry turns to you, eyes finally open and alert and your heart thumps happily.

There was no need for words.

You snuggle closer and he wraps an arm around you. You bury your face into his neck and breathe in his scent.

He laughs quietly, his chest rumbling under you. You kiss him and he responds in kind.

This time there was no rush.

The morning was warm, and so were you.

5 months later

You get there early, you wanted a moment before the guests to take in your accomplishment. Sure you’d been published on websites and magazines before. Your dream has always been to live forever on an album cover. And you’d finally done it.

The venue was a sparkly room thanks to all the disco balls. They contrasted against the rich fabric and wood beams all over the space.

You take a ton of pictures to send to your friends and family.

You mingle with guests as they come in, trying not to give in too much to the hollowed out feeling that came with a string of strangers and the tiresome small talk. You smile and introduce yourself, you know this was how connections were made. In rooms like this.

You feel him come in as you give in to a second drink. You’re at the bar, and your eyes lift up to the entrance and there’s Harry. Your Harry.

Harry’s eyes skim the crowd looking for someone. His someone. No other person mattered until he could locate her. That’s how it felt these days. A million faces could blur by but hers was the one he looked for every time.

He sees her. Looking at him. Of course she’s already spotted him.

You watch as his face splits into an eager smile, his hand raising above his head.

Harry was like fresh lemonade poured into a cup of ice, all of the tiring talks and fake smiles from before vanish as you drink him in. He’s looking at you, only you. You’re looking at only him.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as a greeting.

“That’s alright,” you peck his lips. “I was just taking a breather.”

“Is the band here? My phone died on the ride so I couldn’t check in.”

“I thought I saw one of them somewhere in that crowd,” you point to the right.

Harry had gotten you this gig. It was the third thing he’d helped you get and slowly you were able to take on less and less wedding and marketing jobs and focus on the music industry. It filled your days and nights with passion-fuelled hard work. You loved every second of it.

And when you weren’t working, you spent time with Harry. It had been 5 months since you started dating. Neither of you questioned what your labels were. You just knew there was nothing else you two could be.

You teased him a lot, how he took the long way to finally recognize the truth. But he made up for it all the time. He made sure you knew how you were the only one for him.

“That is one perfect album,” Harry slips his hand around your waist. Your photograph is blown out to a tapestry and hangs in the middle of the space. It was a sophomore album for the band and with their debut a hit, this tapestry was going to be signed and auctioned. Eventually it would sit somewhere, your photograph, coveted as a piece of music history.

“This is unreal,” you squeeze Harry. “How amazing is it that we both got to work on this album in our own specialties?”

“A perfect match I’d say,” he kisses you.

“What a pair we make,” you grin.

“I see many more shared projects in our future,” Harry promises.

“I’d like that.” It was one of the things you loved about being with Harry, your creativity and how both of you shared a similar industry at times. It brought you closer together, swapping ideas and stories.

“One day I’m going to need album art for the EP I release.”

“Ooh yes,” you clutch his arm. Lately Harry has been spending some times with his head in a brand new notebook, he said he was working on his personal project. “I can’t wait for that day. I have so many ideas of styling you.”

You had a particular image that sat on your phone from the very first night you met. One where he’s dancing alone in a crowd, red lighting casting half his face in shadow and the other in a vibrant scarlet. His eyes are closed and his brows scrunched as his body flows with movement, even in a still picture. You adored it. It was one of the best photos you ever took.

“Me?” Harry looks down at you. He knew whatever songs he pulled together for an EP would be about you. His rush to write recently were from all the time spent being in your presence. It was intense, it had only been 5 months of dating, but somehow he thought you might understand. “I was thinking the cover art could be the subject of my songs.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “How do you feel about self-portraits?”

Your face grows slack as it dawns on you. He had a whole EP in mind, about you.

“Well?” He twitches his hand on your waist, tugging you a little closer.

“Self-portraits sound a bit lonely,” you will your eyes not to tear up.

“But you won’t be,” Harry tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You have me. You won’t ever be lonely.”

“I know,” you feel the emotion catch in your throat as you gaze up into his photographic eyes. You can’t explain it but your body feels grounded—more grounded than it’s ever been. Here in his arms you felt together, like you were a book finally finding a shelf to lean on.

The two of you stand side by side and look at the people this collaborative masterpiece brought together. The room fills with the energy of the music. It was special.

"I love you," Harry reminds you.

"I love you too," you respond.

Your life hadn’t change all at once, not really. The biggest thing that changed was Harry. His presence, his attitude, his attention—it shifted. He wasn’t just a guy on the periphery, in proximity. He had you in his sights and he in yours.

You noticed small new things about him, and you wondered if everyone did. He was more confident and present, rooted to and with you. Both of you had bloomed, like caterpillars into butterflies. A pair of butterflies—you should tell him that.

Sometimes you thought you were just born lonely, it’s how it always was and has been. With Harry, you felt less lonely. You felt like things could really change for you.

You extend your hand to him and motion to the dance floor. It was a tradition now—no dance floor would go unmarked by the two of you.

He takes your hand and you lead him there. And with you in his arms he feels set free, like always.

Out of the cocoon and into the embrace of belonging, two butterflies dance in plain sight.

[johnbleepingzoidberg]

UNTITLED EVIL LUIGI AU COMIC THING | Page 2 & 3 of (???)

Eggman Bowser’s come to make an announcement. Particularly to shut down any premonitions Mario may be holding onto a little too tightly. Bowser and Mario are able to set aside their differences (for now, at least) so that they can work together on a common goal-- figuring out where the hell Luigi is.

(A/N under cut)

---

believe me when i say i really wanted to link all the pages together in a neat, practical way so that everything would appear more organized than it actually is, but tumblr hates me and won’t let my posts show up in the tags if i include a hyperlink of any kind. :D

i read somewhere that tumblr only disallows posts from showing up in tags if it includes an external link (vs an internal/link to another tumblr page), which, in theory, shouldnt be an issue since the pages i’d be linking to are also on tumblr but regardless it’s not cooperating with me anyway. i’ve been on tumblr for what feels like a million years but this is the first time ive tried to make my posts cohesive like this so if anyone knows how to fix this issue im all ears 🙃 for the record, everything related to this au will be going into the following tags on my blog: #my art, and #evil luigi au. we’ll just have to sort things that way for now, i guess 😭

i start work tomorrow so can’t say when there will be a new page but i do have a lot planned out already. so hopefully i’ll be able to continue what ive started for at least a handful of more pages 🤠 next page will be fun to work on. for a bowuigi-centered story, where’s the luigi?! he’ll show up soon. just in the form of a flashback for now though 👀

also sorry if my handwriting is evil. it’s just personally easier/faster to write out everything by hand than type everything out but i may try to type the next page’s dialogue to see how it goes and to see if it makes things look ✨cleaner✨

(also also i spent so much time trying to figure out how to draw them doing a handshake for the “truce” panel. i ultimately failed. therefore.... fist bumps LMAO)

[bigslutr]

Ellie Sallow

i hate this but my anxiety is kicking me in the ass and for some reason is stopping me from writing? if that makes sense?

Anyway this is 'After shopping with Ellie'

Ellie groaned as she opened the door to her bedroom placing her purse on her dresser. “That took the good out of me” She chuckled softly, “Did you have fun?” She asked, You nodded. “Yeah it was fun” You muttered, offering a small smile.

Ellie nodded, a bright smile on her face. “I’m glad!” she paused “Samuel should be up in a moment with what we got but in that time i'm going to change into pajamas”

“alright” You mumbled, sitting down on her bed before yawning. “Okay!” You looked towards the sound and saw Ellie in purple silk pajamas. Ellie jumped on the bed then laid her head and shoulder.

“I’m so tired Babe” She murmured, before turning to look at you. “I’m proud of you babe”

“Huh?” You gave her a confused look before she responded, “You didn't even scream for help”

Ellie chuckled softly as she nestled her head against your shoulder, the warmth of her body pressing against yours. The faint scent of her floral perfume lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of the day you’d spent together. You could feel her breath on your neck, steady and calm, as if she was completely at ease—utterly content in this moment.

You managed a small smile, though her words sent a chill down your spine. “Yeah… I guess I didn’t,” you muttered, the weight of her compliment settling uncomfortably in your chest. Ellie’s praise, though meant to be affectionate, felt like a twisted acknowledgment of your resignation. You hadn’t screamed for help, but not out of love—out of fear, out of a sense of hopelessness that had rooted itself deep within you.

Ellie seemed oblivious to your inner turmoil as she reached for your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours. “Let’s take a bath together,” she suggested, her voice soft and inviting. “It’ll help us relax after such a long day.”

You hesitated for a moment, the thought of being that close to her in such an intimate setting making your heart race. But the look in Ellie’s eyes, a mix of excitement and affection, made it clear that she wouldn’t take no for an answer. With a resigned nod, you agreed.

Ellie’s smile widened as she pulled you up from the bed, leading you toward the bathroom. “I’ll run the water,” she said cheerfully, her earlier exhaustion seemingly forgotten. As she turned the taps, the sound of rushing water filled the room, steam beginning to rise as the tub slowly filled. She added a generous amount of lavender-scented bubble bath, the fragrance quickly filling the air with its soothing aroma.

You stood by the sink, watching as Ellie busied herself with the preparations. The sight of her, so content and focused on creating a relaxing atmosphere, brought a strange mix of emotions to the surface. Part of you longed to relax, to let go of the tension that had been building within you for so long. But another part of you—the part that still clung to the hope of escape—reminded you that this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t love, at least not the kind you wanted.

Once the bath was ready, Ellie turned to you with a smile. “Let’s get you out of those clothes,” she said softly, her hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt. You flinched slightly, the suddenness of her touch catching you off guard, but you forced yourself to stay still as she helped you undress.

Within moments, you were both settled in the tub, the warm water enveloping you like a comforting embrace. Ellie sighed contentedly as she leaned back against the edge of the tub, pulling you close so that your back rested against her chest. Her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you gently but firmly in place.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Ellie murmured, her lips brushing against your ear. “Just the two of us… no distractions, no worries. Just us.”

You nodded, though the tension in your body betrayed your unease. Ellie didn’t seem to notice, her fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin as she hummed softly to herself. The warmth of the water, combined with the rhythmic sound of her breathing, slowly began to lull you into a state of relaxation, despite your best efforts to stay on guard.

After a while, Ellie reached for a bottle of shampoo, her fingers threading through your hair as she began to wash it with gentle, deliberate movements. “You have such beautiful hair,” she whispered, her voice full of admiration. “I love taking care of you like this.”

Her touch was tender, almost soothing as she massaged your scalp, working the shampoo into a rich lather. You closed your eyes, momentarily surrendering to the sensation, allowing yourself to forget—just for a moment—where you were and who you were with.

Ellie’s hands moved with practiced ease, rinsing the shampoo out before applying conditioner, her fingers detangling your hair with care. She seemed entirely focused on the task at hand, her usual possessiveness tempered by a genuine desire to make you feel pampered.

When she was finished, Ellie pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “There,” she said softly, her voice full of contentment. “All clean and fresh, just like new.”

You opened your eyes, the reality of the situation crashing back down on you like a wave. Ellie’s arms were still wrapped around you, holding you close, as if she never wanted to let go. And maybe she didn’t.

As the bathwater began to cool, Ellie finally shifted, her arms loosening their hold on you. “Let’s get out and dry off,” she suggested, her tone as cheerful as ever. “Then we can curl up in bed together and watch a movie.”

You nodded, allowing her to help you out of the tub and wrap you in a plush towel. As she led you back to the bedroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite the softness of the evening, you were still very much a prisoner in Ellie’s world—a world where love was a cage, and you were trapped inside with no way out.

[sadesluvr]

Hello! I hope you are having a great night! (I'm already on my second cup of coffee).

I was wondering if you could write for William. This is a super crazy scenario. Too crazy. Imagine a ghost reader who is able to take a physical form at will and She usually enjoys hanging around and observing inside the pizzeria, annoying William. She is always there, bothering. Then one day the reader simply does too much and it all ends in a chase. Where the reader flees from a furious William, taking advantage of the fact that she can become a ghost at will to flee around the pizzeria.

She makes a mistake and in an attempt to hide she goes into a closet. Guess who's there :) (Could it be spicy too?)

I hope it's not too far-fetched of me... I hope you have a good night! ♥️ (Again)

A/N: TY as always for the ask! I’ve never written anything with supernatural elements but it's always nice to go outside of my comfort zone ;) Definitely going to write more of the predator/prey dynamic with him…

“Do that again, I dare you,”

“Or what?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you twice,”

“You can,” you hummed. “You’ll never catch me,”

Being a ghost had its perks, and for one your favourite was annoying a man you’d come to know as William Afton. He was some kind of inventor, as he spent the late hours of the evening into the night tinkering and reminiscing in what you assumed to be his pizzeria, even walking around in a worn out yellow rabbit costume. You thought it was rather weird, but you didn’t have a right to argue, given the circumstances. 

The beauty of it all was that you weren’t confined to your ghost form. More often than not, you spent your days with the rest of human society; working, eating, sleeping - the lot - but you particularly enjoyed shape shifting around William. On the surface he’d seemed like a nice guy, but you’d come to find out that he’d had a chequered past - including an estranged daughter, a dramatic move across state lines and a name change. You weren’t stupid; he was clearly some sort of criminal…You just didn’t know to what nature.

Still, he was rather an interesting guy, if not quite attractive also. It started off with the little things; pestering him ‘if he was done yet’, to moving his equipment to completely different parts of the pizzeria. Every time you did, you were met with deliciously frustrating grunts, sighs and even curses. You were 90% sure he hated you, and yet he never truly shut you out. 

What you didn’t know was that he was secretly enjoying the chase – Sometimes he’d ogle you in human form, and then the next you were gone, quite literally sending chills up his spine whether it be from your touch or whisper. It drove him crazy, and today he decided that he was going to put an end to it. You’d continuously blown in his ear, messed up his blueprints, and even ran your fingers along the material of his belt — You were so royally fucked.

You’d shifted into your human form before you began to run away, making sure that William could see you, getting a glimpse of the way your body moved under the dull, yet enticing lights of the pizzeria before you vanished completely. The man seemed furious, his eyes darkened and a frazzled strand of his hair clinging to his forehead, but what terrified (or turned you on) the most was the fact that he didn’t run - no, he was deliberate and methodical in his movements, stalking down the halls like an apex predator.

“You know better than to try and fool me…” he teased, eyes darting around like a maniac. “I’ll always find you...” he snarled, and your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him walk up and down the hallways, his footsteps like an omen as they followed after you. The effect he had on you was unfathomable, even if you technically had control of the situation. You could’ve upped and left the building entirely, but you didn’t – You wanted him to catch you.

All of a sudden it went silent, and you figured that you’d lost him. Shifting into your human form, you quickly darted into the store closet in the hallway, hoping to jump out and give the man a good-old fashioned scare. It was dark, and even though the absence of light rarely bothered you, you wondered how long it would be before he would come looking for you. What if he didn’t? What if he left, and you were to be stuck in this cold, dingy pizzeria overnight?

Huffing, you fumbled around in the dark, trying desperately to search for a light. Your hand felt along a brush, some bottles of bleach and window cleaner, and, eventually, a beard. 

Gasping, you felt yourself about to shift, but William stopped you, grabbing your arms and holding them above your head so that you couldn’t move.

“I found you…” he chuckled, and you could envision his smile; teeth bared like a wolf. “Couldn’t get away from me, hm?”

You writhed under his touch, trying to shift your body so that you were at least in a comfortable position, but this only rubbed your privates against the man’s crotch, his bulge prominent amongst your respective layers of clothing. 

“Will –” you whispered as his lips found your neck. “At least let me see you…”

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he growled against your neck. “You made your bed, you’re going to lie in it…”

Eventually, he let go of your hands and you immediately found his body, clinging your arms around his neck and back as he lifted you up, stumbling slightly as he managed to find the wall, pressing you against it. He thrust his pelvis against your own as you engaged in a sloppy makeout session, his beard tickling your hot skin.

“You’re a little tease, you know that?” he said as one hand found his belt, fumbling with the buckle and zipper. “A girl like you should never have such power…”

You moaned in agreement as you began to slide off your own bottoms, getting as far as the material pooling around your calves. William wasted no time in thrusting into you, your arms desperately trying to find something to hold onto as he stabilised himself on the wall. You found a floor to ceiling pipe, hands practically going numb from the way you gripped the copper. His strokes were targeted, as if he were going out of his way to stab you. It only resulted in sheer pleasure, with your walls taking him in further with every movement, which earned a deep groan from the man, who was dotting hickies along your neck and collarbone.

“Listen to yourself…” he contemplated, his voice laboured, and you presumed he was getting close. “Sometimes I forget you’re nothing but a needy, human slut,”

Of course he wasn’t wrong. You were glad that whatever happened to you in a past life had led to you having indulgent sex with a (likely) criminal, legs spread and pussy aching. You were so invested in your own pleasure that you didn’t have the energy to shift into ghost form and tease him.

William came first, biting down on your neck as he spilled into you, practically crushing you with his large body against the wall. You ran your fingers through his hair as he rode off his high, using your hips to get yourself off, and to drain him for what he had left, causing the man to groan. He squeezed his eyes shut, enjoying the way you fucked yourself on his cock, but as he felt you clamp down he withdrew his hips, pulling out of you entirely and leaving you completely empty.

Smoothly, he switched the light on, and you looked up at him with a frustrated expression that screamed ‘What the fuck?’

He smirked as he tucked himself back into his trousers.

“How’s it feel to be the tease now?”

[coeluvr]

So I just read the demo for the first time and… are you okay? Like do you need to talk to someone? Cuz holy shit, that was depressing. Don’t get me wrong, it was great, but I am just mentally, emotionally, and physically drained now (don’t ask me about that last part). All in all, I really enjoyed it, but I do have some thoughts.

Firstly, I don’t understand how anyone from Rosea (except for Hunter, Fadiya and her mom, and maybe Helios) has any fans. Like did they just forget that everyone else (including Lancelot) contributed to the total destruction of our family? Everyone’s over here shipping Lancelot and Luceris, and to be fair, if this was a different story I would too, but like… they’re the enemy? Speaking of Luceris…

Dude is on some shit. Like I get it’s the point, but everything about our relationship with him just feels weird and wrong, and I’m counting the days til we can kill him. Until then, I guess I’ll have to make do with disrespecting the memory of his dead wife at every opportunity. Also side note, but as a Straight Male tm it does feel a little weird having to fake a romance with another guy, especially a guy that’s like fifty years older than me lol (Luceris really isn’t beating the Catholic Priest allegations)

The rest of the cast are a lot of fun, and I’m glad they all at least have sympathy towards MC. I think Hunter is the coolest character ever and I want to be them, and Fadiya can do no wrong in my eyes. Vincent sucks, but I haven’t really spent much time with him so maybe that’ll change. Helios I feel sorry for. He’s a nice guy and I do like him a lot, but he’s unfortunately collateral damage in my crusade against Father Luceris. I hate that we have to hurt him to get revenge, but it feels very realistic and gives your decisions a lot more weight.

On the flip side, Soarine is perfect and has never done anything wrong in her life ever. If Soarine has a million fans, then I am one of them. If Soarine has ten fans, then I am one of them. If Soarine has only one fan then that is me. If Soarine has no fans, then that means I am no longer on earth. If the world is against Soarine, then I am against the world.

All in all, I love what you’re doing with this game, even if I do have to take a twenty minute break after each playthrough just to decompress lol. I can’t wait to see where this goes and am gonna stare at a wall until the next update drops. Thanks for making such an interesting story and give Soarine my love 💚

Lol hi, anon!

First of all, I'm fine 😭 I'm like that one happy guy that writes horror whose name I keep forgetting but I bet someone knows who I mean.

Regarding the characters from Rosea that are not all that great having fans, I don't know why that's unexpected to you if I am being honest lmao. In every fandom I've ever been in, there have always been people that like the antagonists. I enjoy Lancelot and Luceris' dynamic but I feel like that's to be expected since I literally created them. 💀 The day I write in all of the side couples you'll combust. /j

But also you don't have to fake a "romance" with Luceris? 😥💀 I can only think of the husband comments MC can make and those are entirely optional so...

I'm glad you like the other characters! Soarine is indeed everything. 🙇‍♀️

Thank you for your kind words! 💗

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Film Studies Slashers Part One

Mickey Altieri x Reader

Words: 2839

Summary: With her revenge plot foiled by campus killers beating her to the punch, the reader investigates the killings only to find that her boyfriend is one of the murderers. This proves to be rather useful in her mission to kill Gale Weathers… until Mickey’s partner takes matters into her own hands. 

Notes: Listen… I’m just going to leave this here. Judge me if you will, but remember that this is Timothy Olyphant and the man is beautiful. Plus, Mickey is one of the best Ghostfaces. I’m obviously tweaking some things, but I’m not gonna lie, I actually hate Gale so I was okay writing the reader hating her. I’m going to have to do some tweaking with which is which Ghostface in certain scenes, but I’ll try to make it make sense. I don’t know how much of this I’ll get done, but it’s honestly a blast to write. (I also have a finished Mickey fluff so keep an eye out for that) Happy Halloween! 

-

The campus was dead. Pardon the pun, of course, but there was no other way to describe it. With everyone terrified of the killer, going out at night was out of the question for most of the student body. 

You hoped he found you. This fucker was stealing your thunder and you were pissed as hell. You had spent too many years sucking up to Sidney fucking Prescott to have your revenge stolen by some Stu Macher wannabe. 

Granted, your plan also involved some significant stabbing, but you needed to make sure that this new guy didn’t beat you to the punch. Whoever it was. 

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself, you know,” a voice whispered from the dark. “You never know what kind of weirdos come out at night.” 

“Other than you, you mean?” You snarked back, leaning against the streetlamp you stood under. 

Mickey stepped into the light. A sly smile spread across his lips.

“Says the one wandering around in the dark armed with…” he reached into your satchel with one hand and ran a finger up your arm with the other, making you shiver. Mickey pulled out your notebook and flipped through the pages. 

You winced as his eyes scanned your notes on all of the killings, including pictures of all of the victims so far. 

He cocked a brow. “Maybe I should be worried for my own safety. Tell me, Y/N.” He held up your page with a picture of Sidney. “Are you the killer?” 

You snatched the notebook back. “Very funny, asshole.” 

“I’m being totally serious. That is like Serial Killer 101. You should know, Little Miss Legal Studies,” Mickey teased.

You took a step toward him, looking up at him through your lashes with a darkened gaze. 

“I guess that means you should start running, huh?”

He returned your stare, eyes bright and challenging. He put his hands on your shoulders and crashed his lips against yours. You wasted no time either, fingers lacing through his dark hair and deepening the kiss until you forgot where you were. You forgot about the killer. You forgot about Woodsboro. Most of all, you forgot about Gale Weathers. 

“What are you thinking about?” He muttered against the skin of your jaw. 

You poked his side. “Stabbing and death,” you teased. “You?”

His mouth opened in mock surprise and spoke with a sing-song tone. “Would you believe me if I said the same thing?” 

You laughed, shaking your head. 

“We are seriously fucked up, huh?” You laced your fingers through his and started walking back down the path. 

“But that’s why we work so well.” 

Mickey twirled you around, pulling you into his arms again to bury his face in your neck, playfully nipping. 

“We have to get to that stupid party,” you said, pulling away again.

He pouted. 

You rolled your eyes. “I promised Sidney I’d save her from the sorority swarm.” 

“You don’t even like her.”

“I do too.”

“No, you don’t,” he argued, tone still teasing. “And you’ve never actually told me why.” He tried to urge you back to him, but you resisted, a darkness suddenly settling over you. 

“It’s a long story,” you said. 

He held up his hands innocently. “Okay.” His head tilted in curiosity, but he didn’t press the issue. 

“We really should get going”

“Actually,” he clapped his hands together, “I will catch up with you.” You opened your mouth to protest. “I know, I know, but I promise I’ll be quick. I just have this project I have to finish up for class first.”

“Since when do you care about homework?”

“Babe,” he smiled, “it’s for film theory.”

You crossed your arms, frowning. You already weren’t looking forward to this fucking mixer and you certainly weren’t looking forward to going without your usual partner in crime. Mickey wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close, kissing you in between every word. 

“I. Will. Be. Right. There,” he promised. “And then we can make fun of every shitfaced frat boy there.” 

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I’m getting drunk without you.” 

“Fair enough.” He kissed you one more time. “I’ll see you there.” 

He went back toward his dorm, you went to the sorority house, both of you taking different paths into the night. 

-

If one more preppy girl came up to you with her stupid smile and her stupid small talk and a stupid sweater tied around her stupid neck, you were going to use that sweater to strangle her. 

Two of them were talking to Sidney, who kept looking at you to save her. 

You gave her an encouraging thumbs up and downed the rest of your drink. You weren’t sure what was in it, but it was sure working. 

“Empire Strikes Back.” A familiarly smug voice said across the yard. “It was a better story, improved effects.”

You looked up, finding Randy talking to your oh-so-late boyfriend. Now that was a blue sweater you wanted nothing more than to rip off. 

“Not a sequel,” Randy corrected. “It was part of a trilogy. Completely planned.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and spotted you in the process. He grinned. You scowled. He crossed the yard towards you. 

“It’s been foooooreeever,” you drawled, tongue weighed down by the cheap liquor. He sat on the bench beside you. 

“The assignment took longer than I thought, baby,” Mickey said, putting your drink aside and pulling you into his lap. “But I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Your lips latched onto his neck, fingers tracing along the edge of that silly blue sweater. Mickey took your wandering hands in his. 

“Easy, tiger. What would your little Woodsboro friends think?”

“Who fucking cares?” You grabbed the collar of his sweater and pulled his lips back to yours. He didn’t argue again, hands cupping your face and body pressed against yours. You seemed to stay like that for hours, barely even coming up for air. 

Everyone else disappeared. Until-

“Something happened.”

“Not. Now. Randy.” You said in between kisses, annoyance clear in your still tipsy tone. 

Randy put a hand on Mickey’s shoulder and pulled him away. The look the other boy gave him made him take a step back. Between Mickey’s glare and the news that broke up the party, his nerves were more than a little on edge. 

“Listen, sorry to interrupt your little sex party over here, but there are cop cars around the Omega Beta Zeta house. And I’ve got a really bad feeling.” He looked at you pointedly. 

Unlike your hometown buddies, you could care less about the latest killer’s hobbies. But where there was a killer, there were bloodthirsty journalists. 

You clenched your jaw. “Fine. Let’s go find out who else got sliced and diced, huh?”

Mickey helped you up, keeping his fingers laced with yours as everyone rushed toward the doors. 

Across the street, people swarmed in flashing red and blue. News vans clogged the driveway. You stopped moving. Your grip on your boyfriend’s hand tightened. 

“What the fuck is she doing here?” 

Across the street was the sobering sight of one Gale Weathers. She was heckling some other woman who had her back towards you. 

“She was here earlier today,” Halle said. “Totally blindsided Sidney by bringing Cotton Weary to campus.”

“Gale’s here with Cotton?” You exclaimed. 

First, a new killer starts mimicking the movie based on her fucking book, and now she’s harassing the survivors by bringing up the past. 

Your plan might have to happen sooner than you thought. 

“Don’t worry,” Halle added with a smirk, “Sidney already gave her a piece of her mind.” She made the motion of a punch. 

“Did you know about this?” You turned to Mickey, whose eyes were fixed across the way. 

The woman talking to Gale hurried off. 

Mickey’s thumb rubbed the back of your hand. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Well, I’m upset now!” 

His phone started buzzing. “Shit.” 

Your anger shifted into fear, gruesome memories rushing through your head. Your eyes widened as he answered. 

“M-Mickey…” You tugged on his arm anxiously. 

He listened to the voice on the other side and mouthed “It’s fine.” He brought your hand to his lips as another reassurance. 

“I have to take this, I’m sorry,” he whispered. His eyes darted between you and the crowd. “Stay here.”

 Mickey stepped away, leaving you with the others to watch the chaos at the other sorority house. That’s when you saw that familiar head of chunky highlights heading towards you. 

“Fucking bitch,” you muttered to yourself and headed back to the Delta Lambda Zeta house. With Derek the guard dog at the front door, you decided to go around back to avoid any real interaction with Sidney’s boyfriend. Pitying looks was the last thing you needed from the frat prince. 

You didn’t see the flash of black until it overtook you.  

And, suddenly, it all came back. 

You saw the face of Billy Loomis as you ripped off the stupid, elongated white mask. He smirked down at you. 

“I always had a bit of a hard-on for you, Y/N,” he sneered, slowly pushing the knife into your side. He put a hand over your mouth to silence your screams. “I mean, Syd’s great and all but, the principal's daughter?” He chuckled. “I mean, it sounds like something out of a movie.” 

He took out the knife and started again. 

You stared up at that same mask as it hovered over you, arm raised with the same curved knife that almost killed you. 

“Not this time you sonofabitch,” you spat and used all of your strength to bring your knee up into your attacker’s stomach. 

They cried out and fell to the grass beside you, but not before they got a solid swipe at your side, sliding through your shirt down to the skin. A familiar, hot sting radiated from the spot and you screamed. You screamed like hell.

“Mickey!” One hand clawed at the ground to pull you away, the other clamped over your now bleeding wound. “Derek! Mickey! Anybody! Help me!” 

“Y/N?” Sydney’s voice called from inside the house. 

Ghostface whipped around at the sound. 

“Syd, run!” You shrieked. 

A flash of blue sweater came around the corner just as a large black boot stomped the side of your head. Memories and darkness took over, all speaking with the altered voice of your nightmares.

-

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He wasn’t supposed to care. But with every stirring motion, the traitor in his chest jumped. 

Your eyes fluttered open and Mickey let out a sigh of relief. 

“There she is,” he smiled. “I was starting to wonder if this was going to turn into a The Dead Zone situation.”

“Well, I don’t know, do I have any powers?” You asked wearily, looking around at your surroundings. You were in the emergency room. Guess they figured your injuries weren’t too serious to take you to surgery. You felt at the bandage on your side, letting the haze in your head clear before you sat up. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” You swung your legs over the side of the hospital bed and started to stand, ignoring every sore limb telling you not to. 

“Hey, I don’t think you're supposed to do that, babe,” Mickey said, putting a hand out to stop you.

“I’m not staying here so everyone can gawk at me like a zoo animal, Mickey,” you snapped. “Especially when Gale fucking Weathers is in town.” 

“I won’t let her anywhere near you.”

Your eyes blazed. “I don’t want your help.” 

Something flashed in his eyes. Something you’d never seen before. Something that made you sit down again. 

But just as quickly as it was there, it was gone. Mickey looked at the ground. 

“I’m going to go check on Derek. He got cut up by the guy that attacked Sidney.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think she’s probably more freaked out than he is, so I should probably talk to her too.”

He left you in the hospital room feeling like a total bitch. 

-

Mickey stretched his sore limbs as he stepped into the unlocked apartment. He should really remind you to lock that. There were psychos running around. 

“Y/N?” He called into the dark. “Baby, you here?” 

“In here,” you spoke through a gasp. 

Mickey dropped his bag at the foot of the bed, looking at the light pooling out of the ajar bathroom door. He could just see your frame standing in front of the mirror. Your shirt was off and your fingers were peeling up the bandage that the hospital put on the gash in your side. 

“Hey, I don’t think you should be doing that-” Mickey started, pushing the door open all the way. 

He stopped, seeing the reflection of your tear-filled eyes looking back at him. 

You swiped at your cheeks with the back of your hand and turned around to face him, displaying your new wound, along with marks of old ones. Three long, jagged lines along your torso. 

He imagined Billy sticking a knife in you and unconsciously clenched his fists. 

“It brought it all back,” you said through gritted teeth. “I promised myself I would never be that scared again and today I felt like that weak, pathetic high school girl again.” You ran your fingers over the scars, flinching as you touched the angry, red stitched-up cut on your side. “All because of her.”

Mickey’s brows drew together. 

You took a breath and jutted out your chin. “Gale Fucking Weathers.” 

“Wait.” He ran a hand down his face, almost laughing. “You just got stabbed and curb-stomped by a guy dressed in the same outfit that someone who stabbed you- and almost killed you- was wearing and you’re freaked out about a journalist.” 

“I’ve looked killers in the eye before, baby,” you snapped. “But Gale Weathers is a goddamn necromancer. She brought Billy Loomis and Stu Macher back from the dead and now they’re going to outlive all of us.”

“Babe-” He started to reach out to you, but you pushed past him. 

“And we can’t forget about Sidney,” you exclaimed. “Poor, perfect Sidney, the tragic hero of the story. It’s all about her.” You paced back and forth, anger boiling out any soreness you might still have felt. “It’s like nobody else made it out. Randy’s a plot device, Dewey is a joke, and me-” You whipped around with eyes on fire. “I’m not even in it!” You picked up one of Mickey’s shoes, knocking over his backpack, and threw it at a picture on your wall. A photo from high school- with you, Sidney, and Tatum. 

Mickey hurried toward you and grabbed your wrist in each hand. 

“She wrote me out of my life.” You fought against him, refusing to let him see you cry, but his grip was too strong. “That bitch wrote me out of my own life and now she’s back to do it all over again.” 

“We won’t let her,” Mickey said, his own rage starting to surface. He tightened his hold so much it almost hurt. “Gale Weathers is just another hack who will get what’s coming to her and someone else will turn it into just another story.” He let go of your wrists and moved his hands to your face. “I promise, baby.” 

His dark eyes held that same look you saw in the hospital. It should have scared you. Instead, it pushed you into him, crashing your lips against his and pulling his body against yours despite the slight pain in your side. Maybe you just needed to put all of your roiling energy to good use. And Mickey was more than happy to help. 

-

Mickey got in the shower with a head clouded full of feelings he didn’t know what to do with. He wanted to kill that reporter bitch- not because it would be the kind of poetic justice perfect for his plan, but because she had hurt you. Everything was getting too complicated. 

He wrapped a towel around his waist and went back to your bedroom, finding you at the foot of the bed, hunched over and holding something in your hand. 

“I thought you were too tired to move,” he teased. “But if you’re up for another round, then I am-”

He stopped as you stood. 

The cloak spilled out of the backpack. The knife glinted at your feet. The Ghostface mask gaped back at him in your hands.

Mickey swallowed. “I can explain that.”

You walked towards him, eyes wide and chin held high. Your gaze burned a hole in his panicking heart. Mickey gritted his teeth. He wasn’t supposed to panic. He wasn’t supposed to feel. 

You shoved the mask against his chest. 

“Y/N…” He searched for the words, more for himself than for you. 

You spoke firmly and coolly, like reading a movie line. “I want in.” 

[colbystoes]

Rumors | Pt2

Part 1. Part 2 sams ver

—

colby brock x fem!reader

summary: sam, colby, and you go to a haunted area. During the recording, colby isnt very affectionate towards you. when you all get scared, colby decides to comfort r/n not you. viewers suspect and make rumors about your relationship with colby.

bold text: colby

normal text: sam

italics: y/n

R/N- random girls name.

—

Next morning was even worse. You had no clue where Colby even was, he just like…disappeared. You spent the morning with sam, since he was there for you all night, taking you food, comforting you, basically being the only one that was there. You loved him for that, he was so sweet even when you had massive fights with colby but colby woul get jealous because of that reason. It always caused fights between you too and sam would just distance himself from you since he didnt want to ruin his friendship.

Later that day, you went shopping with sam just lift up your mood, chitchatting, and laughing with sam until two particular faces came into view. Colby and R/n. Disgust filled your face and soon as R/n tries coming up to you. Sams face filled with worry turns to you making sure you dont act out.

“im fine sam..” you whisper to him, you turn towards her and say hi. “HI Y/N” she screeched excitedly.

“this bitch”

hey guys, sorry we can’t chitchat we have to go byeee!” sam says while he drags me out of there. Colby stares at you with no expression.

“you really need to talk it out with him” “i know”

—

You’re laying down in your shared bed with colby, when he walks in and slams the door. You jolt up when the loud slam happened. “what the fuck?” you shout. You can tell he had been drinking by the way he was standing, he always got aggressive when he was tipsy.

“what? what kind of fucking problem do you have?” colby shouts. Guessing sam was near, you try to calm him down. “geez colby chill out, no need to scream when you’re the problem.”

“the fuck do you mean?, im the problem? how?, youre the one acting bitchy and ignoring me.”

“I KNOW YOU DONT CARE YOU NEVER CARED…you care more about her than me..” your voice got quiet as the tears slip down, blurring your vision.

“baby, why are you crying? stop it. you know i hate when you cry. tell me whats the problem.” colby comforts you.

“R/N is the problem. Youre too close to her. I hate it! i never liked it, never liked her either. she has no reason to be that close to you, ans you dont even know the rumors that are going around about us right now.” You take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry baby, i didn’t know you felt like that. I’m so sorry, i hope you forgive me..” colby rubs your back, you relax more into his hug and just sob.

“it’s going to take me time but.. i forgive you. im sorry for acting this way.”

“I love you baby” “and i love you more” you both smile when he closes the gap for a kiss. You cringe when you taste the alcohol, and let go of the kiss. “you need to wash your mouth” you say giggling.

—

lowk feel like this is rushed.. i have no clue how to write fighting scenes😭 and i’ll prob fix this later on and make it longer but i hope you all liked! <3

[green-thots]

Life Waster - CL16 x FemDriver!Reader - Chapter One

Masterlist Next

Authors Note: This took me absolutely forever because I spent more time thinking and watching edits of Charles on TikTok than I did doing actual writing. There’s probably a lot of typos and grammar mistakes so just ignore that. Additionally, any feedback is much appreciated!

Warnings: Swearing, slight mention of death, mentions of weed, if I missed any please tell me

—

A Grammy and Rock Sound feature was always the goal, but shit happens I guess. Life was great, we were selling out stadiums and on the verge of our first world tour; then he died and everything fell apart. Formula 1 was always Dad’s dream, not mine, but I think a piece of me died along with him, and I threw myself into racing to fill the JJ-sized hole in my heart. All I was left with was a hard drive of the songs we had written over the years and a letter telling me to go kick some ass. I dove headfirst into the depths of uncertainty and somehow still made it out on top.

“Ms. L/N, we’re here.” The driver calls from the front seat, looking at me in skepticism through the rear view mirror.

I mutter in thanks as I open the car door and step out toward the doors of the front office, backpack in tow. The only directions left for me in the email were to head to the front office in the morning and someone would guide me from there. There’s a lady at the desk with black glasses perched atop her nose as she tapped away at her computer. She barely acknowledges me at first, but after a few seconds of standing there, she looks up at me.

”Oh, hello,” She says with a kind smile, “What can I help you with?”

“Uh, I’m Y/N L/N. I was told that someone would meet me at the front office.” I naw the inside of my cheek, slightly terrified at the new environment.

”Oh, yes. We’ve been expecting you,” If possible, her smile grows wider and she picks up the receiver of the phone, beginning to dial a number, “I’ll call down and let Mr. Horner know that you’ve arrived.”

We sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, before she starts to speak into the phone. “Hi, Christian. Ms. L/N is down at the office.” She pauses while the other person on the phone speaks. “Okay, thank you, buh-bye.”

”April is on her way down to get you and give you a tour,” she says, her French accent much more prominent than it was before. “In the meantime, I’ll get you all set up.”

She digs around below her desk for a moment, before finally popping up and setting a keycard on a red lanyard with the words ‘driver’s pass’ on the desk in front of me. “This is your temporary pass, you’ll get a new one with your picture on it after media and such is done, but for now this is going to get you wherever you need to go on the property.”

“Thank you,” I say with a nod, as a tall girl in a Red Bull Racing jacket walks through the door to the right.

The lady at the desk smiles at the other girl and says, “I’m Susie and I’ll always be here for whatever you need. Trust me, those boys can be a handful.”

I force a smile at her, praying it looks genuine enough because I knew what kind of shit storm I was walking into and still signed the contract anyway, like an idiot.

The tall girl holds out her hand to me and says, “Lovely to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.” She talks fast and barely gives herself a second to breathe before continuing. “I’m April, and I’ll be your personal trainer, assistant, therapist, honestly just whatever you might need while you’re here with the Red Bull teams.”

There’s a hint of humor to her voice so I try to let out a laugh, but it’s hard when I’ve spent the last year or so wallowing in self pity.

“I know this whole experience is much different than F2 and I hate to rush you while you take it in but we do have to get started with the tour so you can meet Mr. Horner before he leaves for his debrief.” April says, grabbing her own pass off her neck, which instead says ‘staff’ and turns toward the door she came through before.

“If I would have known I was meeting important people today I would have worn something nicer than a hoodie.” I grumble to myself.

April must have heard me because she wiggles her finger at me with a smirk on her face and says, “You’re funny, I like you.”

We walk in silence out into the parking lot between the front building and the massive team building. April asks, “Do you have a car over here yet?”

”No, I haven’t really got around to that yet.” I reply, taking in the view of all the sports cars lined up that probably cost more than the house I grew up in each.

“Oh, well when you do, this is driver parking. Most guys tend to keep a car at their homes here rather than taking a cab since it’s a lot of back and forth.” She gestures to all of the cars parked in front of their respective sections. “The guard over at the side gate will buzz you in 24/7 if you just show him your pass.”

“Good to know.” I say as we walk up to the two glass doors with the Red Bull logo painted above.

The opening lounge is small, but still gives a feeling of comfort, rather than sterile like the front office. There are trophies lining the shelves on the walls and two World Champion trophies are held in a glass case front and center.

“Your home base is actually in the Alpha Tauri section next door but the team is meeting here for the sake of simplicity.” April says, throwing a smile at me over her shoulder as she turns left down the hallway.

She stops at a door labeled ‘boardroom’ and winks at me saying, “They aren’t as scary as they seem.”

Well that’s comforting.

April knocks twice and opens the door to reveal to reveal four guys seated around the table; two of which dressed head to toe in Red Bull gear as if they just stepped out of a commercial, one of which in a full suit, and the shortest one dressed as if he had just woken from a nap.

“Mr. Horner, this is Y/N.” April says, gesturing to me as I step into the room behind her. I’ve never met Christian Horner outside of a five minute phone call but I can only assume who he is as the man in the suit stands up and holds out his hand to me.

”Y/N L/N, it's so great to finally meet you in person.” Christian says, shaking my hand. “Unfortunately I do have to get going because the engineers can get quite pissy when things are behind schedule, but I suppose you know all about that from Formula 2, right?”

”Yeah, my team had quite the attitude.” I say, trying to sound funny but somehow sounding like the uptight bitches I used to race with back in F3.

“Anyways,” he says, still keeping up his diplomatic smile. “Boys, this is Y/N L/N, the new driver for Alpha Tauri. I’ll let you all introduce yourselves.”

Christian excuses himself and heads out the door, leaving me with April, who is still somewhat of a stranger, and the three men who I have only ever seen on TV.

The first guy stands up and gives me a smile that could light up even the darkest of rooms, “I’m Daniel Riccardo, I actually drive for Red Bull but we’ll probably still see a lot of each other.” He points at the guy next to him and continues. “Mr. Two Time World Champ over here is Max Verstappen, I assume you know who he drives for.”

Max nods at me and says, “Welcome to the team, Y/N.” His Dutch accent very prominent.

Finally, Daniel turns to the guy at the end of the table, “Last but certainly not least, the little firecracker over there is Yuki Tsunoda.”

Yuki rolls his eyes at the nickname and starts, “Hey, I’ll be driving on Alpha Tauri with you.”

”Firecracker as in his favorite English word is fuck and he sure knows how to use it,” April chimes in, a near permanent smile stuck to her face.

Yuki smiles and laughs quietly as Max says, “I trust April will get you all ready for media day tomorrow.”

”I was really hoping I was done with photoshoots but I guess even a change in career didn’t help with that.” I say, still not fully believing that this wasn’t a dream and I’m actually in Formula 1.

“Well, we better continue with our tour and let the boys get back to whatever work I know they are trying to avoid.” April says, eyeing Daniel with a knowing look as she opens the door to the hall.

“See y’all tomorrow,” I say, looking back at the group of guys staring at me. I then follow April out the door, a chorus of goodbyes yelled behind me.

April leads me back outside and then through the glass doors to the Alpha Tauri section. She finally stops once we reach a door that had already been labeled with my last name.

”This is your drivers room,” She says, opening the door to a plain room with a couch and a small vanity, “Feel free to decorate however you see fit.”

I can already visualize my plans for the room; some scenic pictures to hang on the walls, a few comfy blankets to throw on the couch for naps in between meetings, and maybe a cute rug to cover up the concrete floor.

April gestures to the closet next to the vanity, “Your fireproofs, suit, helmet, and any other gear you may have ordered are in the closet.”

Set on the vanity is a vase of flowers with a card tucked under the vase. I step over and pick up the card, carefully tearing open the envelope, and reading it. Inside are the words, ‘Welcome to The Grid, Y/N’ and it seems to have been signed by every driver on The Grid.

”I think they’re trying to make a good impression on the first female competitor they’ve seen in a long time; you might even be the first for the newer ones.” April says, looking over my shoulder.

“Well it takes a lot more to impress me than flowers, I mean even my freshman prom date bought me flowers.” I say, laughing at their attempt to soften me up.

”Your garage is right down the hall and it's labeled so you’ll be able to find it easily. Sadly, we can’t go in today, but you’ll get to see the car on Wednesday when you meet your engineer and we start the first round of pre-season practices.” April says, leaning up against the closet, “You’ll have to be ready to go for media in the main building with all your gear tomorrow at 1:00 but feel free to get ready here.”

”Well at least I’ll get to sleep off some of this jet lag,” I joke.

”That’s the spirit, take every moment you get to sleep, it’ll help.” April says, rubbing her hands together as she continues, “Now, we go meet the Athletic Trainer for a pee test and your first physical.”

Well I guess that means no more pot for me.

-

I flop face first down onto my bed, well if it can really be considered a bed. Right now I’m just sleeping on a mattress on the floor of my apartment. I haven’t had the time or energy to unpack so everything is just sitting around in boxes, and the furniture I did buy, has yet to be built or unboxed.

My physical lasted much longer than I had anticipated; the strength testing and medical assessments taking up much of the rest of the day. The six hour time difference is really beginning to take a toll on me and I am nearly asleep when my phone buzzes next to me.

Dad: Your mom showed up at my doorstep, screaming that you were nowhere to be found. Care to explain?

Fuck that. I’ll deal with him in the morning.

-

As I stand before the mirror, dressed in my race suit with my hair loosely curled and my makeup freshly done, I have to take slow, deep breaths to keep my heart from beating out of my chest. All eyes are going to be on me today because the first woman on The Grid in nearly ten years is sure to be a spectacle for the other drivers and staff. I should be used to having people stare at me. Hell, I spent years performing on stage in front of massive crowds. But my ‘fall from grace’ as the Rock world has dubbed it, has caused me to hate the constant stares of others. Formula 1 might not have been the best choice of career, but I need to take back the piece of my childhood that I cherished dearly.

My phone dings from its place on the vanity;

April: We’re nearly ready to start shooting, so get over here as soon as you can :)

If these guys have managed to find anything about who I was years ago, I’m sure their opinions of me are already set in stone, but I still can’t let holding up the order of business lead them to think I’m inconsiderate to everyone else’s schedule.

I speed-walk my way out of the Alpha Tauri building and over to the main building, carrying my helmet just in case I need it for a photo.

When I enter the room where the cameras were being set up, all the drivers were huddled around in little circles. The lively colors of each team’s uniform were intermixed, showing that they all must get along well. If they don’t like me, it seems that I’ll be spending the majority of the next year alone.

With the spectacular luck that life has given me, the door is extremely squeaky, causing everyone to look up at me. Immediately, Max waves me over to the group he was standing with.

Hesitantly, I walk over and the tall blonde guy in the Mercedes uniform eyes me with a smile.

”Well you look scared shitless,” He says, the slightly devious but still kind smirk present on his face.

”Don’t be a dick, George,” The French one next to him says as he elbows George in the stomach, “I’m Pierre. Don’t mind him, he’s always like that.”

”Hey, I’m not that bad,” George throws back, giving Pierre a slight shove. The other guys laugh at their antics, so I force out a little laugh.

I barely get another second to listen to their introductions before a staff member calls out, “L/N, you’re up first! Tsunoda, you’re on deck!” I send an awkward wave to the group as I walk over to where the cameras are set up.

”Alright, we’ll need you to fill out the first day of F1 board.” The staff member says, passing a chalkboard to me.

I begin to fill it out.

Name: Well that’s easy.

Season: #1

I Am From: Miami, FL

My Fave Food Is: Mac & Cheese

My Hype Song Is:…

I’m tempted to put one of my songs here, but I think I’ll make them work harder to discover that piece of me.

My Hype Song Is: Gimme Gimme Gimme - Abba

This Year I Will: Kick ass.

I stand in front of the camera as the photographer snaps a few photos of me with the board. Again, everyone in the room is staring at me.

”Hey Logan, we found you a Floridian!” George calls out in the direction of the blonde in the Williams Racing suit.

Tall blonde- who must be Logan- gives me a bright smile and calls out, “we gotta represent, girly!”

I actually let out a laugh at this as a staff member takes the board from me and sets me up for the headshots. Not knowing what the usual protocol for Formula 1 headshots is, I give the camera a light smile.

I can feel someone staring at me intently, as if they look hard enough they could see the deepest parts of my soul. When I look over to the area behind the camera where all the drivers are standing around, I immediately see Mr. Laser Eyes.

He’s partly concealed by the shadows but his dark eyes still bare into my soul. His hair is a dark and curly mess, like he’s just gotten out of bed; but damn does he make bedhead look good. He’s dressed in an almost too tight Ferrari suit. He towers over Tsunoda, but that isn’t too hard to achieve.

We hold eye contact for a few seconds; it's almost magnetic, before he shifts his eyes back to the conversation he was having with Pierre and George.

“Okay, that’s all we needed,” The photographer says, motioning me off the stool as he calls for Tsunoda.

I walk back over to Pierre, George, and the Ferrari driver who had been staring at me. Immediately, he looks me up and down with a smirk before saying, “Good choice of music, rookie.”

My face heats up, and I’m sure I look like a walking tomato. “Yeah, Momma Mia is my favorite musical.” I say quietly.

George and Pierre start snickering to themselves quietly as the Ferrari driver says, “I’m Charles Leclerc.”

Even his accent is fucking sexy.

“Y/N L/N.” I reply.

”Don’t worry, everyone knows your name already.” Charles says with a little laugh. This puts a look of fear and shock on my face.

”In two weeks time, everyone in the world is going to know your name.” George says, throwing his arm over my shoulder.

”Yeah that makes me feel a lot better, thanks Princess.” I spit back sarcastically, using the well-known nickname the media has given George in recent years. Pierre cackles hysterically, so much so that he struggles to catch his breath.

After a bit of throwing sarcastic insults back-and-forth with George, and him taking his turn for headshots, individual pictures are complete.

“Wait, we have to get a group picture of this years’ rookies!” Max calls, a devious smile on his face as he looks in my direction. I roll my eyes as I walk over in front of the camera and am joined by Logan and the blonde McLaren driver.

“I’m Oscar,” the McLaren driver says and he and Logan stand on either side of me. We put our arms around each other's shoulders “to show unity” as the photographer told us. The three of us gave bright smiles to the camera, trying to show that Formula 1 isn’t as scary as it seems when in reality, all of us are terrified to step out onto that track for the first time.

“Alright, lets get all of the drivers out here now.” The photographer says after snapping. Few photos of Logan, Oscar, and I. Immediately, the staff get to work on moving a bunch of prop boxes out into the studio as all the drivers flood the area. I’m directed by the photographer to sit on the tallest box, which I do have to get a running start to jump up on, and lean back on my hands with my legs crossed.

After a few moments of getting everyone else into position, the photographer finally gives us the signal to get our game faces on. Noticing that no one else is smiling at the camera, I tilt my head back a bit and glare at the camera. Although I am the highest up and the farthest back, I’m sure you will still be able to pick up my noticeable annoyance by looking at me in the photo.

“Everyone is free to go!” A lady, who I’m assuming is the head of media, yelled into the crowd of drivers. As everyone disperses, I’m speed walking to the door as to get out of there as quickly as possible, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I whip around to see George, Pierre, Oscar, Logan, and a few other drivers I haven’t formally met yet.

George looks at me with puppy eyes as he says, “We’re going out to get drinks, do you want to come with?”

They’re all staring at me intently, waiting for my reply.

”I can’t. I actually haven’t even unpacked my stuff yet and the furniture for my apartment hasn’t been built yet so I better get on that.” I say, avoiding eye contact so I don’t have to see the disappointed looks on their faces.

”What if we help you unpack?” The British, curly-haired boy asks, before saying with a wink. “Lando Norris, at your service. Do you have booze?”

I freeze up, not expecting them to want to change their plans to hang out with me so soon after meeting them. “I mean I guess, but my fridge is completely empty, so no booze.”

”Eh, we’ll just make Max pick some up on his way,” Lando says, waving it off while George yells, “Fuck yeah, party time!” Leading the entire room to burst into laugher.

Well, this is either going to end in losing my security deposit or getting so drunk that I won’t remember what embarrassing shit I’m sure to do by tomorrow morning.

[letstalkwhump]

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today. 

Here today to talk all things whumpy is the brilliant @whumpcereal!

It’s great to have you here! Let’s start with a fact or two about yourself  like your favorite color or favorite animal? 

My name is Kay, and I’m a high school teacher in my 30’s. Besides whumping unsuspecting gentlemen, my hobbies include reading a lot, belting out showtunes, cooking for people I love, hitting up new bars and restaurants with friends, and traveling. And since you asked–and as a teacher, I hate unanswered questions–I’ve recently realized that orange might be my favorite color, and I love gorillas. 

What does whump mean to you?

 It’s the sort of pressing-on-a-bruise feeling that is wrapped up in watching someone suffer and then be comforted. It’s the need for vulnerability and human connection. It’s watching Prince Philip get chained to a wall and not understanding why you find it so magnetic, but you do, haha! 

How did you find the whump community? What made you want to join? 

I was writing for the Newsies fandom (I know) during the pandemic, and one of my favorite authors tagged her epic work with “whump.” I clicked the tag on tumblr, and I found @lonesome--hunter’s Ezra almost immediately; I fell down the rabbit hole and never came out. After Ezra, I spent a good long time with @ashintheairlikesnow’s Danny and then @galaxywhump’s Wren. I realized that a lot of what I was putting in my own writing could be classified as “whump,” but I wasn’t sure how to join in the fun. I lurked for a while and then beta-ed for @darkthingshappen before I got brave enough to post my own stuff. But part of what motivated me to start posting was just how supportive and welcoming the whole community is. On AO3, you can get tons of hits but almost no real engagement; with whump, that’s totally different. It makes my little dopamine receptors ping. 

The whump community is amazingly supportive! Do you think your view on or the way you consume whump changed since you joined? 

 I am definitely a hurt/comfort gal. I can’t do the hurt without the comfort, and I need my whump to be strongly oriented in the characters’ feelings, whether we’re talking whumpers or whumpees. I struggle when a character is just getting the shit kicked out of them endlessly; I want them to have some relief, even if the relief is bittersweet or painful in its own way. I also find it easier to whump an OC than I do a fandom character, just because if they’re mine, I can build the kind of backstory that makes the whump reasonable. 

And your favourite whump trope?

 I do like noncon. Whump is a genre where I’ve really been able to explore scary things that have happened to me, and when a whumpee has an honest (and not needlessly gratuitous) nonconsensual experience, I gravitate toward it, especially if they’re allowed to explore the aftermath and how it makes them feel. I also love a mute whumpee–probably because I watched The Little Mermaid too many times growing up. Something about the helplessness of being trapped in your own body and at the mercy of others–hey, whumperflies! Captivity whump too, especially anything in the BBU. The BBU was one of my favorite discoveries when I found the community. It provides such rich opportunities! 

Captivity whump is so good! Would you mind sharing a favourite piece you've written? (the following pieces may contain non-explicit nsfw references)

Ooooh. Well, I guess I’ll choose one from each of my series. For Jack, my first and forever whumpee in Behavior Modification, and his caretaker, my wish-fulfillment fake husband, Joe, it’s this piece with their little girl. It’s something that I wrote in basically a single stretch one afternoon last summer, and I’m proud of it because it shows both how far Jack has come in his recovery and how much everything he’s gone through is still affecting him. It also shows how fierce of a protector Joe is, even though Jack’s got strength of his own. Plus, Hallie, their little girl, was super fun to create. She’s a feisty little thing, and I liked the idea of looking at such a dark, violent system through a child’s eyes. 

For The Kennel, it’s this piece which immediately follows my boy Will after his best friend Tommy is forced to assault him. It’s got the aftermath of noncon, plus it includes a lot of world building for my scary whumper, Doc, and his particular set-up. It really sets up the horror of the situation in which Will and Tommy have found themselves and also emphasizes the stories of other whumpees whose stories I’d love to explore (Justin and Tony, I’m looking at you). Plus, it gives Annie–who’s technically the caretaker in this story, even though she’s been abused herself–a chance to think about how she’s been raised and the way her father treats people. My favorite moment is when Will just breaks down completely, because we haven’t seen him do that yet. It’s a human moment, and he’s feeling so much less than human that it’s almost cathartic. 

And then, honorable mention to this piece where I crossover my two stories and let Jack help Will as his post-rescue counselor. I had so much fun with that reveal! 

Oh wow, I love the Kennel piece! You’ve broken my heart with Justin and Will! Would you like to share your writing routine  with us?

 I’ve actually been riding a bit of a block lately, but typically, I am an evening writer. No drinks or snacks, but usually movie scores that match the mood of what I’m writing. On good nights, it’s big blocks; on others, it’s just a sentence here and there (that’s been where I’m at lately). I try to write a little every day, but again, it’s been rough lately. Being a teacher at the end of the year is just as hard as being a student, haha. 

I can only imagine! Are some things easier for you to write? Anything you struggle with writing?

 I have an easier time writing recovery than I do straight whump, which is sometimes a bummer, because the whump community doesn’t seem to like recovery quite as much. So, I’ll pour myself into a recovery piece I have big feelings about, and then it won’t get quite as much traffic and engagement as when I’m roughing up the boys. I am very careful about how I write noncon. I think I do a decent job, but I try to approach it from a place of sensitivity to the person who is suffering versus engaging through violence alone. That can take a lot of time and thought and big feelings. 

And is there anything you're working on at the moment? 

I do have a fantasy crossover miniseries with Jack, Joe, and Ivan and @oddsconverts’ Josh and Felix that I’ve had a really fun time working on. I need to write a little intro before I post it. I need to go back to Jack and his intimacy consultations at WRU, and AU AU Joe and his reaction to the Drip. Poor Will and Tommy are in desperate need of attention; I need to get Will sold away so all the drama can increase. Maybe during summer vacation? 

Do you have a joke or pun you would like to share to spread some smiles today? I am only funny on accident. Just ask my students. ;-) 

Do you have any writing advice you’d like to share?

I’m great at giving advice to others, but absolute shit at following that advice myself. For instance, write for you. Don’t write for hits, likes, reblogs, etc. Just write what you want to read. Write as often as you can. During the pandemic, what got me back into writing after years of thinking about it was trying to write a little every day. Find you some writing friends who will get excited with you when there’s something you can’t wait to write about. 

Finally, would you like to give a mention to some of the amazing people in the whump community?

I already mentioned some of my favorites, but shout outs to @hold-him-down (whom I was lucky enough to eat very expensive risotto with this spring and whose Leo is one of my very favorite whumpees), @peachy-panic (58 Days is one of my VERY favorites), @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump (whose Wyatt has my whole heart), and @squishablesunbeam (I mean, Jesse? Come on!). My first friends in the whump community were @darkthingshappen (creator of my Benny baby), @oddsconvert (whose series are all so beautifully written that I can’t choose a favorite–she even made me like vampire whump–and who is my wonder twin forever), and @sparrowsage (go check out his new stuff!). 

Thank you so much for joining us, @whumpcereal ! It was a pleasure to have you here! 

And to all you lovely folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

[newtonsheffield]

Hey, Molly! I've enjoyed your Eurovision live updates today ☺️ I don't know if I've already submitted a request for Spicy Sunday 🌶 Sorry if this is a repeat. I would love to see something from You Didn't Call It What It Was. Thanks so much for sharing your stories with us.

Anonymous asked: I get that real life gets priority. I hope you have a good, productive evening. If you can and feel like doing the spicy scene, I vote for the new author au.

Anonymous asked: I'm so excited for Author Anthony! Can we see a spicy with them??

Anonymous asked: If you are doing a Sunday scene, I nominate Author AU to balance out how angsty that story is gonna be (really looking forward to it, though!)

Anonymous asked: I love the author AU so much! Can I request it for spicy Sunday?

@kanthony231955 asked: Molly,

I’ll take one for the team lol.

If you have time, may we please have a small snippet of Author Anthony maybe writing his scenes 👀 while he envisions Kate? Or a sexy moment between them?

Thank you!

Okay, I guess you guys are enjoying Author Anthony as a sweet sensitive, but very particular kind of pigeon, but here I am to show you that he is also an unhinged slut.

Kate remembered the very first time she'd felt Anthony's eyes on her. She'd been sitting in a lecture room, trying to concentrate on the wrong opinion of the man in front of her and she'd felt it, his gaze tickling down her spine.

"That guy is staring at you." The girl behind her had whispered jerking her head backwards and Kate had glanced in the direction and seen him.

He was staring at her from the row behind, or rather at her left hand, he'd been wearing a cable-knit sweater that was bunched up at his elbows and his eyebrow had been raised, staring at her hand and the page she'd written her thoughts on. She raised her eyebrows back at him and he seemed to startle, but he didn't look away as he smiled, a boyish grin really that didn't seem to fit the rest of him, completely unphased that she'd caught him staring. She turned back and tried to focus on what was said, but she felt his eyes burning into the back of her hand for the rest of the lecture.

She slung her backpack over her shoulder as she left, and stepped outside into the fresh November air, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

"Excuse me!"

She barely registered it, only kept walking, focusing on the rest of her day.

"Sorry! Girl with the dark curly hair!"

She'd turned at that, a little startled and found him standing behind her. He had a leather satchel swung over his shoulder, neatly stamped in silver with AEB, and his jeans were neatly rolled to exactly the same length as he neatly avoided a puddle, seemingly relieved he'd managed it.

"Hey."

She blinked at him, still a little startled, "Hi?"

"I just um- I noticed what you were writing-"

"Oh, so you were reading something you had no business reading?"

He didn't look very abashed, "You have very neat handwriting, it was right in front of me. Do you think Dr Fisher is the Hack or Percy Bysshe Shelley?"

Kate chuckled, "Both really, but... no one asked."

"You... can't find anything to admire about Shelley?" He seemed stunned, at her audacity.

"I... admire his wife, she started a whole genre of fiction. That's impressive."

"You're fucking ballsy."

Kate shrugged, "I have opinions."

"Fuck, I'd hate to see what you'd say about something I wrote."

Kate clicked her tongue, turning to walk away, "Luckily for you, you'll probably never find out."

She'd walked away from him that day thinking she'd never see him again, but it hadn't been true. And somewhere along the line, in those three years they'd spent at Oxford, she'd looked at him across the table in a pub and thought Fuck, I'm in love with you.

And even then, she'd never thought to tell him, she'd waved to him at graduation, surrounded by her family, him surrounded by his, so sure she'd never see him again. She'd only be walking past a bookstore one day and see his name on a book. The last thing she expected was to have a manuscript tossed on her desk years later as a junior editor.

Hummingbirds by Anthony Bridgerton.

And it was done.

And she'd never stopped feeling his eyes on her.

"I can feel you staring at me."

Anthony didn't bother to look away or try to deny it. He stared back at her from the leather sofa in the corner of his office, his hair touseled as he sat in his sweatpants and an old Tshirt. His Writing clothes he called them.

"I can see a lot of red pen over there."

Kate raised her eyebrow, tapping the pen against the printed pages in front of her. "Well, I'm your editor, babe, that's what I do. Edit."

His eyes burned into her darkly, "That section doesn't need editing."

She chuckled at him, "Why did you show it to me if you weren't ready?"

"It is ready, it just doesn't need to be edited."

Kate sighed, putting her glasses down, "I actually agree with you."

"Good, we agree I'm perfect."

"No, I think you need to cut this section."

Anthony's mouth fell open indignantly, "I'm not cutting that section!"

Kate groaned at an argument she'd had so many times with him, again and again until they were both red in the face and tension had rippled through the room until Anthony had usually thrown his hands up and fled the room after several long seconds. "Anthony, it slows down the entire chapter, and frankly, it's unrealistic."

Anthony shot out of his chair, stalking around the room like an angry giraffe as he made his way over to the bookshelf. "Unrealistic? I have awards, Kate!"

"Are any of them for realism?"

"You're just trying to hurt my feelings now! And you're succeeding!"

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose, "Baby, stop pacing, you know I'm right."

"I know no such thing!" He squawked, "It's passionate!"

"It's clumsy!"

Anthony stared at her, his chest rising and falling and his eyes burned her skin, setting her slowly alight as tension rippled between the distance but just as quickly as it started, it ended. Anthony threw his hands up and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Anthony," Kate called after him as his feet pounded on the staircase, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. You know you're my favourite author!"

Nothing.

Fuck

Kate put her head in her hands, guilt churning in her stomach. It would be different since they started dating, of course it would and she was still trying to find a balance between-

The door opened and closed again quickly and Kate's head shot up, "Anthony, honey, I'm sorry I just-"

"Oh, Hello." Anthony said stiffly, draping himself over the back of the sofa. He'd changed, Kate realised which made her blink a little in surprise. He'd ditched his sweatpants and Oxford shirt and was wearing a pair of jeans and a shirt that he'd left unbuttoned, the smooth muscles of his chest exposed, the light smattering of chest hair dark against his pale chest in the afternoon sun.

"I know what you're doing." She tried to say it confidently, but her stomach dropped anyway and her cheeks felt warm, the entire room felt stifling, suddenly.

"I'm not doing anything." Anthony said, clearly shooting for casual, running his fingers over the back of the sofa, spinning towards her, "I'm merely... sitting in my office."

He stalked across the room towards her, his feet light on the floor and something in the intensity of his gaze made her thighs clench together.

"You aren't even sitting."

"Oh?" He was leaning across the desk now, his hands pressed into the leather covering the mahogany and Kate could smell his cologne hanging in the air. Kate felt herself squirm in her seat as he stared hungrily at her and his voice was lower when he spoke again. "Maybe I should sit then."

Kate stifled a moan as he got to his knees and she felt his hands warm on her legs even through her stockings. He slid his hands up her legs, under her skirt, his fingers tracing patterns against the soft fabric.

"Don't," Kate said but it sounded weak, even to his own ears as her legs fell open for him and she left one hook around the back of his neck, drawing him in closer.

"Do you really want me to stop?"

He hadn't done anything, not since she whined the word, his hands had stayed still on the edges of her stockings, curled around her garters, and she knew if she said yes, if she really did want him to stop he would. But god she didn't.

"Don't stop, please don't."

Anthony let out a low moan and his fingers tugged her closer by her garters until both her legs were wrapped around his neck. His lips pressed against the inside of her thigh and his tongue swept along the edge of her underwear. He made his way slowly to the centre, his tongue was warm and soft through her underwear and she could feel heat licking at her stomach in time with his movements.

Kate's hand fell from the desk and tangled itself in Anthony's hair and her hips started grinding slowly against him. Anthony let out a content noise in the back of his throat that sounded caught between a purr and a moan. The press of his tongue and the rough friction of her underwear was pushing her forward, heat coiling tighter as she held him in place against her and still she could feel his gaze burning into her.

He was always so focused on everything. Such single-minded focused that she loved watching him do anything. She loved the way he committed, threw himself into everything he did, even this, even here, even the way he loved her was determined and driven.

Come on, babe. Come for me

She toppled over the edge and the feel of his words against her and her legs started shaking, tightening around him but he didn't stop. She felt his fingers curl around the edge of her underwear and her hips bucked against the feel of his fingers while he tugged them roughly aside. Anthony's stubble scraped along the inside of her thighs and his nose pressed against her as he inhaled deeply.

Kate could feel the moan building in the back of her throat long before it made its way free and his tongue swept over her finally. It was light pressure, barely there but she could feel herself losing control already. her skirt was sliding against the chair and her knees hit the desktop with every grind against him but she didn't care. All she could feel was the press of his tongue and the slide of his fingers against her stockings and the feel of his hair under her hands and his fucking eyes staring up at her, pushing her higher and higher. Tension was thick in the room and the fireplace in the corner crackled away thickening the air.

Again, please.

His voice was firm sending a shiver down her spine and her lungs were burning as she struggled to stay upright against the feel of them.

I won't ask you again

She fell over the edge again with a sharp cry, her hips bucking wildly against him as she unravelled completely, her entire body shaking around him until she slowly came back to earth.

Anthony left a swift kiss to the inside of her thigh, letting her garters snap against her legs as he let her go, an annoyingly smug smile on his face as he crawled out from the desk.

"I think you'll find that that, which was exactly how it was described in my excellently written book, right down to my dialogue, hardly slowed things down!"

Kate groaned, her head falling to the desk, "I liked this better when I won all the arguments because you were too scared to fuck me senseless."

"I don't!" Anthony said, snatching the pages off the desk and crossing her annotations out as he crossed the room. "It stays!"

"I hate this."

"Lies."

[xxavengingangelxx]

Long Way From Home 4/?

Notes: I have finished writing this. Kinda. So it's going to be a series most likely. I need to see MW3 in November to make it as correct and canon as possible. So it's kind of a cliffhanger but it should continue once I play MW3. Time runs a little slower in this universe but should still be relatively canon. I still don't know how many parts are left but I have 50 pages of this. Expect more parts until I post all 50 pages :)

Also, if you wanna cry, go listen to Paralyzed by NF. :'( It helped me write the end(?) of the first part of these series.

Also, this quote applies to OC/Val/Reader and will be THE quote to summarize this fic: "There's a story behind every person. There's a reason why they're the way they are. They aren't just like that because they want to be. Something in the past created them, and sometimes it's impossible to fix."-Hanny Quinn

Ya'll know the drill. I assume this isn't ya'll's first rodeo when it comes to reading this but alas, because it's a dark fic, I will post triggers again. MDNI, 18+ TRIGGERS: Implied/attempted suicide, self-harm, torture, brainwashing, physical abuse, mind fuckery, Stockholm syndrome-related mental gymnastics, trauma bonding, mentions of foster care, threatened/implied/referenced rape, EXTREMELY dubious consent. If I miss, any let me know, please! DARK FIC

-

“I need you to do something for me,” Graves had you sitting in a large conference room. You wringed your hands in your lap nervously. The room was cold and so sterile. It was just you and Graves and you felt so small.

You’d thrown on a hooded sweatshirt because it seemed like you were always cold here. You’d apparently slept for 14 hours straight but you still felt tired. Considering they’d kept you awake for days on end at times, that wasn’t surprising.

“What’s that say?” he slid a manila folder your way.

You hesitated in opening it because what if it was code from 141? You couldn’t betray them. But at the same time you felt abandoned, forgotten. Whatever happened to never leaving a soldier behind?

But open it you did. They were newspaper clippings. All about El Sin Nombre. And about the gunshots that had been heard the night you were taken. And about Hassan. They were in Spanish.

“The newspapers?”

Graves nodded.

“Do you have something I can write with and on?”

-

You spent hours translating all the clippings into English, writing them into a small notebook. Hours turned into days and you translated newspapers, articles, military documents. They let you sleep at regular intervals. You had water, you had food. Hell you’d fallen asleep with you head on that cold conference table a few times now and they hadn’t bothered you.

Graves would come in periodically to get what was already translated and take it somewhere, you had no idea where.

One time he came in and sat right beside you. You instantly got nervous…and scared. You glanced up at him, dark gaze meeting his electric blue one.

“What?” you whispered.

“It’s not so bad, is it?”

You shook your head, not understanding what he was getting at.

“What do…what do you mean?” your voice trembled and you hated it.

“Workin’ for me,” he stated simply.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Can’t promise I’ll answer but shoot,”

“Did I break?” you asked, wanting to know if you’d given in amongst all that pain and torture and given him something useful.

“I can’t answer that,”

-

What you guessed were your days were spent translating. Your nights were spent on your knees, on your back, or with Graves’s face in between your legs, his stubble rubbing roughly amongst the inside of your thighs, drawing out unholy noises from you all while holding your hips down so you couldn’t escape him.

You push the thought that he’s borderline raping you away from your mind because your mind and your sanity just can’t fucking handle that. Yes you’d admitted to yourself that this wasn’t entirely consensual. He was your captor and you were his hostage for fuck’s sake. You had no idea what would happen if you refused him but you were scared to. Still, you convinced yourself this wasn’t rape. Your mind would finish breaking down if you did. You’d been through enough.                               

One day he randomly told you that you didn’t remember certain things because they’d been drugging you. But he assured you they weren’t doing that anymore, now that you were just so cooperative. Your homing beacon had been left behind in Las Almas. 141 had probably come across it and only that when they thought your homing beacon would lead to you. They’d probably found your radio ripped to pieces somewhere, too.

Graves assured you there was no way 141 was going to find you. You didn’t know how to feel about that. You’d been feeling abandoned. You’d been wondering why they hadn’t come for you. Surely 141 would have found you if they tried hard enough, right?

At the same time Graves told you that you probably didn’t want them to find you. “You’ve been working with me for almost a week now. They don’t want you back.”

You told yourself he was playing mind games, that he was slowly peeling away your identity so he could rebuild a new one. 141 would understand, right? They’d understand when you came back to them with broken ribs in several stages of healing, bruises that were blue and purple and yellow, a nose that had been broken multiple times, and possibly a hairline skull fracture all inflicted over you captivity. Right? They’d understand that you only did what you had to when they saw the numerous scars all over your body, right? One of them from a suicide attempt.

“You would’ve died on the streets of Las Almas without us,” Graves mentioned one night. “No telling what would’ve happened to you,” he continued. “I know how you grew up.” Those cold blue eyes focused on you in the low lighting of his bedroom. “Foster care. In and out of homes, being bounced around.”

You didn’t know you were crying until you felt tears falling down your sweaty face.

“You don’t have to keep that shit up anymore,” he said, brushing the tears from your face. “They’re not gonna take you back. They see you as a traitor. Stay here. We’ll take care of you.” He paused before adding, “We’d tear the world up lookin’ for ya if you went missing. Can’t same the same for 141.”

So you stayed. And not once did you think about leaving. Besides, even you attempted escape, Graves would find you and rip you apart all over again. It wasn’t worth it.

141 didn’t want you back, right? Your worst fear was being bounced around, being homeless, not wanted.

-

You got a watch one random day. A Samsung. Of course the location features had been disabled. But you knew the date.

Shadow Company had been protecting you for one month now.

-

You were learning the black site, at least the layout. There were still areas you weren’t allowed to go. You tensed when you passed a Shadow. They looked at you different now, though.

You heard Graves’s voice coming from a conference room.

“She’s ours now. So you protect her and you look out for her. Think of her as your little sister.”

-

You woke up to Graves shaking you.

“Get dressed. We gotta move.”

“What’s going on?” you asked sleepily.

“We’re under attack,”

-

You were in oversized fatigues, rolling up the sleeves and pant legs at least half a dozen times over so they would somewhat fit you. You felt like you were overheating as Graves tightened a thin Kevlar vest under your black uniform shirt before strapping it on. Tight. He pulled the zipper up on the shirt and then placed something at your feet. It was a heavier vest, similar to the one you’d had with 141.

But it was a Shadow Company vest. Your mind tried to reason that they weren’t giving back your old vest because it associated you with 141. They wanted to erase that identity and build a new one, remember? All the vests you’d seen on the other men as well as Graves had the Shadow Company emblem. The name tag?

P-80. It stood for Phantom-80. The name looked new and an increasingly fading part of your mind whispered that they’d given you the name Phantom because it mocked 141’s Ghost. You ignored it. What were the chances of that?

“Why do I need two?” you asked as Graves fastened the Velcro on the larger vest.

“Trust me,” was all he said.

He gave you a sidearm.

-

Shadows were engaged in gunfire. It was night. It was cold. Wasn’t it autumn? You’d forgotten how loud gunfire was. You were used to only hearing your own screams and other sounds that weren’t gunfire.

You had gotten so used to being indoors, to being in relative silence for the last month and a half now. So the gunfire was deafening, disorienting. Graves demanded you stay low and stay close to the Shadow he paired you with. Graves then disappeared.

Time seemed to drag on. You stayed low while you were both fired at and the Shadow returned fire.

Then the world went black for a few second and you found yourself in dirt. The breath had been knocked out of you and you felt a familiar sensation…you been shot but your vests had stopped it. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. You gasped for breath.

The Shadow with you dragged you somewhere by grabbing your vest. He pulled you out of harm’s way. Then more bangs, closer this time, and you were dropped to the dirt. The Shadow dragging you to safety had been shot. You crawled over to him, the momentary stop in the gunfire allowing you to do so. The bullet had slipped in just under the rim of his helmet and entered his brain on the left side of his face, just above his left eyebrow.

“Oh, my God!” you shrieked. You shook him but he just stared at the sky with lifeless grey eyes. “Hey—” you shook him but it was no use. He was dead, and he probably never even knew what killed him. So you slipped his rifle off of him and ran for cover.

You found yourself in another dilapidated building as you tried to catch your breath. You began hearing familiar voices. 141?

No, no, no, no, no…you’d been separated from them for so long that you would honestly feel like an enemy combatant in their hands. So you hid. You ran to the second floor of the building, stepping over gaps in the floor. You curled into a corner, rifle pointed at the doorway. You then cursed yourself because fuck going up to the second floor effectively trapped you. But maybe the soldiers below were too engaged in killing each other to even bother going up to a second floor if no one was firing from it.

You covered your ears when the gunfire got louder. It was getting closer and you had no fucking idea who was shooting. You really were a broken soul because you never used to cover your ears at the sound of gunfire. Things then became eerily quiet. Gun smoke hung heavily in the air, almost blocking out the thunderstorm clouds gathering.

You jumped when you heard thunder and you had to convince yourself if was thunder and not gunfire.

You stayed there for minutes, hours, who knows how long as sporadic gunfire filled your ears. You jumped with each shot, covering your ears. You were a shell of your former self. That much you knew.

Now that you were still your ribs ached. At least the vests had stopped the bullet.

Rain started and while you normally loved stormy nights, you cursed it now because it made it hard for you to see your environment and hear what was going on around you. Staying on alert so long without anyone to help you keep watch was exhausting.

You heard a creak. You opened your eyes, instantly awake. The gunfire had stopped. Where the hell were you and where was Shadow Company? Was Graves okay?

Downstairs you heard two gunshots and what sounded like a heavy body hitting the floor.

You raised the rifle, almost certain you were hearing footsteps. Someone was coming up those stairs. And whoever it was sounded large and heavy.

“Graves?” you called out.

No answer.

“Graves please tell me that’s you,” you added.

Whoever was there was now on the second floor. You were sure if you heard more footsteps coming up those stairs as you were focused on trying to pinpoint how close whoever was on the second floor was in reference to you.

You were sure that the person on the second floor would be at your doorway soon. You held your breath.

The footsteps stopped but no one appeared in the doorway.

You wondered if you were losing it. What if you were half asleep and dreaming?

“Graves, c’mon, man,” you whispered.

One more soft noise and the doorway was almost entirely blocked by a dark, tall figure.

Not Graves.

Not a Shadow.

König.

You didn’t know what to think. But you didn’t lower the rifle either. What was he doing here? Was 141 here?

“Don’t come any closer,” you warned.

“Val,” König’s voice seemed confused. “It’s me. It’s us.”

You kept the rifle raised but fuck because you couldn’t shoot.

“Please don’t come closer,” you begged.

“He can’t hurt you anymore, ja?”

So you faked it. You pulled the rifle’s strap over your head and set it down next to you.

“Okay,” König replied calmly. He got closer. He had long since dropped his rifle, leaving it to hang off his shoulder.

As soon as he got within arm’s length you ran past him. He definitely wasn’t expecting it but he still tried to grab you. You being small, you found it easy to escape his grasp, especially because he had not been expecting you to run. You knelt below his reach and ran.

You sprinted down the stairs, praying to God you’d run into Graves.

You were halfway down the stairs when you ran into Soap. König must have said something over the radio because Soap was ready for you.

Soap grabbed you, led you down the remaining stairs and easily put you on the ground on the first floor face down. Soap then got on top of you, straddling you from behind in an attempt to gain control and calm you.

You heard him say something but it didn’t register.

Mindlessly, you reached for your sidearm, getting desperate. Graves had told you they’d kill you if they found you and while you weren’t willing or able to shoot before now the idea was starting to look like it might be your only option to save your life.

“No, Val,” Soap said calmly. He pried the gun from your hand effortlessly and tossed it aside.

You reached for a knife on your vest.

And the same thing happened. He disarmed you without really putting any effort into it.

Boots stepped into your line of vision and you looked up. Ghost. He handed Soap something.

“Don’t kill me,” you begged.

“Never,” Soap replied. “But you’re unpredictable right now, lass, okay?” Zipties enclosed your wrists and pulled tight.

-

You snapped back to reality, gasping awake. You were on a bed. You’d fallen asleep apparently. So you had been dreaming.

“What’d you dream about?”

You recognized that voice. Graves.

“That they took me,” you replied. You sat up. You were at another black site. “How did we get out?”

Graves moved to sit next to you. He still had that battlefield smell of gunpowder and sweat. “You don’t remember getting out?”

You shook your head. You were sure you were losing your mind.

“Bad dream, then?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “A nightmare. I was scared they’d kill me.”

“They will if they catch you,”

You ran your hand through your hair, pushing it out of your face. Your bangs still fell over your eyes and forehead.

“141 shot you,” Graves added.

“Were they aiming at me?”

“Who’s to say they weren’t?”

“Where am I?” you asked. Graves was sitting next to you, still geared up.

Graves scoffed. “Safe.”

“You okay?” You ask him. “I was scared you’d get hurt.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.” Graves then added, “It pissed me off they hurt you.”

“What’s next?” you asked.

“Staying in the shadows,” he responded simply.

You didn’t know why that made you tear up but it did. You sniffled. Wait…did it mean you were going to spend the rest of your life running with Shadows and looking over your shoulder?

“C’mere,” he muttered.

So you sat up and he pulled you into his arms. And you let him. He pulled the Velcro off your heavier vest and lowered to the floor and off the bed where you both sat. While you could barely hear his heartbeat through that big vest of his, you heard enough. His scent, his heartbeat, his body heat lulled you into a dozing state. You felt him place a hand on the back of our neck, brushing your hair softly. He placed his chin on top of your head.

And that was one of the first times that his presence settled you and calmed you.

You were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to fall back asleep but you were scared of having another bad dream. You needed to feel sure this was your reality, that you were really there.

So you shook off Graves’s hands and grasped his vest. You crawled into his lap, straddling him before kissing him.

By kissing him you could almost feel the tension he was under. It was almost like you were starting to be able to read him just by looking at him. He needed stress relief and you needed to feel him to remind yourself that you were still there. With Graves. You had no idea what 141 would do to you if they caught you but you didn’t want to find out. You felt him moan underneath you when you ground yourself against him.

Apparently that was all the invitation he needed. He easily picked you up and tossed you onto the bed. He climbed over you and straddled you, his gloved hands pulling down the zipper on your oversized shirt before tossing it aside.

The sound of Velcro ripping only made you hotter. What was it about vest Velcro ripping that turned you on? He easily pulled the lighter vest off of you and placed it next to the bed. Your shirt underneath the vest was pulled from you followed by your bra.

“I’m busy, darlin’,” you heard Graves growl. He leaned down to kiss you before then unbuckling your belt. So you kicked off your boots, hearing them fall to the floor heavily. You heard your uniform pants hit the floor, the sidearm attached to them causing a metallic clank.

“I don’t care,” you whined.

You were completely naked beneath him yet he was still fully geared. You found that hot.

He flipped you around, roughly putting you on your chest and stomach. You heard him unbuckling his belt and you pushed back against him. “So needy,” he gasped.

“Show me who I belong to,” the words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. Who the fuck were you turning into?

Graves then placed a rough, gloved hand at the back of your neck, pushing you into the mattress and used the other to wrap a hand around your waist, pulling you into an arched position. It was like he could read you as well. You wanted it rough and he knew.

“Don’t move,” he demanded.

So you didn’t. Your breath came out in short huffs, blowing your hair from your face before having it fall across your eyes again.

Graves placed two bruising hands on either side of your hips.

He didn’t go slow, didn’t give you time to adjust to him like he had all the previous times before. He pushed inside of you so roughly that he bottomed out inside of you and hit your cervix.

 A scream was ripped from your lips. It was pain and pleasure and pressure and just feeling owned, feeling wanted. It reminded you that you hadn’t been taken away from him, that you were still there, with Graves.

“Quiet,” he snapped.

Graves grasped your hair, pushing you further into the bed in an attempt to muffle your sounds.

A ragged moan left your mouth when you felt him move inside you.

“Fuuuuck, Graves,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Slut, you’re getting off on this,” he stated between gasps.

You wanted to snap back, “So are you,” and you started but his relentless thrusts cut you off. He’d never been this rough with you ever but fuck you liked it.

You were cockdrunk and lost in the pain and pleasure.

Graves removed one of his hands from your hips and reached between your legs, roughly rubbing your clit all while carrying out deep, penetrating thrusts and hitting that spot deep inside you. The combination of the sensations, of feeling a slight hint of his nails between your legs finally pushed you over the edge. You surrendered yourself, your soul, your body, to him just as you’d done every time before. You screamed his name, although not audibly, more into the covers of the bed.

Graves followed shortly after, his thrusts faltering almost and becoming sloppy as he gave into his feral, untamed, animalistic desires.

He pulled out of you and let go of you. So you collapsed onto the bed, gasping as you tried to catch your breath. You heard him rebuckle his pants and he placed a shaky hand on your back, steadying himself before he moved and sat next to you on the bed.

You curled up next to him, feeling your combined fluids start to spill onto your inner thighs. “Where’d that come from?”

“It’s been a long time comin’, sweetheart,” he used his hand to brush hair from your sweaty face. “Hey,” he caught your attention before saying, “I need your dog tags.”

You frowned. But you didn’t care. You’d been conditioned to do what he said without questioning it. “Have ‘em,” you handed them over.

He took them and pocketed them. You were curious but knew better than to question him.

“I’m tired but I’m scared to sleep,” you admitted.

“Go to sleep,” he said. You felt him lie down next to you. With all that gear it couldn’t be comfortable. He wrapped an arm around you.

“Hey, what’s up with Phantom-80?” you mumbled.

“Your callsign,” Graves responded. “You’re ours now. You’re mine now.”

And weirdly enough that was all it took to lull you into sleep.

That night you had your worst dream yet.

141 had found you. But they were…different. They wanted to know where Graves was. You knew but you weren’t willing to give them that information.

But even when they were making you scream from the pain they were inflicting on you, something deep down was telling you this wasn’t them. But then again what if this was how they were going to treat you from now on?

-

Notes: Feel free to let me know what you thought ;) You'll keep falling down the rabbit hole of Stockholm Syndrome with each post.

[corrodedthorn]

mirage | prologue

>>pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader >>genre: fluff/angst >>status: ongoing >>chapter cw: smoking, mentions of bad parents, cursing >>english is not my first language

>>series summary: In his entire life, Eddie had one person he could call his best friend. Well, he had, because right after the well-known Starcourt Mall fire, after many weeks of secrets and lies, their paths turbulently parted. Although months of piercing silence on both sides have passed, when the corpse of his schoolmate rested on the floor of Eddie’s trailer, and Hawkins began the hunt, it is she, along with Dustin and the group, who shows up on his hideout's doorstep. Ready to protect him even at the cost of her own life. Eddie rips up old wounds and decides to find the answer to the question that has been tormenting him this whole time. What really happened in the summer of 1985?

series masterlist | playlist

a/n okay, i'm really late with this but I hated the first version and decided to write it all over again. still not sure how it went but I couldn't keep it in a drawer any longer, hope you enjoy!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

August 11, 1980.

The warm breeze of summer wrapped around their shoulders and combed through their hair. It was one of those nights that seemed to be solely theirs. Her figure planted on the top of a picnic table, he sitting on the bench, between her legs, the back of his head resting against her stomach and his arms resting on her thighs. The entire trailer park was shrouded in silence, except for the loud chirping of crickets hidden in the grass. Yes, it was definitely their night. 

The moon hanging high above their heads, the millions of stars among which she formed her own constellations, the soft light beaming from an old street lamp. Everything was theirs. And not a single soul around to disturb their peace.

Eddie's eyes remained closed in relaxation while her hand stroked his shaved head gently. They often spent summer nights like this, enjoying the last moments of warmth and tranquility. With the new school year looming on the horizon, they took as much as they could from such moments.

"Hey Eddie." She broke the silence suspended between them in a soft voice, as if trying not to disturb the peace. In response, she received only a quiet hum, as a sign that he was listening to her. "Eddie, look!”

The boy opened one eye lazily and looked in the direction she pointed. Right next to them, a large moth was sitting on the table, gently fluttering its wings. With beautiful patterns, it clearly stood out against the decaying wood, and for a moment they could not take their eyes off it. Suddenly, the moth took to the air with breathtaking lightness, flying toward a nearby street lamp. 

"Look, there's another one!" Eddie rose slightly, pointing his finger. The two moths flew toward each other and began a mesmerizing dance, casting delicate shadows on teenagers. The ethereality of this moment filled their hearts with warmth. 

"They're kind of like us, don't you think?" She asked quietly, hoping Eddie would understand. That, like her, he would see in the moths a metaphor for their lives. Their weightless floating in the darkness, desperately searching for a luminous purpose. Having only each other and nothing else needed.

"Yeah. They're like us." And Eddie's dreamy smile hinted that he understood perfectly what she meant. 

Gazing affectionately at the moths flitting around each other, she felt a strange surge of nostalgia. Her smile dropped slightly, and a melancholy filled her heart that had been so joyful only moments ago.

"I don't know how I'll get through this year without you," she said in a soft voice that somewhat caught Eddie off guard. He furrowed his brow, but did not look away from the flying moths.

"I'm not going to drop off the face of the earth though, I'm just going to high school. You'll join me next year, plus we'll be seeing each other after class anyway."

"I know, but still. I guess I’ll just miss you. It will be weird not sitting with you at lunch." She shrugged her shoulders. "Or not seeing your stupid face in the hallway." 

Eddie laughed out loud, nudging her leg with his elbow.

"You always have the rest of Corroded Coffin. And maybe you'll find some new friends if I'm out of the picture." He teased.

"I honestly doubt it. Don't think the chains at my jeans, Metallica shirt or reputation of a freak are very appealing to potential future friends."

"Yeah, you're right." His light laughter left a bitter taste in his mouth, as if the brutal truth was trying to escape his throat. "I guess not too many people want to be friends with freaks, huh?"

"I'm not complaining. I wouldn't even want to know at least half of these people anyway. You're enough for me." She pinched his ear playfully, at which Eddie squirmed. "And we'll be best friends forever."

"Well, you're not getting away from me that easily, so you don't really have a choice." He stuck out his tongue at her and pinched her calf as revenge for the previous attack. Leaning his back against her again, he sighed loudly. His thoughts returned to her previous statement, and Eddie didn't even notice how the corner of his mouth twitched upward involuntarily. "Forever, huh? You promise?"

A note of hope hung in his voice. 

"I swear. Even if someone put a gun to my head. One hundred percent." 

"Forever... Sounds cool."

In Eddie's ears, "forever" sounded otherworldly. It sounded like stability, something he hadn't experienced much in his short life. It sounded like the promise of a future as wonderful as their present. It sounded like the most beautiful word anyone could say to him. From between her lips, it sounded like home.

Because she was his home.

Silence once again enveloped their bodies. Her hands went back to stroking his head, and he once again closed his eyes in relaxation. The moths dissolved somewhere in the gloom of the night, and the pair remained, lulled by the universe. 

Their blissful idyll was interrupted by a vehicle entering the trailer park. The teens' eyes shone brighter than all the stars in the sky at the sight of the familiar car pulling up next to Eddie's trailer.

"Uncle Wayne!" They called out, jumping up from their seats and running into the arms of the tired man, who groaned at the impact.

"And who do my old eyes see? Are these my little rascals?" He put both arms around the teenagers and pulled them close. "What are you two up to?"

"Nothing much. We've been waiting for you." She answered him with a radiant smile.

"Are you stayin' the night, sunshine?" he asked, also sending her a slight smile. "Or you need a ride home?"

"I think I'll stay the night. You know how my parents are." Yes, he knew her parents pretty well. In fact, he knew them well enough that he didn't have the heart to deny the girl at least a scrap of stability and security that they couldn't give her. And if that scrap was to be his old little trailer, so be it.

Wayne stroked her shoulder reassuringly, then with a slow step began to lead the teenagers toward the front door. 

"Sure thing. Well, it's not that late yet, so how about a movie? I have that weird 'the shine' one that you guys are obsessed with."

"You mean 'the shining'?" Eddie laughed out loud.

"Yeah, that one."

As the door closed behind their backs, finally cutting them off from the darkness of night and nostalgic reflections, luminous smiles filled their souls. They ended up not watching any movie. Instead, they sat together on the couch, sipping cinnamon tea and talking about how their day went. 

And if the moths were still around, they would surely have flown toward that trailer. For their laughter seemed to light up the park a little brighter than the street lamps.

March 7, 1986

This evening seemed oddly colder than the others. Maybe it was because spring had yet to arrive in Hawkins, or maybe it was her chilling gaze that made the darkness weigh down on his shoulders and the blast of cold bite into his leather jacket. Probably both.

Eddie was standing with his back against the side of his van, taking a drag on a cigarette every few moments. With attentive eyes, he watched Dustin, who was walking toward a familiar car with a wide smile on his lips, waving cheerfully at the girl behind the wheel.

He will probably spend the whole way home telling her how today's campaign went, how they defeated the final boss and how cool it was. She will probably have a wide smile on her face throughout the story and will ask for details from time to time. They will probably laugh all the time and listen to music very loudly as they drive through the streets of Hawkins together. But Eddie could only imagine this heartwarming scene. A scene that used to be his reality.

He took another drag on his cigarette and involuntarily glanced in her direction. For a second they seemed to catch eye contact, but she quickly looked away and sent a slight smile to Dustin. With absolutely no acknowledgment of Eddie's presence, she drove out of the parking lot without looking back once.

"Forever, huh? Fucking bullshit." He muttered to himself, tossing his cigarette on the ground. With a heavy step, he got into his van, slamming the door and almost immediately clenching his hands on the steering wheel. Only his loud sigh disrupted the overwhelming silence, as he tried to ignore the painful stabbing in his heart. So many months had passed since their last conversation, yet the sight of her still had a grip on his throat.

What happened to them? 

A photo of her graduation, which Eddie always carried in his wallet, suddenly seemed to burn the material. He didn't have to look at it to have their silhouettes embracing each other tightly before his eyes, the beaming smiles on their faces and the sparkles dancing in their eyes. It didn't matter that that year he once again failed to graduate. All of his focus was on how proud and incredibly happy he was about her accomplishment. On that day, he was sure that at his own ceremony a year later, she would be at his side. Standing just as proudly, squeezing him close and flipping the bird to the teaching staff. Clearly, he was wrong. 

Seven months. That's how long it had been since the last time they had any kind of conversation. It had been even longer since he last saw the feisty sparks in her eyes. Somewhere between the routine of everyday life, she slipped through his fingers like loose sand. And from a soulmate, she became nothing more than the ghost of his best friend.

The stillness of the night began to seep into his van, but Eddie was in no mood to disperse it with loud music, as he usually did. He sent a glance at the spot where her car had been just a moment ago. 

One single moth flew right in front of his windshield.

Eddie's eyes welled up with tears.

taglist: @awhoreforeddiemunson @peaches-roses-sins @vingtetunmars @waitlalice @mopeymopeymouse @nikt-wazny-y @fangirling-4-ever @eddiebaemunson @munsonsfairygarden @dietcokequeen06 @aedicn @anxietybbie-blog @eddiesdingus @marvelbrokeme @avengers-21 @drm2003 @the-iridescent-phoenix @hurricane-abigail @h-ness1944 @basketcaseeeeee @eddiejosephluv @authoressskr @fizzleslay @chickennug90 @princesseddie @urallidjits @dreamsofbisexualswamprats @protecteddiemunson4vr

[sir-klauz]

Reading list for this month!

(Rb or like if you decide to read one of these titles after seeing this, I love knowing if I’ve inspired anyone to read things I have! It’s fun)

Pond Snail Robber

“The delightful and brutal life of living with a robber! Ji Ho ends up missing the deadline to apply for a dorm due to a slip of carelessness but luckily a sunbae from his major helps him get a room nearby. Unfortunately, not even half a day after moving in he gets attacked by a robber. After managing to get away, Ji Ho later comes back home to see the robber shedding tears over the novel he wrote in high school...But this robber, with the reason of wanting to continue reading his unfinished novel, asks to live with him in exchange for taking care of the house?! The sweet and fierce life of these two has started!”

(I wouldn’t say the description is totally great at describing what’s actually happening but it’s good at hiding spoilers of what the actual circumstances ended up being and it’s kinda a funny joke about the “robber” part once you read it. Also, it has the cutest unique font design ever, a snail!”)

Boyfriends.

“Want a boyfriend? How about 4?! Meet Prep, Jock, Goth and Nerd -four boys with a lot of love to share!

A comic about getting yourself a boyfriend... or multiple boyfriends! Four college students begin a polyamorous relationship and navigate the adventure that is their dating life!”

(I freaking love this, it’s really smooth and fun, and wholesome. As someone who’s poly you don’t get a lot of kind depictions of poly relationships, or there’s only threesome, foursome, or more being writing about for kinks or open relationships that aren’t poly or about polycules. The graphics are great on the eyes with lots of pastels, and each character has their fun personalities, not to mention actually including a trans guy within a gay relationship! It’s grand. 10/10 love Goth or wanna be Goth ahaa. Nerd is too adorable. Really recommend.)

Minmotion Syndrome

"The 600 million that was left to you, I’ll pay it off for you." Seo Taeyoon, who was dragged into the situation because of his father's debt, got angry and sneers at Park Jaein for being an omega after the latter made a sarcastic remark. Although Taeyoon detected Jaein's faint pheromone scent, he was able to identify him as an Omega. Jaein found Taeyoon interesting, as nobody else can really detect his smell, so he offered to pay off his debt in exchange for buying him...! Thus, Taeyoon now wears a leash designed for dogs. How would their dangerous relationship begin and end?”

(So this whole thing is so tongue in cheek so far, and absolutely not digestible for everyone, though I’m only at chapter 9. but the art, is phenomenal and I adore the styles for both characters. And well, it’s nice to see omegas which are characters designed to always submit and be mindless totally being the top dog. I like it when things don’t fit into boxes, it’s kinda like in any nsfw circumstances where someone typically assumed as having to be subservient, isn’t, because it’s not as cut and dry as that nor has to for, for instant when people are like big macho bois can’t “bottom”… if you catch my drift.~ Park Jaein is pretty mentally whomped aha, his “crazy eyes” are spooky hot. I’m so bad. Taeyoon is an omega hating alpha son of a poor drug addicted male omega SW (adult worker). It goes into their stories about why they’re the way they are, and I guess I’m hoping it works out and they don’t hate each other anymore.)

The Pizza Delivery Man and The Gold Palace

“Woowon has spent his entire life repaying debts with his mother as a result of his father's irrational business investments and gambling. When his mother falls unwell, she retreats to the countryside, where she struggles by herself. One day, Woowon is fired from his part-time job, and while searching for a new job, he is introduced to one as a delivery man at a pizza shop in a wealthy area by a friend. Not only was the food delicious, but the staff was also known for being attractive. Woowon, who had a dashing appearance, goes to an interview and immediately passes. Seo-an has spent his entire life being swayed by his father's greed, who would not tolerate even the smallest flaw. That was how he lived, chewing at himself with bursting panic and constant avoidance of people. One day, everything came to a halt and Seo-an locked himself up at home. Then, a person who had done him a tiny favor appeared. After a long time, he was no longer afraid of others. A young love story in which two people who are tired of life fall in love.”

Lover Boy (Jeky)

(I really adore the art here and that a moan character is an artist, it’s a trialing story for both of them!)

Ongoing reading list still reading from month prior:

-

What's with this strange dream?!

“Jungoh was just expecting to take on a part-time job as an assistant. What he didn’t expect was working inside people’s dreams with a cute, but grumpy shaman named Ibeom. And he certainly didn’t expect Ibeom to be cursed by a nightmare seedling!”

(Sorry I had to use this image, it’s hilarious.)

Night by the sea

“Kim Euihyun, who had given up everything due to reaching his limits, ran towards the sea with a child in his arms and was caught by an alpha, Yeo Taejoo. Euihyun, who is left with only debt by his father running away, was given money, a house, by Taejoo and even a job if he gives his body..."

Intoxicated

“Omega Shen Tingwei wakes up after a traffic accident and soon realizes something is very wrong. The people around him have no idea what an omega is, the local pharmacy doesn't carry his heat suppressants, and no one - including the doctor at the nearest hospital - seems to understand the reason he is feverish is because he's going into heat. Enter Lian Jue, a wealthy man with Emotional Deprivation Disorder who is struggling to balance running his company, appeasing his difficult family, and caring for his adopted son, Kangtong. When he encounters the heat-drunk Shen Tingwei staggering around the city and saves him from getting hit by yet another vehicle, the two men soon become entangled in each other's lives. Shen Tingwei is lost and helpless in a world not his own, and Lian Jue can't help but be drawn to the unusual stranger...”

“Shen lived in a place as a lawyer where there are three gender known: alpha, beta and omega however an incident caused him to be transported in a society where there are only two gender recognized: male and female.”

Is there a love at first sight in e-sport

“The Asian champion is free to take the girl to score points in the game. Finally, he brings a girl to Kaimai but finds that the other party is a boy. Mr. Champion left behind the online dating that ended before it started. When he went to train with the club, he accidentally had a little friction with another team. When the opponent's deputy captain showed up, Mr. Champion was instantly tempted to doubt life. When the opponent spoke, it was the "girl" he personally brought that day. Is there love at first sight in e-sports? Exists.”

[celice-13]

Cycle

Tw: Writing about social axiety, trust and abandonment issues

September 2

I met new friends online recently. It happened just like that, on a random social media. You probably think it’s stupid, that it won’t last more than a month. Yet it’s been forever since I’ve been so happy. For once, I want to believe it’s real. Not that you care anyway. I won’t even bother presenting them to you. I’ll just leave you in peace, since that’s what you’ve obviously always wanted. I don’t need you anymore anyway.

Kind regards,

The sock you threw away

September 3

I told you yesterday I wouldn’t tell you about my new friend group. You know what? I lied. I guess I just really want to talk about them. So, here goes.

First, there’s Malicia. She’s very kind, and caring. She’s always the first one to ask “how are you” and to notice if something’s off. She loves drawing animals, so she often goes on walks in the forest to practice on those she sees. She’s very good at it.

Then, there’s Theo. He’s very funny. He sends a lot of good memes on random topics, and always knows how to make people laugh, even when they’re feeling down. He loves cartoons. Apparently his parents are constantly looking down on him because of that, but he doesn’t care. I admire that a bit, to be honest.

Finally, there’s Ray. Just like their name implies, they’re a true ray of sunshine. They always use a lot of emotes in their messages, and show a lot of interest in what we say or experience. They love singing and even write their own songs from time to time. It’s nice to have someone who shares my love for writing, if only a little bit.

Maybe you think it’s creepy to know so much about people I’ve only just met. And I’ve not even told you a quarter of what I know. I’m just really eager to know as much about them as possible, so I can be a good friend. Unlike you.

Kind regards,

The book you never finished

September 7

Yesterday Malicia asked if we wanted to play Uno online with her. I couldn’t come, and they all seemed sad about it. And yet they still spent a great time together, without me. I should be happy for them, right? Yeah, I should. So why does it feel like they don’t actually need me? I hate when I think like that. And it’s all because of you.

Kind regards,

The song you stopped listening to

September 20

I messed up. Theo asked about our opinion on his favorite character from a cartoon, and I said something dumb in response. He seemed really upset that I didn’t understand his favorite character right. It made me so sad I almost felt like crying. Of course, I didn’t. Seems like you took my ability to cry away with you when you left. The other day I talked about wanting to know my friends as much as possible, but in the end it looks like it doesn’t prevent me from being a terrible friend. Why am I like this?

Kind regards,

The pen you lent and never asked back

October 3

Alright, that’s enough complaining. In case you haven’t noticed - wait, who am I kidding? Of course you didn’t - I haven’t talked to you these past few days. That’s because everything’s going well. I really got worried over nothing. Sure, Theo was a bit upset at the moment, but he didn’t mean to make me feel bad. He’s just that passionate about his interests. And a week ago Malicia offered to play Uno again, and this time I was able to join. We laughed so much the neighbors knocked on the wall to tell me to shut up (I didn’t). 

I guess I really have a tendency to freak out about the smallest things. But it’s fine. Now that I’m aware of it, I’ll be more careful. I won’t lose my friends again.

Kind regards,

The old phone you discarded for the newest one

October 25

I guess I’m a big liar, huh? Being aware of my problems won’t solve them. Who was I kidding? I was away for one day and no one noticed. Of course, there were other times where I wouldn’t reply for that long because I was busy doing something else, and would get angry at anyone who’d disturb me. They probably thought I was too busy to talk again. So why does it feel so different? Why does it feel like my absence doesn’t change anything? 

Sometimes I dream of disappearing for a few days, and coming back to see who noticed. But I’d be too scared to discover no one cared.

Kind regards,

The old toy you got tired of

November 6

Why can’t I be normal about friendship? Why do I always have to doubt everything? Why does the smallest message seem to imply “we don’t actually need you here, you’re not important”? I hate thinking like that, but I can’t help it. I hope you’re proud of what you’ve done, because this is all your fault.

Kind regards,

The ripped-up plush abandoned in the corner

November 15

Malicia asked me if I was doing alright. I once said she was very attentive, and yet she’s never asked before. I guess that’s because she only cares about her true friends. So I lied, and said I was alright even though each message exchanged with them feels more and more like I’m forcing myself to be someone I’m not. After all, if they already don’t care much about the happy, I’m sure to be left behind if they ever meet the fucked-up me. Isn’t that what you did anyway? I guess I’ll never know. You didn’t even bother to tell me. 

Kind regards,

The broken glass waiting to be dumped

November 24

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It 

IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS ITHURTS 

ITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTSITHURTS

I hate you.

December 1

I couldn’t talk. It’s a strange feeling, not being able to talk anymore. There are so many words stuck in your throats, so many that want to come out that they get stuck. You can’t say anything, you can’t write anything. My friends probably thought I was just being rude and ignoring them. We’re drifting apart, I can feel it. I don’t feel included in their conversation anymore, because there are less and less days where I can talk normally without feeling like I don’t deserve to be part of their group. At this point I’m just a number in the group’s stats.

Maybe I should leave. Wouldn’t that be for the best? You probably hoped I’d do that, and, when you realized I wouldn’t, you did it yourself. If I’d known, I’d have left first.

Kind regards,

The dry plant you forgot to water

December 3

I’m sorry. All this time I’ve been blaming you for my problems, but maybe I should finally admit it. It’s my fault. I was annoying, I was asking for too much attention. It became so overwhelming you had no other choice but to leave to protect yourself. You were the first person I truly felt close to, the first to truly listen to me. But I took advantage of your kindness and asked too much from you. Yeah, it really was my fault if you left in the end. So maybe it would hurt less if this time, I’m the one to leave.

Kind regards, 

I’m sorry

December 5

I left. I left my friend group. Well, I guess I shouldn’t call them friends anymore, should I? I lost that right now.

It’s funny how simple it was. Just one click, and it was all over. No more doubt. No more pretending, from me and from them. Now the only thing I have left is my loneliness. But it’s fine, I’ll get used to it. I have to.

People say human beings can’t stand loneliness. But what about those who aren’t meant for relationships of any kind? I’ve destroyed every friendship I’ve ever created. I poison them. Yes, poison. I like that word. I’m toxic. I look for new friends, I get invested hoping this time it will go better, and then I start being a hindrance until I drag the ones I’m supposed to love with me. And then I leave, and the cycle restarts. I’m toxic. And it all started with you. I won’t start blaming you again. As I said, it’s my fault you left. But ever since, I’m always destroying the new bonds I forge. 

So, yeah, I should probably just give up on friendship, and get used to loneliness. That way, I won’t destroy anyone again. About time I realized it, you’d say. And you’re right. I’ve caused enough damage already. It’s time to stop.

Kind regards, 

The friend you left behind

July 30

I met new friends online recently. It happened just like that, on a random social media. You probably think it’s stupid, that it won’t last more than a month. Yet it’s been forever since I’ve been so happy. For once, I want to believe it’s real. Not that you care anyway. I won’t even bother presenting them to you. I’ll just leave you in peace, since that’s what you’ve obviously always wanted. I don’t need you anymore anyway.

Kind regards,

The one who can’t forget you

[blorbology]

how i learned to love outlining

For the last year or so, I’ve been compiling ideas for stories and then outlining them, mostly because I genuinely love the planning stage of the writing process, but also because if 2023 taught me anything about writing, it’s that I can finish a project if I know where it’s going—if I can point myself in a meaningful direction. If I have a realistic and attainable goal.

I spent years of my life writing aimlessly. I wrote every silly idea that came to mind, no matter how stupid it was and with no regard to whether or not I was bothering to tell a story anyone would want to read. I had plenty of fun concepts but the actual works themselves were largely mediocre—unmemorable, as someone once told me—or, in the cases of a few, embarrassingly bad. Terrible, even.

In 2004 I started writing a longfic for ToS. I had no direction. No plan. I didn’t write anything down for where the story should go next. What the fuck were character arcs? I sat at my computer and I typed words. I put them out into the world: chapter by godawful chapter.

I’m not saying this to be self-deprecating; it’s just the truth. I was not a talented writer in 2002 when I started posting online. I was self-taught. I didn’t write a real paper until I was 26, the first year I attended a college English course. In 1999, I was 13 years old. We were all given an assignment to write a short story with a title that began with the word “Almost.” I hated school. Rather, I hated the social landscape of it, and I was miserable that year. I didn’t take this assignment seriously. I thought, I’ll just make some absolutely stupid shit up, who cares. My story was called “Almost Mowed Over” and it was about a blade of grass named Bob who watched in horror as his friends were murdered while he was, for reasons unknown, spared. I remember very little about the story other than that, and the fact that this got me nominated to write for Power of the Pen for reasons that still confuse me. I went with a few others to compete that autumn and, when I got my stories back, I was more or less told they were shit.

It felt bad, but a few years later I started posting fanfiction anyway. Why? It looked fun. I felt inspired.

So I wrote.

A lot.

I got attention, my stories got traction, and I even finished the first three longfics I ever started. They were shit, too, but I had fun, and through one of them, I met my now-husband—on April 22, 2003. We were married on April 22nd, 2017. Strange how fanfiction can bring people together. Strange, that he felt compelled to not only read my shitty fanfic, but then to email me about it afterward—something he had never done before, and hasn’t done since. I’ve known him for more years of my life than I haven’t known him, all thanks to some shit I typed up off the top of my head without a plan.

 And it was the success (or at least, overwhelmingly positive and kind response) of those first fanfics that propelled me into other fandoms.

So there I was in 2004, writing a longfic for Tales of Symphonia. Those of you who knew me back then might remember the story in question. I’m not proud of it. Actually, I’m embarrassed by it. I deleted it in 2016 and I’ve no regrets about deleting that or the 600 other stories I had online at the time. I’m certain that story was a stepping stone to greater things (it was Baby’s First Foray into darker fiction, after all), and for that reason alone I can’t bring myself to be ashamed of it, but…it was shit.

Drama for the sake of drama, no end goal, the worst summary imaginable. I had no idea what I was doing. But people read it anyway. I stopped writing that story early into 2005, and when I deleted it, it was sitting there abandoned at 8 chapters, 32k words, 138 reviews.

I wrote a lot of other ToS fics back then; they were all shit. Some were unhinged nonsense. But for some reason that ‘fic has staying power.

Probably because I’m embarrassed by it. I guess it always just feels kind of bad to know that even though you tried your best on something, it still somehow turned out poorly.

And I’m sure there’s a lot to say, too, about the fact that I honestly didn’t learn from this experience. I went on to start a bunch of other longfics over the years and, unsurprisingly, finished absolutely zero of them (though some went on longer than others).

And the truly insane thing here is that out of nowhere, very suddenly in 2023, after years of barely writing (and even then mostly just re-writing old stories): I had some kind of…epiphany?

One night I dreamed that a baby was more or less dumped on Raine Sage’s doorstep. The dream was pretty detailed up to a point very shortly before I woke up. I told one friend about it and then another. I let it marinate. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, which is weird, because my experience with ADHD is that far too often things just slip through the cracks never to be considered again. But this dream—that idea, the concept—stayed with me.

And then one day I thought, well, I’ll just…outline it. It can’t hurt anything. It won’t be a huge waste of time even if I never use it. It could be fun to try to puzzle out a real story. Real character arcs.

I’d never finished an outline for anything in my entire life.

-

So let’s go back a few years.

In 2011, I began doing more serious RP. I RP’d as Regal, actually, in a ToS RP I did with a friend of mine. It was my first introduction to multi-para RP. My previous experience had been pseudo AIM RPs and the Dressing Room RPs on Livejournal. They were fun, but this was on a completely different level; it felt like cooperative writing, like cowriting a real story with someone else. I was immediately taken in by it, by the process. I grew obsessed waiting for responses. My eyes were always on my email. The two of us stayed up far too late typing responses back and forth to one another. It was a great time.

When that fizzled out after a couple hundred thousand words (probably due to lack of overall planning and the expectation that we should match one another’s reply lengths) I coerced I MEAN LOVINGLY SUGGESTED to a different friend of mine, someone I’d known much longer, that we should try doing RPs together. There was no expectation of either of us matching the other’s reply length, and my favorite response ever from her was just a character saying, “No.”

We wrote a million+ words together over the course of a few years, and it was all for the Fire Emblem fandoms. It was addictive and fun. If you’ve never participated in RP, or you aren’t really a writer yourself, I think it’s hard to really understand the appeal of what looks to be a glorified group project. After all, in RP you’re giving away 50% of your control over the story. But with a good partner who vibes with your writing style and characterization, and with the (get this!) addition of Communication, it never really feels that way.

In 2014 I started doing RP on Tumblr. I can’t even begin to tell you how many character blogs I had.

I hopped around RPing characters from a bunch of different fandoms, and in 2017 I stopped RPing on Tumblr (because it fucking sucked) and instead roped the bestie into RPing with me. We shrugged off the mantle of multi-para blah blah email bullshit and instead RP’d like lazy slobs. This is not an exaggeration for the sake of humor. Dialogue tags? No thank you. Asides? Yes. Retconning? Sometimes you get halfway through a story and want to change a detail from the beginning! Proper capitalization? Absolutely not. Screaming/crying/emoting/posting gifs in the middle of RPs when someone’s reply just hit right? Yep! Doing the same exact storyline with a different combination of blorbos? Oh, definitely.

We continued to do this until mid-2023 with startling regularity. We’d have at least 3 RPs going at once most of the time. We kept having to make more discord channels to start new RPs in.

And you’d think the years I was busy RPing sloppy-style instead of writing fanfiction would mean that I was getting rusty at the craft, but really, it helped me cut out all of the fucking bullshit with regards to the process of writing.

Like, what matters in a story is that a story is being told. I want to hit THIS point and THIS point and finally THIS point. I want to cover THESE THEMES. THIS is where I want my characters to end up. As writers it’s so easy to get lost in the detail sauce…to the point where the story and themes, and sometimes even character arcs, just get buried beneath the rubble of intricate details.

And while multi-para RP definitely taught me a lot (particularly about the importance of discussion and communication with a writing partner), I think it’s the sort of environment where it’s really easy to let yourself get lost in that stuff. The typical expectation is that you reply to your partner with a response of equal-ish length, even if the story being told doesn’t require it. This forces you into the head of your character more to try to suck out the details, but in my experience what this tends to do is just…bog down the story, and therefore the RP. Responses start to feel like a chore instead of like a fun activity you’re doing with a friend. And yes, it is, 100% just writing words to fill some kind of arbitrary word count. Nobody has five paragraphs of thoughts to cycle through between every sentence of dialogue they speak, and writing that way can be exhausting.

This is just my personal opinion, of course, but what I personally get enjoyment out of is seeing stories come together, seeing character arcs tie up and end on satisfying notes. And the expectation of having to write five paragraphs when all my character needs to do is say “No” is just…not it for me.

Writing the way my bestie and I do helps us fly through stories so that we end up with a completed story relatively quickly…and can then fill in those details—the ones I used to get lost in, which led to me never finishing anything. Better yet, when the structure is solid, it’s much easier to sprinkle those details into the story in a way that manages to also feel very meaningful.

Again, don’t get me wrong: I love multi-para RP. And RP in general. I think it’s fun and engaging, and if you can find the right partner it’s a wonderful hobby. Hell, I’m RPing as Regal again with the same partner I had in 2011. I’m having a great time. We’re communicating. We’re not stressing too much about matching RP lengths. We’re past the 200,000 word mark. We know where the story is going.

-

So in 2023, I had that dream—the doorstep baby dream—and I decided after a few weeks of it lingering at the back of my mind that I would try to outline it. Again, I’d never outlined anything in my life. This was a safe option to work on, because, at the time, I thought, “I probably won’t even finish this.”

A few hours later, and…it was finished. I then thought, all right. Now I guess I outline by chapter? It didn’t have to mean anything. I probably wouldn’t finish it anyway.

But I did. And when I say these chapter outlines were short I mean that. I didn’t want to get bogged down by details. I asked myself what was important to cover in each chapter and only wrote that down. The details would follow. Multi-para RP taught me how to fill space.

Here’s an example for you. Chapter 2’s outline was:

If you read the story, you know the outline seems completely at odds with the actual events of the chapter. I did not ‘outline’ any of those specifics.

I started writing. The story got away from both outlines. I reined things in again and restructured the story to make room for the changes by adding two more chapters to it.

I finished the story.

I started writing a new one, and then I outlined it. Weird tactic, but it worked. I finished it.

And I have spent the last year just. Coming up with ideas and then outlining them. I haven’t written more because in the throes of hyperfixation I completely and utterly destroy my health (and I have never operated much outside of that), so I’ve been avoiding sinking into it despite the allure of having more completed stories.

But maybe I should practice doing that anyway—writing like a normal person instead of a crazed lunatic.

But we’ll see.

I don’t know. I just wanted to talk about writing…and while I started this intending to talk about all the stories I’ve been outlining, I ended up just kind of walking you (if anyone actually read this far!) down the path I took to learning how to write the way I write now.

And the very weird path I took to learning to love outlining.